Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 3 of 3)

"Have you any idea of the reason?"

"Yes," said Mary, a little proudly. "He says that you are his laird, and not I: he says I have nothing to do with the land or the people here."

"Macdonald is a foolish man – and stubborn: I will talk to him," he said; and he was thoughtful for a second or two.

Indeed, when they arrived at the scattered little hamlet of Cruagan, it was not the sun-pictures that occupied Mary Stanley's attention. The photographer was allowed to choose his subjects as he liked. For, in driving up, they had perceived the sullen-browed, Russian-looking crofter at work in his patch of potatoes; and as soon as the carriage stopped, young Ross left his companions, stepped over the bit of wire fence, and went along the potato drills. Macdonald ceased working, and respectfully raised his cap. Ross began speaking in a low voice, and yet with some emphasis, and increasing emphasis, as the ladies in the waggonette could gather. It was impossible for them to overhear the words, even if they had been able to understand; but as he proceeded it was clear enough that he was becoming angry and indignant, the man with the shaggy eyebrows and the determined jaw having answered once or twice. Then almost suddenly there came a strange termination to this fierce encounter. Young Ross remained behind, glancing around him as if merely wanting to know whether the crop promised well; but Macdonald came down the drills, in the direction of the carriage.

"Käthchen," said Mary, in an eager whisper, "he is coming to speak to me! Let me get out – quick!"

She stepped into the roadway. As Macdonald came slowly towards her, he raised his eyes and regarded her for a second, in silence. He took off his cap – and forgot to put it on again. He was thinking what to say.

"I – not mich English. It is thanks to you – for many things. The young laird says that. And I – am to ask your pardon – and sorry I am if there is not goodwill – and there is good-will now – and it is sorry I am – "

"Not at all – not at all; we are going to be quite good friends, Mr. Macdonald – and there's my hand on it," said she in her frank, impetuous way. "And you are going to ask me into your house; and will you give me a little bit of oat-cake, or something of the kind? – and when you are next over at Lochgarra you must not forget to come and see me. And at any time, mind you, if you have anything to complain of, come to me first; come direct to me; don't go to Mr. Purdie, or anybody; for perhaps I might be able to settle the matter for you at once."

And with that she called on Mr. Ross, and told him they were going into the cottage to get a bit of oat-cake; for Macdonald was already leading the way thither. When they came out of Macdonald's cottage, they found that the photographer had quite completed his work; so they at once set out for home again. Mary was in an extraordinary state of delight over this vanquishment of her obdurate enemy, and said she should take means to remind him of their compact of goodwill. But young Ross only laughed.

"'Wherefore he called that place Beersheba,'" he said, "'because there they sware both of them.'"

The following Saturday was Mary Stanley's birthday. Early in the morning she and Kate, in fulfilment of a long-standing engagement, drove away out to Craiglarig to pay a visit to Mr. Watson, and talk over some matters connected with his farm; and as they stayed for lunch, they did not get back till the afternoon. By that time the mail had come in, and there was an astonishing number of letters and parcels addressed to Miss Stanley, for she had a large number of friends in the south, who held her in kindly remembrance. She was looking at these and guessing at the senders, when she came to one that was larger and heavier than the others; moreover, it had not come by post, but by hand. Something impelled her to tear off the brown wrapper, and behold, here was the Rhodian dish she had so particularly admired when they were out at Heimra Island.

"I saw he noticed how long you looked at it," said Käthchen, with smiling eyes.

Well, she did not look at it long now, beautiful as it was. She had turned again to the wrapper, and she seemed to take a curious interest in studying her own name as she found it there.

"It is an unusual handwriting, don't you think so, Käthchen?" she said, slowly, and almost as if she were talking to herself. "Firm and precise… How odd one's own name appears when you see it written for the first time by some one you know! … Do you think character can be read in handwriting, Käthchen? … firmness – yes, apparently; and precision – well, I don't object to that so much, … but don't you think he is a little too – a little too confident in himself … careless of what others may think … a little too independent … and proud in his own domain?"

"I don't know about that at all. But I am going to tell you something now, and you may be angry or not as you please," said Käthchen; and she went up to her friend, and put her hand on her arm: perhaps she wanted to watch the expression of her face: "Mamie," she said, "that man loves you."

CHAPTER V
A PIOUS PILGRIMAGE

All things appeared to be going well at Lochgarra: Mary was radiant and jubilant, and would pay no heed to Käthchen's underhand jibes and warnings. Her numerous schemes were thriving all along the line; she had orders for homespun webs and hand-knitted stockings far beyond what she could execute in the coming winter; she had been guaranteed two fishing-boats, with their furnishing of nets, for the next season; she was in treaty for more looms, for which there would be abundant employment; and to add to all this, the as yet ungarnered harvest – that poor, scattered, patchwork harvest, among the sterile rocks – promised a fair return if only the weather would leave it alone. But it was the attitude of the people towards her that warmed her heart. Since her open association with young Donald of Heimra, a miracle had been wrought in this neighbourhood; the dumb could speak; men and women who had sulkily turned away from the ban-sassunnach, shaking their heads, now managed to find quite sufficient English to answer her, and would ask her into their cottages, and offer her of their little store. Even the sad-faced, silent, morose Peter Grant, of the inn, had been brought to see that there might be something in Miss Stanley's proposals. If he were to take the April fishing on the Garra at an annual rental of £15, she providing a water-bailiff, and if, by advertising in the sporting papers, he were to find two gentlemen who would pay him £25 for the month's salmon-fishing, and use the inn at the same time, would not that serve? Peter (committing one illegal act in order to prevent another) could give an occasional glass of whiskey to the rosy-cheeked policeman: the placid and easy-going Iain, having little else to do, could now and again stroll down to the bridge of a morning or evening – there would be no fear of poachers at that end of the water.

But it was over the terrible rascal and outlaw, Gillie Ciotach, that she obtained (as she thought) her most signal triumph. She sent for that notorious scamp to thank him for the couple of lythe he had presented to her; and one evening the Gillie Ciotach sauntered along towards Lochgarra House, his fisherman clothes as clean as might be, and a brand-new Balmoral set jauntily on his short brown curls. When he arrived at the house, he dismissed a quid of tobacco he had been chewing, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and ascended the steps. Barbara received him, and went and told her mistress, who directed her to bring some whiskey into the hall. Then Mary came down.

"Good evening!" said she, rather nervously, to this young fellow with the bold brown eyes and the heavy scar across his forehead, who stood twirling his Balmoral in his fingers. "Won't you be seated? I hope I have not put you to any inconvenience. The fact is, I wished to thank you for your kindness in leaving the two stenlock for me – I am sorry I was out – and – and perhaps you will take a glass of whiskey – will you help yourself?"

For Barbara had brought in a little tray, and placed it on the hall-table, and retired. Now, when the Gillie Ciotach received this invitation, which he had no thought of refusing, he went to the table; and finding there a tumbler, a wineglass, a decanter, and a carafe of water, and being far too polite to think of drinking by himself, he filled the wine-glass with whiskey, and half-filled the tumbler with the same fluid, and brought the former, as being the more elegant of the two, to Miss Stanley.

"Oh, no, thank you," said she, with an involuntary shudder.

"No, mem?" said he, in great surprise. "Well, well, now!" But not to waste good liquor he poured the contents of the wine-glass into the tumbler, and took that between his hands as he sate down, nursing it, as it were, while he listened respectfully.

"But first of all," she said, with a fine effort at jollity and good-comradeship, "I ought to know your real name, you know; I don't consider nicknames fair – even although they may not be meant to be nicknames. And I wish to be good friends with everybody in the place – and to get to know all about them – "

"Aw, my own name?" said the Gillie Ciotach, after having, with careful manners, sipped a little of the whiskey. "Aw, it's just Andrew Mac Vean."

"Very well, then, Andrew, I am very pleased to see you; and I am sure we shall be friends; and I wished to say, besides, that I hope everything will go peaceably here, and that there will be no more riotous proceedings, like the assault on the lobster-fishermen at Ru Minard – "

"Aw, God, that was a fine thing!" cried the Gillie Ciotach, with a loud laugh that led Mary to suspect he must have had a glass, or even two, before coming along. "Aw, it was a fine thing, that! And Miss Stanley has only to send us word, as she did before, and we'll drive the squatters into the sea – them and their traps, and their huts, ahltogether into the sea! Never mind where they settle! – you send to me, mem, and we will drive the duvvles into the sea, and let them tek their chance of swimming the Minch! – "

"But what do you mean?" she said, angrily. "What word did I send you? Do you imagine I authorized those mad and cruel proceedings? I bade Big Archie tell those men what the Fishery Board had said – that they had no right there; I did not ask you to drive the poor men out with sticks and stones, and set fire to their huts with petroleum. I don't want any such on-goings: why, it is monstrous that the people should take the law into their own hands, and get the neighbourhood a bad name for rioting."

"It's the God's truth, mem, and many's the time I was telling them that," said the Gillie Ciotach, solemnly. "But ye see, mem, there's some wild duvvles about here; and they're neither to hold nor to bind; but I'll tell them what Miss Stanley says, that there's to be no more fighting; and if a man is determined to fight, then we'll chist fell him with a chair, and fling him below the table until he gets sober. It's a peaceable neighbourhood: why should there be any fighting in it? – but for these duvvles! – "

"I am glad you think so," said Mary, very gratefully. "And then there's another thing – the poaching. Now, is it fair? I ask you if it is fair – "

"It's a b – y shame!" said the Gillie Ciotach to himself, as he bent his head to sip a little more whiskey.

"Because look what I am doing, Andrew," she went on, probably not having heard the penitent exclamation. "I want you to understand. I am having the ground shot over, moderately, by the keepers, and the game sent to Inverness and sold there to pay wages, and the cost of the kennels, and so on; and in that way I can afford to keep the gillies in employment. And I do think it is hardly fair that there should be poaching. I get no good out of the game – except a bird or two now and again for the house, or a brace or two to send away. Of course, I don't believe that there is very much poaching – for the keepers know their business too well; but it is disgraceful there should be any – "

"I declare to ye, mem," said the Gillie Ciotach, in tones of the most earnest conviction, "that if I was to come across one of them d – d scoundrels – I beg your pardon, mem – I meant to say there was one or two bad men about here, that mebbe would tek a hare if they found her sitting in her form – or – or a salmon; and as sure's death, mem, if I was to catch one of them scoundrels, I would bind him hand and foot with a heather rope, and I would fling him down in front of Hector's cottage, and I would say 'Hector, off with him to Dingwall!'"

This was almost too much of zeal.

"Andrew," said she, slowly, and she looked at him, "I have heard it said that even you yourself – "

"Me, mem?" he exclaimed, quick to repel this unspoken accusation. "Me, mem? Miss Stanley is not going to believe that! There's a great many liars about here, mem, and there's not one of them I would believe myself; and tekking away any one's character like that! I would just like to brek the bones of any one that I heard talking like that about me – begooh, I would shove his teeth down his throat!"

"Well, I won't detain you any longer, Andrew," said she – and he drained off the whiskey, and smoothed out the ribbons of his Balmoral. "I am glad to hear that there is to be no more fighting or poaching; for I want the neighbourhood to have a good name; and there are plenty of other and better occupations for the young men."

She went with him to the door. Suddenly something seemed to occur to the Gillie Ciotach.

"Would Miss Stanley be caring for two or three sea-trout now and again?" said he, in a casual kind of way.

Instantly she fixed her eyes on him.

"Sea-trout? – where are you getting sea-trout, Andrew?" she demanded. "Do you mean to say you have a scringe-net?"

For one brief moment the Gillie Ciotach looked disconcerted and guilty; but only for a moment.

"Aw, no, mem. A scringe-net? Is it a scringe-net? Aw, I'm sure there's no one would use a scringe-net about here!" he declared, assuming further and further an air of innocence as he went on. "The sea-trout? – well, mebbe they would be in the herring-nets – and mebbe a happening one would come on to the bait-lines – and – and mebbe the one way or the other; but if Miss Stanley not wishing to have them – "

"Why, isn't this the very time they go up the rivers to spawn!" she exclaimed. "And what a shame it would be to take them now!"

"Indeed, indeed, and that's the God's truth, mem," said the Gillie Ciotach, with a serious air. "It's at this very moment. And who would tek them? Who would put a scringe-net round the mouth of the ruvvers at a time of the year like this? Not a man about here, anyway. Aw, sea-trout? – who would think of tekkin sea-trout now? Well, good evening, mem; and I am thanking Miss Stanley for her kindness – yes, yes, indeed."

And therewith the Gillie Ciotach went down the steps, fumbling in his pocket for his pipe; while Mary returned to relate the story of this momentous interview to Käthchen – perhaps with some few judicious reservations. For if all that the Gillie Ciotach professed was not quite to be believed, at least it was something that so desperate a dare-devil had the grace to affect being on the side of virtue; and Mary chose to flatter herself that, now he had shown himself in a measure amenable, she would sooner or later complete his conversion – to the general quieting of the country-side.

And of course an account of this, her latest conquest, had to be written out forthwith and despatched to Heimra. Indeed, it was remarkable how constant had become the communication between the island and the shore, now that Donald Ross had returned for a few days to his own home. Big Archie's lugger was continually being requisitioned, to take out a note and wait for an answer; while Coinneach and Calum, when they came to meet the mail, would be intercepted by the swift-footed Barbara, and entrusted with a message. Käthchen was convinced that the replies that came back from Eilean Heimra were kept and secretly pondered over: more than once she had seen Mary thrust a paper into her pocket when someone had suddenly come upon her. And she noticed that when they two were walking along the shore, her companion's attention would sometimes be so steadily and wistfully fixed on the distant island – which sometimes was dark and misty under trailing clouds of rain, and sometimes shining fair amid a wonder of blue seas and sunlight – that when she was spoken to she would look startled, as if summoned out of a dream.

One day there arrived, addressed to Miss Stanley, a wooden box that had the name of a well-known London florist printed on the label. The contents were a mass of flowers, all of them white; and Mary herself saw them taken out and carefully placed in water – for the pale wax-like buds of the tuberoses were hardly yet opened. Then she went to Kate Glendinning.

"Käthchen," she said, rather diffidently, "don't you think it is rather a sad thing, the lonely grave out there?"

"Do you mean at Heimra, Mamie?"

"Yes. It seems so hard that no one has ever a chance of showing sympathy – either with the dead or living. I have sent for some flowers; do you think we could go out and place them on the grave – without being seen?"

Käthchen was silent: it did not appear a very feasible project.

"I have been thinking it over," Mary continued, in the same humbly apologetic, almost shamefaced way – though what there was to be ashamed of Käthchen could not make out. "And, you see, if we landed at the little bay, he would be sure to come down to meet us, and – and we should have to tell him – and – and there are things you can't speak of. I would rather have this done quite unknown – as if it were by the hand of a stranger: perhaps I should like it better if Mr. Ross himself never knew. However, I was wondering if we could not get out to the west coast of the island without being seen, and then if there was a chance of our being able to get up to the top of the cliff that way. What do you think, Käthchen?"

"Let us go along and ask Big Archie," said Käthchen, with promptitude: and that suggestion commending itself to her friend, both of them at once went off and got ready, and proceeded to walk down through the village.

Big Archie they found on the beach, screwing the nails into a lobster-box. Käthchen put the matter briefly before him – telling him frankly the object of the expedition, and explaining their reasons for secrecy. The huge, heavy-shouldered fisherman listened attentively, stroking his voluminous beard the while.

"Well, mem," said he, in his plaintive Argyllshire intonation, "I am thinking it would be easy enough to get out to the island, for we could go round by the norse side. If the wind wass holding as it is now, we would lie aweh up the coast there, and if anyone on Heimra wass seeing the lugger, they would think I wass mekkin for the Eddrachilles fishing-banks; and then, when we were far enough we would put about and run down to the back of the island, and mek in for the shore. I am thinking there would be no diffeekwulty about that – aw, no, mem; we could get round to the back of the island ferry well; but it is the next thing that would be the sore thing for leddies to try – "

"You mean climbing up to the top of the cliff?" said Käthchen.

"Chist that! It's a terrible rough place the west side of Heimra," said Gilleasbuig Mor. "And where the big white stone is, it is fearful high."

"Mamie," said Käthchen, turning to her friend, "wouldn't it be better for you to send Archie out with some young lad who is used to the coast, and they could put the flowers on the grave for you?"

"I wish to place them there with my own hand," said Mary, simply. "But you needn't come, Käthchen."

"Of course I will, though!"

"Well, mem," said Big Archie, "I am not sure whether you will be able to get to the top that way, but we can go out and see whatever. And if the wind would hold till to-morrow morning, it would be a very good wind, both for going and coming."

"Very well, then, Archie," said Mary; "to-morrow morning we shall be ready to start between nine and ten."

The wind did hold, as it proved; and long before the young ladies made their appearance Big Archie and his assistant had the lugsail hoisted and the cumbrous craft smartened up as much as might be. Then he sent the lad along to Lochgarra House to see if there was anything to be fetched; but there was only a couple of waterproofs; when Mary and her friend came out, the former was herself carrying a small basket, containing the freshly-sprinkled flowers.

And so they set forth – making away in a north-westerly direction, which would have led anyone to imagine they were either going to certain well-known fishing-banks or that they intended to pay some visit not at all in the Heimra direction. But when at length they had got well out beyond the most northerly spur of the island, Big Archie altered his course, and bore down south, until they were quite near to these giant ramparts facing the Atlantic main. And already it appeared to the two girls that this expedition of theirs was a quite hopeless one. They were, it is true, under the lee of the island, and the water was smooth, so that they could get ashore wherever they wished; but who could scale those sterile and sombre precipices that, further to the south, rose sheer from the water, and seemed to afford not even foothold for a goat? Even Big Archie was discouraged.

"No, mem," he said to Miss Stanley, "it is no use going aweh down there to where the big white stone is. There's no luvvin crayture could get up – it's far worse than I wass remembering it. But if we went ashore here where we are, and tried to get up one of them corries, then mebbe we could get along the top. Will ye try that, mem?"

"Whatever you like, Archie," said she – the aspect of that frowning, lonely, precipitous coast seemed to have overawed her.

And indeed when they did eventually choose a landing-place, and when they began to look around them, the arduous nature of their task became abundantly apparent. First of all there were the tumbled rocks on the shore to be got over or avoided; then they proceeded up a narrow watercourse that here cleaved the land into a deep ravine; and this they ascended for some distance, scrambling up the loose wet shingle and stones. Big Archie led the way, and also he carried the little basket, for the two girls had frequently need of both hands to help them along, especially when they left the water-course, and began to force a path through the stunted birches that lined the sides of the chasm. It was a thicket of short trees, with intertwisted branches; while underfoot the long heather and bracken concealed loose, angular stones perilous to the ankle. Sometimes they had to pause, from absolute want of breath; and Big Archie, looking back, would also stop. But no one made any suggestion of giving up: there must be light and open space somewhere, if only one could win to the summit.

So they toiled and toiled on, in silence, startling now a fox and now a rabbit, until, at length, the stunted trees gave way to bushes, and these in turn gave way to knee-deep heather. It was still difficult to get along; but at least they had reached the open, and were presumably approaching the high plateaus: turning, they could look abroad over the wide Atlantic, the vast plain not showing one single ship. Their own boat, far below, was out of sight, so steep was this ascent they had made.

Here they rested for a minute or two, after their long and breathless struggle.

"One thing is quite certain, Mamie," said Käthchen, in rather a low voice, so that the big fisherman should not overhear, "When Mr. Ross finds these flowers on the grave, he will know very well who put them there."

"I am not sure that I want him to know," Mary answered, in an absent way. "I think I almost wish he were not to know. If he were to consider it merely a little kindness from some stranger – that would be better, it seems to me – it would be quite disinterested – "

"Why, what stranger could have managed to land on Heimra without being seen?" Käthchen asked; and as there was no answer to the question, they resumed their difficult progress, getting momentarily higher as they went along the summit of the cliffs.

But all at once Big Archie, who was some distance in front, halted, ducked his head, and immediately turned and came back.

"Miss Stanley, mem, Mr. Ross himself is there," said he.

"Mr. Ross!" said she, with frightened eyes.

"Ay. He is sitting on the heather, not far from the big white stone, and he is reading a book," said Big Archie. "He is often up there, mem. I am seeing him often and often when I am going by in the boat."

Mary turned to her companion, with her face aghast.

"We must go away back, Käthchen, and at once," she said, in a hurried undertone. "The embarrassment would be too dreadful. If he could imagine it was some stranger brought the flowers, that would be all right; but to go up to him – before his face – to make a parade – he would wonder what kind of creatures we were."

Käthchen hardly knew what to say. She had no more mind to go forward than her friend had; and yet she guessed with what a heavy heart, with what regretful lookings-back, Mary would set out on her voyage home again.

"Let us sit down and rest awhile," she said, at a venture.

But at this very instant Big Archie returned.

"Mr. Ross, mem, he has got up, and he is going aweh down the hill," he said, in an eager whisper.

"You are sure he is not coming this way?" she said, quickly.

"No, no, mem – come a bit forrit, and you will see."

So they followed, with rather timorous steps and anxious glances, the big fisherman; and at last they just caught a glimpse of Donald Ross making his way down the hill by the winding pathway leading up to this little plateau. And here was the large white block of marble, with its deep-graven letters of gold shining in the sunlight. Mary regarded this inscription with some curious fancies in her mind.

"I wish I had known her," she murmured, apparently to herself, as she took the white flowers out of the basket and reverently placed them on the stone. It was a simple ceremony – up here on the lofty crest of this solitary island, between the wide, over-arching sky and the far-extending plain of the sea.

Then they went back along these silent and lonely cliffs, and got down to the boat in safety; returning to the mainland, as they hoped, unobserved. Mary Stanley was unusually absorbed and thoughtful during the rest of that day; and only once did she refer to their visit to Heimra.

"It seems strange, Käthchen, does it not," she said, musingly, "that he should go away up there to read? … Do you think it is perhaps for some sense of companionship? … That would be strange, wouldn't it, in a young man?.." And Käthchen did not venture to reply: she could not even conjecture what secret influences, what mysterious cogitations, might not have prompted such a question.

But Kate herself grew to wonder whether Donald Ross had become aware of that thoughtful little act of kindness and sympathy; and whether, and in what way, he would make recognition of it. This was what happened. Some two days after their visit to the island Mary chanced to be standing at one of the windows, when she suddenly called to her companion —

"Käthchen, there's a boat coming out from Heimra."

She went quickly and got her binocular telescope, and returned to the window.

"It's the Sirène!" she exclaimed.

"He has seen those flowers," Kate Glendinning said quietly.

Mary turned to her friend, with something of concern in her look.

"And if he has, Käthchen, I hope he won't speak of them. Don't you think it would be better – if nothing were said? Besides, you don't know that he is coming here at all."

But there was little doubt; and, in fact, on getting ashore, young Ross made straight for the house. When he was announced in the drawing-room, Mary happened to be standing near the door – perhaps with the least touch of conscious colour in the beautiful face. He, on the contrary, was pale, and calm, and self-possessed as usual; only, when he took her hand in his, he held it for a second.

"I thank you," he said, in rather a low voice: that was all – and it was enough.

But presently it appeared that his visit had some other aim; for when he sate down they saw that he had brought a small parcel with him; and presently he said —

"I am going to ask a favour of you, Miss Stanley; and I hope you won't refuse. I have brought a little present, if you will be so kind as to accept it: you may look on it as a souvenir of your visit to Heimra – for perhaps you remember the piece of lace you looked at – "

She remembered very well; it was the exquisite Spanish mantilla to which Käthchen had drawn her attention. And it was not because this sumptuous piece of work was of great value that she hesitated about accepting it: would it not look like despoiling the dead woman? Instantly he appeared to divine her thought.

"If my mother were alive," he said, simply, "she would ask you to take it – and from her, not from me."

So there was no alternative: Mary silently accepted the gift. Nor was there any further word or hint on either side about that pious and secret pilgrimage to Heimra Island; but Donald Ross knew whose hand it was that had placed those flowers on the white grave.

One evening, about this time, two men were dining together in the Station Hotel, Inverness, in a corner of the long coffee-room; and these two were Mr. David Purdie, solicitor and agent, and Mr. James Watson, who was on his way through to his sheep-farm of Craiglarig. But if they were dining together, their fare was very different; for while the fresh-complexioned, twinkling-eyed farmer was content with such simple vegetarian dishes as an ordinary hotel could devise at short notice, the Troich Bheag Dhearg was attacking an ample plateful of boiled beef and carrots, while a decanter of port stood near to his elbow.