Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 3 of 3)

"I am so awfully obliged to you!" he said, with some little expression of relief; and yet he was thoughtful and silent as they walked back to the house – Käthchen having got all the flowers she wanted.

That night, after dinner, when the two young ladies retired to the drawing-room, Mary seemed somewhat disturbed.

"Don't you think it rather strange, Käthchen," she said, "that Big Archie brought no message back from Heimra? I don't mean an answer. I don't mean an answer to my note. That was not necessary – it was hardly to be expected. But why has he not come to say he delivered my letter?"

She went to one of the windows, and pulled aside part of the blind. The night had turned out rather dark and squally; and there were spots of rain on the glass that caught the light of the lamps within.

"I should like to see Big Archie," said she, with a vague restlessness. And then of a sudden she made this abrupt proposal: "Käthchen, won't you come down with me into the village? Barbara says the gentlemen have gone into the billiard-room, for there is a threatening of rain; but we could put on waterproofs, and run away down there and back, without anything being known of it."

"Is it worth while, Mamie?" Käthchen remonstrated. "He must have delivered your note!"

"Yes; but it is so strange there should be no message of any kind!" said Mary. And then she instantly added, changing her tone: "Of course, it is not at all strange. Only – only, Big Archie sometimes takes a glass of whisky, you know; and he might have got some answer that he has forgotten – perhaps a note that he has left in his pocket – "

"Oh, if you like, I will go with you," said Käthchen at once, rather welcoming a little bit of adventure; and forthwith both of them hurried away to get their waterproofs.

The night was dark and blustering; the ordinarily clear twilight of these northern regions was obscured by heavy clouds; and the wind that blew in from the sea brought with it a sense of moisture that promised to become actual rain. The two black figures made their way with little difficulty in the direction of the orange lights of the village, the unseen sea washing up on the beach close by them. Neither spoke; but both walked quickly; perhaps they wanted to be back at Lochgarra House before their absence should be known.

Then, just as they were getting near to the inn, Kate suddenly put her hand on her friend's arm. Ahead of them were two other figures, as black as themselves, but looming larger through the dusk.

"That is Big Archie," said Käthchen, in a whisper, "and isn't the other Hector? – yes, I am sure that is Hector!"

At this moment the two men disappeared.

"I know where they have gone," Mary said promptly. "They have gone into the tap-room behind. Well, we will follow, in case the people in the inn should deny them. Come along, Käthchen, I know the way."

The two young women left the main street, crossed a stable-yard, and, guided by the dull glow of a window, went up to a door, which Mary entered. The next moment they were gazing into a small sanded parlour, where Gilleasbuig Mor and his friend the keeper were standing: indeed, the two men had not had time to sit down nor yet to order anything to drink. The oil-lamp on the table shed a feeble light, but it was quite sufficient to show that Hector, thus caught, was looking terribly guilty; while the great, heavy-shouldered fisherman, whose deep-set grey eyes under the bushy eyebrows seemed to say that he had already had a glass, instantly came to his companion's help.

"Aw, well now," Archie said, in his plaintive Argyllshire accent, "iss it Miss Stanley herself that would be coming in here – indeed, indeed! – and Hector, the honest lad, chist feenished up with ahl his work – oh, aye – the guns ahl cleaned, and the dogs fed, and everything ready for the chentlemen to-morrow – and me coming bye from the Camus Bheag, and says I, 'Hector, will you come along with me and hef a dram when your work is feenished?' And Miss Stanley need not be thinking there wass any more in our minds than that; for Hector is a fine lad, and a fine keeper, and what harm will a dram do to anyone when ahl the work is done?"

"Sit down, Archie – sit down, Hector!" said Mary, quite good-naturedly. "I saw you come in this way, Archie, and I merely wished to ask you what happened at Heimra."

"Aw, Heimra," said Archie, collecting his thoughts – and his English. "Iss it at Heimra? Aw, well, now, Martha is a ferry nice woman, and she wass giving me some bread and cheese, ay, and a glass of spirits the like of it is not ahlways – a good woman Martha – '

"Yes, but my note, Archie," said Mary. "The note you took out: I suppose you gave it to Mr. Ross? And he did not say anything? Well, there was no need for an answer – none in the least – "

"Aw, the letter?" said Archie. "Well, I wass not seeing Mr. Ross at ahl, for he wass aweh up on the north side of the island, setting snares for the rabbits."

"Oh, you did not see Mr. Ross?" said Mary, quickly. "He could not possibly have sent any answer?" She seemed greatly pleased – as Käthchen observed. "No, of course, he could not send an answer if he was away at the other end of the island." Then she turned to Hector; and the tall, swarthy, brown-bearded keeper perceived that the fair young Englishwoman – the Baintighearna – had no mind to rebuke him or to be in any way angry with him. "Why, Hector," she said, quite pleasantly, "that is a very strange thing, that he should go snaring rabbits: why doesn't he shoot them?"

"Mr. Ross, mem," said Hector, in his grave and respectful fashion, "he does not care much about shooting. And the rabbits, if they are not kept down, would do a dale of mischief on a smahl island like that."

"He is not fond of shooting, then? No; I think he told me so himself." Then, with one of her sudden impulses, she said – "Come, Hector, let me know what all this is about poaching on this place. Ever since I came here I have heard of all kinds of rumours and charges and suspicions; and I want to know the truth. I shan't blame anybody. I want to know the actual truth. Tell me frankly. It isn't such an important thing, after all. I only want to know what is happening around us."

The tall keeper looked concerned – not to say alarmed: the violent scene of the day before was fresh in his mind. But the big, good-natured giant from Cantire broke in.

"Aw, he is a fine lad, Hector, Miss Stanley may be sure of that; and there's no mich poaching going on about this country-side – at least, not about Lochgarra whatever. It's myself that wass hearing Hector seh that if he wass catching the Gillie Ciotach with a gun, he would brek the gun over his head."

"Gillie Ciotach?" said Mary. "I know him – a wild-looking young fellow, with a mark across his forehead. Well, is he a poacher, Hector?"

"It is in this way, mem," Hector said, slowly and carefully; "there's very little poaching about Lochgarra, as Archie says, and Hugh and myself we know it well; but there's some of the young lads, ay, and some of the older men, too, that if they came across a salmon, or a few sea-trout, or a hare, they would be for taking it out to Heimra, and slipping round by the back-door, and Martha there to take the present. Mr. Ross, he does not pay attention to such things; for he is ahlways having a salmon, or a capercailzie, or a box of grouse sent him by the big families that he knows, when their friends are up for the shooting; and he will believe anything that Martha says; and he pays no more heed to such things."

"Yes, but, Hector, what I want you to tell me is this," she interposed – and she spoke with a certain air of proud confidence – "what I want you to tell me distinctly is this: do you mean to say that Mr. Ross himself would take a gun or a fishing-rod and go where he had no right to go, either fishing or shooting?"

It was a challenge; and Hector met it unflinchingly. He said, in his serious way —

"Oh, no, mem – no, no: there is not anyone about here that would think such a thing of Mr. Ross."

Mary turned to Käthchen, with a quick, triumphant glance. Then she addressed herself again to Hector.

"Well, sit down, and have a chat with your friend, Hector," said she, very pleasantly. "We shan't interrupt you any longer. And if now and again one of the lads about here should be taking out a little present of fish or game to old Martha, for the housekeeping, well, that is a trifling matter; and I dare say she gives them a glass of whiskey for their trouble. And, Archie, any other time you go out to Heimra with a message from me, mind you come back and tell me whether there is an answer or not, even when I am not expecting an answer, because that makes everything certain and correct. So good-night to you both – good-night! – good-night!" And therewith the two young ladies, who, even in the dull light of this little sanded parlour, had formed such a curious contrast to those two big, swarthy, heavily-bearded men, withdrew, and shut the door after them, and set out for home through the darkness and the drizzling rain.

Next morning Mary said, with a casual glance out towards Eilean Heimra —

"Käthchen, don't you think, if you lived on that island, you would rather have a good-sized steam-launch than any sailing-boat? It would be so much more handy – ready at a moment's notice almost – and taking up so much less time, if you wanted to send a message to the mainland. I suppose Mr. Ross has to think twice before telling his men to get the yacht ready, or even that big lugsail boat."

But as the day wore on there was no sign of either yacht or lugger coming away from Heimra; the grey and squally sea remained empty; indeed, towards the afternoon, the wind freshened up into something like half a gale, and it grew to be a matter of certainty that Donald Ross would not seek to communicate with the shore. Mary was not disheartened. On the contrary, her face wore the same happy look – that Frank Meredyth could not quite understand. He had become observant and thoughtful: not about grouse.

The following morning broke with a much more cheerful aspect.

"Käthchen," said Mary, before they went down to breakfast together, "don't you think that any time Mr. Ross comes across to the mainland he might as well walk along here for lunch, instead of going to the inn? Talking to us should interest him as much as talking to that soft-headed John, the policeman, or to the sulky Peter Grant, or even to the sing-song Minister. And it would be very pleasant for us, too, with the gentlemen away on the moor all day."

But again the slow hours of the day passed; and, whatever may have been her secret hopes, her anxious fears, or even, at times, her disposition to be proudly resentful, that width of rough blue water gave no answer to her surreptitiously questioning gaze. There was a fresh westerly breeze blowing; either the smart little cutter or the more cumbrous lugger could have made an easy and rapid passage. However, neither brown sail nor white sail appeared outside the distant headland; and so the afternoon drew on towards evening; and here were the sportsmen come down from the hill, and the dressing-bell about to sound.

After dinner, when the two young ladies were alone together, Mary said – with a curious affectation of indifference —

"I did not ask for an answer, Käthchen. Oh, certainly not. There was no answer needed – but still – it seems to me he might have acknowledged the receipt of my note. Of course I am rather anxious to know on what terms we are – naturally – and – and naturally I should like to know whether he absolves me – " She was silent for a moment. When she spoke again she was more honest: there was something of a proud, hurt feeling in her tone. "I do think he might have sent me a message. Don't you, Käthchen? Either yesterday morning or to-day – the whole of to-day has been fine weather. I went out of my way to make the first overtures – after – after what happened. I held out the olive-branch. It seems to me that common courtesy would suggest some little acknowledgment: one is not used to being treated in this way – "

"Perhaps to-morrow – " suggested Käthchen, vaguely.

"Oh, if he is not in a hurry, neither am I," said she, with a sudden air of haughty unconcern; and she would have no more said.

Nay, from this moment she seemed to dismiss Donald Ross from her mind. When, on the following day, Eilean Heimra remained as mute and unresponsive as before, she made no remark to Käthchen; she resolutely dismissed an involuntary habit she had formed of scanning the space of sea intervening between the island and the coast; and if Käthchen mentioned Mr. Ross's name, she would either not reply at all, or reply with a cold indifference, as much as to say, "Who is the stranger whom you speak of?" All the day long she busied herself with her multifarious duties, and was particularly cheerful; in the evening she showed herself most complaisant towards the two young men who were her guests. She talked of giving a ball to the keepers, the gillies, and their friends; and wondered whether there was anywhere a barn big enough for the purpose.

So time went by; and these four young people occupying Lochgarra House appeared to be as merry and happy as though they had belonged to a certain little band of Florentines of the fourteenth century. For Mary was not always deep-buried in her industrial schemes. Sometimes she and Kate Glendinning would go away up to join the sportsmen at lunch-time; and thereafter, perched high on these sterile and lonely altitudes, she would set to work to add to a series she was forming of sea-views and coast-views – drawings in most of which the horizon-line was close up to the top of the sheet. It is true that in these spacious sketches she had sometimes to include the island of Heimra; but no mention was made of Donald Ross; it was as if he had gone away, and for ever, into some unknown clime. Even Fred Stanley was almost ready to believe that the poaching had ceased; and so there was peace in the land.

But there came a thunder-clap into this idyllic quiet. One evening, when the two young men returned from their long day on the hill, there was a telegram among the letters on the hall-table. It was for Frank Meredyth. He tore open the envelope.

"I was afraid of it," he said to his companion. "I must be off, Fred, by the mail-car to-morrow morning. Very sorry, old chap, to have to leave you."

"I hope it is nothing serious," young Stanley put in, with his grey eyes grown grave.

"They don't say anything very definite," was the reply. "Only I am summoned, and I must go."

"Then I will go with you," said the other promptly, "as far as London. This just decides it. I'll accept Nugent's invitation, after all; and if he has started, I'll pick him up at Marseilles. We've seen pretty well what the moor is like; and perhaps some other time my sister asks us down, we may wait on and have a try for a stag or two. Very sorry, though, you must go."

Dinner that evening, in view of this summons, was rather a sombre affair: it was Käthchen who, when the young men subsequently made their appearance in the drawing-room, suggested they should all go out for a stroll up to the top of the Minard road. She thought this little excursion would remove some of the prevailing constraint. Besides, it promised to be a beautiful moonlight night; and from the summit of the hill they would have a view of the wide southern seas, with the black headlands running out into the shimmering pathway of silver.

Well, the expedition, so far as pictorial effects were concerned, was entirely successful; but it was not moonlight that was in Frank Meredyth's mind. He was going away on the morrow; he did not know what might happen in his absence; and he thought his departure was a fair and reasonable excuse for his revealing to Mary Stanley certain hopes and aspirations that had gradually, and for some long time back, been taking possession of him. On their way back to the house Fred and Käthchen were walking on in front; the night was still, so that half-murmured words were enough; the surroundings lent a certain charm. And so it came about that Frank Meredyth asked Mary to become his wife.