Playing With Fire

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.

"Love is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind."

After Donald left his father he went straight to his aunt's room and, when she had finished making her pastry, she found him there, nursing his anger and sorrow with passionate tears and words of self-justification. He had kept a brave face to his father, but to his aunt-mother he wept out all his trouble, and he was comforted as one whom his mother comforteth. When Dr. Macrae asked her if she knew where Donald was she had truthfully answered, "No," but she instantly suspected, and shortened her work as much as possible in order to go to him.

They talked cautiously of his plans and prospects and, when dinner time arrived, she surreptitiously carried him a good meal upstairs; for she was not willing that the servants should discuss Donald's quarrel with his father – the Master being to them, first of all, an ecclesiastic with a suggestion of the surplice ever around him. She knew their sympathy would veer decidedly toward the Master, for Donald played the "wee sinfu' fiddle" too much, and, as he went through the halls and parlors, was always whistling some irreligious reel, or strathspey, forbye hardly keeping himself from dancing it.

He was in his aunt's sitting-room while Marion related to her the conversation she had just had with her father and, no doubt, Mrs. Caird's short and rather indifferent attention to her niece's trouble arose from the stress of his unacknowledged presence. For Donald had begged not to see Marion that evening. "She will ask me all kinds of questions about Richard," he said, "questions I cannot answer until I see him." So Marion felt as if she had been snubbed and sent off to bed with a little sermon just when she wanted to talk of Richard more than she had ever before done. Mrs. Caird explained the circumstances to her the following day, but she was more offended than satisfied by the explanation.

"You supposed, Aunt," she answered, "that I was so selfish as to be insensible to Donald's anxiety and trouble, and would put my own before his. You must have a poor opinion of me. It hurts me."

"You are too sensitive, Marion. Donald is going away from us."

"Where is he going to?"

"He does not know until he hears from Richard."

"Where is Richard? I have not had a letter from him in two days."

"I do not know – exactly."

"Nor do I. He told me that he was going to see Lady Cramer about the settlement of his debt to her. It is shameful in her to press it."

"Not at all. It is her right. He said that himself."

"I did not mind getting no letter yesterday, but here is another day nearly gone, and I do not expect to sleep a moment to-night. I am so anxious about him."

"Preserve us all! What are you talking about? It is fairly sinful of you to be making trouble where there is none. That is the way to worry love to death, if so be you want that result."

"You care for no one but Donald now, Aunt."

"You are not far wrong. Donald is in trouble."

"You love Donald best."

"I like Donald's way best. There is no shilly-shallying with Donald. I like a definite 'Yes' and 'No' in answer to important questions."

"Women cannot get into passions and say unladylike words, especially to their fathers. You taught me that yourself. 'Exceed in nothing. Be moderate in all things.' These were among your regular advices."

"All right. Moderation is a very respectable word. I wish you would apply it to the subject of letters."

"You are cross with me, Aunt, and without any reason."

"Reason enough when I see you worrying yourself – and me, also – about the coming of a letter from your lover; and caring nothing about the going away – perhaps forever – of your own brother. Kin is closer than all other ties – ever and always, blood is thicker than water."

Then Marion was angry. "I am glad I was respectful and moderate with Father," she said haughtily. "He is the best and greatest of men. He is the Minister of God. I cannot be too respectful. I intend – "

"To marry Allan Reid and send away Richard Cramer. Good girl! I wish you joy of your choice – such as it is."

For six days the partial estrangement lasted, but Marion and her father seemed to enjoy the interval. They were much together, and Mrs. Caird was frequently startled by the Minister's hearty laugh over some of Marion's observations, and once by his actually joining her in singing that tender little love song, "My Love's in Germany."

"My love's in Germany,
Send him hame! Send him hame!
My love's in Germany,
Fighting for loyalty,
He may ne'er his Jeannie see,
Send him hame! Send him hame!"

The enthralling longing and sweetness of this melody doubtless echoed the dearest wish of both hearts; for, if Marion was watching for Richard Cramer, the Minister had an equal fervor of desire for his beautiful Ada.

For a week there appeared to be no change in affairs, but the slight feeling of separation or estrangement did not trouble Mrs. Caird. She knew that Donald was with his Uncle Hector, and would be there until Richard's return; then, it would be time enough for her to interfere, if interference was necessary. But during this interval, Donald had requested her to give no one any information as to his whereabouts. For, though his uncle had sheltered him readily and kindly, he had also said:

"Mind this, Donald. You are to keep a close mouth about Uncle Hector. I could not endure every woman in the Church of the Disciples clacking with their neighbor concerning the sin of my encouraging you in your disobedience against your father. You are freely welcome, laddie, but you must be quiet for a few days. I have written to Richard to hurry himself here, for reasons of my own, as well as yours. I see you are wondering at my writing to Lord Cramer."

"I did not know you were friendly – that is all."

"I knew the present Lord Cramer when you were in petticoats and ankle bands. The late Lord Cramer and I fished in Cromarty Bay, and hunted on Cromarty Hills together half a century ago. When he got the estate into trouble it was my care and skill saved it from roup and rent rack. Then he married his second wife, a butterfly of a woman who wasted and helped her stepson to waste, and I knew well things were going wrong long before the old lord died."

"Richard told me," said Donald, "that it was not so much the amount he was owing as the people to whom it was due that had made him resolve to retire for awhile and let the income of the estate have time to pay its debts."

"He is right. His stepmother is a large creditor and she bores him. The Jews come next and, sleeping or waking, they are robbing him. We are going to stop all such plundering; then, if he will be quiet a short time, he will be in comfortable circumstances. He tells me he is going to marry Marion, and I am bound to make things as pleasant as possible for my niece. Forbye I have a liking for the young man on his own account."

"You will then be uncle to a lord, if you are caring for such mere words."

"I am uncle to the Macrae, that is honor enough. The Macraes are a far older and more honorable family than the Cramers; 'by our permission' they settled in Cromarty – well, well, this is old world talk, and means nothing to the matter in hand. You will stay quietly here till I have done with Richard."

"Will you require him long, Uncle?"

"A day will be sufficient. I only want his authority to use his name to papers necessary to carry out my plans for his relief." Then he laughed and, clapping his hands resoundingly, cried out, "Great Scot! How amazed he will be to learn of his good luck!"

"Oh, I hope he has some good luck! He is such a fine fellow!"

"Luck! Wonderful luck! Undreamed of good luck. But that is the way godsends come – steal round a corner of your life, and stand at your door, and never sign or whisper before them."

"If I have to stay a few days, Uncle, is there not something I can do to earn my bread while I wait?"

"Plenty of writing you can do; only, you'll not write a line to your sister. If you do, she will come with her own answer, all smiles and tears and compliments, things I can't stand against, and won't try to."

"I will not write to Marion at all. I must write to my aunt. She will tell no one. I will swear it for her."

"As far as I know, your aunt is a prudent, douce woman; but crooked and straight are all women, uncertain, Donald, uncertain as the law."

"Not so with aunt. Jessy Caird is straight all through and at all times."

"I'll take your word for her. It is only for an odd occasion; one promise at a time is as far as I durst trust myself with any woman."