Of High Descent

“Well, say what you’ve got to say, and then go back to your men. Has the vein failed?”

“No, sir; it grows richer every day.”

“Sorry for it. I suppose you’ll be burrowing under my cottage and burying me one of these days before my time?”

“Don’t be alarmed, sir.”

“I’m not,” growled Uncle Luke.

“Uncle is cross, because he is catching more fish than he wants this morning,” said Louise quietly.

“Hear that, Maddy, my dear?” said the old man, sharply. “Here’s a problem for you: – If my niece’s tongue is as keen-edged as that before she is twenty, what will it be at forty?”

The girl addressed laughed and shook her head.

“Any one would think it would be a warning to any sensible man to keep his distance.”

“Uncle! Pray!” whispered the niece, looking troubled; but the old man only chuckled and hooked another fish.

“Going to make a fortune out of the old mine, Leslie!” he said.

“Fortune? No, sir. A fair income, I hope.”

“Which with prudence and economy – Scottish prudence and economy” – he added, meaningly, “would keep you when you got to be an old man like me. Bah!”

He snatched out his line and gave an impatient stamp with his foot. “What is the matter, uncle?”

“What’s the matter? It was bad enough before. Look there!”

Volume One – Chapter Two.

Elements of a Whole

Madelaine Van Heldre had seen the object of Uncle Luke’s vexation before he called attention to it; and at the first glance her eyes had lit up with pleasure, but only to give place to an anxious, troubled look, and faint lines came across her brow.

“Why, it is only Harry with his friend,” said Louise quietly.

“Yes: flopping and splashing about in the boat. There will not be a fish left when they’ve done.”

“I’ll tell them to land at the lower stairs,” said Louise eagerly.

“No; let ’em come and do their worst,” said the old man, with quite a snarl. “Why doesn’t Harry row, instead of letting that miserable cockney fool about with an oar?”

“Miserable cockney!” said Duncan Leslie to himself; and his face, which had been overcast, brightened a little as he scanned the boat coming from the harbour.

“Mr Pradelle likes exercise,” said Louise quietly.

Duncan’s face grew dull again.

“Then I wish he would take it in London,” said the old man, “jumping over his desk or using his pen, and not come here.”

The water glistened and sparkled with the vigorous strokes given by the two young men who propelled the boat, and quickly after there was a grating noise as the bows ground against the rocks of the point and a young man in white flannels leaped ashore, while his companion after awkwardly laying in his oar followed the example, balancing himself as he stepped on to the gunwale, and then, after the fashion of a timid horse at a gutter, making a tremendous bound on to the rocks.

As he did this his companion made a quick leap back into the bows to seize the chain, when he had to put out an oar once more and paddle close up to the rock, the boat having been sent adrift by the force of the other’s leap.

“What a fellow you are, Pradelle!” he said, as he jumped on to a rock, and twisted the chain about a block.

“Very sorry, dear boy. Didn’t think of that.”

“No,” said the first sourly, “you didn’t.”

He was a well-knit manly fellow, singularly like his sister, while his companion, whom he had addressed as Pradelle, seemed to be his very opposite in every way, though on the whole better looking; in fact, his features were remarkably handsome, or would have been had they not been marred by his eyes, which were set close together, and gave him a shifty look.

“How are you, uncle? How do, Leslie!” said Harry, as he stood twirling a gold locket at the end of his chain, to receive a grunt from the fisherman, and a friendly nod from the young mine-owner. “So here you are then,” he continued; “we’ve been looking for you everywhere. You said you were going along the west walk.”

“Yes, but we saw uncle fishing, and came down to him.”

“Well, come along now.”

“Come? Where?”

“Come where? Why for a sail. Wind’s just right. Jump in.”

Duncan Leslie looked grave, but he brightened a little as he heard what followed.

“Oh, no, Harry.”

As she spoke, Louise Vine glanced at her companion, in whose face she read an eager look of acquiescence in the proposed trip, which changed instantly to one of agreement with her negative.

“There, Vic. Told you so. Taken all our trouble for nothing.”

“But, Harry – ”

“Oh, all right,” he cried, interrupting her, in an ill-used tone. “Just like girls. Here’s our last day before we go back to the confounded grindstone. We’ve got the boat, the weather’s lovely; we’ve been looking for you everywhere, and it’s ‘Oh no, Harry!’ And Madelaine looking as if it would be too shocking to go for a sail.”

“We don’t like to disappoint you,” said Madelaine, “but – ”

“But you’d rather stay ashore,” said the young man shortly. “Never mind, Vic, old chap, we’ll go alone, and have a good smoke. Cheerful, isn’t it? I say, Uncle Luke, you’re quite right.”

“First time you ever thought so then,” said the old man shortly.

“Perhaps Miss Vine will reconsider her determination,” said the young man’s companion, in a low soft voice, as he went toward Louise, and seemed to Duncan Leslie to be throwing all the persuasion possible into his manner.

“Oh no, thank you, Mr Pradelle,” she replied hastily, and Duncan Leslie once more felt relieved and yet pained, for there was a peculiar consciousness in her manner.

“We had brought some cans with us and a hammer and chisel,” continued Pradelle. “Harry thought we might go as far as the gorns.”

“Zorns, man,” cried Harry.