The League of the Leopard

Dane nodded, and the girl glanced up and down the lane suspiciously.

"Then Sis telt me to give ye this when there was naebody to see."

"And who is your sister, and what's it all about?" asked Dane; and the little thing smiled roguishly.

"Just Mary Johnstone. Maybe it would tell ye gin ye lookit inside it, sir."

She vanished the next moment, with a patter of bare feet, leaving Dane to stare blankly at the folded paper.

"Now, who is Mary Johnstone, and what can she want with me?" he wondered, as he prepared to follow the child's advice and read the missive. When this had been done, however, he was not greatly enlightened.

"I'm taking a great liberty," it ran. "I am in great trouble, and you are the one person who can help me. If you would not have two little children go hungry all winter, you will meet me by the planting at Hallows Brig in the gloaming to-morrow. I saw you at The Larches, and thought I could trust you."

"Very confiding of Miss Johnstone, whoever she is, but I'm thankful my conscience is clear," thought Dane. It was unfortunate that he did not obey the first impulse which prompted him to destroy the note. Instead of this, he lighted another cigar, and sat down to consider the affair.

Just then the local constable, who on an eventful occasion had also stuck fast in the hedge, came tramping through the stubble with elephantine gait.

"Grand weather the day, sir," he beamed. "Ye will have heard we grippit the man who broke yere heid."

"I'm summoned as a witness; but who is Mary Johnstone?" asked Dane. "You should know everybody about here."

"Old Rab Johnstone's daughter; and that's no great credit to the lass. Rab's overfond of the whisky, and never does nothing when he can help it, which is gey often, I'm thinking. The daughter's a hard working lass – sews for the gentlefolks; and she and her brither between them keep the two mitherless bairns fed. It's him we've got in the lock-up for breaking yere heid."

"Oh," said Dane, as a light dawned upon him. "Then Mary Johnstone would be the pretty, light-haired girl I saw sewing for Miss Chatterton?"

"That same, sir," answered the constable, with professional alacrity. "Miss Chatterton has missed nothing, has she?"

"Of course not!" Dane said impatiently. "I was only inquiring out of curiosity. You need not mention it. Would this coin be of any use to you?"

The official admitted that it might be; but when he appeared to smother a bovine chuckle, Dane turned upon him.

"What the deuce is amusing you so?"

"Naething, sir," the man answered sheepishly. "I'm taken that way whiles in hot weather."

The constable furnished further particulars about the poacher's family before he departed; and Dane, reflecting that his must be the most damaging testimony against the prisoner, understood why Mary Johnstone had sent for him. It was perhaps foolish, but the child's face had attracted him; and deciding that the lot of the pretty seamstress, struggling to bring up her sisters under the conditions mentioned, must be a hard one at the best, he resolved at least to hear what she had to say.

CHAPTER V

THE TRYST AT HALLOWS BRIG

It was a clear, cool evening when Carsluith Maxwell leaned on the rails of a footbridge which spanned the river, looking up at the old place of Culmeny. It rose from the stony hillside, a straggling pile of time-worn masonry, with all its narrow windows aflame with the evening light, and the green of ivy softening its rugged simplicity. A square tower formed its major portion, and this had been built with no pretense at adornment in troubled days when the Maxwells had won and held their possessions with the mailed hand. They had been, for the most part, soldiers of fortune, and their descendant recalled the traditions of his race as, turning, he looked south and east across the shining flood-tide toward the Solway sands.

More of his forbears had, when there was scarcity at Culmeny – which was generally the case – ridden that way in steel cap and dinted harness than ever rode back, and Carsluith Maxwell had hitherto fulfilled the family destiny, chancing his life in modern ventures where the risks were perhaps as heavy as any the old moss-troopers ran. Now, however, he had come to a turning-point in his career, and that night must decide whether he applied his energies to the slow conversion of barren mosses into arable land, or went forth again to seek his fortune over seas. The wandering life appealed to his instincts; and fortune had not wholly evaded him; but he had recognized of late that unless he could share it with one woman, even prosperity would have little value for him. There was a trace of melancholy almost akin to superstition in his nature, and it was with a curious smile that he turned toward Culmeny to put his fate to the test. If Lilian Chatterton would not listen, it was high time to begin his search for the African mine.

In the meantime, Hilton Dane sat in the hall of Culmeny waiting for a word with Maxwell, and also until it was time to keep his appointment at the Hallows Brig. Three narrow, diamond-paned windows with rose lights in the crown of their lancets pierced one end of the hall, and the fading sunlight beating through, forced up into brightness the pale-tinted dresses of his companions. They were young and comely women, and, because the rest of the dark-paneled room was wrapped in shadow, neither face nor dainty figure suffered from being silhouetted against a somber background. A cluster of late roses in a silver bowl, and the tawny skin of an African leopard on the polished floor, both touched by the tinted gleam, formed by contrast glowing patches of color. Nevertheless, Dane's eyes most often rested upon Lilian Chatterton, who sat near an open window with a ruddy glory blazing in her hair, while the dark oak behind it emphasized the delicate chiseling of her face. There was a stamp of decision upon it as well as refinement.

"Is it not wonderfully peaceful to-night?" she said, glancing out across the velvet lawn. A few roses still flowered along one side of it, a tall clipped hedge hemmed it in, and, beyond the lawn, fir wood, yellow stubble, and meadow rolled down to the silver shining of the sea. The whole lay steeped in the sunset, serenely beautiful; but the black shadow of the firs lengthened rapidly across the grass.

"You are all very silent," the girl continued. "Why does not somebody agree with me? Don't you think it peaceful, Margaret? This might be an enchanted garden, and yonder hedge a barrier impassable to care. It is good to talk nonsense occasionally; and to-night one could almost fancy that no cause for trouble might enter here."

As she spoke, Dane noticed that the gloom of the firs had swallowed most of the lawn, and the coincidence struck him as an unfortunate augury. Lilian had known little of either sorrow or care; and having learned by painful experience that the balance of light and darkness is determined by immutable law, the man trembled for her.

Margaret Maxwell laughed a little.

"You are distinctly fanciful. Culmeny has seen very little of either peace or prosperity. The spot where this very garden stands was once worn down by the hoofs of stolen cattle, and the feet of armed men bent on exterminating the gentle Maxwells who plundered them. We also read that the serpent entered Eden, and have the authority of Milton and others for picturing the Prince of Darkness as a somewhat courtly gentleman; while one notices that when there is unusual harmony, trouble not infrequently follows the advent of a man. It is a coincidence, but that ditty should herald Carsluith's coming."

A voice rose out of the adjoining meadow chanting a plaintive ditty in an unknown tongue. The air resembled nothing Lilian had heard before, and she leaned forward listening, for the refrain, pitched in a mournful minor key, was equally striking.

"I did not know your brother sang so well; but I do not like that song. It strikes one as uncanny," she said.

Margaret Maxwell nodded.

"It is West African, and that, I understand, is an uncanny country. My brother spent some time there. He really sings – as he does most things when he thinks it worth while, which is not always – tolerably well."

The song died away as Carsluith Maxwell came lightly across the lawn, and Dane noticed that the last of the sunlight faded and the shadows shut in both himself and Lilian Chatterton when the newcomer entered through the open window.

"I did not know I had such an audience, or I should have been too diffident to play the nightingale," Maxwell laughed.

"Miss Chatterton did not like your song, though she admired its rendering," said Margaret mischievously. "But what put that doleful composition into your head to-night?"

"Association of ideas, most probably," answered Maxwell, with a smile on his lips, but none in his eyes. "I met the post-carrier, and must decide forthwith whether I shall follow up my African scheme or not. It is curious, but by the same token I'm standing with my heel on the neck of the leopard, and I feel inclined to say God send it be a true augury. You have your foot upon him, too, Miss Chatterton; and that is a very ill-omened beast."

"How so?" asked Lilian. "It cannot be very large or terrible, to judge by its skin."

"It holds a country larger than Scotland in terror," replied Maxwell. "There are whole tribes of black men who tremble at the sight of a tuft of leopard's fur."

"As an insignia, I suppose; but the beast is clearly vulnerable." Lilian stooped and pointed to the fur. "Surely that is the work of a bullet."

"You have keen eyes," said Maxwell. "The taxidermist did his best to hide it. That hole was made when I first pitted myself against the leopard by shooting one to convince my carriers the thing was mortal. For some time I suspected that was the beginning of a duel."

"And now?" interposed his sister, with a trace of anxiety.

"Now I almost hope I was mistaken," said Carsluith Maxwell. "With your permission, I have one or two things to see to, and should like a word with Hilton."

They went out together, and presently Dane returned alone to bid Miss Maxwell adieu.

"You have been very patient during the last hour," said that lady. "Now that you have seen Carsluith, one could not, of course, expect too much from you."

"I have been very self-indulgent," said Dane, who had seen the elfish child again and promised to meet his correspondent. "Still, there is a limit to everybody's opportunities for enjoyment, and unfortunately I must tear myself away."

Margaret Maxwell glanced at him sharply, for she fancied that he spoke with sincerity, as indeed he did; but Dane, having given his promise, intended to keep it. She also glanced at Lilian, and decided that Miss Chatterton was not wholly pleased.

"Carsluith proposed to drive you both home. Can you not wait until he is ready?" she suggested.

"I fear I cannot," answered Dane, with a trace of confusion. "The fact is, I have an appointment to keep."

He left them a trifle abruptly, and Miss Maxwell turned to Lilian.