Annie o' the Banks o' Dee

“Remarkable Discovery.
The Supposed Murderer of Craig Nicol
Found on a Cannibal Island.”

The rest of the paragraph was but brief, and detailed only what we already know. But Annie too had seen it, and almost fainted. And this very forenoon, too, Laird Fletcher was coming to McLeod Cottage to ask her hand formally from her father.

Already, as I have previously stated, she had given a half-willing consent. But now her mind was made up. She would tell Fletcher everything, and trust to his generosity. She mentioned to Jeannie, her maid, what her intentions were.

“I would not utterly throw over Fletcher,” said Jeannie. “You never know what may happen.”

Jeannie was nothing if not canny. Well, Fletcher did call that forenoon, and she saw him before he could speak to her old uncle – saw him alone. She showed him the paper and telegram. Then she boldly told him that while her betrothed, whom she believed entirely innocent of the crime laid at his door, was in grief and trouble, all thoughts of marriage were out of the question entirely.

“And you love this young man still?”

“Ay, Fletcher,” she said, “and will love him till all the seas run dry.”

The Laird gave her his hand, and with tears running down her cheeks, she took it.

“We still shall be friends,” he said.

“Yes,” she cried; “and, oh, forgive me if I have caused you grief. I am a poor, unhappy girl!”

“Every cloud,” said Fletcher, “has a silver lining.”

Then he touched her hand lightly with his lips, and next moment he was gone.

Chapter Twenty Five.

The Cruise of the “Vulcan.”

The next news concerning what was called the terrible Deeside murder was that a detective and two policemen had started for New York, that thence they would journey overland to San Francisco, and there interview the captain of the Erebus in order to get the latitude and longitude of the Isle of Flowers. They would then charter a small steamer and bring the accused home for trial – and for justice.

It is a long and somewhat weary journey, this crossing America by train, but the detective and his companions were excited by the adventure they were engaged on, and did not mind the length of the way.

The Vulcan, which they finally chartered at ’Frisco, was a small, but clean and pretty steamer, that was used for taking passengers (a few select ones only) to view the beauties of the Fiji Islands.

Many a voyage had she made, but was as sturdy and strong as ever.

It must be confessed, however, that Master Mariner Neaves did not half-like his present commission, but the liberality of the pay prevailed, and so he gave in. His wife and her maid, who acted also as stewardess, had always accompanied him to sea, and she refused to be left on this expedition.

So away they sailed at last, and soon were far off in the blue Pacific, steering southwards with a little west in it.

And now a very strange discovery was brought to light. They had been about a day and a half at sea, when, thinking he heard a slight noise in the store-room, Captain Neaves opened it. To his intense surprise, out walked a beautiful little girl of about seven. She carried in her hand a grip-sack, and as she looked up innocently in Neaves’s face, she said naïvely:

“Oh, dear, I is so glad we are off at last. I’se been so very lonely.”

“But, my charming little stowaway, who on earth are you, and how did you come here?”

“Oh,” she answered, “I am Matty. I just runned away, and I’se goin’ south with you to see poor Regie Grahame. That’s all, you know.”

“Well, well, well!” said Neaves wonderingly. “A stranger thing than this surely never happened on board the saucy Vulcan, from the day she first was launched!” Then he took Matty by the hand, and laughing in spite of himself, gave her into the charge of his wife. “We can’t turn back,” he explained; “that would be unlucky. She must go with us.”

“Of course,” said Matty, nodding her wise wee head. “You mustn’t go back.”

And so it was settled. But Matty became the sunshine and life of all on board. Even the detective caught the infection, and the somewhat solemn-looking and important policeman as well. All were in love with Matty in less than a week. If Neaves was master of the Vulcan, Matty was mistress.

Well, when that ominous whistle was heard in the bay of Flower Island, although utterly shaken and demoralised for a time, Reginald soon recovered. Poor Oscar, the Newfoundland, had laid his great head on his master’s knees and was gazing up wonderingly but pityingly into his face.

“Oh, Queen Bertha,” said Reginald sadly, as he placed a hand on the dog’s great head, “will – will you keep my faithful friend till all is over?”

“That I shall, and willingly. Nothing shall ever come over him; and mind,” she said, “I feel certain you will return to bring him away.”

Next morning broke sunny and delightful. All the earth in the valley was carpeted with flowers; the trees were in their glory. Reginald alone was unhappy. At eight o’clock, guided by two natives, the detectives and policemen were seen fording the river, on their way to the palace. Reginald had already said good-bye to the Queen and his beautiful brown-eyed dog.

“Be good, dear boy, and love your mistress. I will come back again in spirit if not in body. Good-bye, my pet, good-bye.”

Then he and Dickson went quietly down to meet the police. The detective stopped and said “Good-morning” in a kindly, sympathetic tone.

“Good-morning,” said Reginald sadly. “I am your prisoner.”

The policeman now pulled out the handcuffs. The detective held up his hand.

“If you, Grahame,” he said, “will assure me on your oath that you will make no attempt to escape or to commit suicide, you shall have freedom on board – no irons, no chains.”

The prisoner held up his hand, and turned his eyes heavenwards.

“As God is my last Judge, sir,” he said, “I swear before Him I shall give you not the slightest trouble. I know my fate, and can now face it.”

“Amen,” said the detective. “And now we shall go on board.”

Reginald took one last longing, lingering look back at the palace; the Queen was there, and waved him farewell; then, though the tears were silently coursing down his cheeks, he strode on bravely by Dickson’s side.

Arrived on board, to his intense surprise, Matty was the first to greet him. She fairly rushed into his arms, and he kissed her over and over again. Then she told him all her own little story.

Now the men came off with their boxes, and Dickson with his traps. The Vulcan stayed not two hours altogether after all were on board. Steam was got up, and away she headed back once more for ’Frisco, under full steam. I think that Reginald was happier now than he had been for months. The bitterness of death seemed to be already past, and all he longed for was rest, even should that rest be in the grave. Moreover, he was to all intents and purposes on parole. Though he took his meals in his own cabin, and though a sentry was placed at the door every night, he was permitted to walk the deck by day, and go wherever he liked, and even to play with Matty.

“I cannot believe that the poor young fellow is guilty of the terrible crime laid to his charge,” said Mrs Neaves to her husband one day.

“Nor I either, my dear; but we must go by the evidence against him, and I do not believe he has the slightest chance of life.”

“Terrible!”

Yet Mrs Neaves talked kindly to him for all that when she met him on the quarter-deck; but she never alluded to the dark cloud that hung so threateningly over his life. The more she talked to him, the more she believed in his innocence, and the more she liked him, although she tried hard not to.

Matty was Reginald’s almost constant companion, and many an otherwise lonely hour she helped to cheer and shorten.

He had another companion, however – his Bible. All hope for this world had fled, and he endeavoured now to make his peace with the God whom he had so often offended and sinned against.

Captain Dickson and he often sat together amidships or on the quarter-deck, and the good skipper of the unfortunate Wolverine used to talk about all they should do together when the cloud dissolved into thin air, and Reginald was once more free.