Luttrell Of Arran

“Don’t you know that we Luttrells do neither? I can no more forget a wrong than a kindness. Mind me, though,” added he, quickly, “I do not ask to clear off scores with the lawyer, only let him not claim to make me his debtor. Shout away, it will stretch your lungs for the Old Bailey, or wherever it is that you make your living.”

“If your memory be as good as you say, Harry,” said she, smiling, “can you recal the time papa’s yacht, the Meteor, anchored in the little bay at Arran?”

“I can. I remember it all.”

“And how you came on board in one of our boats?”

“Ay, and how you called me Robinson. Don’t get so red; I wasn’t offended then, and I’m sure I’m not now. You said it in a whisper to your father, but I overheard you; and I think I said I should like well to be Robinson Crusoe, and have an island all my own.”

“And so you have. Arran is yours.”

“No. Arran was mine, or ought to have been mine, but my father, believing me dead, left it to my cousin.”

“Oh, how I long to see her again,” cried Ada, passionately. “You know how we were brought up together.”

“Your father told me all about it; but I never well understood how or why she was sent away again. Were you disappointed in her?”

“Oh no, no. Nothing of the kind. She was cleverer, and more beautiful, and more attractive, than any one could have anticipated. The lesson that would take me days to learn, she had but to glance at and she knew it. The governess was in despair how to keep in advance of her. And then there was a charm in her manner that made the veriest trifle she did a sort of fascination.”

“And were these the traits to send back into hardship and barbarism?”

“To this very hour I never knew how or why she went back, nor to what she went. I must tell you a secret, a great secret it is, Harry, and you will promise never to reveal it.” He nodded, and she went on: “Aunt Georgina never liked Kate. She could not help owning that she was very beautiful, and very gifted, and very graceful, but nothing would wring from her one word of affection, nor even a smile of kindly meaning.”

“It is exactly how she treats me. She is all courtesy and politeness; but it is a courtesy that chills me to the heart, and ever seems to say, ‘Don’t forget the distance that separates us.’ Perhaps,” added he, laughing, “my cousin Kate and I have some family resemblance to each other?”

“Don’t indulge any such flattery, Harry,” said she, laughing. “Kate was beautiful.”

“Come, come, I never meant in face. I only suspected that it was the marvellous gift of fascination we held in common.” And he laughed good humouredly at his own expense. “But to be serious. Was it quite fair to send such a girl as you have described back to all the miseries and sufferings of a peasant’s life?”

“I’m not sure that this was done. I mean, that after she went to live at Dalradern – for Sir Within Wardle became her guardian when we came abroad – I never knew what happened; my Aunt Georgina actually forbade the merest mention of her.”

“I wonder would she tell me why, if I were to ask her.” “Oh, Harry, I implore you not to do so. It would be at once to betray the confidence I have placed in you. She would know who had told you of her dislike to Kate.”

“The lawyer could tell it, I’m certain,” muttered Harry; “that fellow watches us all. I have marked him, as we sat in the drawing-room, studying the looks of each in turn, and pausing over chance words, as if they could mean more than they seemed to say.”

“How acute you want to be thought,” said she, laughing. “I have sailed in two ships where the crews mutinied, Miss Ada, and a man learns to have his wits about him where he suspects mischief, after that. There! look at the lawyer in the boat; he has got a boat at last, and is going to give us chase. Shall we run for it, Ada, or stand and fight him?”

“What wickedness are you muttering under your breast, there, Sir?” asked she, with a mock imperiousness.

“Well, I was just saying to myself that, if you hadn’t been here, I’d even run foul of him and upset us both. I’d like to see the old fellow in the water. Oh! I see I must behave well. Miss Courtenay is in the boat too!”

“Which means a reproof to me, Harry. My aunt never comes out on any less solemn mission.”

“And why a reproof? What have you done?” “Have I not gone off sailing all alone with that wild scamp Harry Luttrell – that buccaneer who respects neither laws nor proprieties! But that’s my aunt’s voice! What is she saying?”

“She’s telling the lawyer that it’s all his fault, or Sir Gervais’s fault, or somebody’s fault, and that it’s a shame and disgrace, and I don’t know well what else besides.”

“What can it be?”

“Just what you said a minute ago. There! I’ll wait for them. I’ll slack off and let them come up.”

Whatever might have been the rebukeful tone of Miss Courtenay’s voice a few moments before, now, as the boat drew up beside Luttrell’s, her tones were softened and subdued, and it was with her most silvery accent she told Ada that some visitors had just arrived, and begged her to return with her to receive them, while Mr. M’Kinlay would join Mr. Luttrell, and obtain the lesson in sea-fishing he was so eager for.

“Come along,” said Harry. “It looks fresh outside, and may turn out a nice mackerel day, calm as it seems here.”

“With your good leave, Sir, I shall decline a nice mackerel day. I’m a very fair-weather sailor.”

A hurried whisper from Georgina seemed, however, to arrest him in his excuses, and she added aloud: “Of course Mr. Luttrell has no intention of venturing out to sea farther than you like, Sir. He goes for your pleasure and amusement, and not to educate you for the Navy.”

Another hurried whisper followed this pert speech, and poor M’Kinlay, with the air of a condemned man, stepped into Luttrel’s boat with a heavy sigh, and a look of positive misery.

“No, no, not on any account,” were the last words of Ada into Harry’s ear, as he helped her to her place.

“Remember, we dine at six!” said Georgina, as she waved them an adieu; and young Luttrell cried out, “All right!” as he slacked off his sheet, and let the boat run broad and full towards the open sea.

“It is fresher, far fresher than I thought!” said M’Kinlay, whose transition from a row-boat to a sailing one imparted the impression of a strong breeze.

“Cat’s-paws! light airs of wind that die away every moment! But I see it looks bluer out yonder, and now and then I see a white curl on the water that may mean a little wind.”

“Then I beseech you, Sir, let us keep where we are!”

“Don’t you want me to teach you something about fishing? You said you wished to know what ‘trawling’ meant.”

“Not to-day; not on this occasion, my young friend. It was another errand brought me here this morning. Could you not draw that thing a little closer, and do something to make us go somewhat steadier?”

“I’ll close haul, if you prefer it,” said Harry, taking a strong pull at the sheet, and, with his helm hard up, sending the skiff along under a full wind. She leaned over so much, too, that it required all M’Kinlay’s strength, with both arms outside the gunwale, to keep his position. “That’s pleasanter, ain’t it?” asked Harry.

“I’ll not say I like it, either.”

“You will when the wind steadies; it’s squally just now, and she feels it, for she has no keel.”

“No keel! And ought she to have a keel?”

“Well, I think she’d be the better of one,” said Harry, smiling.

“Let us get back, Sir – let us get back at once! This is the reverse of agreeable to me. I don’t understand, and I don’t enjoy it. Put mc ashore anywhere, and leave me to find my way how I can. There – yonder, where you see the rocks – land me there!”

“If I tried it, you’d find your way sure enough, but it would be into the next world! Don’t you see the white line there? Those are breakers!”

“Then turn back, Sir, I command, I implore you,” cried he, with a voice shaking with terror.

“I’ll put about when the wind slackens. I can’t do it just yet. Have a little patience. Take the rudder a moment.”

“No, Sir; I refuse – I decidedly refuse. I protest against any share in what may happen.”

“Perhaps it will be past protesting if you don’t do what I tell you. Hold this, and mind my orders. Keep the tiller so till I cry out hard down; mind me, now – no mistake.” And not waiting for more, he sprang into the bow of the boat as she ran up into the wind, and held out the foresail to the breeze. “Down helm – hard down!” cried he; and round she spun at once, and so rapidly, that the lee gunwale went under water, and M’Kinlay, believing she had upset, uttered one wild cry and fell senseless into the bottom of the boat. Not much grieved at his condition – perhaps, on the whole, almost glad to be rid of his company – Harry lighted a cigar and steered for shore. In less than half an hour they gained the slack water of the little bay, and M’Kinlay, gathering himself up, asked if they were nigh land.

“Close in; get up and have a cigar,” said Harry, curtly.