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Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont film^s en commenpant par la premidre page qui comports une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparaftra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole —^ signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN ". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s A des taux de reduction diff6rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6, il est film6 d partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. t 2 3 4 5 6 t SHEILA ,*? ■ \ 8T ANNIE S. SWAN (Miis. liruNKTT Smith) AVTBOR OF 'gates OK F.UEN,' ' BKIAR AND PALM 'ST. VEDA 'a/ BIC. ■£,V>:h. TORONTO, CANADA WILLIAM BRIGGS EDINBURGH and LONDON OLIPHANT» ANDERSON & FBRRIBR 1889 5 C^^5ine. OoO <: o n^ I ih f) r I0(o ^ Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine, by William Brioos, Book Steward of ihe Methodist Booli and Publishing House, Toronto, at the Department of Agriculture. % ■1 TO HER GRACE /: DUCHESS-DOWAGER OE AT HOI! -iJ-4>9. LlD)\ J /ay tlu',c /, V'AVf nt thy fe,t It liL (fs f/!on /(■ {•Noh'it anicif- /,'i, '//, / ■/ /' V/V,.t. />'\' t/w s-.vijtjl.wui- St, rant, iv/iusc mu Hears in its tone t/i. niinn ■/■ >' ninsic of t/it pa.st. in,/ if t/ie record of t/u \'t un: /; I he fer/tifj^r^' ,,f ■c r fs ///(■ // A'j'. t/ie ercss (>f p, U7,n. u' /, /<■// < n earth it is nuu/i (■ inert fur JJcav n ■ '^*"''^'''^ '^' ffdne a tender mem rv Of otiier days, whien t/iat />n^/it radian' /i:ht, t'he love whih i\- /if ... ■■, a //A// n /,j , uo7i'n, i.lujinned thine. It is enough : J /ay it at t/iy feet. f As. Ml'. S. Swan. F i r» 1 I NOTE. T::r.t tnle has aln-ady nj^peared in s( ii;;l foi m iiinlcr tlu> title of '<''\i :• till' Hills aii'l J'ar Away. Tin- c!:.ni.:«' las Ia-cu icuiU'red in'i' sr.'U'y 1-y tlio fact that tho fornuT title has b''.":i cojyi'JL'litcil by aii(;lliur author. Anmk S. Swan. \ CHA I. II. HI. IV, V. ■ ^ '• ■V II VIII. IX. t X. XI. „ X I ; 1 . I >:iv. : X v . X' I. : xv:i. , * X \ I ; 1 4 CONTENTS. CHAP. I. THE laird's WOOIN'O, . II. IJllOTHKU AND SIMKK, . III. LAUV AII.SAS (/I'lNloN, . IV. WKLCOMK 1H»M|;, V. TIIK K'I1:K of AMCMIKK, \ I. T!l •. MTIIKK M]LLsT;!V. M.MAOI.M, . , aV. rN( [,K (iU.MIAM, X> I. MiiTiiKii AND SOS, , x\:i. ciiiMs, iX\ III ID Mr: AGAIN, FAQB 9 19 28 37 46 55 63 72 84 93 103 113 122 130 139 148 167 166 vu viii CONTENTS, CHAr XIX. THE LAST MFF.TINa, . XX. AN INWKLCtJMK IN IMUDKIl, XXI. 'KARKWKLL To LoCIIAIlKU,* XXII. SHKILA's INIIEIUTANCE, XX I II. I'LANS, XXIV. tiif: awakening, XXV. II MR, XXVI. IIKII OWN FOLK, XXVIL IIEU UESOLVE, XX ^ III. COUSINS, XXIX. SCIIKMINO STILL, XXX. love's youNo dream, XXXI. IN BITTI IINKSS OF SOUL, XXXH. AIAsTAIR's WOCINO, . XXXI IL THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR, XXX I v. NEW year's MORN, . XXXV. SIGNS OF EVIL, XXXV I MY WIFE, XXXVII. A DARK NIGIIT, . XXXVIII. PEACE, XXXIX. MACDONALD's LAST WILL, XL. *THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN'. XLI. A maiden's HEART, . XLii. 'a JUDRKCIOUS FRICUT,' XLXII. love's CROWN, p.\or. ir. 1 5.1 I 4m 11 'li\ Sil) s 2".-} £;:. 27; 2ril 2!)0 L'!):) 307 315 ^^^V 323 ^ 331 ^K 338 ik^ 345 admin 353 boiste 361 ' 871 close wiTe iiiingi under face 1 lier }•( fi years. i bro>vr] so lik« iS line? PAor E^^aS^JF 2il £';.■) 27; 281 2i);) 307 315 323 331 3r>8 345 353 SGI 371 SHEILA. CHAPTER I. THE laird's WOOINO. •Might we but share one wihl caress, Ere lilu's autumnal blossouis fall 1 ' 0. "W. HOLMM. IlEILA, are you ever a moment still ? You'll have every spring in ninmma's poor old couch brokeii.' The reproof was very genily uttered, in a sweei, caressing voice, but the child to wiiom it was administered felt it to be a reproof, and, desisting from her boisterous gambolling with Tory, her little fox territr, cnme close to her mother's side and looked up into her fuce. They were mother and child, though one woidd scaicely have imagined it. The mother's goldt n brown hair was confimd under a close widow's cap, but the sweet, somewhat careworn face under it seemed only a girl's. Edith Murray had k« pt her youth well, though she had been a widow for nearly five y<*ars. Her white hand rested lovingly on the child's tumbled bro>vn curls, and she smiled into the large, soft, hazel eyes, so likp her own, which were uplifted to her face. 'Well, Sheihs what now?' * Cun Anne take me, mamma, away up the river, Tory and me ? I m so tired staying in the house.' xo SHEILA, 'Not to-day, darling. Mamma will need you by and by. But you and Tory may go out to the garden for a frolic, ocly don't let him chew Anne's linen bleaching on the grass.' * Very well, mamma, thank you. Come, Tory, Tory ; oh, you dear, funny little dog I ' She went through the wide open window on to the little lawn like an arrow, Tory tumbling and rolling on the top of her, chewing her sash ribbons and snapping at her toes. They were both babies, and the one enjoyed the fun as much as the other. Sheila Murray, the widow's one child, and therefore boundlessly precious, seemed to bear a charmed life. She was filled with frolic and fun, and was never a moment still from the time the big hazel eyes opened in the morning till the sleepy lids drooped over them at night. But though she had been in perils oft, and had been nearly drowned in the swift Tay more than once, her escapes neither sobered nor frightened her. She did not even know the meaning of fear. It was not often Edith Murray sat with idle hands, but after child and dog had disappeared through the high privet hedge into the back garden, she sat quite still, looking in the direction they had taken, but her thoughts had not followed them. 'It is for the child's sake,' she whispered to herself after a while. * And what have I to do with the world, or the world with me? ' It was as if she had been balanced between two opinions, hesitating between two diverging paths, and had suddenly found strength of mind to decide. Her face cleared of its anxious expression, and a kind of sunny brightness seemed to pervade her whole being. But she was feeling nervous, for, in spite of her outward self-control, her hands trembled when he took up the little frock she had been embroidering for her child. Though still young in years, Edith Murray was old in the experience of life. She was English by birth, and connected with a very old Lincolnshire Aimily. But the branch to which she belonged had been very poor, and when she found herself early orphaned, she had to face the world in her search for dully bread. She had rich a,nd titled relations, but they knew THE LAIRD'S WOOING, II >y and by. frolic, ocly ss.' Tory ; oh, > the little the top of 568. They luch as the 1 therefore life. She ament still orning till hough she led in the bered nor of fear. I, but after ivet hedge B direction ved them. If after a the world opinions, suddenly ed of its s seemed nervous, trembled ►roidering d in the onnecred to which ^ herself ;arch for ley knew I not the poor, obscure girl who made an appeal for their aid. They advised her to try the usual medium throuj;h which teacJiing appointments are to be got, and washed tlieir hands of her. That bitter sting remained long in Edith Chesney's {▼entie heart; but she was fortunate beyond others of her class in finding a home and friends among strangers. She left England to become governess in the family of a Scotch baronet, whose residence was in Perthshire, five miles from the ancient and picturesque town of Dunkeld. Sir Douglas Murray himself was a stiff, proud, unyielding man, whom not m.iny loved; but his wife, Lady A.ilsa, was one of the sweetest and best of women. Although an earl's daughter herself, she made the friendless orphan feel truly at home in Murrayshaugh, and among her four boy pupils Edith Chesney was very happy. She liad not been long an inmate of the house, however, when Alastair Murray, Sir Douglas's brother, a lieutenant in the 93rd Highlanders, fell in love with the sweet, gentle, gracious girl who taught his brother's boys. Of course there was the usual opposition from the bridegroom's family. Not only did they object to the marriage from motives of pride, but also of prudence, for Alastair had not a farthing in the world but his 1 eutenant's pay. But when did young love over count pounds, shillings, and pence? They were married, and though barrack life had its drawbacks, and it was no easy task to lay out their meagre income judiciously, they were ridiculous enough to be perfectly happy and contented for a few brief months in Edinburgh Castle, unfil the gallant 93rd was ordered to the Crimea. Then husband and wife parted, not knowing they should meet no more on earth. When Edith was ill at Murrayshaugh, and a week-old baby in the cot, the news came home that Lieutenant Alastair Murray had fallen in the trenches before Sebastopol. The poor young widow and her baby-daughter were thus left entirely dependent on the Murray s. Sir Douglas did his duty, as he saw it, but it was done in a spirit which could not fail to wound a sensitive soul. He gave her one of his own cottages in Birnam, paid her servant's wages, and gave her fifty pounds a year. This, Lady I'.i I !l tl SHEILA. Aiisa, out of the loving-kindness of her heart, and unknown indeed to her husband, supplemented with many a kind and handsome gift. Sir Douglas regarded his sister-in-law as a burden upon him, and one which ought never to have been laid upon him. But though he gave her of his substance grudgingly, he frowned her down when she had meekly suggested trying to earn her own living, as she had done previous to her marriage. ' Remember, Mrs. Alastair, you are one of " us " now,' he had said, with his haughty head high in the air, and the most unbending severity of look and tone. So poor Mrs. Ahistair could only eat meekly of the bread of charity, and how bitter slie found it to the taste no one but herself knew. But for her child's love, and the precious kindness of Lady Ailsa, she would have given way to despair. There were times, however, wheiA looking forward she did despair. Year by year, as Sheila grew older, expenses w^ere increasing. More cloth was required for the little frocks, and a few shillings more for boots and slippers — and what was to become of the child's future? Mrs. Alastair was a great deal alone, and she brooded over these things perhaps more than she ought. An occasional dinner at Murrayshaugh was her only experience of social life, and though she never failed to impress Lady Ailsa's guests with her sweetness and grace, the idea that any one could be specially interested in her never presented itself to her mind. She believed that she had lived her life, but she had that day received a great surprise — the greatest, ind'!>ed, which had ever ruffled the quiet curre-^t of her days. She took the letter from her pocke., and read it again for the twentieth time. It was very short, .ird very much to the point. The concluding sentences appealed to something in her heart she had fancied no power on earth could again awaken. *Yon are the only woman I have ever seen wiio ever cost me a second thought. If you will marry me, I will do my utmost to make you happy. What your answer may mean to me I can scarcely permit myself to think. Madam, 1 cannot wait for it. I will therefore call to-morrow afternoon to receive it from your own lips.' (lay fixe' I gate] and THE LAIRD'S WOOING, n \ unknown I kind and n-Iaw as a have been I substance ad meekly had done " now,' he d the most s. Alastair how bitter But for ■ Ailsa, she i, however, ', as Sheila IS required boots and 's future ? oded over occasional of social dy Ailsa's t any one 1 itself to , but she St, indeed, ays. She n for tlie to the ething in lid again seen who ne, I will wer may Madam, afternoon Such were the words Edith Murray had read so often ihat day that they seemed engraven on her heart. Her eyes were fixed upon them when she heard the sharp click of the gariltn gate and a firm step on the gravelled walk. Then the bell r;in>iulations they left her. \ ■ \ s iS SHEILA. M I ' What will Ellen Mucleod say, Douglas ? ' asked Lady Ailsa, iis tlu'y stopped into the carriage. ' Show her black Macdonald blood,' said Sir Douglas briefly. • Mrs. Alastair is quite a young womnn, and will bring an heir lo Djiiniorc, so Fergus Macleod will be put out.* Lady Ailsa sighed ; she seemed to see trouble ahead. ' Fergus Mucleod will have his mother's portion, Douglas,* she saitl. ' He does not need Dahnore.' ' The mother's portion cannot be much. I don't think there is money among the Macdonalds, and if Ellen ^L»cleod offends Dalniore just now, she and her boy may find themselves badly enough off.' ' She will be certain to do that,' said Lady Ailsa, rather sadly. ' She was almost rude to Mrs. Alastair the last time they all dined at Murrayshaugh. I should think Ellen Macleod could make a great deal of unhappiness if she chose.' ' Well, well, let them fight their own battles,' said Sir Douglas, dismissing the subject. ' M Mrs. Alastair becomes Lady of Dalniore and Findowie, she can afford to snap her fingers at Ellen Macleod.' 1 r 1 t ^^^^ CO* '-at Lady Ailsa, glas V)riefly. ring an heir ead. n, Douglas/ , think there cleod offends selves badly A-ilsa, rather he last time think Ellen she chose.' ?s,' said Sir tair becomes to snap her CHAPTER a BROTHER AND SISTER. *0 haughty heart, hard girt about with the grim panoply of self.* ALMORE had a ten miles' ride before him, but he was in no hurry to reach home. The reins lay loosely on the mare's glossy neck, and she took her own time ascending the hill from Birnam. It was I a warm, sultry summer night; a haze of heat hung low in the I valleys, and made mysterious mist-wreaths along the mountain- i sides. Here and there the silver crest of a birch tree would Ipeep out weirdly from the hillside, or the tall head of some |^gi;int beech or oak would stand out strangely from the sea of I mist in the low grounds, but the Laird had no attention for ilhose things. Any one meeting hiii» could have told that he |was deeply absorbed in thought, but what these thoughts were |it would have been difficult to determine from the expression Ion his f;ice. It was a strange, striking face ; rugged, powerful, ffiuggcstive of extraordinary strength of mind and will, but piving but little indication, if any, of the finer feelinf^'s which |be:iutify human character. His heavy brows were knit, his ynoiuh set in a grim, stern curve ; but in his downcast eyes ^here shone a curious liglit, for Graham Macdonald was think- tng of the woman he loved. He had met her years ago at klurrayshaugh, where she was governess to the children of Sir ^ Ml 1) !i - !. •0 SHEILA, I i:i^ I \\ \ Dotiglas, and had been drawn to her then, tliongh she was hut a pill, and he a man of middle age. But Alastair Murray was before Ijirn, and if Dal had more uau ever lesney, her marriage wit med any swtet h th iny 'ireams of Edith Chesney, ner marru»ge witn iiie younger Murray dispelled it. So lie returned to his lonely dwelling on the slope of bleak Crorn Creagh, and took up again the routine of his life, but somehow it seemed to possess less of intere.st or pleasures for him. A few months after Edith Chesney's marriage, the minister of Meiklemore, the husband of Mac- donald's only sister, Ellen died suddenly, and left her with one little boy of two years. It seenied the most natural thing in the world that Ellen Macdonald should return to Dalmore, and tliere she had dwelt in peace and security for three years. ^Vhat castles she may have built for her own boy we shall learn hereafter. She had not the remotest idea that Lady Murray's governess could even have possessed the slightest interest for her brother. He was not a marrying man, nor one of those who lavished attentions on ladies He had rather the reputation of being a bore and a misanthrope ; therefore Ellen Macleod apprehended no evil. x\s for imagining that Mrs. Alastair, the Muriays* poor relation, could be a lion in her path, she would have drawn herself up with indiirnation at tlie j mere suggestion of such a thing. Ellen Macdonald was a his har touch, the iui jrioriouj (jiiaich. sheet oi ing hil Creagh, cither pile, its set sky. suggest i great es the grir in Glen* hard Ian just mar him. T the little winding Fraochie chain uj solemn b proud, haughty, hard-natured woman. How she had stooped tc^a fret the i many the poor minister of Meiklemore, though he was a Macleod i Tl Oi Piileoch, was a mystery not solvable by any who knew her. p the publi looking thrnuffh The Laird rode slowly, thinking of the woman he ha(]| left. Away in the ftir distance he could see the mist-crowned 't cap of Crom Creagli, in whose shadow stood the home shei and finall would one day brighten with her presence. It needed some- 1 thing to brighten it; it was a house, but no home, and nevei n^ had been. If Macdonald was morose and unloveable, he had'^ had no early training or sweeter influences to foster the 1 better part of his nature. Grim Highland pride, fierce Higli- J land temper, had been allowed to run rampant among the ;^ Macdonalds through every generation. A thought of Ellen '1 came to him as he caught sight of Crom Creagh, and moment- arily he set himself straight in the saddle, and tightened le c; A few sti \\as no J hare, unr v.ihl beai liglit and peifect fr heaven, deep-root exchangee 1 \ \v BROTHER AND SISTER, 21 she was but Murray was any sweet lie younger dwelling on tl»e routine ; of interest h Cliesney's nd of M:ie- •ft her with lost naturiil d return to I security tor ; her own hoy ; est idea that tlie sli '^ 30 SHEILA. \\ il \^t ' I did not tell Macdonald of it, Ailsa, as I am afnid — he is so sensitive where I am concerned — that he would have sent lier away.' ' Well, well, don't let us speak about her any more. When is the marriage likely to take place ? ' ' The date is fixed,* returned Mrs. Alastair shyly ; * the twenty-first of September.' ' And this is the ninth of August, child. There is no time to prep.l!re. Of course you know the wedding will take place at Murrayshaugh ? ' ' We talked of being married in Edinburgh, Ailsa. This is such a prying, gossiping place.' ' Let them pry and gossip,' laughed Lady Ailsa. * It can be as quiet as you like, but it shall be at Murrayshaugh and nowhere else. You can tell Macdonald that, with my kind compliments. Since you are going to cast off the Murrays, it must be done gracefully ; and Ellen Macleod shall see that she stands alone in her senseless disapproval of the wisest step her brother ever took in his life.* ' Cast off the Murrays ! ' repeated Mrs. Alastair, and her tears rose. ' If I ever forget what you have been to me, Ailsa, since the first day I entered Murrayshaugh, a nameless dependent, may I suffer for it 1 ' ' Hush, my darling ! we have made you suffer too. My heart has been sore against my husband often on your account. Many times has he made the wound I could never heal. It is an unspeakable source of gratitude to me that at last you will be able to hold your own against us with all our pride. This marriage is a perfect joy to me, Edith, and all the Ellen Mr'.cU'cds in the world won't damp it.' Both were agitated, and there were traces of it in their looks and manner, when the servant announced Mr. Macdonald. Lady Ailsa sprang up, brushed away her tears, and was ready to meet the Laird with a smile. As he entered the room she could not but be struck by his noble bearing, and note the exquisite softening which a woman's sweet influence had given to his hard face. She saw the light in his eyes as they dwelt on Kditb*s face, and her heart was content, for she 4 bring a c I me up to X. [(ji ' jji'i ZADY AILS A' S OPINION, 31 -he is e sent When ; *the o time B place This is can be gh and ly kind rrays, it ee that sest step ker tears ;rt, since jendent, ly heart account. It is ou will This Ellen ir looks d. nd was red the ng, and nfluence eyes as for she 'I knew that it was the love of a life her gentle sister-in-law had ^voii — a love which would shield and cherish her from tlie hhists of life. Love had indeed wrought a marvellous change ill Macdonald of Dalmore. ' What little bird whispered to you that Edith and I were talking about you?' laughed Lady Ailsa in her happy way. 'I do not suppose that you will care for anything so conven- tional as congratulations. Nevertheless, I do congratulate you, and I have known Edith much longer than you. You have won a prize, sir, which I fear we Murrays have not sufficiently appreciated. She spoke lightly, but with an undercurrent of earnestness which Graham Macdonald deeply felt. ' I thank you. Lady Ailsa. I pray I may be worthy of it,' he said, with a courtesy and grace which became him well. 'I have no fear for your happiness. Good-hye, Edith, darling. She will tell you what we have been talking about. No, I will not stay ; ' and almost before they could detain her, the warm-hearted lady of Murrayshaugh had flitted out of the room. ' Is Farquhar in your kitchen, Anne ? * she asked Mrs. Alastair's maid, as she met her in the stair. ' No, my lady ; he has gone over to the hotel to put up the horses.' 'Ah, just run over and tell him to bring back the carriage, as I am going farther on. I shall wait in the dining-room till he comes,' said Lady Ailsa, who had conceived a sudden plan. She was impulsive by nature, but the promptings of her heart were always in the right direction. ' Have we time, Farquhar, to drive to Dalmore and be back in time for Sir Douglas's train ? ' ' Dalmore, my lady ? ' asked the servant in surprise. ' Dalmore, above Amulree — you know it ? ' ' yes, my lady, I know it ; it is ten miles from here. No, there is not time ; it will take us three hours at least.' 'Ah, then, Lachlan can walk back to Murrayshaugh, and bring a dogcart for Sir Douglas ; Anne will tell him. Drive me up to Dalmore,' 'i It '• ? i 3« SHEILA, W There was nothing for Farquhar but to obey, though he felt himself aggrieved by this suilden and unexpected order. Ir was a long, toilsome road to Dalmore, and a cold, wet drizzle was begiiming to blow in the easterly wind. Mr. Farquluu's imperturbable countenance wore a shade of anxious gloom a-^ he turned his horses' heads up the hilly ascent. Lady Ailsa contemplated an errand of mercy. She wished to reason with, and, if possible, to conciliate Ellen Macleod, whom she had known since her girlhood, though she had not seen much of her for some years. But she knew the nature of Mrs. Alastair, and that the thought that Ellen Macleod regarded her with aversion and anger would eat the happiness out of her heart. Far(juhar was in no very good mood when he got his horses up the steep carriage-way to Dalnjore. He was an old and privileged servant, and sometimes spoke his mind with curious cnndour. 'Just look at the poor brutes, my lady,' he said, pointing to their foam-fl iked flanks. 'That road's enough to kill them. How folks can live in a wilderness like this, and expect other people's horseflesh to pull up their mountains, / don't know.' ' You make idols of the horses, Farquhar,' said Lady Ailsa good-naturedly. 'Take them into the stables and feed them well. I shall stay tea with Mrs. Macleod while I am here.' Ellen Macleod had seen the carriage mounting the hill, and lecognised the grey horses, l)ut scarcely expected to see Lady .Ailsa alone. She had made up her mind that 'that woman,' a> >lu' teimed Mrs. Alastair, had come to assert her right to be received at Dalmore. Dear me ! how uncharitable one woman can be to another when jealousy and anger are allowed to gain the mastery. Lady Ailsa perfectly divined her thoughts, and smiled as she shook hands with her. * No, I have not brought poor Mrs. Alastair to take you by storm, Ellen,' she said, with that sweet daring which character- ized her at times. 'I am not such an arch-plotter. Will you give me a cup of tea, and let me rest a little with you while visit Die bell-nipi *Yuui invir;irio your.seif iiideous you ever Lady J was evid, Macleod *s *I Iiav attractive ' What are not or tliere no g Ellen ]\ lighted firt 'Do sit 'Jiat she vv; you can tr jilead Mrs, Ellen M and her lip< 'i M'uulc please.' 'Hilt, Ell ov^f this thi f'Ut, arjd se "ow, that brother.' '1 have nt f''i'nsj)ijed. niiddie-ared [i:ii nl.ii I ; ' ' LADY A/LSA'S OPINION. 33 le felt r. It wished acleod, lad not iture of fgarded out of s horses old and curious inting to ill them. ^ expect / don't Ailsa feed lie 1 am y nd hill, and see Lady woman, ght to be woman to gain Ights, and [ake you Iharacter- -ill you ;ou whi^6 attonds to his pncioiis hors(>s? lie is much more concoriud about tbfir AVfll-hciiig fban liis niistress's coiivH'riii'nce.' It was iiM|)()ssil)le not to feci the cbann of that biiLiI t pr«'s«'nce, and Klh-n Maclcod's grim fa(;e relaxed. ' I am very glad to see yti«tair's cause.' Ellen Macleod sat down; a red spot burned on her cheek, and her lips compressed themselves together. 'I Would rather not speak of Mrs. Alastair, Ailsa, if you please.' ' But, Ellen, you must speak of her. If you go on brooding over this thing it will eat your heart out. Let us tu''n it inside out, and see the good as well as the ill in it. Confess, now, that it has made a wonderful improvement in your biother.' '1 have not noticed it. lie has been little at home since this ti'iuispired. There are no fools like old ones, Lady Ailsa, and a middle-ar;ed lover is generally a sorry spectacle. 1 am soiiy i I m rW 34 SHEILA, to see Macdonald makinc: himself a lauchinjr-stock ' was tlie iH sour re ply- 'How hard you are upon him, said Lady Ailsa pontly. Love mjikt'S us all a Httl<^ foolish. I saw Macdotiaid to-day at Mi's. Alastaii's, and I never admired him hefoic. Ell en. L fact, I have been rather sorry tor Edith ; you Macdon.dds art; ratiuT a fearsome race, you know.' 'Not fearsome enough to frighten //er,' said Ellen Macleod, with LM'im irony ; whicii Lady Ailsa passed over, so eager was slie to make peace in Dalniure. She leaned forward in her chair, with her fair white hands clasped on her knees, and fixed her soft blue eyes earnestly on the dark, forhiddin;."; face oj)posite. ' Ellen, all you can do now will not put ^facdonald past his purpose. Would it not be better to accept the inevitable gracefully, and do what you can to further his happiness? I am certain this marriage will be for his ha|)|)in(.'ss. Edith is dear woman. I am sure you will learn to love her. Don't a be tl le only shad ow on the 1 lai^niness o f I); ilmore Ellen ]\Licleod never spoke, nor did her countenance relax in the least. She fancied herself dee{)ly injured, and her anger burned causelessly against the inoilensive woman who had supplanted her. She was a proud, hard, jealous-minded W(mian, and Lady Ailsa's gentle pleading fell with very little effect on her ears. 'Macdonald is his own enemy, Lady Ailsa. He has not calculated what expense and extiavagance this step will lead him into. He will find a wife and family a very difTereiit matter to provide for from what it is at present. I have saveii money for him, and Heaven knows — what with grum'.'ling, ill- conditioned tenants, who shirk their rent paying, and thesi' hard times — there is need for retrenchment somewhere. Tiu' revenues of Dalmore and Fiiidowie combined would not sutlice to keep up an extravagant establishment.' 'Mrs Alastair will be more likely to diminish than increase the household expenditure. Her way of lil'e since her mai-iinLie — indeed, all her life — has taught her strict economy,' said Lmiy Ailsa, with a slight sigh, for her heart was heavier than it liaii Elle o/" a S" 'I I. niariiaj fiM'ling. Lady o so you Ar tl liis fair vellow I room, w 'Oh, hut stop Lady and «s|jL' lad drew close by heave as ' Mam file who l^ahnore Ellen 'That '"•r, and ftjr the St }<'ii not t ' Uncle '"'}■; and ' 1 mus M,M'ln,d, ; ■'"id has n( 'Ir is }, LAD Y AILS A 'S OPINION, 35 is the rontly. (l;iy at 1. In ds are ivclend, er was 2 liands islly on past liis u^ss V I Caitb is . Dou'l relax in er an'Jfcr woman, effect on has not Iwill lead different tve saved d'nvi, ill- bd these jre. The lot suilicL' incrtasf mani;i;-'- 5aid Lady Ian it li^'i bren wlipn she started on lier mission. * I assure you, yon are iniaL'iiiing troubles and ills which will never come. Do he |)('isiia(h'(l to make the Ix'st ..i* this, Ellen. Go down some day iind see Mrs. Alastair. Were 1 you, my pride would niake me do it.' Kllen >racleod's face grew yet more grim with the sternness ot" a s' tiled purpose. ' I have passed my word. I do not approve of this fooIi>h miiiiaj^e; and I caimot think her a woman of principle or t'l'tding. I will not humble myself to her. If she becomes Lady of D.dmnre she can afford to despise me, and will probably; so you must leave us alone, Lady Ailsa.' Ar that moment the door was thrown open, and little Fergus, Iiis fair face flushed with out-door exercise, and his tangled vellow hair t()S>ing on his open brow, came bounding into the room, with a wet and muddy collie at his heels. 'Oh, mamma, there is a carriage in the yard!' he cried, hut st(»pped short at the sight of the strange lady at the hearth. Lady Ailsa's motherly heart warmed to the bright- faced lad, and .she stretched out her hands to him with a smile. But the lad drew back with a shyness quite unusual with him, and kept close by his mother's side. Lady Ailsa saw the mother's bosom heave as her full eye fell on the childish figure at her side. 'Mamma,' said Fergus, in a whisper perfectly audible through the \vli.)le room, 'is that the lady who is to put us out of Dalmore?' Ellen Macleod's colour rose. 'Tiiat is Lady Ailsa Murray, Fergus. Make your bow to 111 r, and then take Colin downstairs. Don't you see he is fitter t'ur the stable than the drawing-room ? IIow often have I told you not to bring the dogs into the house ? ' ' Uncle Graham said I might have Colin in, mamma,' said the l")y; and, with a graceful salutation to Lady Ailsa, he left the ronin. ' 1 must apologise for Fergus's hasty speech, Ailsa,' said Ellen Miflt'od, as she rose to pour out the tea. 'He is only a child, iiid has not yet learned the wisdom of the world.' 'Ir is hardly fair to poison his mind, Ellen,' s>aid Lady Ailsa, i \ 1 s^ SHEILA. in gontle robnlband's arm. Sheila was not in the hall, but thrt)uj.di the ojx'U doors, and down the staircase, there came floating the en's voices, and the clatter of hurrying inerrv tnusic of childr '•)' •t. 'Did any of her cou-iins come up with Miss Sheila, Antte?' shi' asked, WMth a smile, turning to the familiar face of her own 'uaid. 'No, ma'am,' said Anne, smiling too; for she was delighted to see her mistress looking so well and happy. lif'ila , sl\e ; the (Hike So • into ■ ' any ^ inc? own [Ijted WELCOME HOME. 41 Tlien tlie Lniril and liis Avife went ujist;iirs torrctlicr, and, tlie drawing-room door heiiipj open, they had a lull view of the tin-lit \\\\K rior, wliere a little elf in white was ruiinin<]i; lauLihiiii; I'our.d the room, jiiirsiied hy Feigns, Cattle and doL'gie liad begun! lauijl iiutr all 1 us nni;lit too. Who is that, (ir.diam ?' she whispered. 'Ellens bo '}' m^ dear. The l):iirns will make peace in Dalmore,' he said sigiuficantly. 'IIuMoalis not this a pretty din to kick up in a drawing-room, eh?' The children came to a dead stop; then Sheila, with a shriek of deliglt, sj)iaug into lier mother's arms; but, in spite of his niich''s reassuring smile, the boy hung back, rememberiu'j his mo ther WOK Av, E lien M; icleo( lia( poisonec 1 tl le vouuijj heart ai'ainst Dalmoi'e, and could she have seen the nietiire i n the wiuff-room that niff ht. 1 ler ire won Id 1 lave been threat dia hideed. 'This is Fergus, mamma; such a nice little boy,' said SIk il.i, presently slipping from her mother's arms, 'lie is al'iaid of yon, mamma — jusi think!' 'Fergus will not be afraid of me, darling, after to-night,' sa' ^ Ed'th Macchmald; atul at sound of the sweet voice the y .i eyes were raised almost wotidenngly to the face o giy .f t( le speaker. She put her two soft, kinlied, and he did not speak. 'Did your mother give you any reason, Fergus?' asked his uncle quickly, noticing his hesitation. ' She said that as 1 would need to make my own living, the sooner I made friends among poor boys the better,' said the boy, in a slow and pained voice, for he felt it acutely. He was old beyond his years. The ct^nstant companionship of grown- up people had given his childish thoughts the maturity of manhood. Though he was compelled to obey his mother, he had felt her injustice and foolish resentment. It was scarcely a child's action to come to Dalmore to see for himself how matters stood. 'Angus M'Bean is the factor's son, Edith,' said ^Tacdonald, looking towaids his wife. ' Pray, what were ye fighting about? ' ' lie laughed at my mother. Uncle Graham, and asked how we liked Shonnen,' said Fergus, with heaving bosom, ' and I just knocked him down straight on the floor in the school. The master thrashed me, and when we got out I fought Angus on the road.' You bloodthirsty oun was g rascal ! ' laughed Macdonald ; bur 1,1 I'.i ■ his wife saw that he was pleased with the spirit of the boy. ' And who beat ? ' 'It was a drawn battle,' said Fergus proudly. 'But III fight him when I'm bigger. He's a far bigger boy than me. iii^ilill WELCOME HOME. 43 and stronger, too. But he's a coward, Uncle Graham. lie hits little boys and girls.' It would i)e inij)()ssible to set down the emphasis wliich Fergus laid on the last word. 'Then he's a horrid boy, and I hate him!' cried Sheila slirilly. 'I like you, Fergus, and you can ride on my pony if you like.' * But he has his own pony. Donald is in the stable, isn't he, Fergus ? ' ' Yt'S, Uncle Graham ; but mother says I'm not to go on liim, nor come to Dahnore any more,' cried Fe*"gus, in a great ])ur.st of sorrow; and, ashamed of his tears, he turned round and ran out of the room. None attempted to detain him. They saw that the childish heart was full, and that it would have its vent. Edith Mac- ilonald turned away to her dressing-room with a shadow in her eves and ,on her heart. 'What a woman, Graham!' she said, when she was able to speak. 'Although she is his mother, she is not fit to have tlie care of that tine, sensitive-souled boy. She'll l)reak his heart.' 'I'm not done with Ellen yet,' said Macdonald grimly. ' Slie has forgotten that her husiiand left nie guardian of the hoy, and she can't do what she pleases with his education and upliiiiiging. Peter Crerar's school, indeed! Tin; woman's a jiertect fool.' ' It nuist have been a great blow to her, when she acted so,' s;iid Edith, with a sigh. ' I wonder it' we have acted right, Graham':' ' 'Now, Edith, after all my warnings, you are just going to iVet about this. AVhat you have to do is to make yourself lijipliy and at home in D.dmore. It is yours now. I'll deal wiih E'kn. As for the boy, if he turns out as he promise?!, he'll not lie a sufferer, I like him, and I'll do my duty by liiin. But Ellen must be brought to her senses first, or she'll ruin him.' Meanwhile, Fprgus, with wet eyes, and sore, sore heart, was rutiiiiiig nil his might down the avenue, away from Dalmore. A\ hen he reached the bridge spanning the Girron Burn, he i hi m iiiiir •11 H • ! :|1 i t, H :i ; tl ii 44 SHEILA. iilj! I' stood on it a little while with the rain beating down upon him, watching the f(»arning torrent, whose current carrieJ all before it. Tiiree days' rain had brought tlie burn down in floo(h There was something soothing to tlie boy in tlie swift rush of that wihl tide, and before he had waUhed it for many minutes he began to wonder how many days it wouKl be before he could fish the burn. Theie was a long yellow line in the far west, and tiie lowering clouds were beginning to lighten, and the wet caps of mist to roll from the mountain tops. The storm was nearly over, and by Saturday, he cilcuhited, the burn might be in order. Having arrived at this conclusion, he walked soberly over to the road, and, passing by the school and the inn, turned off to his new lionie. It was a bare, barren-looking house, not much bigger than a cottage, though it was called Shonnen Lodge. It stood by the roadside, and had no garden, but only a few stunted birch trees at either side, and the gaunt, bare slope of Craig Ilulioh rising abruptly V)ehind it. It was a bitter change indeed iVoin D.dniore, and there is no doubt that both mother and son felt it keenly. Ellen Macleod had missed the boy fi-om the house, and, watching by the upper front windows, she saw him cross the Girron Burn, and guessed where he had been. She opened the door to him herself, and bade )«im come in, in a sharp, angry voice. 'You've been at Dahnore, Fergus?' 'Yes, mother,' he answered, in a low voice. ' And are you satisfied now?' she asked snappishly. *I saw them ride by in their fine cariiage. You got a sorry welcome, I expect, that you havt* come back so soon?' ' Mother, I don't think they are what you said,' he ventured to say, ill a low vt)ice. 'Aunt Edith is very kind.' 'Aunt Ediih, indeed! Have you e weakened — Uiiy, almost severed — l>y coldne^- i,. negh ci y Elhii Macleod had done very little to win \\\<- \ < \ love, and he luul a deep, sensitive, yeanung heart. She >;i.; not know what a harvest of anguish she v/as In^apiriij u,> !• i heiseir — av, and for him; for there catne a day wlen '■'.<■ conllici betwixt choiee and duty became a uiaitcr ui' uu. i uiomciit for i'eri'Us Macleod, I'f ■ '! I. il* S 1 i'i ih I ^\ m CHAPTER V. THE KIRK OF AMULHEE. But on that gentle hoart a sliadnw fell And darkly lay, stealing the sunlight sweet From out her life. HE next day was the Sabbath. It dawned fair and bright for October, willi a clear, soft sky overlicad, and a sprinkling of hoar-frost scattered like manna on the ground. The roads even were made crisp and firm by the first frost of the season, and walking was very pleasant. The Laird's folk went on foot to the church in Amulree, — Macdonald and his fair wife before, and Anne, with Sheila, coming up behind. There was a goodly gathering in the kirk, for the fine season had tempted the shooting tenants to linger longer than usual, and all the country folk turned out in expectation of seeing the new lady of Dahnore. They cuuld not think enough of it when they saw her come walking up the road so humluy and unostentatiously, like themselves, without a bit of display or grandeur to make her cons[)icuous. The kirk stood on a piece of rising ground over- looking the river, as it ran swiCtly and silently fioni its source in the loch. It was a fine situation, and the church itself was a picturesque white-washed building, of long, narrow construc- tion, and having a curious little belfry, containing a tinkling, 46 THE KIRK OF AMULREE. 47 old-fa'^lnonefl bell. The grassy enclosure surroundiiifr I lie cliurch was used as a burying-grourid, as as cvidcnci d l>y tlir uneven mounds scattered here and there, though there weic b'lt few lieadstones to be seen. 'J he Liiird's pew was on the left hand of the ptdpit, and iifter entering, Mrs. Macdonald knelt for a moment in silent pmyer — an action so unusual in the kirk of Amulree, that one lonkcd to the other, and there were even more tlian one solemn lir.iil- sliaking. It was rather like a Paj)it.t, they thouglit, Imt hoped the Laiid had not been drawn into an unholy miirriage. In these few brief seconds Ediih Macdonald had time to hreathe a piissionate prayer for a blessing on her new life iind home. The Laird looked proud and happy enough, hnwever. There wjis no doubt as to his opinion about the stej> he li;;(l taken; and as for Sheila, she sat very bolt upiighr, wiih her big brown eyes wandering over the whole interior of the kiik. It was the very funniest church she had ever been in in ail her life. The Laird's seat was cushioned, and the boards were laid pretty evenly on the floor, but along the passages — and, indeed, in all the other pews — there was no attempt at systematic flooring; and in many places, notably under the long com- munion table, which ran from end to end of the chuix-h, the sandy soil was quite uncovered. It was a cold, uninvitiri'j place altogether, very different from tlie little E[)iscopjdiiin chapel in Dunkeld, which Edith had reguLirly attended. Then the j)ulpit and the precentor's box below were curious nari'ow contrivances, very deep and narrow, in which the preacher's eloquence was kept within due limits. But the kirk of Amulree had always been noted for the solidity of it» pulpit ministrations, and had no connection with such iVivolitics as loud shouting of the Word, and senseless throwing about ot the arms to enfi)rce its doctrine. A fine drowsy atmosphere unially [)ervaded the kirk during the three-quarters of an hour the sermon lasted. Just as the bell began to ring, the Laird opened the door of the peW, and in walked Colin, quite doucely, and curled himself up or the floor. He had been over at Shotmen, and m '^' 'f~ 48 SHEILA, m liii 1 ('nine fo olmrcli, a^ iisiimI, af. F^•rgus Mnclfocr.s IippIs. ATfcr ('dliii l.iy (Inwii, tin- Liiird kt'pr \\\^ eye 011 tho door, vvoiidrr- iiiu liov\ Kilcii would cotidiict licisflf, and wlietlicr she woidd ]i;iv(; the picsunipiion to cnmc^ down and sit. in the pew bcsnlc the woman aixain-r whom slie chdished sucli causidcss an!i(>r. She came in at U'ni,>;tli, with lier thick crape veil haniritifr down ovci licr faoe, and took a seat in a pew near the chidr, out of si^ht of the folk from Dalmoie. Slx'ila's small stainre prevented her seeing wlieii' Feijius went, but slie was soiiv he did not come to sit hv her. II-.T att^'iition, liowever, \\a^ j)r(Senily di\eited by tlie entrance of an imbvidnai in a >we( p- ing blaek cloak, who came down the aisle with an air of dignity very impressive to behold. It was not the minister, however, but Ewan M'Fadyen, the precentor, (piite as important an! necessary an olheial as the nu^i^5te^ — perliaps, in his own estimation, more so. lie stepped into his box, closed tbe door, and blew his nose with an astounding report, Sheila watching him with the most open-eyed wonder all the v/hile. Her mother could not l)Ut smiln, indeed, at the expression on her face. The Laird smiled too, when Ewan, without the least shame or attempt to liide his ol)j('Ct, stood up and turned towards the Dalmore pew. Now Ewan had a peculiar cast in his eye, which gave his face a somewhat evil expression, and when he was lo( king intently at anything, he screwed his 'skelly' eye up uiull it contoited the side of his face and made his visage a, sijjht to see. In this singular but characteristic rnamier Ewan stared at the Laird's wife for a full second or so, and then, slowly nodding his head, sat down and took a pincli of snuff, indicative of his absolute approval. Edith hastily drew down her veil, not only to hide her lining colour, but the smile which was like to become a laugh. Then the minister gave out the psaliTj, and Ew.tn stood up to raise the tune, which was 'Martyrdom.' Ewan M'Fadyen's mode of conducting the psalmody was unique in the extreme, and alas! too often provocative of mirth amonj the ungodly strangers who were occasional visitors to the kirk of Amulree. He held the book directly out from his nose, and had his five fingers carefully spread out upon the boards. ,; Aft.-r Voice, Ili'fe. or fifl hefore, ina'jic move c Hi. prt Inni Jill tii; Til.. Li tlioiljjlil IiKU'e ti siiiiill n tlic pi'e siun of wiiich \i sdlcnit.ii waiiiiiinr enjoyed 8lie Avi^ scriiion, aicri! l)a (iid not all the M.icleod I't-r, and till' jneei 'Klleii iier liaiid iiiv hand v-iniiiiily b was ri'i\L'"is w I'lif wifJK '***Ik' I'ose iter iirutli I'ie churc pew. face Mitly )rted n this aird's heiid, solute liide 3m e :i Ew.m Ewan ue in unoii'JT kirk nose, loards. THE KIRK OF AMULREE. 49 After having read alnud tlie first two lines in a half siiipiiii,' Vdicf. lie cleared his tlirf>ar, and atieinpfed to raise the first iiefe. lint it would not come, as a usual thing, lui'il the ftiurth or fifih clearing of the throat, each tiiiu; more loudly than hefore. and with his one eye closed up all the linu*. The iiia.:ic seemed to lie in his fingers, for when tiiey l»e;jan to move on the boards Ewan moved also, au'l the tun(» was raised. Hi> utter uiicoiiscinusness of any oddity or singulaiity in his pn liiiiinar.es was most delightful to htdiold ; hut it was a fear- t'ld tiid to the decoium of those uniiccustomed to the scene. Tlie Laird's wife shook with sih-nt hiuc-hier, and even Macdonald tiioujiht Ewan exctd'.'d himself. Sheila amust'd him, }'.eihap<, iiioi'e tiian Ewan. She stood on tiptoe on the seat, with her MiiiJl neck cianed, in oidi r that she mi;jht have a full view of tlie j)recentor's box. There was no smile on hef face, or any siin of amusement — only a look of jierfect, solemn wondei', which was in'e>istil)le. I fear that, on the whole, the spirit of soUmi.ity belitiing the solenm exeicises of the day was rather waiuing in the Laird's pew that morning. Edith, however, enjoyed the sermon, and had time to compose her thoughts. She wished, indeed, that the service had closed with the Sermon, for Ewan's extiaordinary gestures and grimaces once mere banished every serious thought from her mind. 'I'hey did not hasten out of the church, and when they rose at length all the benches were empty except the seat where Ellen M;icleod sat, with her grave-faced boy by her side. Edith saw her, and, without a moment's hesi^-ition, stepped round before the piecentoi's box, and stood directly before her. 'Klleii,' she said, and her sweet voice shonk as she extenih d lier hand, * we are in the house of God. Will you not tniidi iii\ hatid in token of fiiendship and forgiveness if I have uii- wittiniily done wrong?' It was an a[>peal few could liave resisted. The eyes of Fnoiis were raised to his in<'ther's face with an implorin-j lo k, Imt without any eflect on the stony heart of Elh-n Macleod. She idse from her seat, and, without raising her veil, swej)r lier i Hut I Id's wife a little haughty curtsey, and passed out of the church. !! 'E t \rl ' 1 50 SHEILA, Kdith hiistily drew down lier own veil, not wisliinu; licr liusliuiid to SLH' licr teiirs. But ho saw tlu; wliolc sc»'nt', and wlu'ii slie joined him there v/as a dark cloud on liis hrow. ' You ought not to have liumiliatcd yourself to lu-r, Editli,' he said, more ha.^tily than he liad ever sp )k(Mi to her before. Hut at tluit inoMU'nt their attention was directed by Kwau M'Fadyen standing on tlie doorjitep in his robe of office, with a i)land smile on his face. ' I wish you good-niorninfr. Laird, and a full measure of ;M-()sperous felicity to yourself and your noble lady,' said Kwan, trotting out his best English and most ' laiig-nebliit ' wolds to grace the occasion; 'and I make bold to prophesy and prognosticate that never, in all the pellucid annals of the ancient house of Macdonald, has a iairer, more noble huly rtigned paramount in Dalmore.' It was a happy interruption, and the Laird burst into a laugh. ' Oil, Ewan, man, spare your lang-nebbit words. Stick to plain speaking or Gaelic, if you want to be imj)ressive,' he said. ' Afrs. Macdonald, let me present Ewan M'Fadyen, our wortli\ precentor. He is a teiumt in Achnafauld. You'll likely kimw iiim better by and by.' '1 hope so,' said Editli; and, with a pleasant smile, she extended her hand to honest Ewan. 'May every auspicious blessing descend on your honourable liead, madam!' he said, bending his srniggy head over it. 'As I said before, I prognosticate again that you will be the author and originator of many blessed days fur Dalmore.' Macdonald, laughing still, took his wife on his arm and hurried her out to the cairiage, which he had ordeied to be in waiting to convey them up the steep ascent to Dalmore. The country folks were lingering about the churchyard and tlie manse road, eager for a better look at the Laiid's wife. They weie mostly his tenants, though Edith did not know it, but she had a smile for all. Just as Macdonald handed his wife into the carriage, a horseman rode up, and, taking off his hat, drew rein, evidently wishing to be presented. ' Angus M'Bean, farmer in Auchloy, and my steward, Ediib, wlii'«p( up to kirk- d S. Ml rode (»: cottars a little l»y his >i-iiear (•.died J ' Tlie fMalian smooth 'Ay; eccentrii strike u! nianner 'It is 'Ay; it has a nificance filong at very quii 'Oh, able to h ' Did yoii take Torj, 'Idou 'i"t been shepherds the Higj, ' Fergu away fron ' At th( to-niorrov and hegar ^'.\'e.s clou( ^\Jiich woi Ill THE KIRK OF AMULREE. S« wlil«porp(l Macdonald. ' You must fxcuse us, ^^'Rt'Jln. Com«» \i]i to the lioiis** and pay your n-spi-cts to Mrs. Macdonahl. The kiik door is liardly the place to hold a K^vee.' S. iiifwhaf cliMurined, Mr. M'Bean raised his hat ajiain, and rode (»fT. He had hoped for a better reception before all the cottars, and Mrs. Macdonald's acknowledgment of iiini had been a little di>tant. She was not, indeed, very favourably impressed hv his hard, keen visage and rather forward manners. AngUN M'Px'Mn did not like to be called a land-steward. He always called and wrote himself factor to Macdonald of Dalmore. ' The manners and customs ap here are rather j)rimitive, draham,' said Mrs. Macdonald, as the carriage rolled along the smooth road to the Girron Brig. ' Ay ; perhaps I ouglit to have prepared you for Dugald's eccentricities. We flie accustomed to them, and they do not strike us. He is quite a character. Did you notice his noble manner of expressing himself? ' ' It is about as absurd as his singing,' laughed Edith. ' Ay ; if he can get a long word hauled in, in it goes, whether it has any fitness or not. I suppose it must have some sig- nificance to himself. They get some terrible laughs at him, along at Donald Macalpine, the smith's. Well, Sheila, you are very qniet.* ' Oh, mamma, such a funny, funny church ! ' said Sheila, able to laugh now at what had held her spell-bound at first. 'Did you ever see a church where dogs go to? Papa, may I take Tory next Sunday ? ' ' I doubt Tory would not keep so quiet as Colin. He has not been trained to church-going,' said Macdonald. 'The sliepherds' dogs always accompany their masters to church in tlic Highlands.' ' Fergus never came to speak to us, papa. Does he live far away i'rom here ? ' ' At the other side of the church. I daresay you will see him to-morrow. He is always about on the hills,' said Macdonald ; aiul began to name some of the hills to Edith, for he saw her eyes cloud. Ay, Ellen Macleod had cast a shadow on Dalmore Nvhich would be ever present with its gentle mistress, "obbing wm) VA:\ I !l 11 , I ■ ( ,1 il 1l p'-^ll 52 SHEILA. her married life of hnlf its sweetness, ^rjicrlonnlrl, vlio was not in the least put about by liis sister's fooli^li conduct, except to feel a trifle annoyed when any new phase of it struck him, could not understand how it weighed U[)on his witi-'s hejirt, nor how she brooded upon it in silence and S(jUriide, and piiiyed that the otdy cloud on her happiness might be swept aw;iy. It might have given Ellen Macleod a grim satisfaction had she known that her uncompromising enmity was to her brother's wife a veritable skeleton in the cupboard. 'Now, Edith,' said Macdonald, following her up to her dressing-room -vhen they entered the house, 'I could not hear what you said to Ellen, but I know it was an ap[)eal of some sort. It is to be the last. She shall beg your pardon before she sets foot in Dalmore again. I mean what I say.' He put his hands with a kind of rough kindness on her shoiddeis, and turned her face to liim, in (>rder to enforce his words. She tried to smile at him, as she answered tremu- lously, — 'I wanted to give her a cliance, Graham. I am so liappy, I Ciumot bear that there should be any cloud. Do you think she will relent? ' 'Do you see Craig Ilulich over there, Edith? Do you think it couhi walk over here and place itself in the Girron Bum? Ellen Macleod will nt-ver forgive you, so the sooner you foigtt that she is in existence the better.' ' I am sorry for the boy. We must try and make it up to him, Grah;im.' ' If she will let me. But she'll watch him, poor htddie! like a hawk. But I'll keep my eye on Fei'gus for his father's sake. and for his own. IL-'s as fine a lad as ever wore the kilt, and none of his mother's ill-tenper about him, if she does not spoil him in the making.' It seemed a fearful thing to Edith jMacdonald that a woman should cherish a mortal enmity in her heart, and pride herself that she never forgave an injury. She could neither understainl nor comprehend Ellen Macleod's fierce, dark creed ; but she pitied her from the bottom of her heart, and would have served her if she had any opportunity. But Ellen Macleod went home to th her I liis s she 1: (lesol; (lowiK th"m. ferlin; to Co(t for hii which I do ni will di: 'Die feather Ins mo sight ol a homii ' Hov ' I sa' her witi lead jiir think of ''yes ket 'I the ■•^iin[)Iy, i tlioiiulit uiiflcr til 'Oh, Somly. 'nt;m(l \ lut si If i I served I, home I to the plain house of Shonnen filled with hate and anger against luT hi'iither's wife, who looked so fair and sweet and young hy his side that d;iy in the kirk of Aniulrce, sitting in the scat she had usurped. And Fergus, weighed down by a feeling of desolation and misery he could not understand, walked with downcast liead by her side, and never a word passed between tli'Mii. The boy suffered as she liad no idea of. He had a feeling heart and a sensitive soul. Perhaps he was too young to comprehend the difference his uncle's marriage might make for him; but I would rather believe that there was that in him which could lise above such selfish and sordid considerations. 1 do not think that Fergus M'Lecd, though he is not perfect, will disappoint us in the end. ' Did you see the vain thing, like a peacock, with the nodding feathers in her bonnet? — not a fit head-dress for the kirl..' said his mother, finding her tongue at length, when they came in siiiht of Shonnen. 'A vain, empty peacock! and she has made a bonnie fool of 3 our Uncle Graham.' ' How, mother ? ' ' I saw the folk laugh at the old grey-headed man handing her with such pride into the coach. Silly, silly fools! She'll lead him a fine dance vet, or I'm mistaken. What did you think of her, Fergus?' she asked, suddenly bending her dark eyes keenly on the boy at her side. ' I thought, mother, she looked like an angel,' said the boy simply, and without hesitation ; for such, indeed, had been his tliounht as he saw the pale, fair, sweet countenance shining under the nodding feathers of the bridal bonnet. 'Oh, of course you'll stick up for her!' said his mother siiuily. 'Boy, do you ihiidv there is no duty from a son to his mill her? I think I'll need to get you to read the comnumd- nunts and the Catechism this very day.' 'Hie boy's lips quivered ; and when they parsed through the ;:ate of Shonnen, instead of following lis mother into the house, lii^ turned round the end, and, climbing up the ri>ing ground, 'liivw himself down on a heathery hillock among the scanty birches. Culin followed, and, sitting down beside him, lifted one sober 11 \ I Wil." 54 SHEILA. piuv and let it fall on his master's back. His tail was wa paging svmpatlieiically all the while, and suddenly Fergus flung his jinns around his neck, and buiied his face in his sliaggy li:iir. ' Oh, Colin, lad ! ' he cried, and all the sore grfef he found so ili ro thole was expressed in that weary cry, 'there's only you '.'mer I dcliglitc ii:; ng [lis so ou -cifMfl ^^'n/ '^ CHAPTER YL THE NETHER MILLSTONE. Dark is the soul whose sullen creed can bind In chains like these. 0. W. Holmes. ACDOXALD rode down to Shonnen Lodge next morn- ing before breakfast. He knew Lis sister was an early riser, and he was anxious to have this matter settled as soon as possible. lie was very angry that slie should have dared to send the boy to the Fauld scliool, and knew it was only done in a moment of passion to vex him. For Ellen was proud enough ; and, though it had pleased her to make a great talk about the poverty and obscurity to wliich her brother's marriage had consigned her, she would not have allowed any one else to hint at such a thing. To any outsider, not intimately connected with the family, she professed herself quite well pleased with the new arrangement at Dalmore. Fergus, an early riser too, was out on the hill, and, seeing his uncle come, flew down to meet him. ' Yes, you can take Mora, and ride her gently along the road, Fergus, while I talk to your mother. Up you go ! ' Wiih a little assistance from his uncle, Fergus sprang delightedly to the saddle, and cantered off down the road towards Loch Fraochie. His uncle stood a moment to admire w i * ' |: n i! i; II V- s« SHEILA. i II M 1 the ])oy's splondid bearing in tlie sivMle, anr! to note liow Wfll lit' kept tli(f 'iwxy niJire in cui'b. FtTgus Maclcod iVart'd no living tiling in the world except his nioiher. TIk^ door was open, and M;iodonald walked iincerenionion'^ly into the honse. lie found iiis sister in tlie little dining-room, sitting over the fire doing nothing. She merely looked U|) at inr brother's entrance, but did net signify in any way that she was awiire ol" his j)resen(;e. ' Well, ICilen, how are you? Fine morning after the rain,' he saiil heartily. ' Is it? ' she asked brieflv ; for she resented tlie liappy, liearty ring in his voice, tlie brightness in his eye; all signs of the hippiness she so sorely grudged him. She considered them in-uliing to herself in her poor estate. 'Fergus came up to welcome his aunt on Saturday night, though you didn't. Still in the tantrums, eh?' Ellen Macleod made no reply. 'I didn't think you'd keep up an ill-will so long, Ellen,' lie said gravely. ' Will you not come up and see my wife?' ' I i)assed my word, Macdonald. All I ask from you and yours now is to be left alone.' 'You are likely to be. You are not such pleasant company, ma'am,' returned Macdcmald candidly. 'It's the boy I'm come about. So you've swallowed your pride, and sent him to school with the cotfars' sons? What's to be the meaning or end of this, I'd like to know?' 'I can do what I like with my own, I suppose?' said Ellen Macleod slowly; 'and as Fergus will have to earn his bread by the labour of his hands, he had better accustojn himself early to the society in which he is likely to move in future.' 'Ah, well ! it won't do the lad any harm for a year or so,' said Macdonald ; and his ofT hand way was extremely fialling to his sister. 'I'll step in when I think there's need. You're niiiking j1 of yourself, Ellen, before the coi M. pretty '■)'• tell YOU. Much do I care for the talk of the country-side!' she exclaimed passionately. ' Go back to your pmk-faced wife, otil THE NETHER MILLSTONE. 57 ^^;l(•(^^n;ll(l, and leave me and mine in peace. You look gay and liappy enough. You can do without us.' ' O I, vt'i'y well; as I said hcfcjre, it was the boy I came to sen iilier. You won't be able to keep him out of Dalmore, Ellrt..' '1 have laid my commands on him again. If he disobeys theiu he is to be severely punished.' 'Then the boy is to suft'er too?' said Macdonald more gloomily. 'Becaivful how you treat him, Ellen. It will not he easy for him to keep away from the old place. Let him com*-' and go as he likes. ' Xo, 1 shall not. If I am cruel it is to be kind. He would only set ins heart more and more on the place, aiul the awaken- ing would be ten times more bitter. You are very wise in your own conceit, Macdonald, but you can't teach a mother how to treat her own son.' ' Well, well, perhaps not. I suppose I may speak to him in ]t;issing, may 1?' asked Macdonald, with a flight smile, as he turned to go. She vimchsafed him no reply, and so the unsatisfactory interview came to an end. Macdonald was not in the least depressed by it, except for the boy's sake. He felt tempted to press him to come to Dalmore as often as he pleased, but it would not be right, he knew, to set so young a child in direct defiance of his mother's will, though that will were harsh and unjust. 'Oh, Uncle Graham! it is just splendid to ride Mora,' cried Fergus, when he drew rein, breathlessly, in the middle of the roail before his uncle. ' When I'm a man I'll buy a horse just like Mora.' ' In the meantime, my boy, what is to become of your own Donald? He'll eat his head off in the stable if you don't come up to Dahiiore.' I'ergus threw himself from the saddle, and his uncle saw that his eyes were wet. ' We must manage someliow, Fergus,' said Macdonald cheerily. ' When you want Donald, send one of the village buys up, and he'll bring him down to the Ginon Brig for you. 11 ii . t ! I. I, >'i i ' t ! : i • 1 i 1 ; ;i \l ) \\ f ^1 58 SHEILA. t ' \ ^ Or And don't vex yourself. This cloud'll maybe blow over sooner than you think.' ' Oh, Uncle Graham ! ' The boy's face positively glowed through his tears, and he laid his cheek against iiis uude's brown hand as it hung down by Mora's side. 'Do your best at Peter Crerar's, Fergus, and keep Annus MBran in order,' said Macdonald, with a twinkle in iiis eye. 'And never forget that your uncle's in Dalinore — ay, and your aunt, too, Fergus. She wouldn't hurt a hair of your head.' ' Ohj I know. Good-bye.' Graham Macdonald did not readily part with money, but if ever the generous impulses of his heart bad been called into play, the last few weeks had done it. Edith Murray had wrought a change, indeed, in grim Macdonald of Dal more. So, when Mora cantered off, Fergus found himself with a golden sovereign in his palm, and what was much better, a glow of pleasure at his heart. Macdonald was a king in his nephew's eyes ; for, whatever the man\s faults, and they were many, he had been a kind, affectionate guardian to his sister's son. Macdonald restrained his impatient Mora, and rode slowly along the river-side, keeping his eye on the fields as he went. A backward summer had made a late harvest in Strathbraan and Glenqiiaich, and the cottars in Achnafauld, whose crofts stood on the damp, cold soil at the top of Loch Fraochie, were like to have a poor return for their labour. There were several fields, indeed, lying partially submerged, and the standing slooks had a blackened, stunted appearance, which augured ill for the quality of the grain. Macdonald himself did not interfere with his tenants, all his dealings witii them beiiiQ carried on through the medium of Angus M'Bean, the factor, who lived in Auchloy, a snug domicile on the Gairow^s side of the loch. If there was a man in the strath hated and feared, it was Angus M'Bean, but by dint of his smootli tongue and economical management of the estate he had made liis position secuie. lie was indispensable to the Laird. Mac- donald had really not the remotest idea of the way the tenants , . 'I THE NETHER MILLSTONE, 59 were ground to tlip oiirth, and because he exacted tlie rent to the iittcrmoNt farthing, did not know at -what cost and sacrifice it \vas paid. And Angus M'Bean took very good c;irt' that there weie vt-ry few direct coinings and goings hctwixt tlic Laird and tlie tenants. Macdonald was struck i)y the pitiable a|)peaiance of the crofts, and determined to a^k Angus M'Bean whether tlie poorer cottars were not likely to sustain any loss. It wiss the Laird's boast that his fact tr was a thoroughly practical man, for he had not only been in his early days a cottar himself, but had for many years now been I'arnier in Auchloy, the largest holding attached to Dalinore. His experience, therefore, fitted him in a ])eculiar wav to understand the workinps of the estate and the needs of tlie tenantry. The man mi'jiit k now ns )usmess we eiioutih, but he was a tyrant and a coward, and his disposition w.is seltish am avaricious in the extreme. Mr. M'Bean did not approve of little crofts, nor of a large number of tenants oil an estate. They gave too much trouble and too meagre returns, and it was his hope and ambition to see Achnafauld swej)t clean away from Glenquaich, and Dalmore and Findowie lit out in huge farms. But his progress was very si ow. As long as the rents were paid, the Laird approved the cottars KMiiaining on their crofts. The same families had inhabited tin- little thatched cottages for hundreds of years — in days, iiiileed, before the name of Macdonald was known in Glenquaich. The Laiid was very seldom in the clachan, and when, on his return from visiting his sister, he rode Mora through the burn which winipled past the doors, the wifies all ran out to give um a cuitse as he asse( ley ad a new interest in him now since he had become a married man, though they had thou;iht him very stingy not to give something I'or them to iii;ike merry with at his bridal. The idea had never occurred to Macdonald himself, and nobody had suggested it to him. lie drew rein and sj)iang from the saddle at the smith's door, one of the mare's shoes bi'ing loose. Donald Macalp;ne, the smith, was in at his breakfast, but in an instant he was out to wait \ipon the Laird, while Mary, his wife, looked at liiin over the white muslin screen at the window. it ' III, '. » r- : \ « 'I 6o SHEILA. ., ■!' H t\ I 1! ■' 'Mi 'Good-day, smith. Look to the mare's hind foot, will yon? A stone in the burn tripped her np, and some of the nails are out. Fine niorninp; after the riiin.' ' Ay, sir, sure it is,' said Domihl. ' I hopii the Laird is weel, and his Leddy, too?' 'Very well, thank yon. Poor weather tor the harvest. The crofts seem in a sorry condition, Donald.' ' Ay,' said DonaM, shiiking his head as he scraped the niiire's shoe with his knife. ' The Lord lias a queer way o' wurkin'. It seems to me a needless wastrv, an' a ^infu', though He can dae nae sin, to destroy the fruits of the earth after they are come to the ear.' ' The sun may shine yet, Donald,' said the Laird cheerily. 'There seems to be bulk enonjrh.' ' Ay, but it's as green as leeks,' was Donald's brief comment. 'Wo, beestie! stand still.' Mora was growing impatient of the strange touch on her dainty limb, and it required all the smith's strong energy to keep her quiet. 'Anything new in the Fauld, Donald?' asked the Laird. ' N.iethiiig, but that Jenny Mfuzies has gotten Jock's twa bairns hame from Glesca, an' a bonnie ootcry she's makin' about them.' ' What has become of Jock?' ' Deid ; an' his wife an' a'. They're nice bits o' bairns. The lassie s a wee doo ; the laddie has a wan'ert look. Malcolm and Katie, they are ca'd.' 'Two more scholars for Peter Crerar,' laughed the Laird. 'Ye hae gotten my nephew to school in the Fauld.' ' Ay, sure, an' Peter Crerar himsel' is neither to hand nor bind ower it,' said the smith. ' Weel, he'll get a giiid education frae Peter, lie has a heid.' ' Well, well, it will do the lad no harm, Donald. Is she all riiilit now?' said the Laird, springing to his saddle. 'Thanks to you ; give my respects to Mary.' Donald, with his hands under his leather apron, watched the Laird lide round by Kob Macnaughton's corner, then slowly sauntered into the house, which was pervaded by a THE NETHER MILLSTONE. 6i finp smell of toasted tatcnkes, Mary being busy with her bilk iittr. 'Tliiit was the Laiid?' ^fary said, her sonsy lace full (f iiiteiest. ' Ay, it was. I never saw the Laird mair frank an' f k c, M;iry Maca pine,' Donald answered; 'I canna tliink liini i(s bad a man as Angus M'Bean of A.nchloy would nuike ( ut. There's a kindness in his e}e like a sun-blink on the loch. I'd a mind to ask him was it his wnll that the loch fidiin' w.is ta'en awu' frae us. But I'll do it another day, Mary Macal[.ine, as sure as I stand here.' 'Donald, ye'll not meddle wi' it, my man, or we'll have Angus M'Be.m down on us, an' he's an ill enemy. Eh ! Kniic Mcnzies, my hnnb, is that you?' she cried, wiih a motheily smile at a bonnie wee girlie, with yellow hair and eyes like the furget-me-not, who looked sliyly in at the door. 'Is Malky here?' she asked, with a strong west country accent. ' 'I'he skule's gaun in, an' auntie's awfu' angry. M;ilky's no' ready to gang. lie got pawmies yesterday, an' he'll get them the day, for the maister's an' awfu' crabbir man.* 'Ay, Malky disna like the maister. Rin ye to the sknle, Katie. Gie her a farl, M;iry, an' let her awa',' said the sniiih kindly. ' I'll look for Malky. He'll be seekin' his le&son by the loch-side or on ♦he hill.' ' lie's gaen gyte wi' Kob Macnaughton's sangs,' said M.irv, as she gave Katie a crisp oatcake and a pat on the cheek. 1 lie smith laughed, and, wghting his pipe, stood in the porch a minute watching the l)airns gatheiing in for the school. His lu'jirt warmed to them, and his eyes were filled with a tine light of soft tenderness. Mary and he had had but one child, wh(< now slept in the buryiiig-ground at Shian. He (hd not need to go tar to seek Malcolm, the truant. He saw him away up the hill near Auchloy, a solitary, lonely figure among the browsing sheep. The bairn was a s: range bairn, not like others, He loved nothing better than to wander by himself among the hills or by the burns, which were a great ^ % Wms 'I: 'I II i! «2 .•I IK SHEILA. I xvondcrfiil r('V(>larion to tlie boy, wlioso eyes till now liad M-..I1 nothing but paved sfrcets and big stone houses, which Mi'riK d to touch the very sky. 11(5 WHS ji thorn in the flesh to hard, m m III \ -C^^' I' i ■ I li Ellen ^T^clpn(l had eloctrd to send lier son. Tbore wns a sclinol in Aiinili<'(! of a more jinil)iti()Us type, but slie had ciioscn AcliiiMl'auld i)eci»nsi' it was on Dalniore lands, and also bccau^ic tli(! (actor's soil, young Angus M'l'jt'jin, went to it. Not tliat tlie two boys bail ever been friendly, tlie diir^rence in tiieir dispositions forbade it; but, of course, Ellen Macleod knew nothing of this. She had a great respect for D.ibnore's factor, and tliough she was a shrewd woman in most things, she cniild not see through Angus M'Bean. lie was a liypocrite and a time-server, a man who wonld spare no eiFort to advance his own selfish and avaiicious ends. lie liad iield the factorship for live years, and had conmiended himself to tlie Laird by his assiduous attention to his interests. Never had there iieen less trouble on Dalniore and Findowie ; never had the retits been so punctnally paid. Nevertheless, Angus M'Bean was shiwiy uiuleriiiining the relations betwixt the cottars and the Laird, and discontent was smouldering liotly in Achnafauld. Fergus Macleod had enjoyed his study under Mr. Macfarlane at the manse of Amnlree, and he thought it a strange and new thinu; that his mother should send him to Peter Crerar's school. As the smith stood in the doorway that muming, he saw the tall, handsome lad, in his dark Macdonald kilt, coming up the buni-side, and he shook his head. ' It's hard on the laddie, ay is it ; the Fauld schoolin's no' for liim,' said Donald to himself; for the expression on the boy's face struck him. His head was down, and though he was walking (piickly, there was a lack of energy and buoyancy about his whole demeanour. Tlie smith, by reason of his fine instincts, was quick to note the sioung. He saw at once that young Feigns Macleod was under a shadow, and his ln'att was lull of syiiij)'i'hy for him. Under pretence of going to look for Malcolm, he sauntered thr-jugh the clachan, and met Fergus at the stepping stones. ' A fine mornin', sir,' he said, toucliing his bonnet as respect- fully as if he had been speaking to the Laird. 'Ay, Donald, a fine morning,' answered Fergus, with a sudden flash of a smile, like sunshine. '![. BAIRN DA YS. 6S *Yp nrp for fl)e scliool, I sec?' «Mi(l Donald. ' IIow d'ye like ii)-liv«'? Does Peter Cn-rar come up to MiNtcr Macfarl.HM' ? ' Im'IL'Us gave his l»a^ u jmsh on liis bliuuklur, and u hliglit, ticiiiulous smile crossed liis face. ' I like Mr. Cierar very well, Donald, but I don't like the sell'-*! as well as the nian>e. ' Never mind, lad ; it's a deescipline. The Lord has His aiti wavs ()' workiii', an' giiiil comes oot o' evil. Ye'll he a daur ofi uoi' (liils o' laddies; I'eler Crerar has his ain to dae wl' tliem.' 'lie taws j)lenty, Donald. There's Malonim Menzies on the jiill tiear Aiichloy. Is he not coming; to school to-day ? ' 'Dear only kens. The laddie's gane wild sin' he cam' frae rilesca. I was pilten' a sluie on yer uncle's nieer this niornin', Maiiasni. * When I'm a man I'll have a mare like Mora.' 'Ay, I houp sae; mony o' them, sir,' said Donald fervently, for Fergus was a prime favourite of his. 'There's the wee MBean condn' by Diigal Bain's. lie's lato.' 'So am I. Mr. Crer.ir never taws M'Bean nor me, iind it isn't f.iir, for we need it as bad as the rest,' said Fergus, cross- ing the burn at a bonnd. 'Ilewadna like to lick you, Maister Fergus, and the wee M'B-an he daurna. Though I think \\i' you, Peter shouldna iii.ik' flesh o' ane and fish o' anither.' Ftvgiis laughed as he ran off, thougli he did not fully un(h'r- stiuul Donald's expression. He came up with the factor's son at the school door, but no greeting passed between them. Aii<-us MBean, indeed, scowled at Fergus from under his heavy brows, but Fergus did not change his serene expiession. 'We're late, Angus,' he said cheerily, for though he had niven him a thrashing he deserved, he was not one to keep up spite. But Angus only scowled the deeper. He was what country l"ii!k call an ' ill-kindet loon,' and there w;;s nothing in his appearance to win approbation. He was a little, squat fellow, with a fat, freckled face, and a s.iOck of red hair. ' Puddin' • h 66 SHEILA. I I ■',''■ lil k I ::m il i: l^i M'Bean/ he was irreverently called among the youngsters of the Fauld, who recognised no class distinction, and hated him with a cordial hatred. It suited the factor to send his boy for the winter months to the Fauld . school, as it gave him ground lor posing as a humble, unassuming man before the Laiid, and he pretended to have the love of a brother and the interest of a true friend in his old neighbours. But tliey knew better. On the whole, Fergus Macleod did not greatly dislike the school, though, brought up as he had been, it was certainly a change for him to sit side by side with the rough cottar lads, who stared at his kilt, and made rctnarks to each other in Gaelic, which he only partially understood. Peter Crerar, out of his desire to do honour to the Laird's nephew, set up a small form near his desk, and put Fergus on it, alongside Angus M'Bean ; but the lad, young though he was, felt that no such distinction ought to be made, and begged that he might be allowed to sit among the rest. He was not any I'urther forward than the bigger boys, for he was not much inclined, as yet at least, for study, and Mr. Macfarlane had not pushed him. Angus M'Bean was, no doubt, the sharpest boy in the school. In spite of the dour, slow, stupid look, his mental I'aculties were keen enough, and he speedily left his compeers behind. He had a profoiuid contempt for the clachan lads, and showed it in every possible way ; and though they all hated him, he had never been laid a hand on till Fergus Macleod thrashed him. He caught him one day after he had pushed wee Katie Menzies from tlie stepping-stones into the burn, and nearly put her into a fit with Iright. These were the sort of things that amused the factor's son, so it may be guessed that there was not nuich love lost between Fergus and him. The Lord's Prayer was over, and all the slates out that morning, when the door was quickly opened, and a pale-faci'd lad, with large, melanclioly eyes, came cree])ing into tiie room. It was Malcolm Menzies, who had retui'ued unwillingly from his wanderings. He did not likti the irksome routine of the school, and Peter Crerar, having no patience with the slow, shrinking, sensitive boy, who never had his lessons ready, was ■\m ii M BAIRN DA YS. 67 neeflU'ssly hard upon him. No doubt, the strong, Jazy urchins of AclinaCuiiId needed the wliolesone discipline of the tawse, and tli(.'ir brown paws could stand a very honest number of jiMwrnies; but it was different with Malcohn Menzies. Wee Katie, wiio had been anxiously watching for her brother, made room on the form for him, and the boy slipped into his seat witli a look of anxious fear. He was not allowed to sit on the front form with the big boys, who laughed at him, the ' toon's laddio,' as they called him, for being so backward and stupid at his lessons. The master was busy in the cupboard in the wall behind his desk, and as his back was to the scholars, he did no' see Malcolm enter. But this was an opportunity for show- iuii a mean revenge on the Menzies, which Piiddin' M'Bean did not intend to let slip. So, when the master turned round and a^kcd what the noise was, he was told that it was Malcolm Menzies coming in late. Now the master had had a good deal of trouble with Malcolm Menzies, who seemed to have no sense of the passage of time, and would come into the school at any time of the day. Only three days before he had been punished for the same offence, and Peter Crerar, being an ordinary, hot- headed young man, who thought the tawse the only way of estal)lishing law and order in the school, made up his mind he would stand it no longer. ' Malcolm Menzies, come up ! ' he said, in that quiet way he was wont to assume in his sterner moods. Poor Malcolm trembled and grew paler, if that were possible, and wee Katie began to cry quietly, with her apron to her eyes. The boys, who enjoyed, as is ihe manner of their kind, ' a liikiri' ' given to another, sat up expectantly, and Puddin' M'Bean <:ritmed consequentially behind his slate. ' You're a mean sneak, Angus M'Bean ! and PU give it you at leave,' whispered Fergus savagely; for his hot Macdonald blood sprang up at the cowardly tell-tale. ' I'll tell the maister on you too, if you don't take care,' said Anmis scowlingly. He was very brave when he was safely out "I tiai;;i"r s way. M< aiiuliile, Malcolm Menzies, positively shivering with fear, c.iiue vei'\ , very slowly up between the forms to the master's desk. ill'"'' 68 SHEILA, it \ ^t % ' Where have you been, eh ? ' ask<*d Peter Crerar, in a loud, pciviiipttii'v voice. ' Up l)y AucliK)y. I forgot, sir ; an' oh, dirma lick nie, ;n' I'll never dau't again ! ' saitl the lad ])iteoMsly, but with dry y^^^^i^. Even after the v^'orst lickintj he liad never been seen to cry, but he brooded over things, and suffered often a tlu)U>^and times more than the rest liad any idea of. The smith ])artially understood him, but had refrained from giving Peter Ci'erar any instructions abou', him, thinking that the ojdinary drilling at school might sharj)en him up a bit, and knock tlie sensitive shriidiing out of him. ' Ju^t so,' said the master grimly. ' Hold out your liand.' The i)oy did so nervously, but put it quickly beliind his back befi>re the stroke fell. Them the master lost his ten)per, and fell upon him, hitting him on the shoulders and on the bare calves of his letrs without mercy, l)ut the boy neyer uttered a sound. Fergus Macleod could not keep his eyes away from the scene, but it made him really sick, and at last he could stand it no longer, but sprang from his seat. 'Oh, sir, don't! Stop, sir! Hit me. I'm abler than Malcolm !' he cried, and held out his brave right hand at once. 'i'hen Peter Crerar put up his tawse, told Malcolm angrily to go back to his seat, and in his wrath actually V)ade the Laiid's nejjhew hold his tongue. But it stopped the 'licking,' at which Puthlin' M'Bean was grievously disappointed. Nothing pK'a>ed him better than the sight of another boy getting a good taste of the tawse. The pity was he should have so little experience of it himself. Malcolm Menzies crej)t back slowly to his seat, and sat doAvn with a queer dazed look on his fac^e. Wee Katie slij)ped her hand into his, and looked up into his fac;e, her blue eyes shininji with childish sympathy. ' Dinna greet ony mair, Malky,' she whispeied ; but Malcolm drew himself away fiom her touch, and when he saw the master in the piess again, he rose very (juietly and went out of the door like a shot, and that was the last time Malcolm Meizies ever sat upon a school form. He ran all his miLiht into the smiddy, where Donald, in his leisurely fashion, was preparing for his work. BAIRN DA VS. 69 ' \Veo1, Inrl, what is't?' lio asked kindly, when Malcolm's sh;i(l(iw d;irki'iiod tlie doorway. •Oil, Donald, a>k my auntie no' to let me to the schulc I ' -w'wX t'lic lad, in a solemn, weary voi^e. 'I canna go hack lo the MllUlC Bl ess nil .f • W'liiit way can you an' Peter Crerar no' agree? \\li;ii'> the niMJtter wi' yer legs?' • lie did it,' said the lad, with swelling hosom. * Oh, Donald, 'rt me work in the smiddy or onyihing, hut dinna let her send iiic to the schuh\ I winiia gang.' • W'eel, if" ye winna gang, y(? winna, I suppose. Gae awa' to tlie ])eats, Malcolm, an' help to load the caii't, or I speak to yer aiiiiMe,' said the good-natured smith, who saw that the hoy was tnirly roused. lie also feared that if practical Nhuy saw him she would tliitik it her duty to send him back instantly to the school. So Malcolm, with a look of inexpressible relief, slipped (|iii('tly away round the smithy end, and away up to the road. He had absolute faith in Donald Mac.ilpine, and did not fear wl)ur the end would be. Bi'fore leave-time it was noticeable that Puddin' M'Bcan began to grow uneasy in his scat; and >oMie of the lads who had overheaid Fergus Maclcod's remark, luid^cd each other in d(dightful anticipation of another tiuht. l)iit Puddin' circiunvenled them by remaining in the school all I ave-time, hoping that by the afternoon Fergus's ire would have cooled. He had a veiy vivid recollection of what \\(\ had nc'civc'd at the same hands for knocking wee Katie into thi; huiii, and had no wish to repeat the dose. \\ hen the school 'scaled,' Puddin' made off; ])ut Feigus was after him like a shot, and overtook him on the path i>cforc he had got up to the Auchloy road. 'Now then,' said Fergus, laying down his books, and looking tiNi'dly at the scowling, fat face of the cowardly lioy, ' what did \oii mean bv telling on Malcolm Metizies? Didn't I tell \()u tiiat if you meddled any of the Menzies again, I'd — I'd do for youV' 'You'd — you'd better! Fll tell my father if you touch me,' said Angus dourly, shaking in his shoes, though he was two years older, and much more stoutly built, than Fergus. .! t lliiil t I . i \ t I I . i i 1 : I I :t I 1 I l:\\ 70 SHEILA. ii'! %vi^. '' Wlien you're tolling, be svire and toll what you were licked for, then,' said Fergus, giving hnn a tliunip between the shoulders. By this time the whole school, like a hive of bees, wcic Hocking up the path. Seeing he was sure to get the worst of it, Puddin' began to cry, which so exasperated Fertius Macleod that on the impulse of the moment he gave him ;i good push, which slioved him over the bank into the l)iiiii. The recent rain had brought it down a little in flood, and tlic [)ools were deep and the current strong. But Angus miin.iLicd to scrandile up the bank, and then what a shout of hiiight. r iirt)se from the bairns! The whole scene was so comical, tluif, though he was sorry for M'Bean's plight, Fergus could not hclj) joining henrtily in the laugh. Then Puddin', fairly roused, swore at Fergus, and ran oiF as fast as his legs would carry him to Auchloy. It was not far. About half a mile up the loch there was a fine sheltering clump of trees, in the midst ol" which stood Auchloy, the snug domicile of Macdonald's fjictoi-. The hou:e, one of the shooting lodge?, had recently bet-n repaired and added to, and presented a v^^y roomy, substantial appearance. There was a commodious steading at the back, and a well-filled stackyard, for Angus M'Bean held a large farm on the estate, and was always adding bit by bit to it. lie had three children, Angus being the eldest, and then two little girls. Mrs. M'Bean, looking out of the dining-room window, saw the boy coming up the little avenue, and wondered at ins dejected appearance. She came to the door to see what was the matter. When she saw him all wet, she threw up her hands in amazement. ' Mercy me, laddie I where ha'e ye been ? Ha'e ye fau'n into the loch ? ' In spite of her husband's ambition to be a gentleman, ami her own desire to be a fine lady, Mrs. M'Bean could never learn to talk ' English,' greatly to her husband's disgust. iShf was a south country Avoman, and would have been a fine. good-natured, harmless body if she had been let alone, lint her efforts to seem other than she was, and to keep up her husband's position and ambition, fretted her temper, and made her miserably unhappy. In spite of her big house, her fine as her III II liUlil ]vcr IllH', \\\u\ llirr Ifinc BAIRN DA YS. clothos, find hor horse and trap, slic secretly often reprretted the days when she had only been a cottar's wife in xVchiiat'auld. At sight of his mother, Angus instantly began to blubber; and when he was drawn into the dining-room, where his father was, he managed to tell a beautiful story, which fixed all the bhnne on Fergus M;icleod, and converted him into a hero. 'This is the second time Fergus Macleod has ill-used you,' said the factor angrily. ' But never mind, Angus, lad,' he added, stroking his stubbly red beard more complacently. ' The upsetting monkey! His wings are clipped already, but we'll manage to crush him yet,' II h ( III I) \ . ?>■«•■ ?*^^'1J^e M& CHAPTER Ylir. AMONQ THE FAULD FOLK. So t^io'-e young lioarts AVan^eied at ^vill. Tennyson. WlSil you'd hold yonr ton Q-ne, Sheila Murmy ! you're rrightt'iiintr tlio lish, and they won't bite. Lie down, Culin.' ' I'm tired seeing you ri>h. You can't catch inytliin"-,' s;iid S|i('i!;i, witii the delieioiis Ciindour of childiiood. your rod, and let us play. Colin can't keep still, L 'y h wn Fer-j tis. \\ \\ ' You're just a bether, Sheila,' said Feruns, as ho bep^an to ind up hi-s i('( 1, li)r to hlia Slieil.i's word Avas hiw. They ere frti-at iVii nds — in>^ep,irable companions, indeed — -these tw'i, tliouirh Keriiiis Macleod had neviT once crossed the tliroliold of Dahnore since his lujcle's wife came home. Ellen IMaeleod had piivented him visiting tl.'e house, but she had laiil no embargo on his actions outside, and had not th(» remotest idea of the long hours her boy and 'that woman's child' sprut to.x-rher. The Girxm Brig was their trysting-placo, and Colm rheir companion and protector, and the two bairns became ahu(»st lu'cessary to eacii otlier's existence. Those long summer dass spent among the hills and by the burn-side wit'i Fergus Were dreams of delight to Sheila Murray, who had been 7a AMONG THE FAULD FOLK. 73 cnnfloninod to walk out by tin; Tay wifli a prim nursotJiaid, or play in solitary state in tin; little garden surrouiidiiiu: the cf'ttatre a t B irnani. '\\ U'SG days ucre sea rcely a nicniorv to the child. She never recalled them. She was honiidlessly li,ij)py at Dalmore, and all the natural sunshine of her nature had lVee>t vent. She was lull of tiicks, and l»rinniiinly ha[)py. \\' hat- ever her husband was to others, he was full of care and tenderness for her and for Sheila. She did not trouble her head about the child, but allowed her to run wild among the Ik ather, and watched her b )rn)ie face and her bate rouml arms taking on the sun-dye with undi>turbed content, knowing what a stoek of health she was layittg in for the days when study and care would demand her at tern ion. * You don't bother your head much about Sheila, Edith,' sii I Macdonald one day. 'Do you know where I saw her and the hoy the other aiternoon in tlie pouring rain?' 'No, where?' ' In the middle of the peat bog at Dalreoch. Fergus is Icaiiiing botany from no less a person than Rob Maenaughton ill tlie Fanid, and he trails poor Sheila everywhere with him.' 'She is just as willing to be trailed,' laughed Editii. 'It is nut among the heatlier, or even in wet peat bogs, any haini will come to Sle-ila, Graham. As long as she is a child she is safe.' 'I shouldn't wonder, now, Edith, if the bairns theinsflves scttji' tlie vexed cpiestion about Dalmore,' laughed tlie Laird; liiit Edith oidy smiled. She had iuj wish to anticipate the cares winch encon)[)ass every n lother's heart wdien she has a (iau;^hter to settle in life. So the bairns were allowed to wander !>iue by side, or hand in hand, by moimtain, moor, and loch, aiid that sununer Sheila was filled with a wealth of country lore. She knew the nest of the whaup and the peesvveep, the Li n ' i ( ' i , ; ,11 1:1 1.1; 1 74 SHEILA, . Ill ' ii ! il i' lijiiint of the fox nn^^ the red deer, and tlie name of every wild flowiT wliich blew. That most perfect companionship V)et\veen Fer^^us and herself hiid the founchition of a deep aflfection whicli neitlier time nor circumstance could ever chanr*^^li.' 'Bob Macnaugliton slio\\\;u me it; when the fly gets on the plant, it folds all its leaves over it and scpieezes it dead.' ' Oh, Fergus Macleod ! you horrid, cruel boy, to tell such stories ! ' said Sheila reprovingly. ' Girn at him, Colin. Isn't he a naughty boy ? ' ' I'd like to see Colin Macdonald girn at me, Sheila Murray. I'd girn him,' said Fergus, as he began to take his rod to pieces. • I wish you were a boy, Sheila.' 'What for?' ' Because you'd like to fish, and chase hares, and all these kind of things. Girls always want to sit quiet, don't they ? ' ' I don't. If you don't want me, you can go away home, Fergus Macleod,' said Sheila quickly. ' I can play by myself with Colin.' ' No, you can't, or why do you always watch for me Avhen I fish in the Girron ? Besides, I never said I didn't like you. You aren't bad at all for a girl,' said Fergus graciously. ' I say, do you think you could walk to the Fauld ? ' ' Of course I could,' said Sheila promptly. ' Well, come on ; I want to speak to liob Macnanghton about something very special, and if you like I'll make him tell you about the mist -wraiths up Glenquaich. He's seen tluin. Would you be frightened. Sheila?' 'No, I wouldn't,' said Sheila; but her eyes opened wide wiili something like appreluMis-nn. ♦ What's mist-wiaiths ? ' 'Things that live in the mountains,' answered Fergus vaguely. 'I'm not very sure myself, because, you see, I never saw thetn. Rob'll tell you all about them, and we can go to the smith's :lf nit toll in. AMONG THE FAULD FOLK. 75 as well. Mnry will jrivo you some cakes and milk. Then you will see wee Katie Menzies that I've told you about so often. Slie's always at the smith's.' 'Is she niciT than me?' asked Sheila soberly. 'Sometimes,' answered Fergus, rather absently; for they had crossed over the brig, and he was looking away over at ShoiiMcii, with a look of pain in his eyes which one so young ought not to have known. 'I don't think you're nice, anyway, Fergus,' said Sheila, in rather an aggrieved voice, as they turned up tlu; r d to the Faiild. 'You just fished and fished, and never spok^. at I.' ' I was thitdiing, Sheila,' Siiid Fergus ; and he .'usi ' his hand over his eyes as he looked to the long, low, • hi e-washed kirk of Ainulree. ' Sheila, what would you think ii ome day, wlicn you Were a big woman, you went into the I irk there, and Saiuiy M' lavish brought up the Bible, and th opened the vestry door, and let in a new minister, not Mr. Macfarlane, and when you looked up it was me ? ' ' Vou!' Sheila stared with all her might, and then laughed ritilit out. 'Oh, tliat would be funny!' ' It might be funny for you, but it wouldn't be very furmy for till',' said Fergus gloomily. ' My mother says that in Septem- lur, just when Uncle Graham and them are out on the hilLs all day, 1 have to go to Perth to the school, and learn to be a minister.' 'Oh, Fergus, what for?' 'She says, Sheila, that I must learn to do something, for I have no money; and that I must be a minister, because father was one, and it will be the best thing for me.' There was a catch in the boy's voice tiS he spoke, and Sheila's sweet eyes filled with tears of sympathy, thougii she only parti- iiUy understood it all. ' IM rather dig peats all day, or be a gamekeeper like Lachlan Macme, or break stones on the road, than go to be a minister. Sheila. I hate books and going to school.' ' Ijiit, Fergus, Uncle Graham has lots and lots of money. I'll !i^k him to give you money, and not let you go to be a minister, it' you don't like it,' said Sheila confidently. 1 In .V'^- il '• 'I 76 SHEILA. Fcrjrns smiled sadly, rcnionibcring wiih what jiot, stinfritig, im^paring words Ids iiioilicr had drnoutict'd Aiitit Kditli and her lit lie iiii'l, and liow she had said they had stolen his hiitlnlLdit fiMin him. She had said a great deal- -in< »re, indeed, tiian FerL;u< understood — hut that point \s IS qu lite plain to iii in. And L't It niaije no dilTerence in his leelin^ to Sheila, who had hecoine as necessary to his existence as light and sunshine was to Aunt K.liil '■}' 1, wiio was en-nriiuu d hk e a saint in ids )0\1S h I leait. Whatever Ids mother inijiht say, he woidd never change towards I hem nor hlanie them in the least. Tlu'y walked a lilth; way in silence, until, a>^cendinff one of I he <:tntle elevations in the road, they saw Aclmalauld and the >il\erv loch heyoii'^ shimmering in the radiance of th«' summer sun. A mystic, exfjuisite purple jilow lay on the encircling hills; a long, dry, bright summer had ripened the heather, and made it i)loom before its time. ' Oh, Fergus,' said Sheila, and she slipped her hand in his, ' isn't it sunny and luce ? Never mind. Perhaps your mother won't send you to be a nunister yet.' Fergus smiled. The beautiful scene spread before his eyes, in all its grand solitude and peace, had its effect )flied his vexed spirit upon lum, and ipo ' Yonder's a gig coming out of Auc.hloy, Slieila, he said, point ing with his rod to the c4ump of trees hiding the i'actorS residence. ' 1 see Puddin' M'Bean in it.' • Why do they call him Puddin'?' askt'd Sheila; and Fergu.- 1 unfiled at lu-r cur ions pronouncing of the wov SI leila pure Fngli>h accent yet, though she had picked up a few High- land words in her intercourse with the servants and witli Fergus. • liecause he is so fat. His face is like a bannock all dabbed over w iih little holes, like Mary M'Glashan's scones,' said Fergus, witli nene force than elegance of diction; and Sheila only laiigheil. Mr. M'Bean drove a high-step])ing horse, and the light gig came rolling over the rough road at a splendid pace. ' Here's Lady Macleod's boy and the little girl from Dalmore, mistress,' said the factor to his wife, wdio was on the back of the gig. ' Take a good look at her.' AMOXG TJfE FAULD FOLK. 77 Which Mis. M'I>t';iri certainly did, after tlu' gig had piisM d till' cldldii'ii, and ilu' factor had e of strong lanjinage, and had grown very combative of laif 111 fact, home iiillu<'iices wi-re soui'inIij) irtunity he heaped kind words and gifts on the boy, for his nan was sore for 1 Ulll. 1 Hand in hand tlie pair passed on, and turned down the fust hi'atcn p:it!i into Aclinafauld. Fergus chose this way brcau-^e he w.inred to show Sheila the pool in the burn where I'uddin' Md)tan had got his 'dookin';' and there he had to help her (ivi r the stepjjing-stones, which were nearly dry with the long (IrwHudit. It was past six o'clock, and the bii^y claiii: of the anvil \v;is at rest and the smithy ein[)ty. Fergus hoped Donald would have his suj)per, and that he wou'd l)e smokinii by the side of the peat fire, for it was then, "when liis own pipe smoke went ciiiiiiig u[) in beautiful unison with the peat reek, that Donald Was apt to glide into his most talkative and delightl'ul moods. Ill all her wanderings with Fergus during the long days of Hiiiiiiier, Sheila had never been in the Fauld before, nor within :iiiy of the cottars' dwellings. She opened her liig brown e\es \iiv wide as she followed Fergus through the low ii.umw dix/r iiiin the kitchen, the floor of which was white and tlu^ roof black, 'he rafters having been varnislied with the peat ri'ek of geuera- ""us. The kitchen was the whole width of the huuse, and there ; I 7» SHEILA. ., , I ' *■! WHS a tiny window not much binncr tlian a port-holo, both to buck sind front. Tlicn, just lu'hind the (h^or, tlicri? w.is tlw (jiu'cnst, (jiiiiintt'st firc-pliicc Sheila had ever seen in hef hie; \\\>\ a handful of peals l)uniiii;jf among soft l»r(»wn ash on two Itiir Ihit stones, and a ketth; liangin-^ on a chain ai)ove it, and siii;iiriut mountain grass and moss in the beautiful dells. Luxuriant heatlicr grows on every moor, And the fragrance of lioney is conveyed by the breeze. Untiringly flows the substantial river In its chanmd, a bed of tiie clefuiest of pebbles. Winding cheerily on, free .f mud and of dust, More precious in my eyes than the sweetest sugar AMONG THE FAULD FOLK. Thy clear streari, like crystal, I love well to see ; Sweeter than red wine to me is thy taste. Thou'rt a lovelier stream by far than the Jordan, And no lie, though I say it, than the great Amazon. The graceful swan— I am proud to declare it — Is quietly reposing on thy watery wave. May those generous men flourish who gave so much money To bridge over the river for all in the Glen. 83 A tributary stream from Glenlochan comes foaming. Which keeps food and clothing to each one in the place By the excellent machinery iu tlie meal and wool mills. No better than these can be found anywhere. Thy gifts without number to all who will take them Since that time that Adam lived up in the Glen. Tliou'it a jewel more precious than all in the world — Why should we not praise thee, who nurtured us all ? I! I, i u f 11 ■i iUfe CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW OF DEATH. Love ! wlio bewailost Tlie fi'iiilty of iill tilings well, Why clioose you the frailest Fur your cradle, your home, and your hior? Shelley. ,P and down, to and fro the dining-room of Dahr.ore, strode Macdonald one August eveninp", and Ik- Lad the appearance of a man in the k( en tlii'Ks ol' mental anuiiish. His hrows Aveie kiiir, and In' clasped and unclasped his hand'? vvitii a nervous haste as hv paused now and again to listen with ."^r ained ear for any sound to come from upstairs. In the upper room, liis wife, tlie dailinu of his heart, lay beiween life and death. Another hour, the physician had said, wouhl decide the issue. Ih; set nied to have been enduring this agonizing strain for hoius; in reality, it was only miiuites. Tiny had sent hiin down. Tiie doctor had itnploied liiin to stay in the dining-room ; for his restless, liurri( d })acing up and down the conidor was disturbing tl •• sick roon). He had obeyed innnediately. Ail he could do tn heln Avas to keep out of the way; but oh, they sei'tned cai(lis«-. indiifereni to his agony, tlioui>h it was the light of his life \\\ WHS in such f<'aiful peril. He heard a foot on the stair li'iigll), and sprang to the door. 'J'he doctor, a grave, middii- M^^iil man, of eminent skill, who had come all the way from 111 at 84 ! 1 IV, llu.' I) have 11 y, It [or lie do to \n1io lair at lulili"'- fioiu THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 85 Iv]iiiV)urgh to attend at tliis crisis, motioned him to be siU'nt, aiitl. entering the room, shut the door. ' It is over,' he said hricfly ; 'the chikl is dead.' 'Wliat is tiie cliild to mo? How is my witV' ? ' 'She cannot live,' said the doctor briefly, and, turning I i>; head away, strode over to the winuv)W, and stood with his li;ul; to the man, not caring to look upon liis anguish. 'Not live! Why not?' ciied Macdonald. 'What use are you if }'ou can do nothing for her?' 'Mr. Macdonald,' said the physician gravely, almost sadly. ' wi' can only do what we can. We cannot work miracles. Xn'liing short of a niiracle coidd save your wife's llf. .' Macdonald groaned aloud. The doctor was amazed to see such evidence of devoted love. lie had not been greatly pre- p(i>M'ssi'd in favour of this rough Highland laird in the hours of th.' last ev«'niiig whicli he had spent in his conij)any. lie had, iiidt ed, wondered in what curious way he had wooed and won so sweet a Avife. But there was no doul)t about the u:eiuiiiiene.>s of the man's anguish. It was searing itself into every feature. ' Xothitig can be done? ' he said, calming Ijimself by an effort. atid speaking iti a tone of anxious inquiry. 'Xoihing. The strength is completely gone. Mrs. Macdonald has never been a very robust woman. No constitution to fall back upon. Such was the brief, callous explanation of the whoh' matter as viewed in the light of medical skill. Macdonald re ived it ill silence. 'How long' — He stopped short, unable to frame the (jU'^tioti his eyes dumbly asked. ' Not long. You had better go up. She has ask< d for you seviiaj times.' Without a word, Macdonald turned and marched out of the rodiu. rill n th(! physician stretched himself on the couch and shut Ills eyes. He had been up all night, and his work was done. lie was not a heartless man; but he had never married, and e< uld not understand a husband's feelings. He wai^ ijideed, r;ither sceptical about them, as a rule. ! 1, 1 'i m 11 ill i in \\ I I 9. 86 SHEILA. \ ^ The Laird met Anne, Sheila's nurse-girl, on the stair. She was crying, with her apron at her eyes. He passed her by v/ithout a word, and stiode on to the large, wide bed-chamber, with the long windows looking over to Aniulree, where his wife had laid lier down to die. The nurse heard his heavy foot in the corridor, and passed out as he went in. She only slipped into the adjoining room, to be at hand if required. Macdon.ild only saw one gleam of tlie perfectly colourless face on the Aviiite pillows, and, staggering blindly across the room, he fell on his knees at the bed-side and buried his face on his arms. His action shook the whoK- bed, and his wife opened her eyes Then her hand went forth very feebly, for her strength was spent, and, reaching his head, lay there content. In his deep, terrible agony, he was un- conscious of that light, loving touch. ' Graham,' she said at last, in a voiceless Avhisper, ' Graham, look up ; there are some things to say.' He flung up his head, and his eyes dwelt upon her face lovingly, yearningly, with a look wh>h might have drawn her back to life and health. It told of intense, undying, unutterable love. She had all his affection, for until he met her it had been lavished on none. Ellen Macleod was his only living relative, and she had not sought or won any of his love. ' It is to be a fearful trial, Graham,' whisp.ered the dying wife feebly. 'Try to bear it. We have been so happy. I — I thank you for all ' — ' Hush, hush, Edith ! don't torture me ! ' he cried hoarsely. ' I have only known what life is since you came to Dalmore. Oh, wife, li 'e — iive for my sake!' ' I wr.uld if I i^otld,' she whispered, and her faint smile was very sweet. ' But i ^lust go. We cannot understand. Some day it will b ; niacl:' pi; in, and it is not for ever.' Her hopefa! word? found no echo in his heart. Ah ' in death's dark ho\ : it is not easy to find comfort, even in ^ i-i-' hope. \x sometr les seems aS if our day had set in utter darkness. Th J silence which followed was broken by the hasty patter of small feet in the corridor; the door was opened by a quick, ■-» •it, impulsive u])0i! the ' Oh, ni; cried, as if so white, is crying ? 'i'lie mot she liffed dona 1(1 s ne ' Kiss n); papa,' she care of She Even in f married life Macdonal know no nu Then lie bee about his ne his heart, an glance. Ellen Mac Slioimen, bu grassy slope with Colin b( and Shonnen. thing why tl belonged to when he bro' show at Invt liitn house-ro only visited 1 young master, Fergus had fiir enough fn two days to Graham woul promised. It THE SHADO W OF DEATH. 87 impulsive li:mcl, and Sheila, with a quick, sobbing cry, sprang U])Oi! the bed. ' Oh, niiuiuna, mamma ! they "would not let me come ! she crietl, as if her little heart would break. ' Wliat is it? you are so white. Are you very ill, dear mamma? Is that why ])apa is crying? ' The mother had no strength to reply. With a last eflbit, she lil'ted the child's hand and tried to place it round Mac- dona Id's neck. 'Kiss mamma, darling. Be good, and love and care (*«».' papa,' she whispered slowly and with difficulty. 'Graham, take care of Sheila, and don't let Ellen Macleod come near her.' Even in death the shadow Ellen Macleod had cast on Edith's married life lay chilly on her heart. Macdonald heard these words as in a dream. He seemed to know no more until they told him gently his wife •tvas dead. Then 'le became conscious of a childish hand clinaino: tearfully ;ihovit his neck, and, gathering himself up, he to(dv the child to his heart, and turned away Irom the room without a backward ghuice. • • • « • • • Ellen Macleod was sitting at the drawinor-room window at J^honnen, busy, as usual, with some knitting. On the little grassy slope before the house Fergus was lying at full length, with Colin beside him. Colin divided his time between Dalmore iiiid Shonnen. To him it had appeared at first an extraordinary thing why the family should be separated. 'I'he dog really belonged to Fergus, his uncle luiviug given him to the boy when he brought him home, a prize puppy, one day from the show at Inverness. But Ellen Macleod had declined to give liiin house-room at Shonnen ; so Colin slept at Dalmore, and oiilv visited the Lodge when he wearied for a sight of his young master. Fergus had an open book before him, but his thoughts wa're far enough from study. He was thinking that it wanted Itut two days to the ' Tvvelfth,' and wondering whether Uncle Graham would let him handle a gun this year, as he had promised. It was life to him to be out of doors. Do what -.1 I ! ^ \ 4 88 SHEILA. 1! ! '( tlioy woiiM, tlicy would never iniikc a student of liim. Kllon, and he's driving the doctor in to Dvmkehl to catch the train.' 'Dead!' Eiltu Macleod turned awr.y, and, approaching the open window, stood there in stony silence. Slie saw Feiiius, with Colin at his heels, alieady crossing the Braan by the ste[)ping-stones he had rolled down himself before the Lodge to make a quick cut to Dalmore. She knew where the boy was going. She pictured hitn even entering the house, while slie repeated to herself the one word — dead! The woman who had supplanted her Iiad not long enjoyed the place she had usurped. "^ THE SHADOW OF DEATH 89 ,'or. tilt' •e!' her too » the gus, the h.ul nt'id ! Tlmt briglit, sweet, gracious vvdiiiati, whose girlish iHaiuy had made iiiatiy wuiuh-r at Macdtniahi's hnk. Dead ! It \v;is an awful tlmtight. lU-r hard, ])i(md luotith (jiiivcri'd, lint with griff, for she felt none, litit with th»' sheer vioh'iiee of ilif |ili\>ical and mental shook. Meanwhile, Fergns was nin- iiiii'i with all his might up to Dalnicre, There was tuihody ahoiit the outhouses, and when he got round to the Iront till ranee he found tlie door wide opeii. As he stepped into the liall he was struck by the strange brooding siU-nce in the liniise. lie started when the clock struck eight. Colin liad his tail between his legs, and was suspiciously sniffing the air. Siuhleidy, without any warning, he gave vent to a long, inoimilul hiwi. which made Fergus shiver, and brought two servants hiirrving up iVoni the kitchen to see what it meant. 'It's oidy Colin, Christina,' said the boy, with a faint, sickly smile ; ami, taking Inm by the collar, he dragged him out to the stalije and shut him in. 'Is it true that my uncle's wife is dead, Hamish?' he asked the stable-boy, who was lounging at the coach-house door with his hands in his pockets. ILnnish nodded stolidly; and Fergtis went away round to the fioiit door again, and entered the house. He (15 a not ktiow what he wanted, or what made him stay, lie could not believe that Aunt Edith, who only a few days ago had stopped lier carriage on the road to lean out and kiss him, could be lying ciild and still, as he remembered seeing his fiither lie at the iiiatise of Meiklemore. lie waiited to see his Uncle Graham or Sheila, just to make sure that this terrible thing had really h:i]tpened. He looked into the dining-room, but it was empty. Ihedoorof his uncle's own room on the t)p[)Osite side of the Cdiridor was wide open, and there was nobody in it. With i.iiiM'iess step and l)ated breath, Fergus crept upstairs to the (li.iwing-room. He heard t!ie sound of whispering voices and liunying leet on the upper floor, but nobody came to disiurb liiin. 'I'he drawing-room door was a little ajar, and wdien he l^"krd in, he saw crouched up on the deerskin rug a little figure ill a eiumpled white frock. It was Slit ila, poor motherless lamb! fast asleep, with the big tears lying wet on her white M II Hi -[ tl! 1 11 \ : 90 SHEILA, { • -1 clic'cks, and fringing ])er long brown laslies. It was past her bi'd-tinic, but tlicy bad Jbrgotten all about lier ; wliile slic, poor cbild ! bad forgotten }ier sorrow in tlie deep sbimlicr of cbildiiood. A hunp r<.>sc in the boy's throat, and ho tnrneil away. Not given niuch to tears, his eyes were full at sight ot' Slieila. Just as he slipped away downstairs, lie met Mrs. Cameron, the housekeeper, who looked surprised to see him. 'Where have ye come frotn, Maister Fergus?' she ;•. .ked, in a whisper. 'This is a sad, sad day for Dalmore. Will you come uj) and see our sweet leddy ? She's like a angel in her sleej).' The boy shivered, but there was a fascination in the thought, lie could not really believe th.it Aunt Edith wil^ dead imless his own eyts convinced him. So he nodded, and followed the housekeeper upstairs once more. Their work was done in the chamber of death. Loving hands had per- formed the last service on earth for the beloved mistress of Dalmore, and when Fergus stole softly, fearfully almost, into the room behind the servant, he was conscious of a curious peace which fell upon liim. The blinds were drawn, but the sunshine she had loved stole through, and made a mellow radiance in the room. They had removed frotn the room everything which could suggest the brief, sharp struggle which had snap[)ed the thread of life, and there she lay white, calm, peaceful, with her hands folded, and a sprig of wi ile heather on her breast. The face was uncovered, and it seemed to Fergus that she looked as if she had been asleep ; there was even a faint smile on the sweet mouth. She had left a blessed memory behind, even in the heart of the boy to whom her smile and her motherly kindness had been like the wine of life. If Ellen Macleod had but known what was passing in her son's heart at that moment, she would have been jealous of her rival even in death. But iliat was a thing Fergiis Macleud never spoke of until years after, and it was to one who shaied with him the regret that a life so precious should have been so pi'ematurely ended. 'That will do, thank you, Mrs. Cameron,' he said gently. 'Would you let me have a bit of that heather just to keep, that little bit touching her hand ? ' •> THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 91 ■a tlie lluw com Inch aim, tlicr d to there eft H whom ne of n hfF f htT clfod ha re J been cntly. ,, thiit I II Tlie honsckoepcT sobhcfl ahmd, as, \\\\\\ nn'cront liarid, ^hi- })riik<' the littlt^ spray from the stem and gavu it iiiti) the l>()\'s li.iiiil. Ilis rri'icf was not noisy, but she saw tliat ir w,i> pint'iinnd. As Fergus r.bich'od went (h.wnstairs he kissed tlic sjtriu' of white heather, and in that kiss a vo\v was hid. \\\\\\\ it \v;is we may not yet know, V)'.it it made a man of oir lici . .iiid lillcd 1dm with a maidy resolve. lie did not jio b.ick to the drawing-room. Young thonLili lit' wa^, he frit that slccj) was merciful to Sheila. 'J'hcrc wi nid lit' jilciity ot'limc to-morrow lor lier to cry her heart (jut ani w f-r wliat she had lost. Tlic sun had set when he went out "t' il'iiiis ;ig;dii, and the sky hcvoiid ( Jlt'n(|uai(di was a wonder of Lili'ii'iis loveliness. There s( t'ine(l to be a soletnn hiish in ilie .lie. but there was nothing sad or melanchoiy to add to the laiiiial giief. Nay, it \v;is ;is if the Ang(d of Death, in his >wirt ]i,i^-;iue, had lel't an abiding peace on Dalmore. Fergus went til the >tidile for Colin, and turned his face down the hid. lint tiie (hi::' woidd not fcdinw. He rushed to and fro, whinin ; iii;e;ivilv, and finally set ofT round by the stable and up thri.ngh ihr tlis towards the crest of Crom Creagh. P^ergus had the iiiiiii>^ity to follow him. not l)eing in any special hurry to go h.i k to Siioiineii. He fidt, thoiiL;h he could not exj)ress or uiidii>tand it, that his mother woidd break the spell of peace wMch lini:(ied about Dalmore, and that she woidd fret him ■ iiid make him iiii>eiable about his atint. II(! was only a (diild, hin cNpciience was teaching him. He had visions and j)erce])- tinii> t'.ir beyond his years. He coidd even weigh mttives in till' halaiice, and discriminate between ri^jht and wrong, justice ;iiid injustice, with marvellous [trecision. He had thus no ical t'liildhood. But for the whoh'Sonie itiibiences of the out-door wnrld ill which he lived so much, he must have grown up an unnatural, uidoveable being. But nature is a kind mo'lni. SJic -a\ed her boy. (\)liii was far ahead, leaping over he rhei :i!id hru' ken, and cleariiui tlu* burns aiul the boulders with lied ^ti'p, as if he had an etid in view. At la^t Fergus lost sight oi liiiii. hut, fdllowing in his wake, came upon a sight which made liini suddeidy biu'st intj tears. There was the solitary, mouiu- hil figure of his Uncle Graham, sitting on a boulder under the \\\\ III I •) ! \\ \ ^ ' II IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) // 1.0 I.I 1^12^ |2.5 1^ 11112.2 S -^ IIIIIM 1.8 1-25 1.4 1 1.6 -^ 6" ► V] s n % 7 O / /A Photographic Sciences Corporation ^^ m \ :\ >v \ fv <* "<«<^>. 6^ ^"^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 8724S03 '^ all. And when it was all over, Graham Macdonald went back to his dreary home, where a white-faced child in a black fiock was wandering desolately through the house, crying for the mother that would never come again. From the upper window at Shonnen, Ellen Macleod watclied the fiuieral train leavi; Daltnore and wend its way along by the Ai.'hnatauhl road towards Shian. But the intervening distance \v;is too wide to permit lier to distinguish the dilFerent carriages anii e(|uipa'ies which niade up the long, imposing train. It was a giL'ut gathering, for even in the few short months Edith n ■' 1 in ' mm liUi I^^B 1 ) lUiH ) HI ^^^1 1 1 II ^^H ! ! ' ^ ^1 '■■1 i 1 PI I ^1 f ! i ! I i In H ! 1 H 1 ^^1 , ^^H i ^1 ^1 t ^H 1 li 1 il.l ' '^- 1 . r ■ 1 1 ' ■ ' m '' ^^1 'l i 1 ) 1 ' 1 j ) 1 i 1 1 : ' H ■•1 * ' 1 r ' " ( ■tiVnl ■ II 11^ 94 SHEILA, Macdonald had reigned in Dalmore she had made for herself many iViends. Fergus was very wet wlien he retJirned fd Slionnen hite in the afternoon, for the mist- wraiths had drooped tlicir wings lower and lower, until they too drofiped tears for the Lady of Dalmore. After he had clianged his dress and eoine to the dining-r<)om, his mother found him absent and uncommunicative. 'It was a great burying, Fergus,' she said. 'I could not make out the coaches. Who were all there?' ' I don't know, mother. It was a great crowd.' ' Who let down the coffin, then ? You can surely teli Jl.at; ' Uncle Graham at the head, mother, and I was at the foof, beside Sir Douglas Murray. Lord Dunloch was at one side, and General Macpherson at the other. I don't know the ivst.' ' What ministers had you at the house? ' ' I dor.'t know them, mother, except Mr. Macfarlane. There were others there, I think,' said the boy wearily, for 'he (jiiestioning hurt him. lie had been sufficiently saddened bv the event of the day. He coidd not bear to discuss eveiv tiifling element in it, as his mother evidently desired. She w.is consumed with curiosity — had, indeed, felt a kind of surprised chagrin at the great turn-out of well-known people at her sister-in-law's burying. ' Were there any ladies at the house?' 'Only Lady Ailsa Murray.' ' Did you hear anything about any arrangements? Is the little gill to go to Murrayshaugh ? ' 'Siieila? Oh, I don't think so. I hope not,' said Feraus (jnickly. 'Uncle Graham won't let her, I am sure. 8lii' s;it on his knee all the time of the service in the diniim- I'oom. Dinner was served just then, and the subject was laid aside. I>iit ICIlen Macleod pondered certain things in her mind for the rest of that day. The violence of the shock the sudddi death had given her had worn off, and she had felt a strange i\ w ESTRANGED. 95 tlirill that very aHernoon when the funeral train passed by; for the interloper was gone, and there was notliing now to stand lift ween Fergus Miiclcod and Dalmore. She liad already scttltd in lier own mind that the child Sheila would rtturn to thf Muirays; for of course she had not the shadow of a claim to expect a home at Dalmore. And, after a time, when the way was smoothed, and past differences between her brother iiiid herself healed by a little diplomacy on her part, she j)i(tured herself and Fergus reinstalled at Dalmore. It had been a trial of no ordinary kind for her proud spirit ti stoop to the obscurity of Shonnen Lodge. She had not spnken to Macdonald for montlis, but she had no doubt that he wnuld feel the need of her help at this crisis. littween the death and the burying, however, no message lia'l come from Dalmore — not even a formal notification of the evt nt — neither was she asked up to the house for the service of th" funeral day. She knew that Lady Ailsa had come up the (lav after Mrs. Macdonald's death, and had not returned to Muira^sliaugh. So she attributed the lack of attention shown to herself to the officious interference of Lady Murray, and resolved to bide her time until Dalmore should be restored to solitude. A few more days passed by, and as no message came fnnii Dalmore, Ellen Macleod made up her mind to go up and find out for herself how matters stood. She had no means of knowing whether her brother was alone, or whether Lady Murray still remained, and her curiosity could no longer be I'lstiained. Fergus had gone off for a long day's fishing on the loch ; so, larly in the afternoon, Ellen ALicIeod left Shotmen, and, crossing 'iver by Fergus's step|)ing-stones, walked slowly up to Dalniore. Siie had not crossed the Girion Brig for eleven months, sitice 'ill' day she had left Dalmore, a week before her brother's niaiiiage. She was not a sentimental woman, and she felt no 111 ill of feeling as she entered upon the familiar carriage-way. Hi r interest in Dalmore was of a very practical kind, chiefly 'iKKJe up of j)ride and greed. But she did think, when she reached the tableland and turned ! pi < II tl 96 SHEILA. Hi w \ 1 into the avrniic pr.'ito. that the pliice liad never lookfd so bonnie. It liad ncvtT Ix-cii kept in siicli condition in licr diiy. Tlicre was nut a weed nor a l>iire spot on llie sniootli tiravel, ;mil the tiiif was closelv shaven, aiul looked like tint-st velvet. Edith si ' had |)l;inted some Dijnn rose-trees before the door, and they had taken kindly to the soil, and were covered with bloom and bnd. On either side of the door Were two huge terra-cotta vases filled with white heather, a mass of delicate bloon). Wherever Edith Macdon.dd was, she gathered pretty things about her, and she had loved her new hon)e with a loving pride, and fonnd di'light in its adornment. As for Macdonald, though he did not understand all she did, he knew that never had the liouse been so pleasant to live in Ah ! it had been blessed by"^he sunshine of a sweet woman's presence only long enough to make the desolation more awful to bear. These frivolities about the outside of Dalmore did not please Ellen .\b»cleod. 'Any cottar can cover his walls with roses,' she said to herself, thinking tliey detracted from the dignity of Dalmore. She hesitat<'d at the open door, not knowing why she should hesitate. Her hand even was on the bell to announce her presence ; but, with a short laugh, she hastily recovered herself, and walked in. Why should she crave admission to Dalmore? She knew where she would be likt'ly to find her brother, but she elected to seek her way to the drawi?)g-room, possil)ly to see what changes the new wife had wrought there. She scarcely knew the room, ihongh the furnishinirs were the same ; but the things were all shif'ed ~ TO from the places they had occupied for a hundred years or more, and there were some pert, new-fangled little chairs and tallies standing in every odd corner, and so many plants and cut flowers that it was more like a greeidiouse than the sulier reception-room at Dalmore. The faded nioieen curtiiins weH' all removed from the windows, and in their place hangings ol" some dainty Indian niu^lin, tied back with broad hamls nf bright yellow riWbon, swayed to and fro in tin* gentle antumii wind. But, woist of all, there was a tine new piano, a semi- grand, with a beautil'uUy inlaid ebony case, open, as the poor ESTRANGED. 97 l;i(ly Imd Ij'ft it, with licr music scatfort'd about, and a pi c- (Veil t)M the rack ahovt^ \\ut k«'ys. Kill ji Maclt'od had the ciiiioxify to go fuiw.ird and h>t.k ir the rnaki'i's iiiinn', and whtu shi' saw it was an Eiaitl .she iKtuiu'd, knowiiii: wliat it nuiNt have cwed nil this!' .Nhe muttered to herself, as she took a tinal survey of tie loiini ere she lelt it, thou'jh she did not know it, lor the l;isi lime. 'I'll sweep away all that llimsy nonsense, and sen I i at k the plants to their [)roper place. I hope she hasn't t(jrn up liie L'nod moreen cui tains, that cost a guinea a yard it' they cosi a licnny.' SIh! drew the door behind her, and, sweeping majesticall\ downstairs, made her way to the hhrary door. In the hall Anne Hoss met her, and stared in blank amaze- iiH-rit. But Mrs. Maeleod, without dei^Miing to notice her, turned the door-handle of the library door, and marciieti in. Miicdonald was sitting at his escritoire, with his back to the (lnur. At the first glance his sister was struck V)y his b< nt shmlders and the greyness of his hair. From behind he looked like an iild man. She had advanced into the room before he turned Ids head. When he did look round, he rose at once, jiu^hed his chair to I'lie side, and looked her stiaight in the face. There was neither iicognition nor friendliness iti that look. 'Well,' he said curtly, 'what do you want?' The brief, keen question, the icy coldness of his manner, and the flash in his deep-set eye, were slii^htly disconcerting to Ellen Mae'eod, though she was not a timid woman. 'You needn't snap my head off', Macdonald,' she said, with idiiiirable coolness, and sitting down as she spoke. 'I've come to talk matters over with you.' 'What matters?' ' Family affairs, of course. I was sorry to bear of your loss, thoiu^h you may not believe it.' A slight, very slight, smile, which had nothing pleasant in it, w f,, 1" i, If! ' h ! ii' Ill il' 98 SHEILA. curled Mjicdonald's straiciht upper lip. It was all the answer or thanks she received. 'I have no family affairs to discuss with you, KUen,' he said brielly. ' So you have had your walk in vain. ' You have not been very civil to me at this time, Macdonald,' ^aid Ellen Macleod, determined to tak<' a hisxh hand or none. ' 1 say nothiiin about not receivinjx any notice of the event, or about the sli^^ht put upon me by your asking a stranger to dispense your hospitalities at tliis time. I have nothing against Lady Murray ; I know her to be a kind friend both in sickness and health ; but whatever difference was between us, Macdonald, my pl.ice was to be at Dalmore on Friday.' Macdonald's brow darkened, his li{)s twitched, and his nostrils dilated with the passion he was trying to hold and curli. It was her memory which helped him in this moment of keen trial. ' Ellen,' he said, and his voice shook with the very violence of the effort he was making to restrain his anger, ' I wish to have no words with you, and I cannot conceive for wli.it reason you should have forced yourself upon me at this time. You had better go (juickly away back to Shonnen. 1 ;iiii quite capable of managing my own alTairs without yciur interference.' But Ellen Macleod had no such intention. She had been so accustomed in the past to her brother's tits of anger and to his use of strong language, that his moderate speech and ap[)aieiit calmness completely deceived her. *I don't want to interfere with your management of your affairs. I only want to know something of your plans. I ruppose the child will go back to the Murrays?' 'What child V * Your wife's, the little girl Murray. Her father's people will be going to take her?' ' What is that to you? ' ' Oh, nothing much, of course. If you are going to keep her for a while, of course I have no business, and I'll do my duty by her.' lUil ESTRANGED. 99 ' Yo)i will ? * ' Yes. Df)n't be a fool, Macdonald. You cannot bo con- i('in|iliitini; anytliitig so absurd as to live l)«»n' alone wln'u I am Mldiic :it S!ionn«'n. The sooner we slip back into the old way iht' better. It will be in your interest as well as mine.' • I :iiM very much obliged to you, but it will be better for us lioth. ii"W that we are apart, to ke«'p so,' he s;iid (piietly, thoiiL'h he wa"^ tempted to express himself nuich more stroiiL'ly. Ml* ;iMV .'<»(»d l('( Tmg has promi)ted you to come here to-day, 1 ti ;iiii; yoti lor it, and I wish you good-day.' Kihii Macleod rose to her t'eet. Amazement, indignation, iiii'K'dulity possessed her. ' Do you mean to say 1 am not to come back to Dalmorc, Macdoiiald ; that the place is to be at the mercy of servants ? Ynii don't know what you are doing. They'll devour your Milistance, and rob you right and left. Have you taken leave lit your senses?' 'No, but you evidently have/ he said angrily. 'Do you know, that for you to come here after — after all that is past' (lie (hired not mention his wife's name), * expecting to be even civilly spoken to, is a height of presimiption I scarcely imagined t'Vi II you to be capable of? While I am in my right mind, Ellin M.icleod, you shall never enter this house as resident or L'ucst, though you are my sister. You have never acted a sister's part to n.e.' Ellt'U Mjicleod's long thin lips grew pale with passion. Her lint Highland blood was up. She positively glared at the cold, o.ilin countenance of her brother, as if shs3 could have slain i.ini where he stood. 'So this is what Edith Murray, with her sneaking ways, has '•'lit'? 1 shall be hearing next that Dalmore is to go to her !lll(t Mli> ' Ilnjd your tongue ! How dare you take that name on your thundered Macdonald, his face purple with righteous iii-'i'. his eyes flashing, and the veins on his ft)rehead ^.Hiding out like knotted cords. 'The place she sanctified, made a heme such as it never was, and never will ' j :ilh Il^ll 100 SHEILA, :i| be a;inin, is do^pcriitcd witlj your prcsoncp. (lot out of niv si^'lit, woiriaii ! h'st 1 forgot iiiyst'll', and lift my liatid agilin^l you.' ' NN'cll, I po, l)uf T leave my curse upon yoti and Dalmorel' slie almost scrcaTMcd ; for lier an,i;<'r had risen to wliife licaf, and. pallu'riiij; In-r skirts in lier hand, she swept our of ilie roi>iii. As sh»! shmincd the door alter her, a thrill of cliiMish hniLditir came in throMirh the open door, and, as she stej)ped into tin- hall, Sheila, with her hands fnll of wild (lowers, came daneiiiL' in. She stopped short at sight of the tall, dark-hrowed wom.iii, sweeping like a Nemesis through the hall. At sight of tlit- sweet, iimocent bahy lace uplifted in wonder upon her, an evil spirit seemed to enter info Kllen Maclcod, and, lifting lier hand, she gave the child a blow on her bare white shoulder, whiih made lier scream out in terror and pain. Aunt Ailsa, who had been up Crom Creagh with her little pet, and had but liiig( it d at the door to j)ick somt^ dead buds from Edith's rose-lrees, apjieared in the doorway, and saw the act. ' May God forgive you, Ellen Macleod ! ' she said, ber fair face (lushing in shame and unger. ' You are a cruel, wicked woman ! ' Then slie sprang forward, and gathered the bairn close to li< r sweet, motherly breast, and pressed lier loving lips to the red mark Ellen Macleod's cruel hand had made. Macdonald heard the scream, and came out into the hall just as Lady Ailsa had lifted Sheila in her arms. ' What is it ? ' he asked ; and at sound of her father's vuice Sheila raised her tearful face, and pointed to her arm. 'Oh, pa[)a! a black woman struck me. I am so frightened.' Macdonald took the child in his arms, and bent his daik laco ov. r her. Ailsa Murray saw that liis featiu'es were siill work- ing convulsively, and that he seemed under the inlluence (4' stiong feeling. She surmised that a stormy interview had just passed between the brother and sister, but her delicacy pre- vented her alluding to it. Macdonald himself broke the awkward silence. * Edith bade me keep the bairn away from Ellen Macleod, ESTRANGED. lOI Ai'«.'>,' ).<• sni'l ; •and, Gxl knows, slie had need. She is a (■(•:ii liil wHii.in.' I.i'iv AiUa siiihctl, and followed Macdonald to tlie lihrajv. liii' nc( iincnct' lia«l made an ojiporinniiy for lier to spc-ik ( Miii'.Tiiiii'r Sheila's t'uture. 'It is time 1 was honu', ^facdonald. My hoys are wearyin. I'.i' ine and fur Slieila. Shu is ex[)ected at Murraysliaiign.' •Is she?' h;idv Ail-^a fancied Macdt insist on taking Sheila away,' she said firmly. ' 1 can- nnt li;ive her sulij"Cted— to — that.' 'You need not he afraid. Ellen ^^lcl('od has set foot for till' last time in Dalmore. Edith left the child to me, hut if it will please you hetter. Sheila herself shall decide.' Ill' sat down, and placed Sheila on his knee. She was not inurli linrt, and her sohhini; h.id ceased. 'Listen to me, bairn,' he said. 'Aunt Ailsa is poinc away lioine, and she wants to take you away to Murrayshauyh to live Jiliogelher.' Sheila frravely nodded. * You will have a great many advantages there, my haiin. I'll' Aunt Ailsa loves you very much, and you would have V'ur cDii ins to play with. Dahnure is a very dull place. llii'ii' is only me.' ' And Fergus,' put in Sheila promptly. ' Do you want me to L'li away, papa? ' 'Xo, Sheila. I want you to choose for yourself,' was all he s;iiil, and would not tempt her even by one persuasive or enileiiiing word. Sheila sat up, as if she felt the gravity of the moment. She \ , ( I loa SHEILA. y ■ 1 ludkod towards Aunt AiLsa, who was standing; by tlio tal)I«', uiili a sli^'litly fxpi'cfant siiiile on lu-r lace Tlicn slu- Indkr.l ;it Macdonald's ^'rave, sf( vn faco, wliicih was plonirlu-d with tin liiit'S of grief, and as if some iDfiiifion told licr who jittdcd Imi most, she j»ut her arms round his neck, and hid her lace on l.i> lii'iid hrcast. Sheila's choice was made. f ■ k te: CHAPTER XI. A WILY rLOTTEIl. 1 1 No TTieans too hnmlile, roai(itially got on his back. All communication had cea^^ed bi't.veen Slionnen and Dalmore. After all the excit<'ment and the siir of the mournful event was over, an unbrok<'n stillness siitl. (1 down on Dalmoie. Ellen Maelcod had never seen lier lirotlier since that fruitless visit to Dalmore, l)ut she heard them say he was a changed man. lie was seldom S(!en out of doors, aud Jessie told her that the housemaid at Dalmore assured her lOS j:i ' *■ ■' I ilf ! ■> ; I'M tl . H 104 SHEILA. . it ' r ;l ii i -J i ;3 - ; I i > '1 tlu' Lniid selflom Ift tlie house. Many pitied flip motliprloss little girl, left in the care of smh a nmddy, rniscralile ni.in ; but tliey iiiijilit have sf)aied their ])iiy, f«>r she was perfectly ha])|jy. Macdoiiald unUenr only to her, and the two seemed to liavf come to a most peif'ect and beautiful imderstandinj;. Slic nnssed Feigns very much, it is true, and often spoke of him, but her father did not enc urage her. For the time lieing tlieie was a tirm. fast bariier drawn betwixt Shonnen and Dalmore. Angus M'Bean, always on the h»ok - out, and cogni-ar.t of everythiiig going on in the country-side, got to know of tlie strait Mrs. Rhicleod wa^: in about her boy's eductiioit, and made a nice little plan, which was to relieve her and be ot ultimate benefit to hiiuself. In the factot's eyes Fergus Macleod was the future Laird of Dalmore, and, as such, a |)erson ot no mean im|)ortance 5o. having: la id his plan, Angus M'Bean made bold to walk over to Shonnen, one fine, hard night, to have a little private talk with Mis. Macleod. The factor was a very diplomatic man, and it \\as us p s\\(\\ never 10 quarrel with any hodi The co'tars could IS not, with truth, say they had ever seen him in a passion, l»iit he had a cold, pitiU'ss way <»f getting the better of every "i!-: who argM<'d with him, that tiny feared him quite a>< much as if he gave way to anger. Now, though An^us M'Ban w employed in and supposed to be devoted to the LairtlV inteie>ts, it was to his ultimate advantjige to keep on good terms with the lady at Shonnen, and then-fore he determintd to be of service to lu-r in this dillieulty if he could. 'Good-evening, Mr. M'Bean,' said Fllen Mad ')d, greeting him vt-ry cordially, for it was a rare occurrence to see a tact' fiom iho cmter world in th solitude of Shonnen. '1 hope yuii aie all well at Aiichloy ? ' '.Ml very well, thank you. IIow are you. Mr. Fergus? A big, tall gcntli'inan he has grown of late, hasn't he, ma'am?' 'There's nothing to hinder his growth,' s.-dd his mother. • Pull in the aiT^-chiir for Mr. M'Bean, Fergus, and go to your losoiis. There is frost in the air to-night, surely ; it feels chi lly. \ I' A WILY PLOTTER. 105 'Ay, it is taking in the roads airendy,' said M'Bonn, ;is lie stretched out Ins iiands to the cheerful tire. ' We have long, cold winters in tlie s»^rath.' 'Cold enough,' answered Mrs. !Macleod, resnmiiifr l.cr kiiittiiijr. 'Anything fresh about Aucliloy or Achnafiiuld ? ' 'Nothing in Auchloy, but there's aye a stir in the FjiuM,' lini'ihed tlie factor. 'I have conie for a little talk wiih vm. it you will kindly grant me the piivilege, Mrs. Mach-nd.' ' Sufely. 'J'ake your books to the kitchen beside Jis^ic Mackenzie, Fergus, and stay till I bid you come back.' Notliinil loth — lor he had no special regard I'or the factor — Feriius gathered up his books and reined. 'A fine, tall, handsome fellow,' repeated Angus M'Bean. ' Ile'I! be a man in no time. He is jiursuing his stu(li(s at home, I see. Perhaps he did not get much advantage from I'l'ier Crerar?' 'Oh, he learned well enough at the Fauld school, but it. could not go on, Mr. M'Mean,' said Ellen Macleod significahtly, ';in(l he had spirit enougli not to like it. It's not a convenient jihice tl'is for bringing up children in.' 'That's just what I feel. We've been posiiively in a (ix .iboiit our own Angus,' said the factor. ' IL- hates Peter Crerar, and was learning nothing from him. We have jii.ide lip our minds to send him to Perth Academy, and he goes down on Monday.' 'And how are you to manage with him? He cannot come liDiiie every day,' said Ellen Macleod, 1. ying down her knitting, iiiKi looking with interest at the factor. 'Oh no, ma'am; that would be impossible. lie is to l)i(Ie in Perth. We have taken lodgings for him with a respeeiable, L'liiteel person, a widow woman who has come down in i!ie wuild. And I made bold to c»>me over to-night, to see if yott w mid not consider whether the lads could not go togethei- and >liaie the lodging. They have always been very fiiendly.' ^11 i I the fiictor, stretching a point, tor ' Puddin" was always mti- ni'ig down Fergus Macleod at Auchloy. 'Of course.' adih'l MBean modestly, 'we feel that he would be greatly honound .Ik ! it , ■■'I ■ ■ I io6 SHEILA, i'liii \ ii m! in liu. ing ^ir. Fergus for a school companion, and if ii is presnrnpiiious on my part to make the suggestion, I ask your j);irdon. But I said to Mrs. M'Bean, •' Whatever may have hiippt'iied, we still owe respect to Mrs. Macleod, and if v.'«^ can be of service to her, it need not interfere with our duty in otlKT quarters.'" ' You are a good man, and a kind friend, Angus M'Beaii, said Ellen Macleod quickly, ' and I shall gratefully accept your offi-r for my son. Although circumstances are changed with me, I am thankful to say it will not stint me to pay the half of the lodging, and one day I htjpe to repay your kindness in a more substantial way than by words of thanks.' ' Don't speak of it, ma'am, I entreat you,' said M'Bean effusively, * The kindness and the hcmour received are all on one side. So that is settled : and, if quite convenient for you, I can drive Mr. Fergus, with his trunk, down with Angus on Monday afternoon. 1 am to go in to Perth to see them nicely settled, and if you would care to go, ma'am' — ' Oh no. thaidi you. I have the fullest confidence in you, Mr. M'Bean. You have relieved my mind of a heavy load. That 1 should have to say that the Laird of Dalmore lias cast off the responsibility of his sister's latlierless boy ! ' ' Ah well, ma'am, you see, when strangers step in, the consequences are always more or less disastrous,' said M'Bi an sympathetically. ' U'hen the Laird honoured me with his ci>ntidence anent his marriage, I made bold, though respect- fully, as a servant should, to warn him against these coi;m- quences. Bit a wilful man must have his way.' It cost Anuus M'Bean no effort or qualm of conscience to tell a good, straightforward lie; for the Laird had never alluded to his marriage to the factor even in the most distant way, and as to lis^.iiing to his advice, had il been proffered, he miiili' have knocked him into the Girron burn, provided it had b» t i at hand. Ellen Macleod — shrewd, keen, clever woman though she \v;.s — was completely taken in by the smooth-tongued factor, whom even Fergus disliked and distrusted. ' fy^%d A WILY PLOTTER, 107 'The Laird seem- to have made a hermit of him>elf since his wife's dt'atl.,' slie said presi-ntly. ' He is not taking that iiitt'icst in liis aflairs incumbent upon him.' ' \(). I have said to my witV more tlian once that I wouhi not !)e surpiiscd to see a new hiird in Dalniore before very IdiiL',' said M'Bean cautiously, and keeping his eye furtively ti\i(l on the face of the woman before him. 8 .e started visibly. ' Is my brother ill in his health, Mr. INI'Bean ? In spite of his iinhrotherly treatment of me, which I cannot think you are iL'iiorant of, I have a sisterly interest in him. I pray you, tell lilt' liow he is.' 'lie has no positive ailment, except brooding over liis loss. But we know Avhat happens when a strong man gives up his interest out of doors, and sits p( rpetually in the house. You have not seen him of late, then V ' ' No; for Sabbath after Sabbath the Dalmore pew is empty, save for the child and her nursi;,' said Ellen Macl'jod, com- jiressitiii her thin lips till they were like a thread. Aiiuus M'Bean saw at once where the sore spot lay, and tie;i>uied it in his mind for future consideraMon. 'lie looks much older, then. You would ncarcely know liiin. Foi-give my presum[)tion, but it is out of respect for tlie house 1 speak. It is a shame that Alastair Munay's rhild should er.jov the privileges of Dalmore, while its rightful lieir learns his lessons beside the kitchen file in a place like thiv Kilcn Macleod's colour rose hotly, and her Ii[)S twitched. Ii \v,i> such a relief to allude to the wrong which was eating iiei lieart out, that she forgot her usual haughty pride, and ^[11 ke out freely to a servant. ' Ay ; it is, as you say, a sliame and a black disgrace ! ' she s;ii i tieicely. ' lint do you think that for this no punishment wili lall on Dalmon* ? Heaven is more just than men, si> let iliat white-faced girl beware. And let the Murrays watch 'li>iii>elves also, if they think to leather their nest from Dalinure.' ; i ' 'I 1 08 SHEILA. \ 1 i^iMJ * It is a snd and difTiciilt case, ma'am ; and though I am bound to do the Laird's woik outside, my sympathies aiui s'M'vice are at your command,' said the iactor imj)r('s>ivt.'lv. ' There is no way whereby this child could be removed from Daliiiore? ' * N(» ; but if Macdonald's health is failing he must be watched, Angus M'Bean, or these vultures from Murray shaugh will get Dalmore among their fingers.' 'Oh no, Mrs. Macleod ; the Laird will never put DalnKMu past your son.' ' Will he not? I tell you he is fit enough to leave it to his wife's child. He has been a fool ever since he married — a soft, silly fool ; and he worshipped her as no human l)eirig should worship another, and so, in righteous wrath, Ilejiven took her away. / am perfectly powerless, Angus MBean, sd you must watch over the interest and the honour of Dalnioie. And if my sou ever conies to his own, you shall not be forgotten.' ' I am honoured by your confidence, ma'am. Rest assured it is not misplaced,' said the factor, as he rose to his feet. ' [ hope, however, that the Laird will never do anything so un- befitting a Macdonald.' Ellen Macleod shook her head. ' My confidence in him is destroyed,' she said. 'Tell me, Air. M'Bean, how matters are on the estate. Jessie, my maid, tells me the cottars in the Fauld are grumbling a good deal.' 'True enough. They are an ill-conditioned set. Goodness knows what demands they'll have at rent-day this }e;ir. Donald Macalpine wants a new smiddy, and the precenrcn- r. roof on his byre ; and that body, Janet Metizies, is to ask lur rent down because she's got Jock's bairnies home. A paek of wolves, Mrs. ^Liclcod. They'd tear Dalmore to pieces, ;inil fight over its division. If I had my way I'd clean out the whole clachan.' ' That'll never be,' said Ellen Macleod, shaking her head. ' Time sare indeed changed from what they v re in my father, the old Laird's time. They said he was a hard man, and yet A WILY PLOTTER. 109 there never was a giuriilile from a tenant in the place. I would like to \v>\i tlie cottars in Achnafaiild liow they would like to pay tithes in kind over and above their rents. ;is tin \ do in Shiaii and all up the glen to Kannoch. I thiid< iiivmIi tlu'V need ;i liarder liand thun Macdonald's on them. 'I'Imii must be money in the Faiild.' 'Money! Thousands of pounds, if there's a jx'miiv. li^ ;in Tuda ly greed that's got possession of tlieni, and Tin i" vour opinion, tliat the Laiid's too soft witli them. I eaii i. !l yoy, Mrs. Mach'od, I don t eat the bread of ease. Yoiili not hear a good word of me from one end of the glen to ihc other.' With which remarkably true statement, delivered in a tone of injured but conscious virtue and innoeiMiec, Mr. Angus M'Bcan took his leave, well pleased with his nighi's niis>ion. But he would need to go very warily, and not lose sight of his interest with ^lacdonald. There is always dim^nT in the way of the man who tries to sit between two Stiiols. .So the difTiculty about Fergus's schooling was solved vtrv FUfisfactorily — for his mother, at least. The Vjoy himself received the first intimation of it from Puddin', whom he met late on the Saturdav afternoon on the Corrymuekloch road. Now that the fishing was over, Fergus wearied, and the weatl.er was getting cold for Sheila, and so they ke[)t tryst but seldom at the Girron Brig. The boy used to haunt the road below Dalniore, hoping for a .sight of his uncle; but the familiar >ight of giacei'ul Mora and her stalwart rider was not often seen now aljour Amulree. Piiduin' was riding, but drew rein straight before Fergus, grinning broadly. '80 we're gaun' to Perth schule, you an' me, on Monday,' lie said in the broad Scotch wdiich sometimes vexed his lailiei, wiio yearned after gentility. 'Ii's a lie,' said Fergus, with the plain, unvarnished eamloui- of one boy to another. 'No, it's no'. You ask yer mither. It's the vera same 1 > n' •; no I iill i 1:11 SHEILA, II' M' ln(l;.riii's. It's a' settlod,' said Piuldin', grinning still. *T]u>y niicht lia'c iiskcd us wiK'ther or no' first.' ' I don't bi'licve a word of it, Piiddin' M'Bean ; and if it !>; true, I won't go,' said Fergus serenely, and went away wliistlinj. with liis haiiils in liis j)ockets, thinking tlie joke was ont' u\ Puddin's I'eehlest attempts. For they had been such hal fiicnds at Achnafauld that the idea of occupying th(! sani • lodgings seemed the height of .absurdity. Fergus passed on tn the brig, stood by the parapet for a few minutes watching t steady flow of tlie burn, growing big with the first of t 'spati'S,' and then, without thinking very much what he wa> doing, crossed over, and began to ascend the liill to Dahuon'. 1 believe Dalmore was never a moment out of tlie laddie'^ heart, lie thouglit of it in his Avaking liours, and di'eamed (.f it when he slept. He loved that ])lace above anyihitig in lln- world. He went on and on. Colin met him at the head of the aj){)roach with a joyous bark, and bounded before him into the liouse. Hearing tho unusual noise, Tory took up \\w chorus in the drawing-room, and Sheila came running down to see what the commotion was. 'Oh, Fergus, Fergus! I am so glad to see you!' she cried, her face ail aglow with delight. * Oh, come in, and I'll tell papa. How nice it is to see you, Fergus! Come awav in.' Slie clasped her two hands through his arm, and looked u]* into his face with perfect adoration in her eyes. Dear b dins. how they loved each other! They knew nothing of j('aloll^y. and hate, and dissension. Oh that they could remain igiioiant of them for ever ! ' It seems so long since T saw ycm, Fergus. Why don't y come up? When I see Colin trotting over to Shonnen, I wi he could speak and tell you to come.' ' Yon never come down to the brig, though,' said Feri^us reproach fu.ly. * Aunt Ailsa was up, Fergus, and she told Anne Ross not td Jet me out when there was any Avet on the grass, so I have just to play caltie and doggie with Tory in the drawing-room. (lU s|, A WILY PLOTTER. Ill Tory is a vory funny little dog, but I'd rather hv out with } •on. * I should tliink so. Is Uncle Graham in ? ' ' Yt'S ; it will soon be tea-time. Papa always has tea with mo, and then I have dinner with him. And is it true you are L'uing away to school on Monday ? ' 'I never heard of it till this very day. Puddin' M'Bt'an told me. I met him at the brig just now. He Fays I'm to live in his lo(li:ings,' said Fergus laughingly. 'Ilulloa, Torv ! lie's fur Itiiiger, Sheila, and far too fat. A lazy rascal, isn't he?' 'Oh no Here's papa. Isn't it nice, papa? Fergus has come, and we'll have tea together,' said Sheila, lunning to meet Macdonald, and taking him by the hand. Fergus ran to meet his uncle, too, and was struck by his aged appearance and by th'3 melancholy expression on his face. ' Well, Fergus, lad, glad to see you. I was saying to Slu ila to-day you'd be up to say good-bye. So Puddin' and you have huiied past grievances, and are going to keep each other corn- [lariy in Perth? A very sensible arrangement. You can have a set-to wlien the lessons weary you.' ' Uncle Graham,' cried Fergus hotly, ' I ni ver heard a thing about it. I cant be going, or I wi>ul(l have known.' But even as he sj)()ke he rernend)ered noficitig a kind of e.Ntra work going on at Shonnen, and a great turning out and mendin;, of clothes. ' May be not, boy. It was the factor who told me it was all arranged ; but surely your mother would have told you.' The boy's face flushed, and he dashed away a bitter tear which started in his eye. Oh, but Ellen Macleod was making a grievous and terrible mistake. She was treating the boy as if lie vere a machine, a thing wit!iout feeling or desire, wiiich ^lu' could move about at will. And yet she expected filial duly, filial affection, and respect in return. S e frequently reminded Fergus of the scriptural injunction to children concerning their duty to their parents, but forgot ; ) r-l ■: ' f I < '..111 I \ ^ ' I \ t • f ^t' . m 1 |(. . I I 112 SHEILA, to t.ike fo luT own soul, for her guitling, the correspond'mg iiijiiiic.tion ti jKirtMifs. Fiom tlie beginning her tniining of the boy was a mistake. Sin liiid tlic making or marring of a fine character in her liands. Let US pi ay it may not be completely and iiretiievably marred. I ■ I : t [ ^h ( CHAPTER Xn. FACTOR AND LAIRD. Like onr shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines. Young. 'VE come up to see Avbat I'm to say to these folks to-moiro\v, sir,' Siiicl Angus M'Bean to the Laird in tlie lihiaiy at Dalmore. It was the 5th of Di^ctMubiT, and the snow hiy two f«.'et deep on the and immense drifts stretched from side to side of (•\|KiM'(l ro;ids, which were level with tlie dry stone dykes. TliL' (itli of Dt'ccmber was the rent-day on Findowie and Dal- iimrc. Angus M'lJean had quite settled in his mind what he \va> to s y to the malcontents, but of course it behoved him lo make the form of consulting the Laird. Macdonald had but a laii-nid intere'it in these affairs. lie was indeed a changed mill, like one whose interest iu life was dead. It lay buried ^vi u l;is love in the old graveyard at Sliian. 'Oh, jiy, some repairs tln-y wanted. What are they?' :i-k (1 Macdonald, rousing hinisclf up when the factor spoke. lie was siitiiJL', as he would sit for hours, by the fire, with hi.s Liliou's on his knees and his head in his hands. 'Donald Macalpine wants a new smiddy, no less. He com- yh'm> (jf the chinniey — the smoke won't go up. I bade hitu l^^u^•k a luii'k out of the side. He says it's dark, and I tuld I'lm to knock souje more out of the wall opposite the door.* ; , i Jl. i r r^' 114 SHEILA. V . I, i: 1 ■ r ■ m ;t I . f 'A now sniiddy!' snid tlic Laird, witli a grim smilo. 'Loss will liavo to serve Donald, I doiihf, in these hard tiiiies. Could we not repaii tlh- j)lace for him ? ' ' No, it would he a sinful waste of money. The smiddy is as good as ever it was. You can go alotig and see it for yniii-- self. I'll tell you what I think. Donald M'Glashan lias iii.iijc such a hotuiii! penny m tlie smiddy that he's not caring alxnit it now. Four pound ten for the croft and the smiildy is fur too little, Laird, according as they an' paying now. The rents are rising instead of falling up hy Killin and Hannoch.' 'So I'm told. \N'elI, you can say to Donald if lie isn't pleased he can quit,' said the Laird. * VV^hat next?' ' Ewan M'Fadyen's hyre. Ls he to get a new roof on it? There's only a hit hole ;it the east {•• d wMhtc the snow cm blow through, because he was too lazy to thaik it in tin- hack end. As I said to him, "Is the Lairtl to pay money out of his pock(!t for your idle habits? " lie maun jusr divot it until next year,' said the factor, without giving the Luird time to put .a a word. 'He lias a tine crop of oats this year, and his liav was about the best; then he has i\vo pounds from the kirk, ;in' yet lie's aye seeking. We'll let him girn. Jenny Menzits liiis got two bairns, her brother's weans from Glasgow, and w.itits her rent down a pound for their keep. What do you think of that for Jenny, Laird ? ' ' Jenny's gleg,' said tlie Laird, with an absent smile. ' I heard of the bairns. The lad is a trifle queer, and not stronu. No doubt she'll have her ow'ii to do with the bairns. Take the pound off. What next?' ' Sir, I don't think it would be right to take it oiT Jenny Menzies' rent. It's very moderate, and she iiiakts a heap by her spinning. The bairns will be more a litlp than a hinder, and if we favour her the rest will have cause to gruml)Ie.' ' Take the pound off,' repeated the Laird quietly. ' Wiiat's next ? ' ' Kob Macnaughton is for a roof on Rory Macalpine's olii house for him to set up another loom in. That shows liow the wind blows. They count nothing on the land, Laird, and ■II :r' [■, FACTOR AND LAIRD, "5 fs has wants think heard r. N^' iku the it ofT niakt'S a ht'lp ;ause to What's AS lloW Ird, and w^c your houses for their own ends. If stockincr-weaving pays so »v»*ll, K't them build houses for tliem'Jclves, say I.' 'CtTtainly, certainly,' said the Laird quickly. 'I hope that's all, M'Bean. These grumblings weary me. It is only (if latr tlu'y seem to have arisen. What is their cause? ' '.luxt what I've often said, sir: the folk have gotten into itih', fushionless ways, and they'd take the land for nothing and not lie content. It would be far less bother and better pay aiiionp; big farms. At the rent-time, Laird, I could wish me wiiiil would rise and blaw the Fauld to the bottom o' Loch Fraochie. It's all toil and little thanks for tht-.i. Findowie's net half the trouble.' ' Well, well, you're among the grumblers, too, Angus,' said the Laird. ' But your job pays you very well. Any back n nts to-niorrow ? ' ' Ay, that's another thing. What am I to say to James Stewart at Turrich ? He's nine pounds back, and three for this tack makes twelve. I don't expect he'll pay the half of it.' 'Tiirricli! Oh, that's the man with the sickly wife and ten bairns. Well, money can't be very plentiful with him, Angus.' ' Far too many of them, sir. If he'd set them off to service, there would be fewer mouths to feed. And he's wanting more land, too. He says if he had Little Turrich croft and another licrse, he could make it pay. But it's all nonsense. He wants 1 ittle Turrich for Rob, the ne'er-do-weel son of his that wants to marry Mrs. M'Bean's bit servant lass. A bonnie pair they'd niake, an' a bonnie bungle o' Little Turrich, as I told them. Ihit we'll see what old Jamie brings the morn. I think that's a", Laird.' ' An' plenty ; too much, Angus. How's the lad getting on at the school ? ' ' Very well, but he can't keep up with Mr. Fergus, as is iiardly to be expected,' said the factor smoothly. 'Then he can't be doing much, for my nephew is no scholar. hut do they 'gree ? ' asked the Laird dryly. ' I never hear anything about it if they don't,' said th^ tactnr. with a laugh. 'Laddies are aye bickering. Is little Miss Murray very well ? ' I 'I ' I w ' M (j I i t : ^. « 'a' H ''' fli : 11 If' ll i .1, r .nri; !■ if '!■ ; , i "■ ii6 SHEILA, ' Miss M;i('(lim;il(l is,' rctunnd tlio Liiird, witli cniplmMs. *Slit' is Mi'^s M;K'(|oiiiil(l now, M'hiiiii, yoii can h !l ihc fdlk.' Ajil'Us M'licaii c'oiild only ncxl liis luiui in silent in-kiinw- IcdLMnt-nt (if tilt' Kaiid's sj)c<'cli. But lie inadr a noti* of it t'nr fuiuic consideration, and lor comniunication to Kllcn Miiclcdd, It would he a line tit-ltit lor her. Au^'us M*Bean hcL'aii to wonder if he had done wisely itj payitig so much atteiui' ii ;it Shotuieti. If necessary, lie could easily shy olF; in the nuaii- tnne, he would wait and see. ' I ho|te the lady who lias come to look art<'r Miss Mac- donald's education is giving satisfaction?' he said itiit the [iiivileges were being wrested from the cottars in Aclnial'iuld. It was (lone very gradually, little liy little, but it was the thin ('(li:e (if the wedge which Angus MBean meant to drive home. Fii>t, the fishing on tlu; loch had beeri preserved ; a small thing ill itsilt", and not of much importance, s(.'eing the cottars did not I'U'atly patronize the s[)orr, but it served as a straw to show h(i\v tin* wind blew. Then a fence would be removed which wmild take off a bit of the common pasture and encilose it with the factor's land; and then it became an impossiliility to get any lepairs at. the hands of the Laird. They paid well lor their crofts,— al)OUt d«puble in proportion per acre to wliat Angus M'lieaii paid for Auchloy, — and it might have been thought it ^vas only a fair thing for the Laird to uphold the buildings in tilt' claclian. Certainly it had been the custom for yi'ars for the cottars to keep up their meagre steadings, for which purpose tlicv were welcome to obtain wood free of chan:e iVom the haiid's saw-mill on the Quaich. But the mill was at the V(M'y Ii'ikI i)f the glen, a very sore road, and the few horses in the I" nikl had enough to do on the land without carting wood. S) tlie steadirigs, in spite of thatching and patching, were f;iiiiiig into disreputable disrepair. Angus M'Bean, as we have seen, went through the form of ciinsuliing the Laird, whose remarks he twisted and turncid into iiiuiiiii-s to suit his own ends. ; i I I \ I I t r i,M' 1 I Hi If sm 1 1 f ItL ; Ml i, 1 i V ■ ' ' '' ■ M Ml 1 1 1 5 ir, -:! I 11 , 1 liiH! ii8 SHEILA, About twelve o'clock next day there Avas a gathering in the Miiiddy to discuss matters before the men should proceed to the I actor's office. There would be about a dozen men, conspicuous imiung tliem Ewan the precentor, dressed in a rusty bhick coat, and big Sandy Maclean, in close conference with Donald Macidpine the siinth, who was holding forth at a great rati- ;d)()Ut the condition of the smiddy. Tiie bottle was passing fieely, and already Ewan M'Fadyen was getting conspicuously talkative and cheery. 'God bless my soul, lads!' he said; * wha's Angus M'Benn that we should feel our equilibrium vibrate in his presence? If he doesn't think fit to accept the honorarium we offer, let him go and hide his diminished head in the loch.' ' That wad suit you, Ewan : ye're unco drouthy this iiiornin',' said Rob Macnaughton the stocking-weaver, dryly. lie was a long, gaunt, strange-looking man, with a shaggy black beard, and a gleaming, restless black eye. He did not often appear in any of the smiddy conclaves; but, as he had a grievance and a request also to lay before the factor when he paid his rent, he had stepped over to see what was gomg on. ' Listen to the immortal breathings of the Bard of Achnafauld,' said Ewan, in his most grandiloquent style. When Ewan had been imbibing even moderately, his I hicjuence and verbosity became even yet more remarkable than usual. ' Hand yer blethers, Ewan, y.n* hear what's gaun on,' said Donald Macalpine hastily. ' We're discussin' what's to be done if none of us gets any satisfaction from the Laird. Look at the smiddy, lads, and say what ye think of its condition. There's t'.at nmckle draught in't that it wad take a' the peat mosses in I he Glen to keep the furnace gaun. I'm sure it's but reasonable It) a>k something done.' • The powers that be will doubtless have another version of the story,' said Ewan M'Fadyen. 'If they won't repair the < ast end of my 'oyre, we'll need to gie Meg quarters in the kitchen. Well, Janet Menzies, my woman, what for should ye enter into the solemn assemblage of the elders ? * he added, as r ■'li FACTOR AND LAIRD. 119 tlio doorway was darkcnod by a little wizened woman in a short nown and ' soo-])ackit ' mutch. •It's alter twel' ; are ye no' craun west the glen ?' sh(» asked, in a shrill voice. 'Anjius M 'Bean '11 be gaspin' for his silK-r. lli> liaund's like a niuukle wame, aye gantin'.' 'llae ye gotten your pickle to help the hole, Jenny?' asked Satidv Maclean slyly. For answer Jenny turned out the old vt'K king-foot she held in her hand, and showed three ,ery dirty piiuiii 1 1 ' iillil :!■! I I r I i ■■d il j; 1 1 1 " ' ' ■ 'S II ,; ► 1' i^! ^ . i.t urn .''' 120 5i^j?// A. books, nnd of course was in attendance on the rent-day. Very early poor Jamie Stewart ciinie over from TuiMicli, anxious to hear tlie Laird's decision about Little Turrich. It was a niiiiier of moment, to him to keep liis eldest son at liorae, but the hid Wiis anxious to marry, and it was impossible to divide the croft. He hiid seven pounds in his pocket, which he presented to Atijius M'Bean wirli a trembhng h.ind. ' Five pounds sliorf, Jamie, tliat means a stiik or two ewes for the Laird,' said An^ius pleasantly. 'Ye might just have had the beastie sohl ; it would have saved tr(iul)Ie.' 'I canna sell a beastie the noo, Mr. M'Bean ; the Laird maiin just w;dt,' said Jamie quietly. 'What said he abouc Little Turricli ? ' ' Do ye think the Laird's a fool, Jamie Stewart ? If ye canna pay for five acres, how could ye p;iy for seven? Give hini his receipt for seven pounds, Peter Crerar. Tiiere's somebody else waitiu'j^ at the door.' ' But did ye explain aboot the horse and what bob wantii?' asked Jamie Stewart. 'The Laird has mair to think of than your affairs, J.miie Stewart. 'Ihey would gie him but little satisfncion. A\v;i' back lO Turrich, and 111 be owre some day to wale a beastie for the rent.' A shadow came upon the old man's face, but he was of a meek disposition, and retired without a w-ord. As he went ouo, Janet Menzies pushed herself into the room, and, with a curious leer at Angus M'Bean, drew out her three pound- notes. 'T'.ere ye are, my man; there's yer siller, an' muckle gnid rriay it dae ye,' she said, in her shrill voice, which was hateful to Angus M'Bean. 'Ihree pounds, Janet? where's the other one? The Laird has n( t let down your rent, that I'm aware of.' ' Y'.'ll get nae mair fiae me. Did ye tell him that I had gotten Jock's bairns to keep ? ' ' I did ; but we can't keep them for you, so out wi' your other pound, my woman, without more ado.' 'No' anither penny, an' its no' wi' my will ye got that. What ■ FACTOR AND LAIRD. 121 I wnnt to kon i^, what you pny for Anchloy, Anirns AI'Bean, and li(H) many l)ittncks ye are iliicvin' t'rae the Faiihl ? ' Aiviiis M'Rean swore at tlie woman, and she snii'ed a qiiit-t smile to herself; nothing pleased her better than to see the factor aniiered. 'My woman, ye'll pay for yer impertinence. D'ye ken whi ve're speakiii' to? Tlie Laird shall ktm o'd, an' if ye liide anirher viar in the Fauld, I'm mistaken. Gie the aiild (l»-il her receijit, I'cicr, an' let her take her ill tf)ngue outside. Come in, Ivvan M'Fadvin. I see ye ke»kin' through tlie keyliole wi' yer ski IK- e'e. Come in an' pit doon yer bawbees. No, if ye want yer hvre to keep out the snaw ye maun divf t ir, the Laird savs. Yr notdna preach ; I haena time to li>ien to yer maunderin's. Yf'iv owre weel afF, an' dinna ken o' it.' With such grim pleasantries the factor received and dismissed the tenants. Every request was refused, every grievance scouted and laughed at. And he laid it all at the Laird's door, putting words in his mouth he had never uttered. So the seeds of disunion were sown, and Achnafauld was set against Dalmore. \\ ( * 1 if 1 1 4i I' '" ) \ A ^ » ^ t : ilMi r'ii i;n lit f 1 CHAPTER XIIL FORESIIADOWINGS. Man's inlmnianity to man Makey countless thousauds mourn. o » Burns. you know \vhore l\I;ilcolm is, Ks'tie? 'Malcoini! Oil, Mr Fergus, is it you? He is at tlio potatoes, hjliall I run and tell Mm you want him?' asked Kate Menzies, blushing all over at the unexpected sight of Fergus Macleod in the doorway, when her plump round arms were bare to the elbow, preparatory to beginning the weekly leaking. * That's the Shonnen lad's voice. What for should he no' cross my door-stane. Has his hire made him ower prood to sit doon by a Fauld i..gle?' cried a shrill, uncanny voice from the depths of a big cliair by the heartliside. Jenny Menzies had lost the power of arm and limb through rlienmaties, but her toni^ue was just as ready, and her temper as ^lery as ever. Although she was so helpless, and so utieily depeiidi'iit oa her niece, she was not in the least grateful lor any seivice rendered by the girl's willing hands. When too angry to sj)eak, she would throw whatever enme handiest at her — peats oftener than ai.vthing, for her chair stood close by the ])< at bin. 'Ei:, is that you, Jenny?' cried Fergus, with a laugh. 'I iaa FORESHADO WINGS. 123 tliounrlit you might be sict-jiiiig. IIuw is the world using ydu. ehV As lie spoke, the big luindsonie hid stalked into the little kitchen jind took the old woman's hand in a kindly grip, which pliasid her well, though it hurt her poor swollen joints not a little. ' Kh, callant, ye hae grown in sjjlte o' yer hire an' yer toeii^ jiieat. Ech, what a year or twa can dae for brats o' bairns.' It was tru<», a few years had indeed wrought wondrdU"^ cliaiiges in the young folk who make the chief interest of tlii> liistorv. We let't Katie .Men/ies a i)airn, and we find her, when we cioss the bridge of these few years, a comi'ly, womanly .uirl dl' tii'teen She had a woman's work tf) do, and a woman's care iiiid forethought to ext-rcise, wdiich had doul)tless given her a iii.iiurlfv of aj)pearance and manner sh^ might not otherwise li.ivf attaini'd so ea'ly. She was a sweet-iooking young inaiden. wiili a c'ear, healthy-hued face, a bright, speaking blue eye, and a iiiil'py snnle. Her dri'ss, a striped skirt and a light calico ^lii.i tgowii, with a wdiite handkerchief folded round her sweet ilir. at and crossed on her bosom, was ))eculiarly and mridestiv iHcoiuing. It was no wonder they called Katie Menzies the I'Miiiijist lass in Achnafauld. As for Fercus Macleod, at sixteen li • iiiid almost attained a man's height, though his loose figure 111 I yet to till up and make breadth proportionate to the length. His t';i(;e was not so ruddy as it had been when he lived iiii-tantly in the open air, but its hue was perfectly healthv, ami liis clear grey eyes blight and undimmed as of yore. 'Sit down upon a seat, Feriius Macleod, if ye be the same i.i'Mit' ye aye were,' said Jenny ^^en2;ies brustpudy. 'Sit down, ! siy. and gie's the news. I ken naetldng. Afy limnn'i's o' 1 ;i rii> never tell a thing, and n(jw that I'm laid aside? the iiic'iHii' tbjk thiidv I'm deid.' Kaiii' Turned to her baking with a twinkle in her happy eye, wliiiji Fergus caught and smilfd too. lie looketl at Katie wrli •i\v\\\ interest. How bonnie and sweet she was ! He wondeied lit' !iad not thought of it before. 'So ye are gaun awa to the college, I hear,' pursued Jenny. ' Wliat ar." they to mak' o' ye?' ' I don't know. I am going to the college just now to please %\ m u Jiiti 1 1 ' I - -I « ■ I ■ w I I i 124 SHEILA. ii '/ u » , '! ^ Ii 1; I 'fe niffl 1 i 1 i,t r:-! wm.\ w^ i M ! my inntlipr. And I'll have to do sometliing for my llvinfr,' said Fergus, with a slight cloud on his brow, for the sorc sultjcct was a sore sulgect still. ' An' what's to coiik? o' Dalinore, eh ? The auld Laird's sair fjii'cd, they sny ; never oot the hoose.' ' So I hi'ar. I have not seen my uncle for a long time,' said Fir,i:us hastily. 'I can't sit a long lime, Jenny, for I've to go rwuiid the Fanld, and I want a talk witli Malcolm.' ' An' when are ye gaun away?* 'On Mondav.' ' An' when did ye come?' ' Ye>terday.' ' They dinna gie ye muckle rest for the soles o' yer feet. Is the factor's son gaun wi' ye?' ' He is going to college, but his classes will be different. We'll not see much of each other.' ' lies idled aboot a' the simmer, an' plajcd a heap o' mischief in the Fauld. Malcolm fair hates him. Oor Malky's m;i\l>i' no' a' there, but he has ta'en tlie size o' Puddin' M'Be;in,' s.iiil the old woman, with ;i kind of grim delight. 'D'ye ken wliu's Laird o' Didmon; now. Master Feriiur.?' 'No,' said F'ergus, looking slightly surprised. 'Him up at Auchloy. Eh, lad, it's time ye were at hanie to look efter what should be yer ain. If ye are ower lang, there'll no' be muckle to divide. An' there's a young aiie comin' up that'll be waur nor the auld ane. If ye are a true Macdonald, lad, ye'll see to it that the factorship disna jiass fiae father to son. We ktn a' aboot it liere. Gang to Donald M'Glashan, or Rob Macnaughton, or Dugald M'Tavish. They'll a' gie ye the same story.' ' It is surely not so bad as that, Jenny,' said Fergus, tryinu' to speak cheerfully, as he rose to his feet. * I can't believe that my uncle is not able to manage his ov/n affairs. Good-day to you. Good-day. Katie, come out, will you, and let me see \\lit're Malcolm is?' Katie wiped her hands and followed him out to the door. ' Katie,' said Fergus soberly, ' I've heard a great deal about •I fit FORE SHADO II INGS. 12! Anprus M'P.ciMi's way of going on. Is it really true that lie ()n])i('sscs tilt' folk in the Fiiuld V ' Tears staitcd in Katie's eyes. 'Ay, it's quite true, M.istcr Ft'ii:u>. I wondcreil, indeed, that auiuie didna say iih re. IIt''s lieen very haid on us. He seems to hate u^, and waiit> us out of the ])lace. Mr. Ffrgu<, I'm perfectly feiire(l ^vhile^ iit Maleolm. Oh, try and speak to him. You know he is m ([Ueer laddie, and wlu^n he gets into Ids awfu' j)assions, if lie welt' to see the factor or Angus, he mioht kill them I whiles wish we had bidden in Glasca, though 1 lik(! the Fiiuld. It's yiand to live in sic a l)oniiie place, anmng sii* kind neebors.' 'I'll try what I can do, Katie,' said Fergus, with deejilv clouding ijrow, for he felt himself very helpless. He \\;is growing u}), and understood many things which had puz/led liiiii in boyhood. He loved tlie old folk in the Fauid, I'or they had known him since he was a baiin. 'Have ye seen Miss Sheila this tinie, Mr. Fergus?' asked Katie. ' iShe is to go away to the boarding-school soon, she says.' ' No, I have not seen her. Does she come often to the Fauld ? ' 'Oh yes; twice or thrice a week. She is so kind to auntie. If it werena for what she brings, Mr. Fergus, we couldna live. We hrd to put away the sheep and the cow too, for we had no grass.' ' What's become of the hill. Is the pasture not as good as it ence was? ' ' Ay, but we daurna put a beast on it. Oh, it's hard time*;, Mr. Fergus. But there's auntie cryin'. Speak to Malky, will ye, an' V)id him be more patient. I whiles think that he angers Mr. M'Bean more than he need.' •I'll try, Katie; don't be vexed,' said Fergus, and shook her' liy the hand, for they had been bairns together at the Faidd iSihoul, and nobody could help liking Katie. He hesitated just a moment ; desire drew him to the smith's shop, but he knew he would get the information he w.inted without ado Irom Kob Macnaughton, the stockini:- wt'uver. So lie ran across the road and lifted the sneck of I I i 1 Hi 1 liiH ■■ t !i H H^ < \ ;4 I 11 il; > t %. ! •M "il 126 SHEILA, ) ^ :; '' ^ iiiU'i ' ' Fergus Rob's door. All the other doors in the Faiild stood open sumnier and winti-r in the daytime, but Rob's was aye sliut. The hK)m seemed to be silent, and when lie pushed open the kitchen door, there was Rob, with his little table belbre tiie fire, taking his solitary tea. He was not in any way chanL'ed, unless tlie biji, gaunt, shuffling figure seemed to have grown more loose and thin-looking; but there was not a grey hair in his head, nor any sign of approaching age on his grim, stern face. I ' It's you,' he said, fixing his keen eye on Fergus, hut without any sign of recognition. 'If ye be comiti' in, shut the door.' 'Well, Rob, how are you? Well enough, I see. I'm not forgetting my old friends. I have only been at Shonnen for two days, and here I am.' ' So I see ; ye've grown. Ye are a man now Miicleod. Sit down if ye are to bide a bit.' ' Yes. I'm going to bide a bit. I've come to you seeking authentic information,' he said, in his quick, impetuous fashion. ' Rol), is it true that times are getting hard for the Fauld lulk. Tell me all about it.' A slow, bitter smile came upon Rob Macnaughton's grim face. He took up his saucer and drank all his tea, and then lilted the table back to the wall. 'I've gi'en up parritch,' he said laconically; 'when ye've to buy milk, tea's cheaper, and it takes less time to make. So ye've been hearing some rumblings o' the thunder that some- times shakes the clachan ? ' 'I've been at Jenny Menzies's. Katie says they're positively ill off. Rob, did my vmcle give orders that their beasts were not to go on the liill?' 'There's no hill now, lad. It's fenced in as the lands of Auehloy. There's a new laird. But, as ye've been away, ye've maybe not heard of the change.' 'It's abominable, perfectly abominable 1 ' cried the lad hotly ' If you knew my uncle as I know him, Rob, you would be peiCectly mad at Angus M'Bean. My uncle is so kind, a kinder man never breathed, only, of course, he is just If he FORESHADO WINGS. 127 knew the true stnte of afTairs, lie would set tlicm rit^lit iiixfantlv. Til ir'> to liim myself and tell hitn how ymi are »'p]>r('>sed.' ' 1 niistloubt not your word, Frr^Mis, for I renienii)er Laird Macdoiiald as u ju>l man, thoii;^]i not generous. It is oiilv jiistioe \VM want. Justice w come to this, Fertle iIu'mUi:!! the rent roofs of Achnafauld, and where theie lia» hccn the hum of peace and ])lenty, with the music of bairns' Vdiccs, there shall be but the cryin' o' tiie burn an' the soui::liiu' ()' tlie birk'<, and the liomes wliere pi-ace and neighbourly kindness dwelt shall become the haunt of the cattle and the deer. 'Some day this house, Fergus ^lacleod, where my forebears dwelt long before there was a Macdonald set fout upon the soil, will he a rent ruin, a cattle-pen, maybe, for tin; stock of the Liird of Anchlov. But let him beware. Let him not thiidc he stands firm. For the tears and the curses of the people ho hath so grievously oppressed shall ascend to heaven, and hath not the Lord, whom mayhap we have forgotten in our l)ro> j)iesence, and half chant, lialf recite his weird G.ielic ballads ami the superstitious legends in which he delighted. 'You are poetical, but not practical, Kob,' said the lad quietly. 'Have the Fauld folk thought of anything to do in self-defence? I wish you'd tell me everything. I may be able to do something to help you.' Kol) laid the points of his fingers together in a peculiar way. and looked over them at the lad with a touch of compassion. 'You? Lad, ye are too o[)en and guileless to fight the devil. My advice to you is, steer clear of Angus M'Bean. The onl\- thing that would save the Fauld would be if the Laird were to die now, and leave the ])Iace to you. It is yours by right. She is a sweet bairn, they say, that comes down fron^ Dalmore ; 'tii ; I il %% . 1 ■ i i i ^m \ ' ' 1 1 I liil ■ " rr- 12S SHEILA. \>. i ( » i!'. M r\ ' l)Ut s}>e is not of your blood. Tlie place is yours by rij^ht, but it never will !)»• y"urs, Fergus Macleod, as long as tliiit ill inuti bidfS in the glen,' Ml I li.id the power I'd mnke short woik of hitn,' s;ii(l Fergus, iuid he cl"nched his hands ; for the interests of liis heart — nay, of his life — were boiuid up in the place and the people iunotig whom his boyhood had been spent. No nioiral knew what it had been for the lad to dwell away from ilicsc hills and gleiis, and to give his attention to books. He had gained more sense now, however; and, knowing that education and knowledge are powers which have no equal, he had ceased to kick over the traces, and was quiet in scholastic harness. But meanwhile, oh, what things were happening in the glen ! 'Do you mind Jamie Stewart, that was in Tuir''<*>, Fergus?' ' Yes, fine.' ' Well, in the spring-time there — ye ken what the March blasts are up Glenquaich — he was put out of Turiich — evicted, I think, is the new-fangled word they used. He was back in hit rent about ten pounds, I think; but there was stuff and beasts to pay it over and above. And the wife had to be caiTiec* out, bed and all, and laid down at the dyke-side abuve the drift. What think ye o' that, Fergus Macleod ? ' Tears — tt-ars of anger and burning indignation — stood in the boy's honest eyes. 'And what became of them, Rob?' 'The Laird of Garrows gave them a house and a croft, and there they are biding in the meantime till things are settled. But I would lay this thing before you, Fergus Macleod, for ye are a ju>t, fair-minded lad, wi' mair nor a man's sense. Two iiuiidred y(>ars ago — ay, and more — the Stewarts abode in Turrieh, and farmed their own lands. At the '45 Turrich went out to tight wi' Charlie, : nd died on Cidloden, and then the place was confiscated, they culled it, but we are honest folk, and speak in an honest tongue. So Macdonald that was in Dalinore, a Royalist, though he bore one of the best Highland names, seized upon Turrich an' a' the lands up the glen. An' syne, when the blast blew past, and Turrich's wife an' bairns came ba'dv to the glen, they found their home stolen from them, FORES II A DO WINGS, 12<) iitid fli.'it thry hiu] no ]i;i1»ir;ifl«in on flic Oicc dC ilic ciitli. I'mi t'ui till- liivf tlH'V hole to tl (' j)I.i('(' (?♦' tl.t'ir hirtli, tlicy ii «•!< it iipdii MacMlonalil's tt'iins, ami hcciiiic tillers of tlH-ii- own » i' (iticf iiion', hut paying tillu-s in nunicy and kind for t c Icmnc. 'Is all that true. Rol)?' 'Tiiu!? Ay, and that's but one caso. Not that w',. prniiihliii«!. Wi* arc willing to pay a fair rctit it' .vc (mh hm iiiiikf a living,' said Rob, growing niorc j)ia('tical. 'At 'in liiiii' that was easy, for the Laiid nicddh-d not with us. I know not, Fergus, wh) Ani-us M'l^caii should have s'c ai' i!! will ;it tlif place and the folk among whoin he was horn. 11 s tatt.cr was a i\ni' niati ; but a good niaii may have an ill yon. Tlit'K! aie folk, Fergus, who make good servants, hut canna nil". It sweeps them o(F their feet. Anchloy is one. But he li.is a long account to settle wi' the Almighty at the la^t d .y. I'll rather be Jamie Stewart, landless and friendless, than Alliens M'Bean of Auchloy.' Fergus Macleod hid his lace in his hands. These things weighed upon his heart. tl ! 1 i I • . 1 . ' ,i. ■ ' 1 il I ) ''I Mlli if ni'i n da ! CHAPTER XIV. MALCOLM. A rndp, wild soul, To whom the wlii.s|»(iin;^ hrooze, The silriit liills, tlic nisliing tide, Spoke \vit|i strange voices. ■ OES my uncle never come to the Faiild now, T\ob?' Fergus ask(>cl at length. 'No. Tliey say he's sore spent, and cannot livp long. He lost his spirit, lad, ."hen liis lady died.' *And what do you tliink will he the end v. It all?' said the hoy, with a burst of wistful earnestness very touching to behold. 'The end will be as T said. The four winds of heaven will sweep through the Fauld, and will not be heard by the cars (if living mortal in the place,' said Rob. ' Ye mind of Peter Crerar, the ^cho(>lMlast('r, that was clerk, too, to the factor?' ' How could I have forgotten Peter, Rob, when I was at Lis school for six months?' ' Well, him and his brother David and his uncle, lang John M'Fadyen that was in Easter Lyninore, went away in the spring across the st-as to Upper Canada ; and what think ye was their errand, lad ? ' Fergus shook his head, his eyes fixed on Rob with the most intense interest. ISO \l 'i MALCOLM. i3» 'It was to sov ulmt inanrn-r of country it is: to view the hiiul, :iN tlu' Isratlitrs vit-wod tlie land of Canaan ; and no later uoiif than )(*>ti'i(lay K'tters came to tlie Faidd, and it's a praud r.|i(irf. So there'll he a lieap of spinning and weaving in the F.tuld this winttT, Fergus Macleod.' 'Wliat for?' •To jirejjare against the day when the folk shall rise in a hodv and go forth from their own land to a land tlu'y know nut and have never seen. But it couldna well be harder till them tliiin this has heen.' ' Vcui don't mean to say, Rob Macnaughton, that they're gditii! to emigrate y 'Yes; after due consideration, that is what decision we have arrived at, and it is a wise one. I shall not myself leave Acliiuifaidd, because I can aye get bite and sup, and I have Miiii.' siller laid by. But for the young men and the fathers of fiiiiiilics it is a wise plan, Fergus, that they should leave before th-v lire cleared out, as they certainly will be, by the corbie at Audiloy, if they bide muckle latiger in the place.* ' l)()i'> tny uncle know of this?* ' I know not, Fergus. Auchloy himself has an inkling of it.* 'And who are going, Kob? Tell me quick. Oh, I can hardly believe it ! * • 1 III re's all tlie Stewarts, and the Creiiir>, and Kwan M'Fadyeii. Of Donald Macalpine I'm not sure, for his liiisiiR'ss is good, and cannot be meddled with by Angus MBeaii. And there's big Sandy Maclean an* a' his folks, and wiL' Sandy Maclean down by at Wester Coila, an' a heap more wiiose names I canna mind.' 'Are they all from Dalmore folk, Rob? Are there no dis- iiiiitt'iits among Shian or Garrows cottars .^ ' Nut tliut I've heard of. Cameron of Garrows and Campbell "t Sliiaii deal straight with their own people, and there is not "i" l\iM,L!, evil tongue of Angus M'Bean to come between. 1' i.;ii-« M.ioleod, if ever }ou come to your own, or have name lid laiuis ill your hand, take warning by what has haj»pened '"It- aiiiDug the folk ye have kent all your days. Let no man C'liiic tii-tweeii you and your tnik, and then there will be j I I • i' M \'- ' \ ♦it lit • I I ( I : 132 SHEIL. ■ : I •Mi : ■f\ '.',( i: '«' !• .■^ III ¥ ;:, justice dono. Are ye for off? I misdoubt, Luldip, I liave liiid a heavy sorrow on your young lieart, l)ut bear ir litrlitly, ;is it is not of your own doing. If ye come in by another day, Til let ye liear my \\\\ al)out the desol.itioti of the Fauhl. It has hcin wrung from me i)y ihe vex itions of tlie folk. They tliink \\w thrawn, and say my heart is like the netlier millstane, imt tluv dituia ken that the strong currents lin wi' nae muckle din, aiil that I'm wae, wae for Achnafauld, an' the leal huaris that have kent no other hame.' ' Kob,' said Feigus, turning back at the door, 'do you ever see or speak with Malcolui Menzies? Katie says she is anxious about him.' 'She may be; the lad has a fine spirit that's easy fretted. I've whiles a dwam about him mysei'. There's a mortal hatred between Angus M'Bean and him.' 'Are the Menzies not among the intending emigrants?' Rob shook his head. 'Jenny Menzies couldna sail the seas with her stiff joints now, and the bairns maun bide behind wi' her. They say M.ilcnhii Menzies is daft, Fergus; but diinia you believe it. He has tlie music of the winds an' of the nuinin' waters in his soul. The puir chield is a poet, an' disna ken what a' the clangour an' the jumble means. He'll find his w»'ird yet, Fergus, an' there will be peace of mind when the music that's in him finds its v liee, Fergus. He'll laraw nae mair wi' Angus MBean, and vex hi>; sister's soul, for he'll hae that within him that'll make him ;it peace with all men.' 'Does he come in by to you, Kob?' 'Whiles, an' sits an' greets an' greets as if he were a hiss bairn instead of a muckle haiiin wi' the strength o' twa men. Then I pit the bolt in the door, an' gie him my rhynu^ :iii sangs or the lad's fair be>ide himsel' wi' delight. Daft I ii;i. there's no' muckle daftness about Malcolm Menzies. H^" maybe surprise us a' some day.' (*, Til go, then, Kob, and look out for Malcolm. I'd TiKe well to see him before I go to the college.' ' Does the thought of the gown an' the pulpit no' set up your birse now as it did, Fergus ? ' nts now, M;ilci>lin has the ll. Tlu- 111' the re will v.iicf, vex lii'^ him lit a ];.^s a nit'ii. nc ■< an' .ft 1 nil. ii;ii r Ke well up your MALCOLM. ^n 'I'll never be a minister, Rob, tliongh I should cnst peats for iiiv jivinu. But I have more sense tlian that, and I know that nitlidiir learning a man can do but little in the world. My iiiMiJicr knows iny mind is made up, but she is anxious for me ru tiikc niv decree in arts at Edinlmrsh.' • Ye art' a sensible lad, but ye promised wee! as a bairn,' said IJ.il), looking into the fine, open, lionest countenance of the boy with a strange, softened glance. -Gin ye were but Laird o' Kiiidowie an' Dalniore, there would be less talk about the terlies acriiss the sea. Guid e'en, Fergus, an' may every blessing L'uiili' ye. Fi'igus nodded and strode off, while Rob put his bolt in the (joor and went back to his loom. Fergus Macleod wondered wlicn lie heard folk speak i>f Rob Macnaughton as a dull, sour, iiioios" being, with whom it was iuipossil)li» to convei'se. Children's hands could open the locked door of Rob's heart, and ])ii-h it hack on its rusty hinges, and he whom the child can Idvc is never bad. Fergus lan over the stepping stones, never looking back, tioiiLiJi he lieai'd the smith's jolly voice calling him. He knew liiar. it" they inveigled him in, Donald and Maty bet\ve<-n theiu wuiili! keej) him an hour at the fireside. Behind Janet Menzies's cdtia'je he saw Malcolm woiking alone in the potato diilis, iliniiLili it was so dark he could not possibly see to do his woik well. Ftigus gave a loud, shiill whistle, and stood u[) on a liitlc hillock at the buin-side, so that Malcolm might see him. Till' tall, loos«dy-lnuig figure gave a start and stood up, lookinj: I'linul to see where the whistle came from. Catching si^ht of ii i\;iis, Malcolm put down his grai{) and creel, and came slowly lip ilie drill. He was an odd fi,:iute in his louijh homespun, iii-> tiouser legs warped round with straw I'opes to k"ep out the hiihI, and his biji, sprawlin'j; feet encased in he ivv cIol's. The I'liiaiiis of a red 'Fam o' Shanter hung on to a tul't of haif on his '■i'"\\ti, leaving the big f'orelu'ad bare. His large melancholy ''i-> had a somewhat wandering look in them, and theic was a '^•ak look about the mouth. He was not a robust lad, but ^\h('ii it pleased him, or when he was roused into a jiassion, he cuuld exhibit a terrible strength. His appearance was singular ^\'M 1 ■ ». i :N| I, i 1 ll I ; I I ■ 1 t( !!■■ I ' . " \' 134 SffE/LA. 1 1 il • jj '1 !f ■1 !^,|i' i -1 ! 'V 1 1 1 i : ' ^.J. ■ h 1 1 1 i . \ ll 1 jii ;' ll i '' •1:1 :n!l.'t I' 11 i II, l!> ll'i ;i in the extreme. It was, indeed, difficult to believe that he was bonnie Katie's brother; but he was very dear to Katie, and she was tlu» apple of Malcolm's eye. His love for her was indtM il more like the worship of a lover than the sober affection of ;i brother. He was pitied in the Faiild, but not much taken notice of except by Rob Macnaughton, who had found the key to that half-wild, sensitive^ passionate nature. A gleam of pleased recognition came in his face when lie came near to Fergus Macleod, for whom he had a strong rejiaid. Fergus had never laughed at or teased the poor, shy, queer lad. whom everybody else treated as a half-wit, and Malcolm Menzies was capable of intense gratitude ' Halloa, Malky, what a man you've grown,' cried Fergus cheerily. ' I'm sure you can't see to lift potatoes now. Come on up the road a bit with me ; I want to speak to you, and I haven't time to wait.' ' When did ye come back ? ' asked Malcolm, with a slow smile of pleasure on his sunburned face. ' Why, yesterday, and I'm going away on Monday. I've been in seeing Aunt Jenny and Katie. How are you getting on, Malky ? ' ' Oh, fine,' cried Malcolm, and dropped his eyes down on the ground. He walked usually thus, in a kind of shuffling gair, with his hands in his pockets. Rob Macnaughton used to watch him whiles, and think what a revelation these brooding thoughts would be could they be laid bare. ' You are getting to be a grand farmer, they say, Malcolm. You work all your aunt's croft yourself, don't you?' ' Ay ; I could dae't twice ower noo,' said the lad, with emphasis ; * we've nae beasts noo. It's dreich work without a beast aboot the place.' ' Oh, but you'll get beasts again, Malky,' said Fergus cheerily, for he did not wish to get him on to the vexed question of the crofts. ' I want to hear about how you're getting on with your lessons. Can you write yet?' ' Yes, an' read an' a' ; Katie learned me. She writes a graund haund,' said Malcohn proudly. ' Ay, Katie's as clever as she's l)onnie ; we are all proud of MALCOLM. ^35 Katie,' snid Fergus cheerily. ' And has Rob succeeded in teach- ing you Gaelic yet ? ' ' Some o'd,' said Malcolm, with a grin of delight ; ' but it's awt'u' ill. liob's a graund man.' ' Yes, he is. And when are we to see your poetry, Malky ? 1 know it is in you.' A dark red flush rose slowly over the lad's face, and Fergus wondered to see his mouth tremble. 'My poetry ! hoots, Rob jist havers.' 'Never a bit of liim, Malky ; Rob knows what's what. Make up a song about Katie. I'm sure you could never get a finer subject.' 'Katie thinks my sangs graunder than Rob's,' said Mal- colm, betrayed into confidence by Fergus Macleod's cheery sympathy. 'Of course; an' so maybe will I, though the Gaelic is a want, li's a sphndid language, Malcolm ; I'm learning it myself, bur it's worse than Greek or Latin. Well, are you going to let nic have one of your songs, eh ? ' ' No' the nicht,' siiid Malcolm, actually trembling. Poor Liddie ! nobc v knew what his 'sangs' were to him. Even Rob Miicnaughton, a poet himself, only partially understood. 'Have you any books of poetry in the house, Malcolm? I could get some for you in Edinburgh,' said Fergus kindly. ' 1 have Ossian,' said Malcolm proudly. ' Rob said he wad gie me it wh.n I could read it, and I can read it now.' 'Can you really? and do you like Ossian, Malcolm?' asktd Fergus curiously, for it always seemed a lot of nonsense to him — a rej)eating of long fine-sounding sentences without meaning Our Fergus was a very common])lace young man, only very honest and kind and true, which all jioets are not. 'Like Ossian? I should just tliink it. He's graund,' s;iid Malcolm, stretching himself up, for these were his own thenics. ' He lived up by at the heid of the loch, ye ken, and he's buried in the sma' glen.' 'A hit of him, eh, Malky? Some say he's buried down at till' Humbling Biig, but we won't quarrel over Ossian's grave. Have you ever heard of Sir Walter Scott, Malky ? ' r I ■ i. !• i-; l* « i k)- m I ( '■ p 136 SHEILA. 4 « ■lilMi ' K'oh \vliil(>s spcul^s fiboot liitn.' ' He \v;is H ^M'ciit 111.111. I'll seiid yf)U onp of his books. It is Ciillcd WdL'Ciif'ii, and is written about Gk'nquaich. He otici^ st<>j)j)eil in tiie inn at Amulree, but nobody knew. Would yuu bkc t o rcac 1 it? ' Ay Wild I.' ' Well, ril send it. Stick i.ito your books, and maybe you'll be Sir Malcnliu MtMizies some day. Never mind anything else. \\'liaf are ye mukiiig such a face at, Malky ? ' In tlie grey distance a horse and rider were rapidly approach- II e wa>i alwavs iiig. and Fergus recognised Puddin' M'Bean called Puddin' vet, to distinjiuish him from hi-^ father. Puddin' li.id developed into a very genteel ycumg gentleman, and liad all the airs of a college- ored man. He would never be good- lonkiug, for, though much thinner, his figure was still too broadly proportioned to be elegant, and his hair was as red and his face as fri'ckled as ever. He was going away to Edm- burudent to me, ;nid I never think of nunding him. Do you mind the da) I tliiiislcd liini. aiul the other day I dookit liim for telling on you, wIk ri we were all at Peter Crerar's school?' Bnt the cloud would not lift from Malcolm's Ijrow. It v,';is indeed as Rob had s;dd. He cherished a mortal hatied against the M'Bians, both father and son. 'Malky, do you ever tell Mi-^s Slieila about your songs when she comes down?' a-ked Fergus, making one more ejloit to chaiiLie the subject. To his unspeakalile aninzenient, Midcoltn, itisU'ad of giving an answer, turned round and ran off' ;is it pursued by something evil. Fergus looked after him a moment, not without ap])rehen- sion lest it was Puddin' he was after; but Malcohn turned olf the road, and cut through the moss at Luunore towards ilie Fauld. Fergus langlied. Malcolm was certainly (pieer. He did not, however, comiect his extraordinary aeiion in any w;iy with i! c II: ..;ion of Slieila's name. Fergus (juirkened his pace when i i-> cniii|)Mnion left him, and his heait was full of biiternesN. He iciheiuliered the fact that Angus M'Bean should be an invited -iie>t at Didmore. The factt)r's son, ill-initured, loutish Angus M"l)e,in. drinking tea with Sheila in the diawing-room ! Sui(l\ leih hiid not exagLierated, and the M'Beans had too suie a luid •'11 Dalmore. For two or three years now Fergus had seen \er\' hiile of iSlieila, and iiad spoken with his uncle only once since t ^ ■ !Hil i ■I I, ! I • 1.^ ' I .! i SI U viit 1 .. .. i J - . ! ' ■ I f! w Hi ^ I I 1*1 Kl. I'' S.\ 138 SHEILA. the previous Christmas. He was never asked to Dalmore, nnd liis mother never encouraged l)im to go. Nevertheless, wIumi li-; c;ime to the school corner that night, he turned along the Crieff road towards the Girron Brig, He had an errand to Uidniore. i j. I'. <\ ' f f'^ U| 1 1 ; , H, '" < ■ w\ ^'l.'^ iW r m ■u^y^^^-¥^^li^^. ' ii I'll I1! t I CHAPTER XY. UNCLE GRAHAM. And whispering tongues can poison truth. COLERTBCE. j|^€/f^^\^ HEN Fergus reacbod the house, he did not at once ^A^ vv'-ll, enter, as he had been wont to do, witbout jrivinj]: ^, i!^ '^fiil any notice or his presence. He was now almost a — --—- straiiLTcr in Dalniore, and, besides, tbe familiar freedom of cliildliood liad jiiven jibico to tbe sliyness of youth. So, after looking about him with an interest quite as kit n it less boisterous than of yore, lie pulled tlie hall bell. A strange servant who did not know him answered to his summons. 'Can I see the Laiid — Mr, Macdcmald?' he a>ked. ' 1 don't know, .sii-. 'Ibe Laiid sees very iew. But I can lake your mejsjige and your n;ime.' 'Perhaps I can see Miss Macdonald tlien,' said Fergus quickly. ' My name is ]\hicleod. You do not know me, 1 see. I live at Shonnen Lodiie.* 'Oh, 1 beg i)ardon!' said tlie woman. 'Come in. Miss Macdonald is in the drawing-iooni with ber govei'ness.' 'Tliank yon, I can go uj) ; 1 know the wa\ ,' said the lad, with a smile. 'You need not tell my uncle; Miss Macdonald \\ill take me to him.' m '!■■ 'ti hi It ■V i . ; Ii 1 n • \- "l,( ■ j It i 140 SHEILA, I i h : 1! r m i .Iri' i ^i '■: ■I .;■ . T It was a simple tiling, and the woman cniild nnt be expoctcil to know liim, yet his rcocjition cliilU'd the ali'cady full hc.ivt of Feiv'is M;icU'0(l. Inch l>y inch he w:is dril'tin'j: away t'loni Daimore, and now he w;i.s vei'ily a stranger within its cifcv He p.iiiscd on the drawing-room liinding, for tiie memory of the l;is« lime he liad been in the house swept ov(!r him. h was indeed tiiKi that he liad not been within Dalniure since \\w day of his aunt's burying. There was no sound issuing from the dr.iwing-room ; if it Jiekl two occu[)iints, they were; not conversing. But with ;i light, somewhat hesitating kiiock, Fergus opened the door \\\v\ went in. By the fire, deeply engrossed in the pages of a hook, was a young girl two long phiits of bright brown hiiir hanging d,"-" ' .. oack, and a sweet girlish face supported in ..., while her dark eyes eageily scaimed the fascinntinL' Waverlet/, which was even then creating a great talk in tlic district. Could that l)e Sheila, the little mite in pinafores, wiio had come with such joyous anticif)ations with her motln i to Daimore! The years had changed her, and yet dealt tend.'ily with her ; as he looked, Fergus thought he had never seen a creature more passing fair. She was so engrossed that she did not hear him come in, but when Tory, grown old and cross, gave a short waiiiiiiL' bark, Sheila looked round in surprise, and then sprang to her feet. ' Fergus, Fergus, is it really you ? ' she cried, with all the old frankness, and she advanced towards him with boih Imm' hands outstretched, There was all the faindiarity of childi.ond mingling curiously with the shyness of young girlhood in lu r look and action. ' Yes ; I thought you would have forgotten all about inf, Sheila,' said Fergus, and they shook hatuls quietly ; tlun a curious constraint fill unon tiu'm. The old haiinly love was still between them, but the years had raised a little banirr which could not be hritlgt^d all at once. 'Your governess is not with you, Sheila?' said Fergus then. ' She was here a little ago. She has gotui to her own room. Have you come to stay at Shonnen for a while ? * UNCLE GRAHAM. 141 'No. I nm going away to Edinhur^h on A' 'l-'iv. I)i(i Aiifins M'BiMii not tell you? I met him riding Ikhiic fnii' liTf, ' He s;ii(l lie was going, hut we never sjjoke of yoii. W L, 1 !i (landy lie lias grown!' said Sheila, with a little lau-h. ul.ic hhiicIkiw put Fergus more at his ease. ' Av, he has a great conceit. I have come iij) fnuii ;j Faul I, Sheila. Katie Menzies told me you were going aw t(l X'llOdl. 'Yes. for a year to London, Fergus. I don't want lo -. hut Aunt Ailsa has insisted on it. She says I mu^t >«■<■ s, m tiling more; and two of her other nieces, her ludilicr's L:i - tVi'iii SutTolk, are at the same school. I don't like to 1. a\. ' How is Uncle Graham ? He is just like a shadow to me now . Shi'ila. I hear people speaking about him, but nobody sn nis to know very much aliout him.' ' He is not very well, poor papa.' Sheila's eyes filled with tcMis. SIk! was only a gii'l yet, but she had acted a won-an s jiart ill Dalmore. Like Fergus, she had known very liiih- of the oidinary pursuits and joys of childhood. ' Can I see him ? ' 'Of couise. Will you come just now? He will have had liis dinner. We do not all dine together now because p.ipa is not able.' ' Does he ever speak about me, Sheila ?' ' Not often. I don't think you have behaved very well to liiiii, Frigus. You never come to see him when yt)U are at SllMhlU'Il.' ' I had to obey my mother, Sheila. She will be angry to- niiilit wiien she knows I am here.' ■"^lieila was silent. She too, like Fergus, was bcLiinnitig to iindrixrand things. She knew what had built up the baiiier it'iween Shonnen and Dalmore. ' I heard a great lot of strange things at the Fauld to- 'liy. Sheila. Did you know the folks are talking ol' haxiiiu ii ?' ' ^ »•>, I know. Oh, Fergus Macleod, everything \> going wrong!' said Sheila, her tears starting afresh. i: :' 1 i i i: •I- ; li'i m I I ii f I ! . I Hi I * 1 '' . 1 1 '0 I I '■■^\:\' I! ' ^ '• 142 SHEILA, h ' li|i[)('d away out of the room. • 1 wantt'd to see you. Uncle Graham, Oh, how changed you art*! Surely you are very ill.' 'Tlicy say I have no ailment, and that yotuig doctor who lias come to Duiikt'ld told me yesterday that it was a sin for iiic to sit here, and that if I had only the desire I might i)e quire well. It was an honest advice, but the young man does imt know. You have grown. What are you about now ?' Macdonald was intimately acquainted with the whole w^ay of life at. Shonnen, and knew every movenu'Ut made l)y his si>ter and her son, thanks to Mr. Angus M'Bean, but it pleased liiiii to qnotion Fergus himself. ' I am going away to the college in Edinburgh on Monday, Uncle (iraham, to study for >ny degree.' ' Ah, are we to see you in the pulpit in Amulree Kii k yet, then ? ' ' No, not that degree. I'll never make a minister,' said Fergus quickly. 'Then what are ye to make of yourself?' asked the old man, bending his brows keenly on the boy's face. ' I don't know yet, Uncle Graham. 1 daresay I shall get something to do,' said Fergus bravely, though his heart was full to hursting. Never had his uncle r^ ceived him so coldly, ;iiid treated him with such scorn tul harshness. What did it moan ? ' And what's your mother saying to it now ? ' ' Nothing ; she knows I am not to be a minister at any rate.' ' Ay, perhaps she has other views,' said Macdonald drily. 'So you think me changed, boy? and why not? I am an old man, sixty-three in November.' ,r r. y ' ■S ' ' ' ; lli^ r ill I 1 1 hi iw > I It ;r ! . ! 1i '1 i 1 1 1 il: ! '44 SIIEH.A, ' TliJit is not very (tld, Uncle '^irali.-ini. Tlioro nrp jOonfy iiH'ti lar older cvi'ii in Aciniarauld. Lodk at Donald M'(Jlasli;iii's father, and Ilnddie Ma(;le;m |)ast seventy, and WilJi.ini Snilicr- land eiijlily-une, and can build dvkes yet,* said Fergus cliecr- I'ully. 'So you are still sib to all the Fanld (oik, atul tliey tlnnk you a fiiM' younjr fellow, no doul)t, and make a liero and a martyr of yoii, said Macdi'iiald, again with that su'^picions liarshiievs which so vexed the heart ot" tiiC boy, because lie conid not undersiand it. lie was not yet sufliciently versed in tlie gnili! of iIm' World to comprehend or even suspect the undirliandiMl villany of Angus M Bean. He did not like the man, ceriaiiilv, bur had not tlie remotest idea of the way he had worked uptin his uncle, and poisoned his mind against all irutli and right. ' I have always gone back and forward to the Fanld, Uncle (itaham, more since the winter I went to Peter Crerar's school,' he said in surprise. ' I was there to-day. They are in a sad way at the Fauld. Do you know about them ? ' ' What about them ? ' 'That they are so hardly dealt with, they are thinking of leaving tin; place.' 'Let them go! an ungrateful pack! let them go! and a good riddance,' said Macdotiald fiercely. 'Their greed and their idleness surjiasses anything, and makes the blood lioil. Their pockets are lined with gold, they have bardi accounts in CriefF and Aberleldy bigger than mine, but they have a pauper's soul, every man among them.' Fergus was terrified at the violence of his uncle's anger, and sat >ilent. ' Of course you are on their side. I have heard of you, t.h(mgh you have kept wisely away from Dalmore, Fergus. You are young, and easily imposed upon, and so are to be excused. The Fanld cottars are like the daughters of tlie horseleech. They have but one cry, and that is. Give ! I have given them of my substance, potatoes for their seed, and for- given them arrears, while they fed their beasts on my pastures UNCLE GRAHAM, MS ;m(1 l)iirP('(l my jiojits, and liiiifilu'd in my face. Tluit nood v,.iv:iiit Jiud laiililul liit'iid, Angus M'licati, lias opened my .•\ts, !ind niiw I kiKiw tlit-m Inr what tliey are. And I never liriiid lieiter news than that they an; going off t<» tins new- t'.ih'jlt'd count I y, because there tliey'll learn the lesson they lii'lily doerve.' Fergus was silent still. In face of these remark>«, delivered with an inlensity wddcli too clearly indicated the strength of his iiticle's conviction, he felt it useless to say a word. He had iidt, indeed, anything ready to re[)ly, though he felt in his inmost Siiul the untruth atid injustice of the opinions expressed. It was titdy since Angus M'Bean had begun to grind the cottars iiiiih'r his rule that they had uttered a complaint, lie had t.ikcii the loch tishing from them, and the hill j)aslure, and had f\('ii ilueafened to levy a tax on the [)eat mosses. And though tlirsi' privileges, which had been theirs from time itnmemorial, li;i(l Ix't'ti wi'ested from them, the lents were maintained and I'Vt'ii added to when any tack rati out, and not a peimy woidd he s|i(iid in rej)airing the miserable homesteads and outhouses ill \\w place. It was not to be expected that the cottars, being liut human, could bear these things in sili'nce. No doubt they iii'.d their faults: some of them wer(! lazy, and believed in L'eitiiig as nnich as possil)le for their money, but they were ill the main honest, hard-working, uiuitfending folk, who did their duty as thev knew how. But An^us M'Bean had tried iliein lieyoiid their endurance, and they had rebelled. ' I have found out the nustake of small holdings, Fergus Miclcdd. The actual money counted up may amount to more than t!.e rental of big farms, i)ut the ])rivileges the cottars get si/oii eat up tiie priitits. Before I die, there will be a change en the lands ot' Findowie and Dalinore, and whoever ct)mes iitief iiie \vill lie sj)aied the cottar ])est.' Fergus sat sdeiit still. lie thought of many things to say, hut seemed to be toiiLnie-tied. His uncle's keen eyes never f^r a iiieiiuMit left his fiice. He saw (li>ajiproval in its expression, ii'i'l it iiritated him, even more than openly expressed contra- diet inn. '\ou are young, Fergus, as I said, and (Nisily imposed upon. il Li I!. !ti |l ill 1 : I I )X 1 l! 146 SHEILA, I II' I i W: ti i III ; 1 \ 4 w 1,, !■ 11' I' J li ,1 I '^^ l-li Altlinugh you may never have land to look after, you mny 1h. ill the way when a good advice will be of use. Tnat all men as enen)ies till you prove them friends, and even tiien trust them no further than you see them. You aiv disapproving what I say. Some day you Avill remember it, and know I was right. Now, what did you come here lor to iiitilit '? ' ' 1 came,' said Fergus boldly, then turning liis fearl^-vs Idue eyes on his uncle's face, ' to tell you how Aiiu'Us M'Beau oppresses the folk. He is a wicked and cruel mail, and he tells lies about them to you. You can be \\\vz\s if you like. Uncle Graham; I know I am speaking the tnuli.' ' Ay, ay ! it is but as Angus said. He is a shrewd man. hid ye not come up, Fergus, to see whether I was near my end .'' Are ye hungering after the place, like your neighhuurs in the Fauld?' Young though he was, Fergus ISIacleod understood and keenly felt the insinuation his uncle made. He sprang up, the ruddy colour deepening on his face, atid turned about without a word to seek the door. He had his hot temper too, and was easily roused to anger. ' Come back, ye whelp ! that touches ye on the sore hit,' said Macdonald, grimly enjoying the boy's discomfiture. 'Come back and sit down. Be honest now, Fergus Macleod. Have ye not begun to think what fine things you would do ^vele you Lidrd of Dalinore ? ' ' Uncle Graham, I'm going away home. Good-night,' said Fergus quietly. ' What are ye greetin' for, ye big bairn ? I would like ye none the less were ye to tell me honestly. It's hut wliat 1 expect,' said Macdotiald gruffly, yet with more real kindness than he had yet shown. ' What are ye looking at now ? ' ' At that,' said Fergus, pointing with his forefinger to a portrait of his uncle's wife which hung above the lirepLice, and which he never remembered having seen before. Graham Macdonald's eye foilMved the lad's gesture niui glance, and his head fell down upon his breast. If xVnjjus ,J^ UNCLE GRAHAM. M7 M'Rcan liad only known it, tlie sweet pathetic month and the ii.ild I'ves of that sf)eaking likeness were the strongest barrier in tli<' way of liis liigli-handed dealing with the people. Av. had the mistress of Dalmore but lived, there had been litttcr diiys for the people of Achnafauld. ' Leave me, boy, just now,' said Macdonald at leniith, while Fiiiius stood irresolute at the door, his heart yearning over liis uncle. ' Come again when you are at Shonnen ; Sheila likrs to see you.' And with that Fergus had to be content. He had no heart (o L'o hack to the drawing-room, but Sheila, listening for his vti p. came running down to say good-bye. 'Are you not coming up a little while, Fergus?' she asked timidly. ' No ; my mother will wonder why I have been so long. r.(K)d-bye, Sheila; I hope you will like the boarding-school.' ' I don't think I shall,' she said, as she gave him her hand. Poor bairns ! they were both miserable, they did not know wliv. ' You'll come back a fine lady, Sheila, who has forgotten all al)()iit her old chum,' said Fergus. ' Xo, no, I won't. Oh, Fergus Macleod, T wish the days we used to fish in the Girron Burn, you and Colin and me, could come buck, I am so lonely up here by mvself.' "You have Uncle Graham and Puddin' M'Bean,' said Feri^us, "vitii a kind of subdued viciousness which gave his feelings immense relief. Then, though her eyes were w(!t, a peal of hiuiiliter broke from Sheila's lips which woke a thousand sweet wiioes through the quiet house. •You might give me a kiss for Colin's sake,' said Fergus in :i iliu'cr, shy way. 'We won't likely sco each other for a long liiiii',' ' 1 11 kiss you for your own sake, Fergus,' said Sheila frankly :ind sweetly, and without a shade of embarrassment. In many \ '\\vi% she was but a child still. It was many a long day before they kissed each other again. -■'^1 i I « J A . ! ,! I'- I ',f ^ lit! I '> \i\ \^( ^^ lll> ( ■ !■ ' II ii'h i III; CHAPTER XVI. MOTHER AND SON. He must f^ain his end Although in gjuning lie oll'end Or even sacrifice a friend. J. B. Sf.lTvIKK. HE ye.ars had dealt very gently with Ellen Mnclcnd. 1^1' She had not much to trouUlc her in her hm Shoniien. Her means wei'e sufficient for lur iic and Fergus wa? her only anxiety. She had trai liim to strict obedience, and liad hitherto had no reason t () C'lll- )lani () f 1 inn. He had mnui to Perth, and sliared Pndiii! M'iieans lodiiiiig without savim? a Avord, thouali lie I'l Ir keenly. The close intimacy of that semi-home life had nut all increased Fergus Macleod's liking for the cowardly boy w had made himself so obnoxious to the Fauld bairns. I'jur sti'led these feelings, and did his best to cret alon2; conifoi with AiiLMis when they were at school. lahlv Amuus, Avho had a wholesome me] mory or the smart pnm- lent Fei'giis had twice inflicted upon him, left him in ]h;i But though tl>e boys ate, and learned, and slept togetlur, n tlli'V were in no sense of the w'ord chums, and it was a mi^tak'' i" ])ut them together. Tliat trial, one of no ordinary kinti l"i' •d fain Fergus, Avas now past, and ins college days pronuse those he had spent at school. He need not see aiiyil Puddin' unless he liked, and that was something. Ellen M 143 ■r than liiiL'' ''t' icli^ a MOTHER AND SON. 149 liad not relinqnishod the hope of seeing Fergus a Tninisr(>r yet, thiiULili she liad learned to liold l)er peace about it. Sh(> had ;ils() another hope, of uliich slu^ said even h'ss, Tlic (mly nt'ison to whom she spoke of it with any freedom was Angus M Bean, tlie factor. 'J'hat astute incHvidual was playinu a duulili' game, which in the end wouhl result in his own dis- cnintiture. In the meantime, however, he was llourishing like ilM' provt'rhial grfcn bay tree. The house of Auchloy had Ihcu enlarged and adorned until it looked more hke a small iiiaiisinii than a farmer's abode. Mrs. M'Bean had now her ciKik and housi-maid, with whom, ])oor body, she had but a Miirv time. A drawing-room furnished in green satin and lulnrned by numerous white starched tidies and woollen mats was at once the anxiety and the pride of her life. Then the twe Miss M'Beans were being educated ;it a select school in IVrth, from which they would shortly return, full of airs, if lot of graces, to further exercise the spirit of their plain but truly gdod-hearted mother. Had Mrs. M'Bean not stood in mortal tririir of her spouse, she would have given him a piece of her mind about his dealings with the peasantry, of which she did not at all aj)[)rove. Iler sympathies were entindy with her old iiiit:ld)()urs in the Fauld, and she gave them many substantial cxpii'sslons of it out of her husband's knowledge. It was half-past seven that night when Fergus opened the iraidtMi gate at Shonnen. He had walked round by the road and across the Anuilree Bridge, the night beinnr too dark lor him to cross the Braan by the stepping-stones. He had not hurried on his way, lK)wever, being engrossed by his own thoughts. lli're Were many things weighing on the boy's mind and heart. 'Y(aiare very kite, Fergus,' his mother said, in her habitually >tvti(' V(jice. Fergus could certaiidy not associate anything I'liiilit with his mother. She still wore the repulsive head- divss which, as a child, had frightened him, the only alteration '"■iiiii that she had cut off the long crape which used to hang 'l"W!i her hack. 'Oh, mother, I am very sorry! I hope you did not wait,' (1 ii d Fergus in his quick way, the spread table reminding him ot tea. :"it^ ! f " 1 ^ ' •■ i'r . I •"i ISO SHEILA. ' Of course T waited. King the bell for Jessie Mackenzie to bring in the teapot, and tell me where you have been.' Tea was still on the table in the dining-room, and his motlkr severely sitting by the fire waiting. Fergus was so accustomed to be cross-examined, and to give a minute account of his doings, that he thought nothing of ir, ' I was at the Fauld, mother, seeing all the old pt'()j)lc. Jenny Menzies can't stand or walk now with her rheumatism. Hut Katie is a great help. Mother, you wouldn't know Katie Menzies now, she is such a bonnie girl.' ' Seeing I never saw her, I don't suppose I should,' said Ellen Macleod drily. ' You know who she is, though, mother,' said Fergus, with his mouth full. 'And Malcolm is quite a man. Then I saw l{ob Macnnughton, and that was all. Oh, mother, just think I The folks are speaking about emigrating, of going away tu America, actually. Isn't it fearful ? ' 'What's set them to think of that?' asked Ellen Macleod quietly, though she knew the whole affairs of the Fauld better than Fergus could tell her. It was long since she had heard the emigration rumour. ' Oh, the shameful way they are treated by Angus M'Bean' cried Fergus hotly. ' You wouldn't believe how they are treated. Do you know, mother, there is hardly a horse or ;i cow in the Fauld now, and not a sheep? The hill pasture is taken from them. It's perfectly abominable the way Angus M'Bean is doing, and the worst of it all is, that he has made Uncle Graham believe they are to blame. Mother, I do think he is a horrid, bad, greedy man.' ' So they've stuffed your head finely for you at the Fauld.' said Ellen Macleod, with that curious smile of hers, which was no smile at all. ' Did you never hear that every story has two >i(les, Fergus? ' ' Oh, I know, but anybody can see whose side is riglit. Moiher, how can they make a living and pay their rents otF these little crofts, when they've nothing to feed a beast on?' ' They wouldn't say anything about their spinning and weaving. Go up to Tirchardie Mill when you've time, Fergus, MOTHER AND SON. 151 .and soe what Walter Luchlan has to say about the Fauld folks and tlu'ir earnings.' 'But, motlicr, thoy can't spin and weave when they've no uoi'l. nor sheep to cli[)?' maintained Feigus hotly. 'They spin flax yet, though.' 'Yes, hut, if they groAV flax on their crofts, they can't grow corn and j)otatoes,' said Fergus shrewdly. 'Oh, mother, you know I am riLiht, and it's a cruel shame the way they aie treated — that's what I think,' 'Were you anywhere else than the Fauld, then? I thought you bad nuiybe gone up to Auchloy to your tea.' '0 no, thank you! I've seen plenty of Puddin' ; and his sisters are awful, mother. You should hear their fine English,' said Fergus, with boyish candour. ' But I've been up at Dalniore.' 'At Dalmore ! ' Ellen IMacleod's brow darkened. 'What were you doing there ? ' ' I went to see Uncle Graham.' 'And did you see him?' she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her annoyance. ' Yis, I saw him.' ' Is it true he is as ill as they say ? ' 'Mother, I don't think Uncle Graham will live long,' said Fergus, and his lips quivered. Menu^ry was faithful in the boy's true heart. The sad changes the years had wrought could not destroy his old-time confidence, his old-time love for Uncle Graliam. ' What did he say to you? ' 'Xut very much. He does not care about me now, I think,' said Fergus, in a low, uncertain voice, for there was a lump in liis throiit. ' Did ii think he would ? ' asked his mother, in bitter scorn, 'lour (hty is past, my lad. Did you see the girl, his daughter, as he calls her?' 'Yes, I saw Sheila.' •It is she who has turned your uncle against you, and who tas supplanted you in Dalmore.' '1 don't care for that. I don't believe it. I like Sheila, 't *"-:''.f,) •I;;: 11 i Ii w ill;t ■I! hi ! i W h Ill |l '■i ' «.' , i i 1 il 'I' i i ' 1 :• ' 1 ]i' u -J n i I 152 SFTEILA, Slic is a<; dilTcrcnt from Bessie and Kafo ^I'Roan ns nip-lit from (1 iv. 1 lun'cr saw a nicer girl in my life than Slicila, .-ind Ini very sorry for lier. She is miseiahle up in tli;ir lonely Iniusi-.' ' Pxiy, you liave a craven spirit. lluw will you lonk w n'li \niir iincl(^ is carried to Sliian, and that chit is lady uf 1 'alniore ? ' 'I di'u't know,' said Fergus, in a low voice. 'She Avili hi- iviml to the people, anyway. She won't believe all Angus Mli.an tells her.' ' Ferjzus Macleod, vou have a causeless resentment aa-;iinsr Angus M'lWjm, Avlio is your true friend atid mine,' said Kllcn Miicleod, in a low, imjnessive voice. 'You are sixteen imd a li.ilf yeiirs old, and should undei stand things now, so I sluiU spe;ik plainly to you. Angus M-Bean is doinii Ids utmost to W(,rk a^^ainst the influence that cirl :md the Mum^vs have over \ell ? Will you be perfectly well ])leased to see Sheila Muriay and her horde of relatives ruling in Dahnore. Your heritage ! What right have they with it? If Graham Macdonald wilfully passes over his own kindred at the last, a curse will dwell upen Dahnore. I will invoke it if none else will,' Ah, Ellen Macleod ! it is long since your evil resentment cursed Dalmore. By the memory of her who sleeps in the old graveyard at Shian, spare the innocent bairn who never did you harm. ' Mother, I suppose Uncle Graham can do what he liki s with his own,' said Fergus wejuily. 'Iwoitid bke very well to he Laird of Dalmore, for I like the place bi'tier than any ))lace in the world. But I'm not going ti> beg for it, nor seek to turn Sheila out. If you knew Sheila, mother, you would leel the MOTHER AND SON. 153 sfimp as me. T can work for my living, and koep you and iiivscif, too, yet; wait till you S(m;.' TImsc words woie more bitter than gall to tlio proud, iiiiiliitioiis li^art of Ellen Maclcod. She almost hated the ])oy for Ills lack of sjiirir, not knowing, poor blind crtatnre, that he w,is allowing a nol)le, generous, unselfish spirit a king might liavc envied. \\'ith all her harsh training, she had not btn-n alili' to warp or curb that pure soul, which had a heritage giciittr and more to be desired than any eai thiy estate. She rose from her seat and flounct-d out of the room, leaving FerLMis ])erplexed and more miserable than ever. lie drew in a chair to the fire and sat dnwn to think over wliat his mother had said, l)ut his reverie was soon broken by a ]iart as many weeks.' 'Mr. M'Bcan,' said Ellen Macleod, with a slislit hesitation (for slit' had her own piide, and it sometimes retninded her that it wa-i scarcely fit that she should discuss family mrtters with a Mrv;iiit), 'have you ever heard the Laird say aught about I» iliii'iiT V Is it likely he will leave the place to Alastair M II IT. I V s child V no •The l^ord ffji'hid ! ' said the factor quickly. 'There is il iiilit that slu; will get a good slice of it — Findowie, perhaps. Ih' was suggcsling to me something about repairing the old 1^1' nil it. But he'll never pass by Mr. Fergus, his own flesh IIIKl hjlHK lias he ever spoken about it to vou at all? W.ll no, n >p( ot exactlv : but, of course, I can see his di'ift, -\\\'\ the factor, not choosing to confess that he was as com- I'hiflv ignorant of Macdonald's intentions as Ellen Macleod IhTSclV. ' Well, it would be a sin and a shame ; but mark me, Anjrus M- )can. It won Id not trrea tiy surprise me. Fergus is in a t- i'll Mf \v;iy about this talk of emigration in the Fauld. ' 1 knew he would be. Ht^'s got a soft heart, and they've '-'Ot 1(11111(1 him completely. Some day I expect Mr. Fergus will thank me for ridding Dalmore of these discontented cottars. Tiny are a great toil and anxiety, I'm getting my blessings in Aclinafauld just now, Mrs. Macleod. They're all on my tap, ninl tlicv'vc even threatened me with bullets, to sav nothinition in Dahnore ; and he'll change? his ideas, tno, aixnit the Fatdd folk.' ' He is their enthusiastic advocate in the meantime, at am rate. None of the lawyers have ever been at Dahnore that ym know of, then ? ' 'No; and Magjie ^blcintosh, that was with my wife at Anchloy, and is kitclnn-niaid at Dahnore, brings all the news. I'll h't ye ken, ma'am, whatever happens. I'm yours and Mr. Fergus's luunble servant, and I hope to see ye yet where ye >hi)uld be, and should aye hae been,' said the factor, in liis lilandest mood. Stijuiore that Ellen Macleod shoidd believe in X\w sinccritv of such a man. In the wide world, Angus M'Bean of Auchloy would serve but one master, and that was — Self. I '.' i: % % Ti CHAPTER XVII. CIIUMS. A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of yoiitli are long, long thonprhts. L(JNU FELLOW. KRGUS had rebelled against sharing longings in Edinburgh with Angus M'Beim, and so the open- ing of the University session found him doiiiiciied alone in a small but comfortable room in tlw t(>|) flat (if a house in ^lontagu Street. It seemed strange to the b(>y at lii>t to be confined to so small a space, but fiom his window lie could catch a glimpse of the corner of Arthur's Seat, and the grim outline of Salisbury Crags, and that view was the gi'i-atest (Minfort the Highland boy had in town. It remin(U-d him of liunu'. It nuist not be supposed, however, that he was at all inix'iahle in Edinburgh. At fii'st the change and its constant 'itistle were delightful to him ; there was so much to see in sjjaie !i nrs and on holidays, that he never wearied, even for home. He speedily made acquaintance among the students, and htcanip very friendly with a big, good-natured lad, with a smih- .•ind a kindly eyi^ which seemed familiar to Fergus. "When he learned his name he knew at once where lie had seen these eyes before. The lad was Alastair Murray, from ^lunayshaugh ; aiul he was his mother's son. Young Murray was b(.arded with a very select family in Great King Street, and lived in a very 187 H|i ■M\ '[ 1 Hi i ■ * i; 1 i t lll till f d ^ i ilfij 158 SHEILA. !' i (lifTcnMit style from Fitlhis ; l)iu tluit did not prevent tlio two frniii Ix'coii'ini!; ijis('|>ariil)lu duims. Ahisijiir was snpposiMl to h(! studying for his dcLM't'e likewise, hut was too itlle and e;isv- iniiided to oppress himself nuich with books. The lads sat side hy side in the Iliun.'uiify class room, hut Alastair took in very liltK; of the learned professor's lectures. Fer<^us, however, did his best. He was conscientious in everything, and, as he liad i)i'en sent to college to learn, he did learn. liut on half- holidays and Saturdays, Alastair and he took long walks to- gether all over Edinburgh and its beautiful environs, and were as chummy and as devoted to each other as boys of that age can be. Alastair wrote home when the spirit moved him, and his letters were filled with Fergus Macleod ; and when I.ady Ailsa read them, she smiled a V)it quiet smile to herself, and wrote; back to her boy to keep up his friendship with Fertnis, and b(; as kind to him as possible. In her own mind she knew that old Time, the stern and jnst, would heap revenges on Klleii Macleod's liead, and that the bairns among them, if let alone, would heal the old sores. Fergus had no sweet mother to whom he could pour out his boyish confidences. He wrote home dutifully every Saturday morning, faithfully rehear>ing his week's work; and, though he might mention that he was going for a stroll to Craigmillar Castle, or a ramble through the Pentlands, he never by any cliance Avrote down the name of Alastair Murray. lie liad an uneasy feeling that his motIir L.idy Ailsa always made Christmas a ha})py time for her boys, and grudged them no enjoyment. 'Oh, I say, Fergie, there's an awful din going on up at your place,' >-aid Alastair suddenly. ' The folks have all left their faruis, iuid they're going off to America. 1 heard them talking al)i)Ut it at home.' Insiantly Fergus was breathlessly interested. Though his liidtlicr wrote to him regularly, she never mentioned anything aliiiut the Fauld folks, nor any matters connected with the est ale. 'Are they going soon? Tell me all about it, Alastair, .piirk!' ' Oh, I don't know much. But surely your uncle has a lueaii sneak of a fellow for a factor. Hasn't he ])Ut them out ? 1 tluiiiglit my mother said that.' ' lie's helped anyway. Yes, he's a mean sneak,' said Fergus gloomily, but with an angry flash of his eye. 'But they can't go over the Atlantic just now.' iii'lliH ,1 ti II 5» ► ' i k Mi ^;^i !< !| ; ') t ■ It I- 1 1!,' i I i' 1 i6o SHEILA. 'Why not? I tliink they are going just now; at least, lhi'\'r(' out of their places.' 'Well, iait ir is Upper Canada they are going to, and the ^liips can't get up the St, La\.i'ence for tlie ice,' said Fei'.'uv. ' If they all' out of their farms, wliere are they living?' 'Oh, 1 don't knon'. Doesn't your mother tell you all these snit of things when she writes? Mine does.' 'iSlie didn't tell me anything about this. Oh, Alastair, I wish I conld get home!' said Fergus, in a tone of such painful iiicpiiry that Alastair lov^ked at him in amazement. 'What for, Fergie?' ' To see what's going on. It'll be April before I'm honio, ;iii(l if they're all away I don't kr.ow wliat I'll do.' ' lint how does it matter to you? You aren't the Laird,' said Alastair, in ratlier a perplexed voice. 'No; l)Uf I like all these folks. There's Donald M'niaslinn. and old Diigald, and Rob Macnaughton, only I don't think he'll i^e going. I wish I could see them, if only to say goo l-bye.' 'Oh, well, perhaps they won't be going till the sprinir, i"or the ice,' said Alastair, who was not very clear on that ])oint, 'Likely the\'ll all be there when you get back. The session ends on the 28th of Match, and jolly glad I'll he wlitn it comes. It's not much more than two months, Fergie, so cheer uj).' But Fergus was very down-liearted all day, and whenever lie got home to Jiis lodgings, he wrote a hasty letter to his motlicr, asking for all the news about the Fauld. In his ab>()rhin.r iiiten st about the cottars, he forgot his usual reticence re^.mi- iiig Alastair, and just wrote down that he had brought tin- iKW.s back from Murrayshaugh. Ellen Madeod had herself to blanu^ foi- the way in wiiich Fergus withheld his confidence from her. When had she encouraged it, or shown herself in thelit'lit of a syiin)athetic, interested I'riend to her boy? She had frez< ii the mainspiings of l\i:. fn-sh, warm, im])ulsive young heart V'Wi aiio, ;iiid could scarcely resent its lukewarmne?s now. Fei,L;u>; knew the name of Murray was distasteful to her, and, un'W" Worldly wise even in his young boyhood, refrained Irom i.ilhct CHUMS. i6i in'j it upon lior. At tlio ONpiry of n week liis motlur's iisu il Ictifi- ;iMivi'(!, aii(], tlioiigli Aw sijiiitii'd her reciipt of liis fMia cpi >il('. she men ■'}• s;ii( 1 I at >lu* did iidt coiUMTU Inrscll" with iffiiiis Aviiicli wiTt' not licr own. 81 It* liad nolt'd the naii'C n Al M ui lav but did ni't take notice o f ir in lirr it'|il\- In ilie lieat of liis di-^appointnunf and cairer di'>ifL' to kiow ii'idlv what was uoiiiir on in Aolniafaidd, Fergus >at down and iiuliti d a h;isty, bi\i«.h screed to Kob Maciiau:jliton, ilie stoikiiiii-weaver. asking liiin to send liiui a long Itiicr iellinu> tNicunnius till Ins (i\nig d;iy 111 ;i (lav or two there c.nne back an answ r, wri'teii in ralur ;i (T.iinitid nils teady hniKi no Md-'aUfii, the precentor, havn le>s a ])er>ona'j(' tlian ]•: wan iLT tak n it upiiti h insclt to re| Iv oil 1)1 half of Rob. who w.is ci n ined to his bed with rlieiiniati>ni, and could not hold the pen in his still' tingiis. Ikhtiin atism minion coniiiiuint in Achnafauld in the winter time — ■ \va^ a C' the iiiobt atmospliere, a in d til .-b le low-JMiitr, (lani!) sitnacon ( -f tl le ]iiiiis('<, accounted for it. This letter (jf Kwan's, written in his most giMiidiloijuent style, is (juite worthy of ])ublicati()n. Fergus kt'pt it long ill his possession as hut that it is still extant aniun^ Dalinure. a ouiiositv, aiK 1 I am not suie the papers in the library at aciinafaild, Glenquaich, Amuluke, by Dunkeld, The 1 6tb day of January, Eighteen hundred and forty-eight, Anno Domini. To Mr. Fergus Macleod, at the College, in Edinburgh. Rr,sri:crKD Sii?, — I ani organized by my disabled friend, Mr. Robert Mac- n.Tii-litoii, to indite a suital)le and peimanent reply to your liniKdiiid conumiiiication aneiit the agitation which has sho ken iliis liaiiilet, nay, this entire gUn, frum east or west, to i's solid f'lii ilatidii. This I will make it my endeavour to do to the utmost "f my tiileiable ability, and do but prefer a iiumble reiiiu st that a f-tii'lfiit of so great and philosophical a college wdl l)e pleased lo I'lotik iiiid pass by any slight deviation frum the straight ec|uih- iiVl biiuin of 'irauiraatical correctneBS. ih i. I'.-fj ■ ■;i • I ' I 1 l62 SHEILA. n\ \ V\i ;) f| ; Rob Macnaughton, bi-iTu/ in liaste, roqnosts mc not to .li-sipatc voiir attention with my fine Ijinguago, wliicli, I coiitVss, I am u niastor of, bnt 1 take it ui>nn nie to venture tlie suppMsition tlnu even in my tinest .style I sliall liaidly be e(\ual to the occasion. I will endeavour, liowcViT, in ae([uie^cence with K'olTs desire, to inform you briefly what the facts of this interesting case .uc. as follows, viz. : — That the following responsible liea>ls of huusehuMs — viz. : — James Stewart, formerly of Turrich ; Alexander Maclean, cottar in Achnafauld; Tiiomas Maciiaughton, do. do. Kory Mach ;in, do. do. AVilliam Cierar, do. do. Douald Macalpine, do. and blacksmith ; and the undersigned, viz. Ewan M'Fadyen, cottar, and also precentor, viz. leailcr of the ))raise in the kirk of Annilrcc, have resolved anddetermincd in a sclcnm league and covenant, on aic 'imt of the o[)pressiori and in])idenee of that upstart and c ntemjitilile truckler, Angii.s M'Hean in Aiiehloy, to turn our respi'ciive iia>ks upon the land of our birth and breeding, and cros.s the seas to a new and unexplored region which knows not Joseph, and thus our fauiiiii'S have agreed to, and it is our tixed intention to shake the dust fiom off our feet in the sj)ring-time, — that vernate season when all naiure rtjiiiiH'S, excei)t oinselves, — and with every symptom of re.-pect lu Mr. l^'ergus Macleod, His humble servant, Ewan M'Fadykn. I'he close of Ewan's epistle bore unmistakeable traces ii liaste. Rob, indeed, had lost patience ^vitb his sciilx's verbosity, and bad thrown a book at bis head. But, in >]iite of the long words and fine-sounding phrases, the meaning was perfectly clear. It wjis indeed clear that Angns M'liean liail succeeded in coniplettdy souring the small tenants in Daliunre. And they, foreseeing no pros])ect of any betterment in tlieir situation, had Avisely resolved to gird up their loins while tliev bad vet a little left in tlieir wallets, and seek a home in thai^ di>tant land of which such good rej)orts had rcaelu'd tliein,' Now that he knew the worst, Fei'gns Celt more (!oiite'iti(lj although wearying to get home to lii-ar fuller piirticulats. ; lie had seen Puddin' M'liean several times in EdinbuiLil j but did not consort at all with him. Alastair Murray, wlie. i.l CHUMS. 163 spite of his good-nature, had a pride of his own, declined to -;;iii(l on ;iny footing with tlie factor's son at Auchh)y. Tliat !(Mi-li!iirod fellow from Glenquaich did not find favour in the ivi's (if liaiulsome, high-born Ala^tair Murray. The hiief spring session passed at length, and on i.he 28th of March Fergus Macleod returned home. Alastair, Angus Mlican, and he travelled by the same train. The Highland liiK! was bt'iiig formed, and had now reached Ballinluig, so iliMt tlu' lads got home all the way to Dunkeld by train. riif factor's smart dogcart was in waiting lor young Angus, ilic fiictur himself driving. 'llulloa! how are you, Mr. Fergus? Jump up,' said the lictor tamiliarly, when Fergus came off the plaifoim. Hut, 111 his amazement, Fergus only gave him a haughty little ' Xo, rhank you, I'm going to walk. Here's your traj), Alasiair,' he said, turning away from the M'Beans and speak- ing to his friend. ' But, Mr. Fergus, Mrs. Macleod said I was to bring you up,' siiii the factor. ' Come.' ' Xn, thank you,' repeated Fergus. 'Tell my mother I'm walking, and that I'll be up before it's dark.' 'All light,' said Angus M'Bean, trying to speak pleasantly. ihoiigji he was very angry. ' He's trying to show off befoic \iiiiiig Muriayshaugh, but I'll take it out of him,' he added ti» ills son. ' In with you, Angus, and let's off.' ' You can't walk all that distance, Fergie,' said Alastair, in ciincern. 'Come on home with me, and you'll get Dick's |inny.' '<) no, Alastair. Ten miles! I'll walk that in two hours in 1 a half easily,' cried Fergus cheerily. ' Good-bye ; I hope We II see each other in the liolidays,' 'See each other! of course. If the weather keeps like this, ilierell he some rare fishing in the Logie. Of course you'll ■nine ovi'r for a few days. My mother will settle all that.' ■So they shook hands and parttul, Alastair to drive raj)idly '|"nii' t(i the hearty, loving welcome of Murrayshaugh, and Ki'LMis to trudge manfully up the brae and throngh Strath- ! I : M Hi if . ' i ^4. i I " i I.! ''I'f^ ) •' I* >i'i 164 SHE/LA. \ 11 : 1'^ h' I ' I I 1 K \ ' 11 M;i!in to Anmlree. Tlie LainVs ncpliew w.ilkou afoot, carrvjnnr ha'. while tlio T> ird's fjictor cnvcrcd tlu; luiU's with t !!■ ih'ct thoroiighhrt'd for wiiich the spoil of the cottars had {);ii(l. Tht,' l)rit'l' soreness Fergus liad felt at the station so(,n wnw • ifT, and he began to take interest in what was al)out him. Xt'ver liad tlie green and lovely Athole woods seemed so ]i, los- ing fiiir as tliey did th'^t April day, to the country hoy wImim- ryes liad grown weary of the town. He turned ba^k aj;iin and again to look at the rugged face of Ciaiaybarns, which ^\M^ cImiIkhI with the rich mosaic of hi-r sjjring-tide hues. The Lireen baid-cs of the noble Tay were like finest enn-rald vchct. and the river itself flashed and rippled in the suidiLiht, liil its beauty filh'd tlie boy's whole soul. He was neither an ;iriivt nor a poet, but he felt it all in liis soul, and loved the hind ol his birth better tlian an\ thitig in tlie woild, lie had to stuj) ;it one part of the road and look away u[) the glen past Dali^uisc and Dowally to the green braes of Tullymet and the pmph hills in the distance, a jdcturc whose marrow he had never seen. He saw the trouts leaping in the gleaming pools in the Bia;ni, which were shaded by the drooping birch trees and the l^oMcii tassels of the larches, and his young heart leajied too, for ilie w rid was a lovely world, and life was all before him. So mi he trudged pa.>t Trochrie, and on to Drumour and Tomiiaiiiew, wlieie the landsca[)e grew more bare and treeU'Ss. though iiMt ! >» beautiful in the eyes of Fergus Maeleuvl. When he got up to the crest of the brae by Dalreoch, he saw Crom Creagh. aiid 'he sunset shafts oi' golden liudit falling athwart the win(h>w> ol Dalniore. Then he dashed his hand across his eyes, foi thi y were wet. God guide the boy! he had an earnest heart, .-iikI already he had been sorely tried. Just then lie met 'Yoin Macniiughton, the blind ])iper, dressed m his kilt, away to play at a marriage in Biillinreich, and of course he li;id '" s^md and crack a l.ut with him. for the piper knew the hi 1 ^ foot before he came up. It was about eight o'ch)ck, and. tli'' sun being down, a soft golden h;ize enveloped the whole ,Lih n. when Fergus Macleod laid his hand on the gate of Shoinn ti. He felt no thrill of deliglit as he did so, for he had no leve tm' the [>lace, nor had it ever possessed for him any of the attrac- CHUMS, 165 tinn*! of home. ITis inotluT was watcliiiiG: for liim, and canu^ iiiir to tlie door to meet liiin with but a chilly welcome on lui- lijf. • ^'e are a fool, Fergus, to walk tlie road ye miirlit h.-pi' I .1 ini. Whether is it pricU? or thrawuucss that makes yuii > s. rr) civil to Mr. M'Beau of Auchloy?* !;:t ^f /tl I ( '!f"P"*i ^^i^A I 'I! HI 111 !■ 1 i i 1 ll 1., !l I n CHAPTER XVIIL HOME AGAIN. The short but simple annals of the poor. Gray. is^Kinui LLEN MACLEOD was glad to see her son, however, in spite of her scanty welcome, and wlien he sat down to tea her eye viewed liim witli kt-eii ] I'uli'. He had grown a manly fellow, and there uas tlic dawn of manhood in his look and manner. Fi*rgus \vas m* longer a boy, to be chidden and ordered even by his nioilicr. So she alluded no more to his refusal to ride up in Angus M'Bean's trap. 'Mother, what's all this about the Fauld?' he asked, in liis quick way, * Are they really going away ? I can't beUcvo it.' ' Oh, it's true enough. They go to Gla<5g()W, I'm toUl, the day after to-morrow. Silly fools, they don't know when tiny are well off. So Lady Ailsa's son brought you the news. Ave you intimate with him, Fergus?' 'O yes; Alastair is a splendid fellow, mother!' said Fergus enthusiastically. ' We are the best of chums, and spiiid our Saturdays together, always.' ' It seems as if you purposely made friendships and did things to vex me, Fergus. The Murrays are not your true friends. Have you forgotten that this lad and Sheila Munaj/ are full cousins ? * IM ";,' 1 ^ 1 /-'■ //OAfiL AGAIiV. 167 'No; lint, motlior, I can't make any difTeri^nce. I can't always inind tliat pcojjlc are not my friends, as you say, I like Ala-lair, and always will. And as for being Sheila's cousin,' he added, with a light laugh, 'we a-ree perfectly about her. Slieila is everybody's chum at Murraysliaugh ; but she's mine too, wlien she's in Amulree.' These wor^ls were bitter as gall to Ellen Macleod, but slie passed them by in silence. 'Mother, I'm going to run along to the Fault!; 1 nuist see tlie old folks. 1 won't be more than an hour, and it is quite light yet.' 'All right! I would not keep you from your friends,' slie said, with a slight touch of scorn. 'I heard of the letter you wrote to the stocking- weaver. It was not wisely done, Fergu-;.' •Why? Oh, mother, I had such a letter from E\v;iii M'Fadyen ! ' cried Fergus mirthfully. 'It is in my ])ag. We can >ee it after. It is full of the longest words you ever saw or heard of. Rob's cripple h'g was botlKuing him, and his rheu- matic arm, so that he could not Avrite.' 'I am not much interested in these ungrateful people,' wa.- the cold reply. ' I want to hear about your college life. Angus M"Bean has done very wtdl, his father tills nie.' '1 know nothing about him, except that he M-ent with fellows who could not do him any good,' said Fergus coolly. 'Of coiuse he did not belong to our set. Puddiu' soon found his level in Edinburgh College, mother. X cad is soon spotted tl lere ' What do you moan by these strange, ill-bred words, Fergus ? ' 'I beg your pardon, mother. One can't help picking up a liitle slang. I meant to say that an ungentlemanly fellow is Soon marked; and, in sjiite of his fine clothes and airs. Pnddin' will never be anything but just Puddin' M'Bean. How aie Bessie and Kate? Do you ever sih' tliem? ' "Occasionally. 'J'hey are well-hrt'd girls. Angus M'lV'an has credit by his family.' 'I am alad to hear it,' said Fergus carelessly. 'Oh, mother, li"\v honnie Anuilree is looking just now, with all the green leaves on the manse trees! ' ^: :;3^ "i i I ( \m 168 SHEILA. :i : Ffruus Siiid tli<' rmnsp trees, l)iit lie was tliiiiking and spe.'ilvinT ' I tl,«' wonds !il)(iiit D.'iiiiKire. ' ri.clr (Jr;di;mi is no worse, is lie?' ' Xot that I know of,' an^iwcred liis niotlier. * Yon won't ^ta\ laii', tlnri, if \oii are jjoing. Ivt-menilx'r, you owe a duty lo nie. You have Ix-en awav fi'oin me more than n\ iminrlis.' oil,' said 1' 'And jollv Lilid to iret home, 1 can toll y eiifcniy \\ Ml' I shaKe ^\o, 1 hands ^n'r. onT. I only want to ask loi k r< CTLMIS loin. smith, and have a peep Kar le \\ i nzifS. 8t) saying, Fergus caught i^ his cap and ran ont wdusthncr. I IS spiiMts oveitliiwinii' with tliejoy of l)eii)g once more at. Iioiin ill' missed Cohn at his he(ds. That faiihlnl I'ri nd wa s nmv dead, and there was no doi: at- Dahnore hut poor I'ory. wlio in his old age had grow, very dyspeptic, and consequintly was Very lazv and cross. Kllen Macleod wi nt out to the door and watched tlie lail's fine figUK^ as he mai'ehe(l aloncr the stony road towaids Kii.l ih watci.ed lum with all a mot iher's )ii(le She 1 ove( liim more in his inih'pendent young matdiood than she had loved iiiiu ii Ids childhood Ilis spirit and his pride matched her own. though it, was ol' a mi-llower and more heautiliil type. Feiirus never looked hack, hut strode on, with many a glance, it is tiiic, over the moors to Dahnoie, al)out which the grey inght-shadows was It; were gatherinn' sof'th', as if in j)ity for the old house which now so doolaie a home. 'J"he loch was lying darkly in tl slij'.dow too, for the sunset glow never touched it; l)Ut it was Wiiolly l)eaii'ifiil in the eves of the lad, as he st'-od a nionn-nt on the ol I hi'idiie and watched it and the I'iver which fh (!('■ i) and SI lent an swil saw the iiiLT liunui y I ik lly l»el ow, II e coil hi ah no-t ■ well SO a' C\' lie )ike naitinff to an d f ro \\\ the irleaimiii: ays,' said Malcolm, as lie stood up, Ids lace all aglow with pleasui'i' at siiiht of his old compMuion and defender. 'Yell are looking much big^iT and sUongur, MalUy. How's Kiitii ' Km lie's fine. ' And Aunt Jenny, eh ? * 'Fine too, though she catinn rise noo, nor liclp liorsel'.' ' So you are to lose a lot of your neighbours, MalUy' The FauM will he didl enoticrh without them all.' Ay ; hut I'm gled lioh Maenaughton has a cripple Ti; keep him at home,' laughed Fergus. OU .'Ui arc not Lronigr either. r m very ghK ' I wad iraiifT if it -werena for KaHe, Mr. Fe'-iru? M; ilcolni, \v ith a curious gleam m Ins ey( Tl ler aiie Siiid iles I cajina hide here hardly. The factors ayc^ nicddlin wi' me. Ih' says I canna ferm the land, but I see weel eiieucli he's wanin' us out o' this Fauld an' a'.' ' Xever mind him, Malky ; he can't put you out unless you are wiHins: to 20.* I (li nna Ken lie savs lie'Il rise the rent, an' it's ower dear already. We've to pay ibr horse wark too, ye ken, an' that di>na pay. Is Puddin' hame fiae the cnllege too?' 'Yes; but you mustn't call liim Puddin' now, Malcolm, he is siK'li ;i fine young gentleman. II e Wears a gi dd fi nger nnyf anc lias a silver-topped cane,' said Fergus, with a liugh. I 1 lope he '11 1 )ide oot o my roac d. sa id Malcolm, in a low voice ' Ye'U be gann to stop at hame tbr a while now 'For a month, Malkv ; but I mu^t awav over to IJob's. I a lot o' them at the smith's. Is Donald le.illy going away?' see Ay; and there's a man frae Finciouie comiu' up to the siiialdv, 'M.lky, if the Laird had been quite well, these things would 'lit l)e,' said Feruus soberlv. 'I believe the factor does things 111 my uncle's name which Ik^ never sanctioned.' ' We ken that, but we'll be waur some day,' said Malky h (Hi I i ■\\ \.\ \ . 1 1 1, ( -' ) i J I [te|i lyo SHEILA, ' Hi 1! in n , 1 i s I' 1 (piictly, ns he went back to liis work. Fergus crossed over tlie Imiiii and passed by Jenny's door, nieunitii^ to look in and see Kaiii' last of all. A.s, he neared the sndddy door, he heard ;. loud burst of laughter, which did not seem to indicate ihik;); heaviness of heart. It was Ewaii M'Fadyen, holding Ibith as usual in his solcnu), bombastic style, to the great amuseniciit of the others. Mary Macalpiue, the smith's wife, looking out ut the door, caught si^ht of Fergus. ' Ik-re's the young Laird,' she cried, for by that title was the laddie now known in the FauUl. ' \V(dl, how are you all .-* Mary, you are looking splendid!' cried F('r>:us, stepping across the smiddy doorstep, when he \v;is immediate ly surrcinded by l^onald and all the rest, eager to shake him by the hand. ' \\ h'lt were you all laughing at?' asked Fergus, wlieii Ik; could get bi'cath to speak. '1 thought you'd be all in very had spii'its.' 'Nay, for we arc now free from the hand of the oppressor,' said Ewan solemnly; but the tear stood in Mary Macalpiiie's eye. ''i\ll Maistcr Fergus about Kory Maclean bein' shf)t in tlic Sma' (ilcn, Ewiin,' said young Kob Stewart, whose father had been iu Tui-rioh. 'Tell it yourself, Kob, or you, Donald,' said Fergus to tlie snnth. 'If Ewan begins, dear knows where he'll end. Who shot Kory ? ' 'Ay, that's it — wha shot Rory ? ' replied the smith, his side^ shaking with laughter, 'lie was comin' thro' the sma' glen frae CrieiT tiie ithcr nicht wi' his cairt. He had a bottle o' barm in his oxter, an' the heat o' his arm garred the cork fice oot wi" a lood report. It was a dark uicht, an' Rory, a nnickle sartcliicM. as ye ken, Maister Fergus, thccht the deil was efter liim. "i' that somebody had killed him deid wi' a gunshot. So he lit the beast staunin' i' the glen, an' gaed aff on his hale legs to ti:' slu'idierd's hoose at the Biig o' N».'Wton, an' gied them a teniil'' fricht. lie said he was mortally hurt, an' began to tell tin m boo his gear was to be pairted. But the slie[)herd, secin the barm rinnin' ower his leg, says, "The bluid's unco whin, HOME AGAIN. 171 Hnrv » But it was liinff or I lO ry was convince (] 1 i€ wasna ;ilH' i ii;i 111 t's a (inccr story, Donald,' said Fcrans, lauuliinp ; 'l>iir I \() ■(' jiot sonictliiiiir to laiijjrli at. It M.'t'ins scricus 1 iiiiiuii to ino that you a n. all "^oiiii; away from tl.c V iMld We've got till' v.'arst l)miit owci noo, lad,' said iliu sniitli. Tliat we liavcna, .smith,' put in Kwan. ' For \sv. have yet tit pliiugh the utdty deep, and that'll he vtTV severe upon the cqui stniiiachs.' libriuni, to hav nothiiii; about our I 'When do you go away from the Glen?' aski'd Fergus, .iviiiL; no attention to Kwan. In serious moments, when he wanted information, he was sonutinies inn)atient of th.e pre- (ciiMir's It'ng-wiiid(!d sentences. ' Nc' the morn, hut on Wednesday moinin', Maisfor Fertrus,' .siiil the smith, 'we'll gang cot o' the Glen — four-an' twenty souls o' us, an' a heap o' gear. We're no pretendin' WH-'re gam '(it licLmars, M: lister FelLTUs. w e are on •y ?■ uin so that we '11 iio' he heggars. Coidd we hae made a leevin' ava, we wad hae hiddiii i' the Glen. Look at Mary there, she'll hae her een LM lit tell oot or ever they see the last o' Glenrpiaich.' Tlic smith's voice faltered t(>o, and a silence fell upon the liitlt' conijiany. Strong, roolute men though they were, it was no liLilit thinii for them to turn their hacks on their ' bairn's- haiiii' which is ever the dearest we know. • li'^ just awful to think yoii are going away from tlie F;iuhl,' \\\ !*'■ iLius hurriedly. ' I — I wish I was the Laird ; things wiudd he dilferent k( Ay, we ken that; but ye hae gotten a lesson, ^^:li■>ter JUS, \\\^ it' ye ever con)e to \()ur ain, ye'U ken to live an' \v\ I1V( an 110 treat t( ilks as if tln'V were waur than brute beasts ut si'Mse,' said the smith. ' When y(> see the aidd Laird, Mai-^tfi' Feriius, tell him we Macleod, but I liavt' no doire to livi' to see the complete dooiifa' o' Achnafauld.' 'What's to become of the land, then, liob?' • Ve need hardly ask. 'Ww. big feek o't gangs in wi' Aucliley.' sail 1 1 till), inir 1 ilroppmg his more poetical language, and spe;ikii:jr 1 1: d sharply to the point. 'Then Tunieh and Little Tunicli arc let tie giiher wi' some o' the crofts at Kiidoch. But 1 jaltniM' ,\ngiis M'liian is waitin' or the folk be safely awa or he shows his hauiid.' ' It's a sad business. It just makes n»e miserable,' said to F»'igus, ri>ing wearily. ' I must go home, for I promised my mother not to stay long. I'll be along to-morrow, (iood-bye just now. K.)h 'Mr. Fertrus,' said the stockinjr- weaver, 'I dinna want to push my nose into the affairs o' my betters, but they say the ;: ^ ^' HOME AGAIN. 173 V\ \ I jiiild L.iird's a dfcin' iii;im, an' I wad hut advice ye to tiy ai liMik whil. \vi' li;ii' to j)it V oliiikiiig iiis Iicad as he went out hy the door. lis l.ic liii'.'lirt'iicd a litih* at sit:lit of Katie, homiie and winM^nic a> <'i \iMf. 'illiiiLT tlic wati-r-pilclicrs at the wtdh and wlicti ho wct.i iiji to licr lie iiad even a iiiiht, jesting word to lm'ccI Inf. Kaim was Liraift'id to liun i"r \v,i> Ljlad and ph-ased to si'e Idni. She .i> kind wav with Maloohn, wiio luul so Irw rriciids. Tlicv >tood hut a few minutes, talkillL^ of couisc. ahnut li our ahsorhin^r suliject of interest in tiie ciachaii ; tliin, liiddinir lid' i^nnihiu'jht, and refusinj^ her invitation to co 1 e in and -ic lirr MUi't, he turned up the path to tlie road wliicii >kiitrd \\\>- Miiidi side of the locli. Ju^t at the turn he Jiiot vnnnj An n-, liis Iiands in Ids jxickcts, i-ufhii^- away at a eiL'ar, w.ili all with till- aiiN of a fooU.>h ixty who tliought Idniself a in.ii. To !(• Miiv, .\ti'jus was now in his twduieth yi-ar, and »o, |icrhap>. \v,i> j i-iili((l in thinking himself quite grown-up. liul lif liad I.') more than a hoy's sens(!. 'lliilloa, Ft'i\inis, you know where tlie villaGrt"^ hrljcs aic to he fiiiiinl,' he .said offensively. 'Quite a picture, 'pon my woid. JiiC'ih at the well sort of thing.' ' Piiddin', you are a perfect idiot,' said Fergus iiotly. 'I'he V idea of such a tljiuK in connection with Kaiie .Menxies was vn lull ;ili,sui'( 'Oil, of course, a fellow always is when he tramps on anetlnf tf!l"\v's toes. I nuisf be down to see the swet-t Kaiic: a preti\ i;iil. "|i'"i honour SI le is a rejiiilar ru>lic heautv All. tl ill il 'HI Up vuur nionkej, II;i, 1 key. You have a sneakiii-jr al'.;r Inr, ilitii la I > ''■r .M- |j an, MIS was so mad, he could willingly have knocked t'e fellow down, but, lellecting thai it was (.nl , !',: n* he only gave his hps a kind of h.iugliiy eiiil, w.icii ?■! I ( I Illi 174 SHEILA, m 1 1 i\ 1 1 w somcliow nijule Anp:iis reddfn. It seorncd to riipasiirp a distinicc between llu'in. Feriius acMually looked at liiiii as if lie wcr,. ';"neat!i contempt. Jiefore he could say anytlt'msj, FerLins Iml p.issed on, and was walking with a long, striding slej) u[i li,,' He was quite out of sorts. Everytliing seemed to eon^pir. lo vex him. Even Puddin's s'upid jeering had left a rank,!!.- sting. lie Ava Iked on until he had ])a.s.>ed the swelliiiLr inn,,;. which hi 1 Dalniore, and he could see its lights gleaming throiiii, the darkening niiiht. Thoughts seemed to lii' upon him ih' n like a great flood — Dalmore at the mercy of aliens and sei\;ini-: (Mcn Sheila, who might have been its guardian angel, \va> t'.u- away in a London school; and in that lonely house his unck was left to die, without a loving hand, or the suiile of kiln ni kin about his bed. That was of lar greater moment to Feijn. Macleod thau the dividing of the estate. It seemed, indeen. uiore than he could bear. <^^f^^:'^ :r- CIIAPTETl XTX. THE LAST MKETIN'G, Wnlcincj tlie Tncrnorirs that sloop In llio heart's siU'iice lung and deep. ACDOXALD of Dalmore was confined to liis bed now for the gi'catcr part of the day If ht; h;i:l a specific disease, the doctors diuiilly did with 111 'iiv a h.irk and snail, for the animal hated him. Just ;is iIim tat;inr was walking across the h;dl that eveiiin'r, ^hi"- ic Macintosli, the maid, catne up from tlie kiichi-n. ' \\'-ly. 'The L;drd's up the night?' ' No, sir ; iic's ill his bed.' 'All right, I'll just go in; thank you, Maggie,' he said, and turned the handle of the library door. M;icdoiiaM was sitting up in his bed, a poor, thin, wasted sh.idoA', with his grey hairs stragL'ling about his biow. and Jiis keen, (h'cp-set eyes ]ieeiing out wiih a peculiar brilliancy whieii struck evt'ii Annus M'Bean. Tlie Laird was ctMtainlv worse, ' (Jood evening, Angus; sit down,' s;iid the Laird, in liis usual (piiet, lutlier lisiless voice. 'Anything fresh? ' Not much, sir. Mr. Feruus Macleod returned to Slioniif n to iil'4ht, ' Ay, you told me he was coming. He'll be in a terrible way abwut this exodus from the Faiild.' 'Yes; lie's down among them holding a council of war in the sniiddy,' said the factor, with a hartl laugh. ' I was ]),is>ini: by ail' I overlieard some of their sayings. I think he was lU'giiig them not to hurry, for things would soon be different.' 'Ay : what did he mean?' asked the Laird. 'lie meant, and, itideed, said that when he was Laird tliinL's would be ditTerent. Tlie ungrateful young rascal, thai 1 should say it of him ; but it roused my anger. Laird, after wliai you -lid for him in the jiast.' • 80 the lad, yoiuig as he is, is waiting on dead nieii's already ? said the Laird grimly. ' Tell him from nie, if y<' I AiiLiiis, that a wise henwife duesna count her chickens bel they are hatchtvl.' ' I woiildiia like to take it upon myself to tell him that, suni'-i Ike elf THE LAST MEETIXG, 177 niiT. L i il. Of course lie i*; the direct liclr ; but I liope he'll be an ,,1,| iiiiii bclnie lie writes hiinselt' Liiird of D.iliiiore,' s lid tlic i;i : ii' viiiootldv. IL' was gasping to know the wherct-iit' of |),\i,l ('(('(julioiin the writer's visit to Dalniore, but had not ill.' lai'f to ask the question diicctly at the Laird. 'And they are going away when';:' ujxni Wediu'sday nior > i'. tlie poor silly bodies'?' asked Macdonald. ' Do tliey thiidv '(•\"ll get land and a living for nothing in another country any ic tiian in Gletiquaicli '? ' •Tiit-y certainly expect tliat, sir; that's why they are •Will, well, let them go. They are not going empty-handed fiiiMi ijir place, ye were saying?' • N'nt rliey. 1 wish ye saw the kists upon kists of linen and !• r kimws what })acked in the houses. They've strippet the (I'll. Liird, an' \'et they're c luntin' themselves ill-used.' }■ '3 IIIM ( ^\'^•ll, well, I don't grudge them their gear; they 11 m.iybe I it all,' said the L;iird, and his restless eves wandered about 111 ,is if seeking ibr something. ' 80 the lad's come home ? (.'oiiie up, Angus, when ye see him. I wouldua mind a 'Aiinl with him aLrain, tlxumh he does think me a Tartar, lie's iiii' 1(1(1 ! ' ; , 1 ;i i.'Ki (I f spirit, Fergus Macleod, Ye caniia deny that, Aug us 'lt'\e call it spirit,' said the factor rather soui'ly, 'he has li'l'cd to tuin the folk anainst Dalniore, that's certain, ftjr I've lie. 'id hill) wuli niv own ea'.'S. W w llic ell, he's honest at any rate. Ye liad better leave ViiL" . I ani tucd to-niked, as he rose to his feet, loth to go till he could (■aii\ soiiieihiiig definite with him. ' N't more than usual. Good-night. Mind and tell Fergus t(i C'liiie up,' s.iid the Laird, and turned his face to the wall. '"" liicic was nothinLr for Anean but to go, which he I'l. riluciantlv enouuh. II H woiik 1 have uiven a yieat deal to ii a 111 what was Mr. Cohpilioun's eriand to Dalmore. As he ^\' lit (iir, Mis. Cameron, the liousekeej)er, went into the Lai il's tooai. biie was constant and faitliful in hci attendance upon M I I Ill 'tw^i 178 SHEILA. liini for tlie sake of her mistress, whose memory she worshipped sfill. ' Is that yoii, Cameron? ' ' Av, sir, it's me.' ' What time is it?' ' Twenty minutes from nine, sir.' ' It's too Lite to-night, then. The first tiling in the morn- ing, bid Laclihm yoke the pair in the carriage, and go over to .Murraysliaugli for Lady Ailsa.' 'Lady Ailsa, sir! Ai-e ye worse the night?' '^hlyhe. I want Lady Ailsa to come and bide liers', Cameron. She will not refuse me. She was here seven ycais ago l)iding when August comes. Ye can send what message ye like to ^hu'rayshang^l, but she'll understand.' 'Sir, would y-^u like to see Miss Sheila?' asked the hoiHt- kceper. ' Ay, that's wliat I want. Lady Ailsa will arrange aliout i;. I want no strangers about Dalmore, Cameron, oidy L;id-. Ails.i and my bairn. And when Angus M'Bean comes to liu" duor axain, see that he doesna iiet in or I cive leave. He conies m here as if the place were his owmi.' The latter order gave Mrs. Cameron the most lively siitis- faction. She did not at all approve cl" Angus M-Px^an. She ki e\v (piite well wdiat all these oviieis i.ortended ; indeed, >^l)e could see that the Laird was drawi'"- .lear his end. Siic was right glad to think that it was to Lady Aiha he luiiied oiico more in his hour of need, for slie Avas a giod woman and a tine friend. Angus M'Bean had left the h;dl door open, and the night wind was blowing coldly in. So Cameron cio-Sfd over to shut it before she went down-stairs. She aot a ftiuht by seeing a figure on the doorstep, just within the shadow of the porcli. ' it's you, Mr. Fergus. Bless me, what a fricht you gave iiie! Come in, come in.' 'I {^on't think I can come in. I was coming up by Cmry- mrckloch, and I thought I would just run up and ask f >r my un'h\ >rrs. Cameron. Tell me just how he i> ? ' •'i'li;'.; [ wi'I. Come in, Mr. Fi-rgiis, just into the gimroom, it u.) I'viilhe'r,'' said the housekeeper, who loved the bo\', and li.iu THE LAST MEETING, 179 n. She •oil, '>he S'lK' was ed once il a true 111(1 tlie over to V seeing )(ii'ch. ive me I Ciiiry- fur my luul ll'lli never forfrntten Lis demeanour that day lie came to Dalmore \\]\< w liis uncle's wife died. ' Did ye meet Mr. M'Bean ? He's ji^r this minute gone.' • I saw liim, l)ut he didn't see me. I came up the footj)ath, a id was at the stable corner when he went down the avenue,' Ft I'lius answered, as he followed the housekeeper into the gim- iiHiin, which was now never used. It had been Fergus Macleod's favourite haunt in the old days, when nothing had I'Mint' between himself and Uncle Graham. • riie Laird's far through, Mr. Fergus,' said the housekeeper sidlv. ' lie was just giving me orders to send to Murrayshaugh I'mi' Lady Ailsa. Miss Sheila will be coming home invmediately, likely.' • Is my uncle dying, Mrs. Cameron ? ' asked Fergus, in a jiaiiit'ul whisper, for she had given him an unexpected shock. • I fear it, Mr. Fergus. 1 cannot think he will last many days.' ' Could — oh, do you think he would see me, Mrs. Cameron ? I catuiot bear to think I may never see him again.' ' I'll ask him. Fm sure he will see you. Eh, laddie, had ye been aye at Dalmore, I believe this would never have happened,' she said, as she went out of the room, and once more returned to the Laird's chamber. 'Are ye sleeping, sir?' she asked. ' No ; wdiat now ? ' asked ALicdonald rather peevishly. 'There's somebody come to ask for ye, sir, and won fain see ye,' she said, bending over him. ' Ay ; who's that ? ' ' Mr. Fergu^, from Shonnen.' ' Hid him come in, and turn uj) the lamp,' said tlie Laird quiekly. ' Give me a mouthful of the wine before h' comes in. Ay. that'll do.' Fergus had scarcely any hope that his uncle would see him, and was surprised when Mrs. Cameron brought him the friendly liii'>saihie I'T t'lem to live witii any coiulbrt in the })lace, and they wne ublig.'d to leave bei'o;e they lost everything,' jA.a I THE LAST MEETING. i8i ' Yo nre a poiTect liiulical, liuldic. Yu'il no' npliold tho Inirds lit all." said Macdonald, not ill-pleased with his lu-phew's bold sjid'cli. • I cin't uphold what's -wronfr. Undo drahnin ; and I sny the F.iiild folks have not been li^litlv ti'catcd. Oli, if voii could (iiiiv LH't up and go down to sec for yniir,>('lt'I 1 liavo been (liiwn sccin'j thcni all to-night, and do you know what nicssagt' Ditiiiild M'Cilashan sent up t(j yon?' 'No; what was it? An honest chap, the sm'th, biU lazy, !('iiil)lv lazy. Wants to eat lor nothing, lint what did he >;■ y ? ' " •Ih' ^aid I was to tell you thry went out not blaming you, for tlicv were cpiite cornlbrtable when you looked alter your own afl'airs. He said, too,' added the lad, a little hesitatingly, not kiKiwin!! how his uncle niiuht receive the latter t)art of Donald's message, ' that a curse would lie on Dahnort' till Aii'ius M'Heun was put away.' 'Ay, ay, and he said that?' said the Laird, with a hollow, mirthlt'ss laugh. 'There's no love lost betwixt the Kauld folk ;inil Aucldoy. A\'ell, well, Donald may be no' far wrang. Well, F.'i;.;us, ye see me far through. And are you to be Laird of Dalniore ? ' 'Xo, Uncle Giaham — I don't know. I wish you would get ^vdl.' ' lluu'll never be,' said the Laird, in alow voice. 'Fergus Maclcod, wdiatever your lot may be, lay one thing to heart. Marry yonng, lad, for if ye Avait as long as I waited, ye set your luind owre firmly on your wife, and if she be t.dven as mine Wiis. ii's death to you. Fergus, I believe ye never bore me a grii'lm- or an ill-will because I married.' ' Unelc Graham, I loved her,' said the boy simply, but witli an canicstness inexpressibly toucliing. ' Lad, ye can teach your elders a lesson, yet ye havona had :i iliaiice. Hut ye are the son (»f the minister of Meiklernore, wli'i was too good for this world.' said the Laird nuisingly. ' b'll me, do you an' your mother agree?' 'Agroe! of course.* ' \\ ell, ye are the first Ellen Macleod has ever 'greed with,' t ..iii \X.IAU.^ lS2 SHEILA, fill 1 • j ; \ : . i . 1 I u saifl the Laird primlv. ' You and Slieila used to ho lliick. didn't ye? Tiie biiirii had aye a jzreat speidcin' ah(;nt ye.' Ferfi;us sruilcd somewliat baslilu'ly, being just at the sensitive ajre. The Laird smiled loo, very faintly, at the risiDjr colour in the lad's face. A new and pleasant thought had struck liini, but he did not put it into words. 'And what's all this college lore to do for you, Fergus?' he asked. ' What are ye to do for a living? ' ' T don't know yet, Uncle Graham. 1 wanted to go and work when 1 came I'rom Perth, but mother wanted me to go to ct»l!c2('.' 'Ay, her notions are high,' said the Laird dryly. 'Never- theless, ye must obey your mother, I suppose. A cliap hke ycui will never want, Fergtis Macleod. Ye will make a name and a place for yourself wherever ye be.' Fergus Macleod's face flu->hed with pride and y)leasure at liis uncle's praise. He still retained liis old aition Ibr writing. yl le was lint wil (T to d( tlioiu a natural curiosity as to what he was gom (lid not often now have a pen in his hand. 'Tiiat'll do, Cameron. Is the hand-bell near ? I'll ring it \vli''n I want yi',' said the Laird, so she was obliged to withdraw, Ii vas quite half an hour before the bell rang, but when she ret' i4ie(l there were no signs of any written papers to be seen lie hade her take away the things, and as she did so she ved that a half of the sheet she had ])r()vided was gone, iiii^ 1 ana iliUt the ink was still wet on the pen the Laird had used. \i I I ' '( ;||f! • :,t SIS 1 !l CnAPTER XX. ill !i i.- ; I m ' ^ AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER. I will speak daggers to lier. Ilamht. riOSE cnrrinGre is that away np to DalnTTo, I woikLt?' said Kllcn MacJ<'Oil lialt' aloud, as siic w.is standing at liiT bedroom window on ihc* ini[)('r llat at Slionnen next niorninir. ' It's tlie carriage liiat went fur Lady Ailsa, ma'am,' said Jessie Mackenzie, the maid, who was busy dusting llx" room. ' Lady Ailsa! Has she come to Dalmore?' * Yes, ma'am. Tlii-y tohl me at the inn this morn, ig, vlun I was over for the milk, that the Laird was worse, and had sttit for Ladv Ailsa.' Ellen Maclcod bit her lips. Scarcely before a servant coiilil she keep back the utterance of her angry thought. 'Get on v/ith your dusting there, Jessie, and be sharp almut it. Do you know it is twelve o'clock in the day?' she said sharply, as she epiitted the room and went hastily down-staiis. Fergus Avas sitting on the doorstep carefully examining iiis tishing-tackle, for it was a mild, bright morning, and the hums were in splendid order. ' Ferirus, did vour uncle tell you last ni'jht lie had sent for Lady Ailsa ? ' she asked sharj)ly. *No, mother; he didn't say anything about her.' 164 "»\i nl ,1,1 AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER. i8S Will, tlicrc slic is awMy up. llf is worsp tlils rnoniiii; sMi' S i\s. Miiil / iiiu not ciillt'd. r>iit I'll iro, KciLms MmcIco,!, Ill *hit tc III Ailsii Mui'i'.'iy. 1 li.ivi; a liuht in D.iliiinrc wiiicl '}' I SlU' Il'lf. FiTiTMs (Iropjx'd Ills red .ind looked nj) into liis niotlici'N fucc wirli !i striin'ie, sad, pcrplfxed exjin'ssion. 'riicic \v;is a hidilfn Kiitii 111 s*, a ti-iiil)lt.! (icjith of rrvciiLT' I'nl, an;jry t'cclinu in tli. r, sliaip words she nttcred. l>nt lie had no I'i'ilit lo s[)c;ik, iml l;n|- t" >a\' w hat she slioidd do, so \w tniiird to \\\< wnik a'-aiii W 1 ! 1 1 a siiih. And Ellen M.iclcod, in the heat ol" her arn:e f.iit on her honnet and niafcdied away up to Dalmorc. L.idy .\il-a was eaiiujjr a morsel of lunch in the dininu-rnoni when the Timit hliick fitxure of FJIi*n Macieod stalked in hrtUri' hir. I,;i'iv AiUa saw the ihnnder on her brow, hut was altsi.Iuiely ihb'i'rss ol the occ f th asion. She was a iienile little wmnan. hnt \vA iiiinil ui mattei's ot light or wrong, and ei.iiUl he very liiM\e when she had tlie a[)proval of iier own conscience. She 1 (liiiie no wrong to Ellen Macieod or her boy, and had ikj li;ii ercM-H )n to fear lier. (iood moianng, Ellen,' she said quietly, and without ofTeiiiicr t I ri^e or shake hands, for she could nut foruef the list tiiiu iiii y had met. 'It is a long drive fidin Munayshaiigh. I ai n i| lite liuii t2iy, \\ on t you sit down ' It' i please, I su])pose I may, in niv brother's house, T^ady Ail>a.' said Ellen Macieod icily. ' I shall just uo up and lay llMile iiiy l)onnet. As my i)roilier is so ill, I shall just stay, t) .N'lyiiig, she marched out ot' the ro( mi. W leti tile door (•:"S d a smile of arnnsement rippled across Lady Ail>a's face, t it soon passed, and siie looked perjilexed. ' riiat is wdiat in Alastair's slang would l)e called a "go," she lo lu'i'stdt". ' Now, what am I to do':' Klleii >bacleod as as told me to ((uit. I>ut am I to have poor Maednnald •I' 'en ler mercies'? She'll fiiiihten him into a fit; and then h!l n:,1' I ei'c s Mieila, poor darling; shell be home m two day-'. .No, I must >tav, now 1 am here, whatever the conseipieiices.' lint lii'i hnicli Wiis sjioiled. Her appe iie had vanished at sight of I'.'leii .\bu'|eod's sour \isa'je, and she sat with her elbows on the r;ihle, wondering gre; tly what was going on up-stairs. r ■: : 1 1 ii IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // ^/ A<^ y "4^>. ^ i86 SHEILA. i I n , 1 ' f Ellon Mnclc'.d Wiilki'd up-st.-iirs, entered one of iIk cucst- cliiinibeis, and laid olT Iicr l)()nnet and sliawl. Her luird ficc wa«< very re-oluie. She knew she had a battle to fiiihr, l»tit ^lic w;is aimed for it, and intended to win. She was not jinjn.: to 8t;ind i)y and see her son's heiitajie parted iinioni; aliens wiilii.in inakiiiii :in efTirt to save it. As she ciinie our of ihe room. Mr> CaiiMTon met her, and started as if she h:id S(;eii a tilmsi. 'Don'r look so scared, Cumeron,' said Ellen Macleod, M-itli a cliiily smile. 'I liave come to nurse my brother. He has moved from his oM rooms, I see. Where is he?' ' In the little parlour off the library, ma'am,' s lid r'amiMdn. civilly enou^di, but her heart sntdc witliin her. She had i evir personally e\])erienced Mrs. Macleod's rule, for there wa^ iup liounald ; hut I am \our -ist( r, l-!llen Macleod, come o\-er from Shonnen to see you. I ;ilii i:;ie\e(l to see voU SO clianiretl." Siie spnke with unwonted sol'ine^s, for she was teiriMv 1 hv tiie rava'jes the waited veai's had made on the oiiee s M'f K('( ■> .ilwaii Laii'd of Dalniore. lint the very sound of her voice !• n-i'd tl>e (hinir man into a passion teii-iMe to see. In his I 1 'J s liiude he had Iconded o\ei- t!ie past, and ma,L!nitied the iiakiml ti"atment his sister had hotnwed ujx'n his wife, nniil it !i i| Imm'iiiic a nioi'tal ollence whicli he would not t'ortziNc even I'll liic \ci'i:e ot' the ti'ravc. • Yuii — you dare!' he cried, in a chokinji voice. '(!et ( ut "I'liix siijl,) ; J would ii(»t ciiise ynii for the hoy's sake, thoULih I kiio.v not how you ever hore such a son. L cuvc mc, woman, Tie violence of his anifer, the |»ui'])le flush in his face, th(> ^\II liicsN ( f his eye, frightened Kllen Ma<'leod, and she heat a i.isiy letreat into the adjiiiuiuL'' room. Tlien Macdonald took t I' liaml-hell and shook it with tremendous I'orce, which made Mr-. Ciiiieron drop her napery on the hall (lour and run t t'.c luoiii. O \\ liat ar(^ you about, Cameron, that yoii allow whoever ijc ISCS (111 '!' to enter the house and come to mv room 'i ' hi' tluiidered, ^^i'l s(,iii,.tliiiij_r (,f liis old streiiLith and vi,Li< she 'j(»»id for if not to keej) the lioiise in order'/ Tell hei to Ml- that Mrs, Macleod leave> the house.' Pltasant words for a sister to hear! Ellen >bicleod, sta tid- ing hy the library table, clutched her bunds, and her white lips ill I ' 1,1 \ . •il ;li Mm,,' ? 'W If" i l. themselves. Slie re^ai'ded Macdiiti;ilil a'^ ilic prey of seir->e<'kinir, <:reedy outsiders, who liad tiiriiiil him a'jain.Nt his own. Her heart was a tumult of dark iIuhuIiIn, uiiielicved hy a sinirh? kindly ini|)nlse. Her face harih-iicil vd mure. She "atliered her skirt's in iier hand, and went, our Ijv the wav she had come. At ill" diuiiej-rooui door Ladv A iN;i was ^landing iistenin'j, afraid lest Ellen Macleod's vi>ii had done the Laird some harm. For some extraordinary reason, Lady Ailsa, my presene (' i« U'tr aaiil L idy Ailsa sa( Hy, I ask no more f rom ove Maedonald hut that will give Sheila back to those who love her. The more needful shi' is of anything we have to share with her, the more wtdcnnu' ^he will be to it, and she knows it. If II lave one wish m tnis world, Ellen Macleod, it is that, after Sheila parts from l>'r father, — and that parting, 1 fear, is near at hand, — she may li:i\ e AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER. 189 no m ore deiillngs with tliis house or wiih any bearing it' A sneering sniiU', wliicli stting Lady Ailsa to the ([iiiclx, \s\\\ Ellt 11 Maclcod's only reply to tliat passionate sj)eech. At that nient, Cameron, trembling and anxious, appeared at tlie ino libiiiry door. •Oil, my lady, please come in. The T.aird will not be (piiet } (lU come. He is s much worse. si le Saul, witli at) expressivt jilaiice at Mrs. Macleod, who instantly entered the diiiiiig- luiiiii and slammed ihe d(>or. nil Lady .Vilsa at once went to tlie l.aird's room, and, sifti ilowii by the bed, laid her cool, snfi hand on his fevered brow, lsl:c was an angel in a sick-room her eve O' movemen t, tl le s(» ft swaving of her garments even, seemed to waft peace to the MilTeier blessed by her presence. • Not a word, Macdonald, not one until you are quiet,' she said, with that sweet authority it was a deiight to obey. ' Ye-^, yes,' she added soothingly, ' she is jjone. She will not come here again, and I am going to stay till 8heila comes.' He lay l)ack among his pillows, contented by Inr presence i hy the assurance she so readily gave. In the bri"f silence h ensued, she too noticed the cliansre wroutiht since she s.iw liim last a few we(d hands and head wu-re in a buininii fever, You'll stay and take care of SheilaV he said at lenyith, in a liuniec 1 wl iisner. ' Yes, yes ; Sheila belongs to us. Sin; will be your legacy to nie, will she not?' asked Lady xVilsa, with a f.iint, sad smile. lie nodded. 'Her mother would wish it. but she was not afraid to leave lier with !ne. Do you remendier when you wanted to tak<' her ii\v;iv to Murravsliauuh, but the bairn would rather bide with » . "... iiie, said Macdonald, snuling a little too. He was nuich quii'tif alii'ady, and Lady Ailsa believed it would be better to alluw I'ini tu talk a little, provided dangerous topics were avoided. It ' n •♦ ? M If . If' il I)': if'' ^^ (si Kill ! ^ 190 SHEILA, ' Yes, I ronif-mbcr. Ay, Slirila loves you with a dungliter's liivf. Tliis will he a sore shock to lu-r.' ' You li!iv(! sent for lier? ' ' Yes, Sir Douglas liiuiself has fione for her. He has some business whicli made the journey not unprofital)le.' ' lliiw soon will she b(; here?' * To-morrow, perhaps in the evening, if there is no delny.* 'Ay, ay; nohody knows what it was to me to ict her away; but I did not want to l)e seKish.' ' 'f I could have foreseen this, ^^acdonald, I wculd have hccii till' last to have advocated sending her from you. I did it fnr the besf.' ' I know that you are a good womnn and a true friend, Ail<;i Murray. Hlin snid so. You'll see that I am laid in the siiiiif grave. Pioniise that.' ' Yes, yes.' Lady Ailsa's tejirs choked her utterance. There was some- thing indescril)ably pathetic in the man's intense, luidying di-vo- tit>u to tiie memory of his wife. lie had indeed loved imt wisely but too well. ' I know now, h)oking back, that 1 have done but sorry dufv in the world since she left me,' he said, after a moment. ' If 1 had it to do again, I would try to bestir myself. But it w;is so sudden, so awful, it took the heart clean out of me. They will not punish me, will they, by parting us in the other woild? ' Who are lted the mother's sin upon the head of her noble, generuus- htai ted son, and cut him off I'rom Duliuore. t I . .-i> ' ['•'1 i I ■ ii 1 1 i ( ii...r i. 1: liiijii 1 i Ijjl CHAPTER XXI, * FAREWELL TO LOCIIABER.' '•^ There's a track upon the deep, and a path across the sea ; But the weary ne'er return to their ain couutrie. GiLFILLAN. HE day wore on, and Ferfjus waited at Shonnon for his mother's return. When it grew grey durk, he put on his cap and sauntered away up hy Ainuln'e, to see if she was in siglil; on the road. Tlio inn was very busy, for the folks had gathered in at the ph»;imiii;^ to discuss the affairs of the place. There was plenty to talk about: the dejiarture of the Fauld folks, and the Laird's mortal illness, gave lise to that morbid speculation in which the soul of the village gossip delights. Fergus heard his own name as he passed by the open door, but only smiled a litilc and ])ass<'d on. Ills interest was centrt-d in Dalmore. Wliit could be keeping his mother? What if a reconciliation has been e(Tecte liftlo currents, ]ie crossed over and nc^nn to o'lnil) tin- liill tn tin' Innisc. lie seemed iiii|)ell»*d to it wiil.diir \\\\\ active di ^iic on liis own part. 'I'lieie were preen iniils and tendir \imiiij sheets on jdl the trees, and tlie iiirds. liai Itinucrs of si tn'n :•. were twitteiing in every iMMiLdi. Tlie tartli \\\\< I'liU of |.i n, .• — it was the sprinii-tinie of the year. As Kerens inrnei i. n I tiie ?«liar[) curve of t)ie aveime, he saw a li'jiire wJUmil' t'> mpI fro hefere tlie house, and reco ( ;. "I ? i I* 1 i t i N ! 194 SHEILA. togctlicr, and wonderotl wliat was passinfr between tliem. Lalv Ailsa's action, and tlie canu'st, Ix-autiful look on Feiijiis's w^. luriied face, struck her. &ht liad never called fortli sucli a Itiok on her son's lace. *I am L'rowiiig very anxious almut some things, Fer:^ii>.' continued Lady Ailsa. 'You know your uncle Ciiiinut live joiin; now ? ' Fergus nodded. •r douht there will be trouble pbout the paiting of DahiiDre. Do you think you are your uncle's heir?' 'I don't know, Lady Ailsa. There is Slieila,' said the lal. and his lip (juivered. She was tiiuching a very tender part. ' Fergus, I pray that Graham Macddnald has not dune tliis wrong!' said Lady Ailsa ])assi(inat»'ly. 'Sheila has no ri,:^lii td Dalmore, and it would make a fearl'ul dispeace. If it is doiH'. there is nothing to remedy it now, unless there should W a miraculous betterment in your unehi's condition. W'liaftvt r happens, Fergus, you will know that neither Sheila nnr lur relatives had any desire alter Giaham Macdonald's posse>-inii<. It is my prayer that she will be restored to us penniless. We love her for herself.' ' But if Uncle (Iraliam wished Sheila to have Dalmore, Lndy Ailsa, we can't help it. I would rather Sheila had it tiian .-mv- body. She is so good and kind to the peophi in Achnafaiiid.' ' God bless you, Fergus Macleod ! I pray to see you L.iiid of Dalmore,' said Lady Ail>a, with full eyes, and, bending (inun. she kissed the boy's bread iorehead with a mother's kiss: ami Ellen Macleod saw her do it, and hated her yet wwtw. .\"t content with all she had done, would she try to win the buy over, and make him a traitor to his race ? When Fergus went into the house, he found his mother in no amialjle mood. Her self-chosen position was not envi,ihl«' nor pleasant. She had forced herself into the house, and knew that it was only because its master believed her to be of the birds awoke Fergus, and he was up before Jessie w;is stirring down-stairs. When he pulled up the blind, the im lining sun was glittering on the loch and lighting up tin; i' iiiiie trees about Achnafauld, as if to make the place look its ';' ' -t Cor the eyes that weie to look upon it for the last tinif. i It' w;is no siiiu of mourning anywhere: the snn was up, ti o y brilliantly blue, save where the fleecy shafts relieved ir 1 1 'ii:. ! ■ \ i I k li M i fl) .11 :F!I \, im ('Mi' if 'i: if C, i()6 SIIEir.A. II «■' llj v%'l and tlioro wns a soft wost wind sflirini)^ all flip ynnnpr h'Mvcn, jmd \vliis|i('i iii«r of tlit* siinuncr. It wjis idiiiost 'mi|H >sil)|(. to b«» sad iiiiiid Micli lii^lii and sunsliiiM', and Fcilmis fi-h <_r|;|,l for tlic (•xd(>' ^akcs, kii()\viiis tin' liver t'» Aolinalauld. and wlicu tlm carts, live in iiuiiiImi'. set out in a loiit^ stiinii fioin the claclian, lie ran liuiiicilv (lown-staiis ro awaken Jessie, and to L'et on Ids honis. II,' w anted to l)e down the load a hit It 'Core he liad to hid t I' III fiood-hye, for all the Aniulree folks would he out, and he (lid not want theni to hear anything he nught say. lie w.ilk'd slowly, ol'ten loiikinoil, atii| s<> inak)' a iiii of Ik iiic for tier in tin. ^iiiiijf land. ICwaii Ml-'adycii's o ln' was not of" tip' nninlur, l.iit tin r»' was a L'oodly h.iiid, — livc-aiid-twfiity souls in all, — lii^j lirawiiy nn 11, sonsy \vi\r^. and itomiic licaltliy-raccil haiiii*, who wi iild makf a Liiaiid li\iii'i for themselves nnder fair cnndi imis aii\ wheie. 'Ih'* ■.aiii wiiiid he entirely theirs, the h>ss to the cniintry that was K-ttin;.' S(i much of its lies! i)lood jrd forth fioni it. 'Thtre he is. bless liim ! ' tin'y eriid, :is Frruns stood >tili in till' road, and took oil" his bonnet as he l-isi- tlnni i^rettin;.'. Tliin le>h the |)i()i'r ceased Ins strain, ami the caits cnne to a > ir. p(i(| landsiill, and a score of hamU w, aiifl tiiere was a sns- iriMiis trem'iliii.j in his voice for t le W'>nn'n w^re all cr\ nej, .iiiii he eonid see (|uite well that the men werci l"ee|in;4 the trial unite as keenly, if they made less outward siuii, 'Cheri- u|)!' cried Fergus. 'You'll all gr(nv ricli and be l.iiids in your (twn right out there' '.\\, ay; but if we had our clioiee, lad, we ken wliaur we Wild fain be, an' uiuUt winch laird,' said iJory Maidean, stroking lii< long yeiluw beard, and looking wlih monrniul signilicance at Fcl;jUS. 'but we hae miudNle to be thaidmiih. ' Fh, lad, Jidm M. T-r."'-'i iii^on will never shae y' ur mecr wlieii ye g( t her as I wad. He'll never be tl smiih; but he'll hae Sume fun wi' tlic ^nrdd\- lum.' This made a bit laugh .nmong tliem. and before it had quite diid away the carts moved on, and leib stmek u[) ' Lochaber no mure.' Then all eyes were turned back, for in a moment the I \s\ II 1 1 198 SHEILA. ill ;il II i ' P ■ ' . » i I 1! 'I M Kfeper's Wood would hi.de bonnie Glenquaicli from their siL-hr for evermore. Then Fergus, with the salt tears blinding his eyes, waviMi w last good-bye, and turned back towards Shonnen. And so ilio lii>t pioneers from Glenquaich set out for that, tar land across tin- seas which was to be a kinder mother to tliem than old ScotJMiiil had been. As th.e carts lumbered slowly down Dalreocli l)r;ii' to the strains of Rob's mournful piping, a carriage and p.iir cmi,' rapidly up the road. It was closed, but at the souud of the pipes a fair young face peered out in wondering surprise. ' Oh. Uncle Douglas, tell him to stop ! ' she cried excitedly. ' It is the ])eopie of Achnafauld going away to America, I am sure. I niu^t stu-ak to them.' Sir Douglas, a little cross and tired with his hurried journey- ing, gave the order rather ungraciously, and when the carriaue stopped Sheila opened the door and ran up the road to meet the carts. At sight of her a cheer broke forth from the travilltrs ll)e women ceased their low, mournful crooning of a Gaelic diiLTf, and their faces brightened at sight of that sweet, eiiiii-r young faco, in which love and sorrow for them was so plaiii'y expressed. She had to go round and round shaking hands wirh every one, though I do not think she spoke many words. Her heart was full to overflowing, and she was just beginning to realize how fraught life is with hard experiences and bitter sorrows. But it was a satisfaction to her and to them to have that la^t good-bye. Sir Douglas Murray leaned back in the carriage, and did not look out while that scene was being enacted. Alastaii's child waa a very odd little girl, he had thought more than oiice since they had begu • their hurried journey to Dalmore, but he did not trouble himself about her. ' W^ll, my dear, have you got your leave-takings over?' he said good-humouredly, when she' took 1 er seat again beside him. ' Yes, uncle,' was all she said, in a y^r\ quiet, self-posst's^e(l manner. He wondered why she was not crying over it, but her f ic" was very grave and white, and she folded her hands on her knees, and sat up in a curious, composed way, which made her * FAREWELL TO LOCHABER: iv9 undo look at licr .Tg;iin. Siie was certainly odd. She liad tin- d;giiity and self-coiniiiand of a person thrice her years. Oh, Uncle Doiifrlas, tell him to stop again!' she cried quite suddenly, just when they were past the inn. 'There is Ferurns ; I must st{)[) and speak to Fergus.' ' My dear Sheila, you are a perfect nuisance,' said Sir Douglas, 'When do you su})[)Ose we'll get to Dahuore at this rate ? ' But Sheila never heard him. She was leaning hall' out of the ciriiage window, with her hat pushed back, and the swiet ninruing wind tossing h.er brown hair on her white brow, hrr yyt'S shining with real gladness at sight of her old companion and fiiv'n^ ' Slieila I ' cried Fercrus, and with a bound he was at the carriage door, and they clasped hands in silence, though tiieir eyes were eloquently speaking. 'Oh, Fergus, I met the people. Did you see them'? All tlic little Stewarts, and poor Eppie Maclean, with her lame leg. How awfully lonely and empty the Faidd Avill be, won't it, now ? ' 'Ay, it will,' Fergus said a little gruffly, to hide the emotion he had not mastered yet. 'And poor papa,' said Slieila, the tears W(dling in her s ft, henutiful eyas. 'Oh, Fergus, how sad it is to live in this Wf>rl(l, i.n'' it?' Poor young things! Their early days were being darkly shadowed. The reality and solemn earnestness of human life was being forced upon them before tliey had tasted mi;cdi of its gladsome joy. ' Were you going up to Daimoie, Fergus? Will you cnuu* inV There's only Uncle Douglas,' said Sheila, but ' Uncle Douglas' never looked out. 'No, I was not going up just now. I'll come up by and by, Sheiia, and see you.' 'Oh, do, very soon, dear Fergus! Good-bye just now,' said Slu'ila, and then the carriage rolled on again, and Fergus was It ft alone in the road. But sonudiow Slieila had comforted him. 'Sill- alone understood and shared his feelings for the Fauld folk, iiiul it is a great thing when an earnest soul tinds its fellow ; of cuurse it can have but one issue, but the bairns were too young :fil i ■'! I ., 1 1,1 If A f \ \ i if!'!' i, I it II 200 SHEILA. !' t f ! ■ If! .1 yet to know the mcnnincr of ih<^ cuiinns yparninir eacli Imrl tuwaids tlic otlier. Ali, tliey would untlcrstjmd it soon enoujli. Slicila lUMcr .sjxikn anotluT word till tlicy drov*? up to tiie door r.f DalmojH, and she sprang Avitli a gn-at sol) into Aunt Ailsa'': arms. 'My dailin-j-, kocp quiet! D ai't trend)le so, my swept,' said Aunt AiUa, in tlio>ie eN(jui>ieakfast, dear.' 'Aunt Ailsa. I couldn't t^ke it. Jt w. iild choke me. I nm not hun.ury or tir"assed thrt>ugli the library door. She wo loiejer feared the siroiiL'', hi ick-browed woman whom Fer^'US ca'ieil 'niotht-r,' liut the memory of that cruel blow was buincd into her heart. 'dust go in, Sheila. I shall wait here. I think the doctor is in wlii-pt r. d Lady Ailsa. Sheila no(hh d. and walked wi,h steady step into the chamber of the dying I.aird. The doctor and the housekei'per were standing by the Ix'd. Macdonahl, after a paroxysm of breathlessness, was lying whiu- »*..d still as death. Sheila stepped forwaid and silently knelt TAREIVRI L TO LOCHABER: ■2C I (Inwn l>y tlie bed. Slic hkuIc no noise, Imr tlio sense of Ikt litlovcd jJi'HSt'nce w:is wiili Mncdon.ild, Jind lie opened his evt •^. The oilier two silently willidrew. Then Sheila bent over ;iiiii htiil her quiverinj; lij)s to his brow. ' l',i|i;i ! oil, dear napa ! ' 'Mv Sheila! My ain biiirn ! It is well,' snid the Laird, in tones ol' deep cont<'nt. He hiid his feeble liaiid on her bonnir liciid, ;ind his lips moved. He was blessing her. She lelf it. tlinii'ih she could not hear any woids. 'riiei'i thi d th Ji-r e was a deep silence in tne room, and then a s'l stniL'gle (harbinger of the end) shook Macdonald's was'eJ t' am (iiice more. 'do away. Sheila; {ro(»«l-bye,' he said, with extreme (lilHcidt\ '(•ru'us- — be good to 1 iim ; \v ill in—' ;isi He stopped aiul pointed vaguely round hitn. It was a ctTiiit. Sheila shivered and lell upon luir knees, coveiin^i Ik r face with her hands. 'J'he others came hurriedlv in. Aiii:t Ailsa put her arm round the kneeling girl and laid her i^uitl- liaiid on her head. Sir Douj-las stcid by with tulded ann«^, and ill a lew minutes the last strucf.de was over, and Macdonald had closed his eyes lor ever ou Dulmore. II. \\\y 1 5 H ||L M* 1 , ,il r. J 1 i 1 I i ' _, I 1 y. I i \ CHAPTER XXII. sheila's inheritance. The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley. Burks. In the library of Dalmore, on the afternoon of the fifth of April, there was gathered a party of nine persons. They Avere Sir Donpl.*; ;ind Lady Murray, with their son Alustair, imd >i <-ii;i, Ellen Macltod and Fergus, Mr. Macfarlane, the minister of Amulroe, Antrus M'Bean, the factor, and David Colqulioun, the writer from Perth. All were in deep mourning , the gentlemen had just returned from tlie churcliyard at Shian, where they had laid the Laiid of Dalmore to his rest. Dinner was also over. Mr. Colqulioun had suggested that dinner should be served l)efnro the will was read, knowing very well that after the scene wliieli would take place in the library these nine persons would iitvcr a• minister of Anudrcc, two Innidi'ed ponnds, on coiidiii<>n tli;ir li,. iieis as trnsfc'c! on my estate; to my nej)hew, FcrLiu^ Macl.ol. jn'cscjitly residing at Shonnen Lodge, a thonsand poutnN. n. ftoek the farm of wiiich he spoke to me; and histiv, to m well beloved daughter, Siicihi Murray Macdotiald, the land-- an I esiates of Dalniore and Findowie, together with all l'uiiii»liii:;^ and plate and plenishing, and the entire residue of m\ ot.it.v. both personal and monetary, absolutely for her own us- ;ui.| beii< lit. I only ask that she shall retain Angns M'l>e,ui of AuL'hIoy as her steward until she shall reach the at'e cf twenty-one, when she can act uj)on her own discretion.' There was a moment's al)Solute silence wdn n the la v \ ir cea-;ed sj)eaking. He was the fh"st to break it by rising and approaching Sheila with outstretched hatid. 'I Congratulate you, Miss Murray Mact^onald, upon \(i)u' iidu ritance,' he said. Then Ellen Macleod rose slowlv ;"i(l niajistically from her seat and faced those in the f'rwur window. Iuv(duntaiily Sir Dou;^las moved towards his wile. Frii:iis turned from his post and looked at his mother's face. It \\a< al)>('y, wliuli m m liis ])rnu(l cluck ri'ddcn. ' Ails;i Murray, will you an-w. 1 n-- .1 (|ii'>iinny Do you con^^idcr the will which has just 1 ini nn 1 its iicrt'i-'-tly lair anil jii^t ?' Lady Ailsa rost^, and Sheila, slijiping her hand from h. 1 iiiiiit's, went across the room to Fer-iu^*. Fi r a iiM'imnt h. 1 act 1(1 u wa*! scarcely noticed. Ellen Macleod enijrn-Md !i:t(iition. K'Nii Macleod, it has been my unceasini; hope and |tiM\ir tl at Macdonald would not make Sheila his heir ess, sail 1 I. ;i(i\' All Ail>a Si((llv lb I 1 lave never ceast ■d to ur^e uiioii linn lii^ Ilij'licW a drath.' claim. It is to me a greater grii-t" ewn than hi.> ' Tliese are fine words, Ailsa Murray, but they are oidy wdiils,' said hllen Macleod, with a bitter sneer. ' liut ht tiiat \\iiit<'-f';iced child not be too proud of he*" iidieiii;itu!e. 1 hcii- i> a cuise — the curse of the wronged and the roljhed — upon iiiiio'c aiui upon tier, \V(i •■\ hocik at these two, Ellen Macleod, aiul if you h.ivc ;i man's heart pray to God to forgive ytnu* cruelty,' said L.idv Ailsii, with brimniing eyes, and pointing to the window rcct-ss wlnre Sheila and Fergus stood side by side. Sheila with her slim pirlish hand laid upon the arm of Fergus, and her sweei t's uplifted to his face. Tlie iibrupt silence arrested Sheila. She looked round, and ilnii crossed the r(H)m again with a steady stej). There was a fliiri.ity and grace aV)out her which impressed all pri'xMit. Sin- Mijiptd into the little circle, and directly faced ' iu^ lawyer and tile angry unstress of Shonnen. There was a ' n-alld'^^s sii-nc' , wliieli her sweet young voice immediately binke. 'Mr. Colquhor.n,' she said clearly and distinctly, 'am I ih' mistress of Dalmore ? ' m ' t illi ;.fl f I t i ■ k^M. i .■ Mjl. ■' 206 SHEILA, V V'- \ Tlie Lawyer bowed liis lioad. He had witnessed many curious scenes, but never one like this. ' Cm I do what 1 like wiih it? ' ' It is l)( qncathed to you absobitely for your own u*t upon its cares. Fergus never spoke ; but those who were present long remembered the expression upon his face. ' You're a brick, Sheil.i ! ' cried the boyish, matter-of-fact voice of Alastair Murray. It broke the str. in. Sheila smiled wioilv. and with tottering steps came back to Lady Ail>a and fell upon her breast. 'Take me away, Aunt Ailsa, take me away! ' she sobbed, Ikt whole form shaking. ' I am afraid of her. Take me awiiy.' Lady Ailsa wound her arm about the girl's quiveiing foiin and led her out of the room. When the door closed there was an awkward and uncomfortable pause. Ellen M.icleod w;is rebuked in her inmost heart, but it suited her to assume a haughty scorn of th(: whole proceedings. ' Gentlemen, I fancy we need not prolong this interview ? ' said the lawyer, looking inquiringly round. ' I sliould iniiigine not. It has not been particularly pleasant. thanks to you, madam,' said Sir Douglas, looking fixedly at Ellen Macleod. She merely shrugged her shoulders in reply. ' Mr. Colquhoun, 1 repeat that I intend to contest this will,' she said pointedly to the lawyer. * Madam, no respectable practitioner would assist you, nmcli SHEILA'S JNJJERJJANCE. 207 li'ss any cotirt of justice entertain your cliiini,' retorted tlic LiuvtT, for she wearied and dis liolialf.'' ' Mv son has a craven spirit. He sliould have flunij hack thi- iiivuhiiig offiT in ll)e tcetl) of the chihl wlio made it,' said I'lllni ^hl(•lt'()(l, lier anger rising again. ' Heccive a gift of liis own, indeed, and to stand hy tamely and hear it! 1 am ashamc 1 nt' mv sun, Mr. Cohiuhoun.' 'Unless I am mistaken, I.l is asjiamed of yv»w,' said ilic hiuvcr shortly. He was grieved and sorry for the hny. who li;id hi'cn obliged to witness this unseemly seem! and kc p silerit. There was a look of inten*je misery on his fac, noted liv all present. He turned about when the lawyer spcd^c, and wear out of the room. Alastair slipped after him, and outside the doer caught him and put his arm through his. • Never mind, old boy, don't take on,' he said eagerly and ;ifFeciiomitely. * Everybody understands you, and — ' He piuised suddenly, for it would hardly do to say aiiythitig to Feiifiis about his own mother. 'And what a mother! ' as Alastair remarked juivattdy to his brothers that night. ' I tell you it's i"()Ugh on a fellow having Micdi an out-and-out Tautar of a mother.' 'Alastair,' said Fergus wearily, 'let me alone. I — I can't speak to you just now.' 'I see you're dreadfully cut up, but don't nnnd. Everybody knows you're a brick,' said Alastair quickly. ' But, I say, \m\{ .Slieila a stuimer, and didn't she give it hot to— ' Aimther abrupt pause. ' I'd better gt't out, or I'll put my foot in it,' mutteicd Ahi^tair to himself. Fergus had not noticed it, however. But what lu- thought of iSheila nobody would ever know until the l then, tiiidiiii^ lie w.is hegiiininpf to desc'i-iid the liill, he piiiisetl for a inonieiit as if imdeci(h-d what to d •. H.. iMtiked across to Shonnen. There was no comfort tliere. His mother woidd lolOw soon; and, God lielp the hul ! at th;it niomi-nt he shrank from his mother with iii;? Avhole sonl. Me ttirned round, and cut liis way throuLrli tlie thicket to the heathery st«'ep l)ehind the house. Up, up. At ti»e very crest i»f Crom Crea}j;lj lie wouhl be safe, lie must ')e alone lur a liille, for there was a tumult raging in his soul, lie took notice as Ik^ went of the fi'esh green sh, grown strong and sturdy with the geiual snn, eyed hitu in mild surprise, but did not ap{)ear timid in his presence. He Silt down on Ji stone, and, taking off his Ciif), allowed tlie grand healthful wind to blow about him. Even in the ah- s.»lute calm of a summer's day it was always breezy up Croin (-reagh. Away up bonnie Glenquaich the sun shone radiantly, the loch glowed and flashetl like burnished silver, and the winding I'iver made a silver tiiread, too, among the green meadow-liinds on either side. He was looking straight down on Achnalauld, and rnechanicidly counted sixteen 'reeking lums' where there had been formerly four-and -twenty. There were seven empty houses in the dachan, and the beginning of Hob's prophecy \v;is t'ullilled. Glenquaich! which he loved and had hoped to cnll his own. That biief, bright dream was over, and it belonL-ed to Sheila now. Memories crowded upon the lad, for when liope seems (juenched memory sometimes has a healing touch. Tin'V were tender memoiies of Uncle Graham and of his sweet wile, who were sleeping now side by side in Shian, reunited hy death. Through the blinding tears which had broken down tlic \\\ SHEILA'S IMIERITAACE. 209 iiii-rrahlc sftmy v\\\\\\ tliiit luid linund lijin in tin; hoiist", lie iiiociitly cauirht svA\\ tif a lior^c and rider cri^siiiL' the (lirrmi iiiijr. It was Aiijfiis M-Iican, tli<' lactur, away lioiiic to A* cldoy. Av, ay," lie was iniitfrriiij: t(t liiiiiscir. ' Onc-aiid-twciity ! It's ;i |>iiir rushiuiilcbs fowl that cuiiua feather its nest in Hve i''i '. ! ; Uu CHAPTER XXIIL ' I PLANS. pusillnnininus licart, bo rninfortcfl, And, like ft clicririil tiiivellir, take the road, Singing Lcsiilc the hedge. E. B. BUOWNINO. ADY AILSA took Sheila up to the drawijiir-rnnm, nnd k)(;k('d tlie door from within. Sittiiiij down on a Cdiicli, slie drew tlu^ poor sobbing cliild to licr side, and let her cry until cahnness canio of its own accord. 'There now, Sheila, you are better now,' she said briLditJy. A pretty way, young lady, to receive the annuuncenient tliat you are a groat heiress.' 'Aunt Ailsa, never, never say that as/ain,' said Sheila (piickl". *I am 7iot a great heiress. Did }uu not lu-ar me j:i\ing it all up to poor Fergus ? ' 'Yes, I heard and loved you for it, my darling. Tli< re was liaidly a dry eye in the room. Fergus hiiii';ilf \uil never lurget it, or I am mistaken in him. But, Sheila, lisii-U to me.' ' Yes, Aunt Ailsa.' 'You can no more set aside your father's will than — tluin — any one else,' said Lady Ail?a, not caring to mention Elltn Macleod's name. ' You must be Lady of Dalniore and PLANS. 21 I ig It all Tll.TO .elf vill a, lisun -tlian — )\\ Elltn ore and Findnwio, wlipther you will or no. Chocr up, my darling, it is ii(»t a tiling to break your lieart about, I am sure.' ' Hut Ferguo, Aunt Ailsa? ' ' My li()uld have Dalmore, you know; though he called me his (laiiglifer, I was not really that.' 'You gave him a daugliter's duty and love, Sheila. My tliild, I assure you there is nothing to mak(^ yourself miserable alHuit,' said Lady Ailsa. 'You are old enough to understand things now, and when I tell you that Fergus has l)een pun- i>lie'l fcr his mother's sake, you will know quite well it is true. Slie was very unkind to your poor papa once when she had no cause. ' l^)or Fergus ! ' repeated Sheila, her heart aching for her old friend and playmate. It seemed to her a far greater sorrow to him to have such a mother than to have lost iJalinore. 'Aiuit Ailsa, wasn't it curious that papa mentioned in his will that Mr. M'Bean must stay on?' said Sheila musingly. ' Yes, that is a pity ; but we can see about that after- wards.' ' If I had known this morning, when I met the people from the Fauld at Ballinreich, I should have asked them to go back,' >ai(l Slu'ila, a new thought striking her. ' Ay, very soon you will begin to exercise your privileges, Sliuila,' «aid Lady Ailsa, with a smile. ' We women are very tond of the sweets of power. But I must go and see what your uiicKi is about ; he will be chaf'ng to get away. I suppose we must leave you behind ? ' ' In this liouse alone, Aunt Ailsa. I should die,* HI V ili (I ■: . ' * 1 1 (.„ lii i| 1 1 ti|| |1'! I ' 'ffifl 1 1 liffl ! ■ ! . f i \ • ^n .. i: 1 ^! 1 1 i- ^ 1 f' M i^ ' r.; '• . ■ , , \i 't h Srffi! f' I ;iii| *) i ' ! *- III » 1 1 ; '■11' If]! 2T2 SHEILA, 'Tlicn will yoTi go down to MiuT;iy>haiigli to-night?' ' If you will tiiki' me.' ' Of course I will. I saw Ala^fair's face fall in the liln.iiv once or twice. 1 Taiieii'd lie thoiiglit this nionicntons dm would make a serious change in his cousin, Thes'' hoys adi iv you, .Sheila, stupid felluAvs ! but they never had a sister. Sli:ill we go down now, then? ' ' D(» vou thiidc she will be away?' askcnl Sheila fc-iifiilU now beginning to tremble again. Ellen Macleod had lilled the child's heart with terror six years before, and had renewi'd it that day. 'Yes, yes. She will never stay; she knows the worst. I fancy Ellen Macleod will never be in Didnun-e again uidi •«> some utdooked-for transformation takes place,' said Lad\' Ai'-,i hastily. 'You must be a brave little woman now, 81u'ii;i ; remendier, you have a position to Uf)hold.' Sheila sighed and shook her head. Her aunt thonglit Imw frail and slender she looked in her mourning, and how ] ah' and even careworn her sweet face. She was very youtig to have such a responsibility laid upon her shouldei's. LonkjuL: forward, Lady Ailsa could foresee nothing but greater caic and again wished passionately that Graham Macdonald had ;ji\(ii back Sheila penniless as he Inid leceived her from the Muiiavs. She unlocked the drawing-room door, and they went (iowii- stairs together again. The soimd of voices guided tliem to the library; but, before letting Sheila enter. Lady Ailsa to ik the precaution to lodk in and make sure that Ellen Macleod had gone. In the far window. Sir Douglas, Mr. Mactailain'. and Mr. Colquhoun were talking together over tlie will. Alastair, after ])aiting with Fergus, had sauntered ronml to the stables. Ellen Macleod had already crossed tlie (iiiioii Wv'wi on her way back to Shonnen Lodtre. to which she ua> condemned for the rest of her life. We will not seek to tVllnw her there, nor to analyze her thoughts. '1 hey were as dark as the depths of' the loch made drundie by a spate in winier. But she was to be piti. d too. 'Well, young lady?' said Sir Douglas, tunnng kindly to Sheila when they entered the room. ' I shouldn't have daixtl PLANS. 21 to cnll you a perfect nuisance tlie other inoming had I known what was in prospect for you.' ' Don't, Uncle Doupflas,' said Sheihi. tiyinp^ bravely to sii liiit iiiakinf? rather a failure of it. • Where is Ahi^tair?' 111.' Oil. anion;; tlie horses, likely. He wciu out ; ftcr Kei'ii •shiila's face briiirhtened. SIu; was very fond of Al; IMS. s'a r tliiiULdi he teased her unmercifully, and she knew he wniild \ up poor Fergus. Had she only seen ])ooi' FerLriis then. (•:!('( tnlllllLT up the rocky brow of Croni CreaLdi, \ith a dai-l on Im'II his fi ice lier h leart would have sunk wii I h i ' 1 1 u*r. < e'oil I :<> did r al.mut that lonely vigil, but that was long after, when iiH'iiiory scarcely had a sting. In tlie nie.mtinie she was spart d the full knowded<2;e of her old fi riend s suU''n!i'jf \\ len are we to gu nunie, tnen advcf] Sir Douidi IS. tiniiiiig to his wife. ' 1 have offered Mr. Colquhoun a drive, hut unless we can start within an hour it will be of no use to linn. I daresay we can be ready, Sheila and I,' returned Lad\- 1}' Ails.i. 'She will cfo down w (.'(line up when there is any nee( vith us to-night 1.' we can easily Sir PdU'ilas nodded, and the ladies again left the roo e Wlii'e Sheila went uj) to prepare, Lady Ailsa rang the house k( hel', and waited for her in the hall. (nine in here, Mrs. Cameron, sue .lid, when the luui se kec'[u'r appeared, and, opening the dining-room door, ino;i lici" to enter. uileO Ihe Laird's will has just been read, Mrs Canu^ron,' said Lailv Ailsa at one Q. 'I think it rinlit to accpiaint you witli the Contents. Miss Sheila has been left Lady of DalniDre.' ' (1(1(1 hless the poor dear bairn,' said Cameron, through her tears. ' She is greatly up^^et. I am afraid the thouglit is more a Luiet' than a joy to her at present. We will take her away witli us to-night. Don't you think that will be best?' ' ^ es, my lady ; it would be terribly lonesome for her here.' Siiiil Canieton. 'Pardon the question, Lady Ailsa, but is there anything for ^rr. Feriius Macleod? ' and "■ Minds. It is an unspeakable regret to us all A tho u> m \ % r ,: r^ 11 Ht l-Mi h I I.I. ' 1; 214 SHEILA, tliat he is not now Laird of Dalmore,' said Lady Ail?a, sponkin^ out quite fiankly to the faithful servant. 'I did what I couM to persuade the Laird. I fear, Cameron, that the inno(( lu often suffer for the guilty in this world.' ' What did i^he say? Did she hear it read, my lady? ' asked Canif'ron, with an eagerness she could not repress. 'Yes; but what she said is not worth repetition, Camcion." returned Lady Ailsa quietly. ' I am truly sorry for lur boy.' 'And I, my lady, for oh, he has a true heart!' said tin; housekeeper, with tears in her eyes, and thereupon recountrd to Lady Ailsa what had happened on the day of Mrs. Mac- donald's death, six years before. ' This will be a sore blow to him, my lady, for he wor5;]iips the very stones that lie about Daltuore. But it is a great joy to us to have such a sweet young lady as Miss Slieilu over us.' 'She will be a gentle mistress, Cameron, and she will win the service of love,' said Lady Ailsa, with a smile. 'I need not ask you to look faithfidly to the house for her sake. She lias not much interest in it just yet, but it will soon awaken. Li t everything go on quietly as before, and you will heat from ine from time to time. I do not expect that Sheila will stay very long at Murrayshaugh.' ' Will she not go back to school, my lady ? ' ' I think not. She is really very highly accomplished for her years. We cannot lay any plans in the meantime, however, but we will let you know of any arrangements in good time.' 'My lady, do you think Mrs. Macleod will come over?' asked the housekeeper hesitatingly. ' I do not think so, but if she does you must be very firm. She has no right in the house now. She has forfeited it by her own actions. Say you have your orders to admit no one without permission from your mistress, Miss Murray Mac- donald.' ' Very well, my lady,' said Cameron, with evident relief ' Oh, Cameron, am I not forgetting a very important part of to-day's proceedings ! Mr. Macdonald has left you two hundred PLANS. 215 ponnfls for your fiiitlifiil service, and I am sure you deserve it. I oitiviratulate you 'vvirli all my iieart.' ' No, no ; I only did my duty for my dear lady's sake, and he was a good master too,' said Cameron hastily. ' I have never had so good a place, nor people 1 loved so well. I hope to live and die in Dahnore.' 'If you do, I hope you will see some happy clianiies to atone for the sorrows you have seen in Dalmc^ie,' said Lady Ailsa, and shook hands with the faithful servant as she turned to £ro. From that time, if not before, Jane Cameron would have laid down her life for Dalmore and its sweet mistress. She felt that an absolute trust was reposed in her, and that calls out whatever is noble in the nature of gentle or simple. Witiiin the hour the carriage rolled away from Dalmore. Ferpus saw it cross tiie Girron Brig, but, as it was half closed, he did not know Sheih. was within. Just after sundown lie rose and took his Avay down, not straight to the house, but by a slantino; sheep-track which brought him out at Corrvmuckloch Inn. Then he went over the hill-road to Achnafauld. Any- where, anywhere, rather tlian back to Shonncn. God helj) the lad! he had a home which was no home; and his heart was hungry within him for the love wliich blessed the lives of others. When Alastair Mnrray had talked of his motlier, with a l onlv sonnd to brciik tlie solemn solitTidos of tlic liills. Ii w;i*< a fair woild. 'Jlic lad's Iiciirr fill('(l ;ip-;iiii at siLd't of tlii- f;imiliar sti;itli, and at tlioniilit of tlio quiet griive at ^iiiaii, ;iii(l of tin; exiles on tlie bosom of tlie broad Atlantic. In lii> lumli- iH'ss and lieait-breidc sonietl ing jirompted liim to po to \vA\ ^r.icmintrliton, "who always understood liini, a;id Avoidd s\mi]);i- tliize with him, he knew. Before he turned into the nndii r(i;i(l he toi>k a long survey light along to Anchlo}-, lest anv nf \Vy M'i^eans should be coming on horsebindc or afo(>f. II. • could not have i)orne to meet them then. But there w;is not a h\iiii thing to be seen but two or three cows wandering about tli ■ ro:idside seeking a bite of young grjiss. He quickened his jkicm. and in a few nniuites crossed the burn, regardless of weifimr his feet, and lifted the sneck of Kt)l)'s door. The loom \v;is busy, he heaid th" click, click, of the neeill.'s as he ent icil ; but Rob heard liim, and, coming off his stool, joined him ni the kitchen. ' Weel, lad ? ' ' Put the bolt in the door, Rob, quick,' snid Fergus. Rob did so, taking bis time over it, and then cjirried tin' lamp from the shop into the kitchen. After he had set it npnii the tal)le, he turned his keen eye full on the hid's face, lie liad thrown bimself on a creepie by the hearthstone, and \\;i- ' glowerin" at the smouldering peats, as if iie h:i.d interest in nothing else. ' Ye're a stranger, Maister Fergus,' said Rob slowly, w\, reaching to the peat lire, he laid on some more luel, iIiouliIi the night was close and wann. ' Maybe, though,' he added slu'.vly, ' it's the Laird I'm speakin' till ?' ' No, Rob, it's not the Laird,' said Fergus, with a strange, slow, flickering smile. ' Aweel, if it's no' the Laird, he hasna the Laird's cares to baud him doon, and the}"re no' sitia' in they times.' said lleh cheerily, as he gave the peats a bit stir with his foot. lie was keeidv watching the face ol' Ferjius all ihe while. lie saw that the lad was sore vrxed about something, and that in a minute it would all come out. He had a quick, warm, sympatiieiic heart, this rough, morose stocking- weaver, because he luid the PLANS. 217 pncf'-' soul. lie was nover roup:h, never mnrose, never any- iliiii.: l>ut ijeiiial and iKipjiy-liearted wiili these two Vdimg cicitiiri"^, Fergus and Slieil.i, liec;nise lie loved tiieni, and tiiey n\('.l liiiii. He went a\v;iy hiick to the; shop after a moment, iictciuling to look for his sjiectacles, and as he crossed the little jiissii^c between the two ])la"es he heard a sol) break Iriim the in 's |i|)s. It was the first wave of the tempest. The ])eiit iiirii and aching heart found relief that night, ay, and comfort lu, before Fergus Macleod left Kob Macnaiightoii's fireside. ,i'[j m 'I'l.l ;if p I i m hi l» !. ii • t 'I CHAPTER XXIV. THE AWAKENING. 'Twixt summer ami her soul there seems to run A power to feel together. J. B. Selkirk. IIEILA, Miss Gordon hns come home to the mnnse. She is not stronjr, her father tells me, and has been obliged to give up her siniation in Doncaster. I ^ am going in to Logie-Murray this afternoon to see her.' ' May I go vith you, Aunt Ailsa? * I was just going to ask you, my dear. You are moping too much. You Avill enjoy the drive.' ' 01), Aunt Ailsa, 1 don't mope. I am very happy here,' said Sheila quickly, but Aunt Ailsa only shook her head. She was CDUcerned about Sheihi. It was more than two months since Macdonald's death, and Sheila had been at Murrayshaugh all the time. She had never expressed any desire to return to Dal- more, even for a day, nor had she ever voluntarily spoken of thi' place or of her special interest in it. Murrayshaugh was vi'iy quiet during the summer months — Alastair in Edinburirh, ami the other lads at Trinity College in Glenalmond. But for Sheila Murrayshaugh had been a childless house, only she was more of a woman now than a child. She had given up childi^li pursuits, and even when the lads would come over from Gkn- £18 THE A WAKENING. 219 almond sometimes to spend S;iturday, she did not care to share their romps as of yore. She liad grown very (piiet and womanly in lier ways, and woukl sew and knit for her aunt's poor folk in Logif-Miirray, or pore over her lesson-hook>*, lahoriously keeping up her German and Frencii hy fvadiiig tlie literature of those countries. Or she would go out for hours by herself with her sketcliing materials, and in tlie evenings practise her music, which, however, was not a ta>k, hit :i labour of perfect love. Sheila was a born musician. Alto- lictln r, in her sixteenth year, Sheila w;is a model young lady, lut Aunt Ail>a would r;ither have had the Sheila of old, wlin tnif her frocks climbing trees and fences, and wet her feet ' L^uiiipiiiu ' with her cousins in the burns. The boys had lost iliriv cbum, and Murraysluiugh its merry - h<>arted maiden. L.ulv Ailsa saw that the inheritance was weighing on the cliild's siioulders, and she did not know what to do with her, or liow to act. Sometimes she rejiionstrated with her for silting so closely over her books, then Sheila would say, with a little liiilf sad, wholly pathetic smile, — ' Aunt AilsM, I hiive such a lot to learn.' And once, Avhen Lady Ailsa had come upon her in the library poring over one of Sir Douglas's huge volumes on est. f mauMicnient, she had gf)ne to her own loom to have a good ny. Sbe felt almost aiigiy with the dead for leaving such an ii. culms on the young shoulders of the living. Munavshaugh was a swi-et spot, — a low, large, commodious linuse, nestling jimong trees on the low ground beside the hi ie, wbich watered the beautiful ])olicies. In the eaily iiinnths of summer, when the trees wore their freshest garb, its sylvan loveliness couhl not be surpassed. But Sheila iv\\. shut ill sometimes, and fancied it was difficult to breathe in the olosL' sheltered air among the woods and waters. She loved the lieiglits, the bare, grand solitudes, where nothing but the heather grew. Dalmor(» was her ideal, and yet she did f.ot set'k to return to it, her own home, an inheritance which iiiibody could take away from her. The time had not come yet, t)iit it was at hand. These quiet days at Murray.shaugh seemed a kind of preparation for a coming change. I think ■i'fillf ! ill ill! 2;o SHEILA. iW II \- V ■ p: :: t L;i(1y Ail*n, who loved tlm bMirn with a motlier's love, felt l»y and by lli;it thought was matuiing towards action, and >n Icit ht-r ill ])< ace. After limeheon that afternoon, Slicila and lier aniit sot out in 1/idy Ailsa's pony carriage to drive throiijli the leafy ro.i.ls to the xiMage. Sheihi to<,k the reins, and as Lady Ailsa It aiH'il back among lier comfortable cushions and look' d at the stiaijlit, lithe young fi'^ure, and tiie clear-cut, sweet lace, she gave an invobiniaiy sigh. ' SJie'll make Sfime of the lads' hearts ache yet ; and what about her own? She tak"S everything so terribly in earnest.' ' Sheila, my dear, do you know you are (juite a woman,' she said presently, giving expression to a part of lier thought, ' 1 feel very old. Aunt Ailsa,' said Sheila quite soberly, and Lady Ailsa laughed. 'My child, I ani forty-eight, and I am certain I never had such a sober, careworn face. I could shake you, Slieila, positively shake you.' 'Do it then, auntie,' said Sheila, laughing too. ' IIow well Punch and Judy go together, don't they?' ' Yes ; they are very old too, but they take life easily, like their mistress. What a ])leasant afternoon this is!' ' Delightlul ! We shall be out of the trees ])resently, and see about us. Aunt Ails.i. 1 don't like trees vertj m\ich. Tin y make the landscape pretty, but they seem to absorb the fre.sh- ness of the air.' ' You talk like a book, child. I think Murrayshaiigh the loveliest place in thewoild. IIow sweet Logie is looking this afternoon. Look at the sun striking the spire on the kiik. Conl'ess now. Sheila, it is a pretty picture.' ' Very, Aunt Ailsa. I thiidv I nuist come to the toll here and sketeh the kiik,' said Sheila; but she was thiidvinir of another kirk, bare, unlovely, uncomfortable wifhin and with- out, but which was hallowed to her by many sweet memnrifs which time would never dim. Punch and Judy, accusfoint^l to follow the dictates of their own sweet wills, relaxed their steady trot presently, and began to ascend very leisurely the gentle slope of the road. THE A WAKENING. 221 ' Wlion did Miss Gordon come lionu>, .luntio?' nslolve. Harriet's breakdown was a serious matter more \v;i\n than one. Her post as head mistress of the Ilitrh School Inr (iirls at Doncaster was very lucrative, hut the stiain hatl proved too much. She was unfeignedly glad to see her old pupil, with wiiom she had lived so happily for four years. lint she was amazed to find her so changed. She had left her a cardis-, liappy-hcarted girl, and now found her a woman, with a womati's care and Ibrethoiight. 'May I come and see you again to-morrow, Miss Gordon?' Sheila asked, when she saw her aunt preparing to go, after a >liort stay. 'Sundy; come every day, dear Sheila. I feel as if I had to make a new acquaintance with you. Do you reniendn'r our hapj)y days at Dalmore?* Sheila fluslied up quickly, but made no reply. Harriet (ioidon could not but wonder why she was so sensitive alioiir Dalmore. 'Aunt Ailsa, Mr. Gordon is not a very rich man, is he?' a>kfd Sheila, as they drove away from the manse gate. 'Ni)t rich at all, my dear, quite poor, and ten children. O dear me, I am so sorry for them! I see Hairiet feels dread- fidly having to come home, and these three boys at college ari' a dreadful drain upon poor Mr. Gordon's purse.' ' Aunt Ailsa, why are so many nice people poor and uidiappy ?' 'They may be poor at the manse, but they are n(»t imhajjpy. Shidla — far from it. I never saw a more united and aflection- ate family. You must not run away with the idea that only rich people are happy. It is quite the reverse.' ' Oh, Aunt Ailsa, I know that,' said Sheila, in a low voice, anil then a little silence fell upon them. 'Are you not tired having me at Murrayshaugh, auntie? asked Slieila, after a while. 'Just listen to that lark. I am sure he will strain his dear I I THE AWAKENING. 223 ^v voice, liftle tliroat,' said Aunt Ailsa iiiisclnevou'^ly, pointing with her p;ii!isol up to the blue expanse, wliere a hirk was trilling his sweet, noiNy song with all his might. Slit'ila smiled. ' You are very naughty to huigh at mo, Atmt Ailsa, when I ;ini so sober. 1 want to talk very much in earnest to you.' • Won't yoti talk very much in fun, just for a change? You are far too solenm and sober. Sheila; and I am going to be very angry with you from to-day.' 'You couldn't be angry if you tried, Aunt Ailsa,' said Sheila quietly, and was silent again for a little, keeping her eyes on the ponies' tossing heads. 'Amit Ailsa,' — Sheila dropped tlie reins and looked (juite round into lier aunt's face, — ' I — I — think it is time for nu- to 1:0 hack to Dal more.' 'Yes, my dear; I have been waiting for it.' 'I — I think that perhaps papa woiUd not like me to .stay away so long,' said Sheila, with a pathetic tremble in her v^ ier. 'It is as if I did not like it, and oh, 1 do, Aunt Ailsa — betti i- than any place in the world ! ' ' Yes, my dear, I understand.' ' I have been thinking such a great deal. Aunt Ailsa, often till my head ached dreadfully, trying to make u[) my mind whiit to do. I have been readino; in Uncle Douiihis's books.' 'Don't I know it? I saw you one day, and could have wliijjped you, Sheila.' '1 have been reading all about wills and everything.' 'What for? Your will was right enough, Sheila. Nothing will set it aside.' '1 know,' said Sheila, with a little sigh, 'and I can't give it up either. It would not be right. But, Aunt Ailsa, I think I'lijia was sorry after about Fergus. Just think if he nx-ant at tlie end to give him Dalnioie, but could not make us under- stiuid. Wouldn't it be dread/til /' 'Sheila, it is very wrong of you to say such things. If you brood over this, you may do youiself sei'ious injury.' '0 no, I won't. When I go to Dalmore, auntie, I am ; 1 i!|j||,|' i 1 1 ' i W mil ;t{i i , I 224 SHEILA, W. t h ^ i b j V 1 ■ \H)\n^ to look cvrrywlifTfi to see if tliore is any otlior will. l*.;jt!i siiid soimMliiiiir iilmiit it.' Lady Ailsii lisftMU'tl in vexed silence. She saw tliat tlic (jiij was tiie slave of an idea wliicdi would cause her great tiduMc and anxiety if slut hroodifd upon it. ' Vnii may look, dear, to satisfy yourself, but 1 atn (juifc siin- yoii will never find what you seek. Now that it is all over, WKidd it n(jt b(i much V)etter to try and h(; worthy of yoiii' iidieritanct', and do your duty as its mistress, than to make yourself and others nusuiable with these ideas? IShcila, ii is not right.' ' Perhaps not. Aunt Ailsa, but I can't feel right about it. Daliiioni (nif//it to belong to Fergus. I will never Ibrget that.' ' It may be his sonu' day if y«»u give it to him. Sheila,' said Aunt Ailsa, with a snule, but Sheila did not understand, and took the words in their literal sense. ' I'l'rhaps he may take it some day,' she said hopctaijy. ' Aunt Ailsa, do you think Miss Gordon would come ba(.'k to D.dmore with me? 1 have to learn some things yet. 'Hk m she could help them at home, and get strong herself at Dal- m ire.' Aunt Ailsa took the girl's grave, sweet face in her hands and kissed it tenderly. 'God bless you, my darling, for ev r and ever. I see you are to be a blessing to Dalmore.' CHAPTER XXV. HOME. Nae birdio sweeter sings, In u' the wail' wide, Than the lintie 'mon<< tho whins On our aiu hill-side. Sadie. OOD-BYE, then, Slieila. I shall come up snmo fine day soon, and see how you are geftiiifj^ on,' said Lady Ailsa. 'Harriet Gordon, see ihiit she is kfpt in occupation. I leave her in your cart*.' ' I will look after her, Lady Ailsa,' said Harriet Gordon, looking at Sheila with all her heiirt in her eyes. No need to say huw readily the kind offer had been accepted at the manse. Oiic(^ more care was lifted from the minister's heart. The ptTlcct rest, the fine, pure, bracing air, and the plentiful table .tt Dalmore would do more for his ailing daughter th;m even tlic mother's care at home. "With ten mouths to fill every day, it is no easy task to provide tempting dainties, even for one. So the carriage rolled away from Murrayshaugh, and along tlie smooth, "WTide road to Dunkeld, which was looking its loveliest that sunny June day. Sheila had not much to say while they drove ; but though lier tongue wws silent her eyes were busy, and when they passed ^y the richly-wooded low grounds, and turned up Struthbraan^ il M hi' I •Hi ' ' . 1 ' ( ' .: |i ! li' ij :i^, ...lllll;*! m ill *llf ■1 i 226 SHEILA. % r. Harriet Gordon saw lier look eagerly from side to side, notin.: each familiar landmark with loving interest and pride. It was a long drive, and Harriet was a little tired before tl cv reached Aniulree. 'Oh, Miss Gordon ! just look at Dalmore with the snn on ir. Isn't it lovely?' Sheihi cried, when they reached the top (f liallinreich Brae, and saw the whole face of Crom Creasli, wiih the old house lying snugly in its bosom, sheltered by daik pirK s and waving, graceful birches. The snn was flashir in cvcrv window, and from the tower the flag was waving fur the fu>t time since it had been lowered at its master's death. 'That is to welcome you, SheiUi. They are glad their yomii: lady is coming home,' said Miss Gordon, with a pleased smile vSheila's eyes were full of tears. It would be but a soriy welcome after all, returning to an empty house, which w;is peopled only by memories and the shadowy forms of those wlm ' were not.' P>ut the few servants in chaige of the place l:;i(l all gathered about the door, and Cameron, wearing a stiff i)la(k silk gown and her best lace cap, came forward with a smile .ind a tear to bid her young mistress welcome home. Siieihi looked from one to another somewhat moiu'nfully, and replied to their greetings in a low, quiet voice. It made the bairn feel her resjionsibility yet more when she saw them standing so icsjiect- fully before her — her own servants ! She was very young to be mistress to anybody, and they saw what was her unuttered thought, and every heart was sore A^r her. ' Tea is in the drawing-room. Miss Sheila,' said Mrs. Cameron. ' Let me help you, Miss Gordon. You look so white and tireii.' ' She is very tired, I am afraid. Will you be able to ciiHk! to tea, Miss Gordon, or will you go and lie down fur awhile?' asked Sheila kindly. ' I will just go up to my own room. I am very sorry to he so useless, dear. I hope I shall be better soon.' ' O yes, I am sure you will. Take her uj), Cameron, and I will go to the diawing loom for her tea,' said Sheila, thinking of others' comfort before her own. She took up the tea, and sat by her governess wliile she dia' k it, and then, drawing down the blind and covering her up, s -e i ^ i^ I ! i I HOME, 227 h;i(l(' lier go to sleep, and ran downstairs. The honsekeepor w;is waiting aboiit tlie landing, anxious to see and speak witli iicr. She was so glad to see the bairn back to her own home jigain. 'Do come into the drawing-room, while I am having tea,' said iSlirila. * I want to hear all about everything. Oh, have tlicv had any news from the folk who left the Fauld?* ' Yes, Miss Sheila ; aTbout a week ago, Rob Macnaughton had a letter from the smith, and Ewan M'F;idyen, too, had one from liis (limghter Annie, who married young Stewart of Turrich. You'll remember her?' ' I did not know her, as she was a servant with the Miss Ciniipbolls at Siiian ; and did they all get safe over that dreadful sea .'' * Ail safe; and what do you think. Miss Sheila? sailing on the sea m.ide old Mrs. Stewart quite well,' said the housekeeper, (It'li'ihted to see the bairn so interested; 'and they are all in good spirits, and not a bit sorry they left the Glen.' ' I'm glad of that. 1 hope thry will get on splendidly,' said Sheila fervently; 'and all the other folks are quite well? Do vou ever see Katie Menzies?' ' Only on Sundays at the kirk, Miss Sheila. A bonnic, hounie lassie Katie has grown. I hope she'll have grace to guide her. I'm whiles hearing what I dinna like ; — but let that pass.' ' And Malcolm, who is so droll. How is Malcolm ? ' 'Just as he was. What a size he has grown! six feet in his stockings, if he is an inch. Miss Sheila, I am sure. And the auld wife is as thrawn as ever.' ' Oh, I must go down and see them all, now I have come.' ' Yi)u are going to bide, then ? ' asked Mrs. Cameron anxiously. 'Yes, I think so,' said Sheila, gr^^ving a little pale. 'You will hi' very kind to poor Miss Gord(»n, Cameron, and give her all ■•'i'' i.ci'ds ? I want her to grow very strong in Dalinore.' ' 1 II do all I can, for she's a sweet yoimg lady, and fine •■"iiiliaiiy she'll be for you,' said Cameron heartily. 'Oh, Mis-; ■"^lieibi, it's fell proud I am that ye are come home to your own. I , Jl! ■■^.11 V I I 228 SHEILA, It's been but a dull house all the summer through without I :i i\ \ i[ I i s head.' ' Am I the head, C.'inieron ? ' asked Slieila, with a patliotic little smile ; then, quite suddenly, showing the current of her thoughts, sliR added, 'Fergus is not at Shonncn, is he?' 'No, Miss Sheihi; but he will be in three weeks' time, Jessie Mackenzie was telling me yesterday. IJe is doing something splendid at the college.' ' He is very clever. Of course he would do splendidly,' o.dd Slieila com[)lacently. 'Oh, Cameron, don't you thiid< it would have been grand if Fergus had been Laird of Dalmore? Then, how happy I could have been at Murrayshaugh ; Aunt Ailsa's little girl, and nothing more.' ' We are very well pleased with our young lady, Miss Sheila,' said Cameron. 'There's not one in all Strathbraan or Glen- quaich but what would say that.' 'Perhaps not; but all the same he ought to have had it,' said Slieila, with, a sigh ; and then she told to the faithful ^e^vant the few words Macdonald had said on that dark day he died, ove. which Sheila had brooded till she made herself ill. ' I want you to help me to look, Cameron,' she said ; ' if there was another will, and Dalmore should belong to Fergus, how dreadful for me to be here ! ' ' Miss Sheila,' said the housekeeper somewhat hesitatingly, 'I want to tell you something that happened two nights before the Laird died. Master Fergus had been up to see him, and after he was away the Laird bade me get him his writing things out of the library. I gave them to him, and when he rang for me, about halt an hour after, he had been writing something, for the ink was wet in the pen, and he had dried something (jn the blotting-pad, for it was quite clean when I gave it to him. But he never said anything, and there was no sign of any papers lying about.' ' It would be the will, Cameron ! I knew there was one ! ' cried Sheila excitedly, jumping up. ' Let us go and look every- where in the library. Oh, we must find it ! We will lind it, I !iiu sure.' HOME. 229 i the tahle, Shoilr off ..I Leaving her teacup half emptied downstairs like ati arrow. The housekeeper followed her as quickly as she could, and found her with a drawer open in the L'lircrs secretidr". ' Look here, Miss Sheila,' s;iid Cameron. ' I put past this hluttiiifr-pad, I don't know why. It has never been used since the Laii'd had it, though Mr. Cohpdioun wrote a lot here after the Laird died. Can you read it ? ' Sheila leaned on the housekeeper's slioulder, and fixed her eves intently on the blotting-pad. The characters were strange, cniinped-looking things, not easily deciphered, but she could make nut (juite clearly the name of Fergus Macleod, and further on, Daliiiore. 'Caiieron,' she said quite solemnly, 'this is the impress of the will; let us hunt all over the rooms. It can't be out of thes(! few rooms, unless papa gave it to some one.' 'That he didn't. Miss Sheila, for nobody saw him again till Lady Ailsa came. Angus M'Bean was here upon the Thursday, but I had the Laird'o orders not to hit liiiu in, and l)oiinie angered he was at it, and gied me ill words iiboot it. But when I have my orders I can be as firm as tl. B;iss Rock.' Sheila never answered. Her hands and eyes were busy ;ini(/ng the straggling pipers in the drawers, but, thougii they seirched for an hour and more in every nook and cranny, iiMiliinir was found of the missing will — if, 'nde(>d, it had ever c-.isled. The child was grievously disappointed, but would Mot (piite give up hope. She carried the preci( us blotting- p id up to her cwn room, and locked it in her w:irdrobe drawer. Then she went up to s(.'e whether Miss Gordon was awake. 'I want to go along to Aclmafauld, Miss Gordon,' she said, .^eiinnr that she was wide awake. ' Would it be too far to W;ilky' ' Well, perhaps, to-night, it would, dear. If you could wait till tlie morning, I would go with you.' ' I want to go to-night, thongli,' said Sheila. ' It will be light for a long time yet, and Malcolm and Katie Menzies will convoy I ( I ■< > i I if I [1:1 :h ' 230 SHEILA. '■ me home. I have never been at the Fiiiild, Miss Gordon, >ince last yejir, before I went to school.' Sheibi's listless, brooding thonghtfulness seemed to li.ivf vanislied utterly. She was alert now, anxious to b(> up ani doing. The time for action hiid come. Harriet Gorduii, ,1 ft w minutes later, watched the tall, slight, lissom figure, wjilkm.: with swift, firm, purpo..e like step along the whi^e road from tlic Girron Brig, and smiled a little. Uidoss she was very iinuli mistaken, the peo{)lc's interests would be h)oked into, a' d as they had never been looked into in any biird's time. Slicili knew tlieir inner life, and would take a personal interest in all their affairs. The governess, who, like most folk, disliked .md distrusted Angus M'Bean, wondered how he would like tlie new- rule. Though it was in the frail hands of a girl, it might be ti)0 firm for his taste. Sheila did not meet any one on the road but the iniikoepei's herd, who, not recognising her, bade her turn his cattle about if she met them ' wast the Glen.' She smiled, and, promising to do so, walked rapidly on. It was delightful to be out in tlie^e open roads, with the wide-spreading heathery moors on eitliki*d Sheila, in a shocked, soirowful voice. ' N\eel, Mr. M 'Bean's nye tellin' Malky this'll be his last liiiirst,' said Kaiie, with teais in her eyP3. 'You should sec; Milky after Mr. M'Bean's been speakin' till him. His ecn [riow.r like fire, an' he fair shakes wi' rage. I'm teiritied wiiiles for fear they fa' oot.' ssa ■s \ 41 ^J >';;il f ,11 Mi (! ' bill itomed to the gloom that she could dij^cern the two figures sitting by the hearth. 'It's oidy me, Rob,' she said, with a little laugh. 'Malcolm, how are you? i can hardly see you.' 'Bless the bairn!' said the stocking-weaver, springing up. ' Ve came in that canny a moose wadna hear ye. Mahiolm and me's at the Gaelic. He's ta'en the notion to learn it, an' ii keeps him oot o' mischief.' •Malcolm rose, blushing painfully, and shuffled awkwardly back from the fireside, quite ignoring the kind hand Sheila stretched out to him in greeting. A big, uncouth-looking fellow Avas Malcolm still, — a man in height, but loose and ill -hung, his bony cheeks gaunt and hollow, his eyes far sunken in his liead, and his matted brown hair hanging in tangles about his face, quite hiding the high forehead, which, lii-ing always thus covered, was as white as snow, and soiiie- linies, when he would push the hair aside, it showed in curimis contrast against the swarthy, sunburnt hue of the lower pari of his face. ' I have been in seeing your aunt and Katie, and I came over to se(? you, Malcolm,' said Sheila. 'And how is he g-tiiiri on with the Gaelic, Rob? How fond he is of learning new things! ' HER OWN FOLK. 'lie's gettinp; on faster tlian I can tcacli liini,' said Rnb, bii'-iving liimself Avlth tlie lamp on the tJ. ' '_'. 'But, faitli, lie iisks lor cxplaiiatioiis I cuina pie liim. I'm no' a graniiiuiriaii, \i' kcii; it's the liamert (Jaclic I teach,' 'Sit down, Malcohn ; don't po away becanee I have come in,' s;ii(I Slieila kindly ; hut Malcolm, with a toss of his lomr hair, Middcnly clutched his shanter, and disappeared like a shot out ot' tlie door. 'He's a (jueer ano. Miss Sheila,' said Rob, with his dry lauph. 'Ye never ken whaur ye hat' him. Hnt I'm jist as weel pleased lii"> uune. Sit doon, sit doon. So ye've come back, my bairnie, t I ynur ain ? ' 'I'lie harsh voice of tiie stocking-weaver becani(; soft and low iis lie uttered the last sentence, and his rugged eyes loekeil with a ]iefuliar tenderness at the sweet, refined face of the young creature sitting hv Ids hearth. 'Yes, IJob,' said Sheila, with a catch in her voice; 'I came hack to-day.' 'An' the aidd hoose seemed emptv, and the bit heart cried (Hit for them that's awa'? Ay, ay,' said Rob-, as he stirred up t!ie peats on tlie hearth to niaki; a cheery glow, 'it was a haiiii that gaed awa, an' I see it's a woman that has come back. I'ui she'll be guided and blessed, for the blessin' o' the Lord is ui)en lier.' Slieila sat very still ; feeling, indeed, as if some precious hei ison was falling on her head, ' It is em])ty and sad, Rob,' she said at length; 'and oh, how (lilTereiit it is here at the Fauld, too! There's only you and the Meiizles where there used to be so many.' ' Ay. an' there'll be fewer, lie's to put Malcolm oot tliey say, at the back-end: but afore that there'll maybe be ail ill deed dune in the Glen that will bring a curse upon It; ' lie will not put Malcolm out, Rob. I have come home,' said Sheila; and Iut sweet mouth became proud and deteruiined, and her >ofl eyes flashed with a brave resolve. Hie stocking-weaver gave his knee r. great ship with his hiuiiy hand, and chuckled merrily. 1 \ \V \ 1 , ! ■ ■ ' 1 1 \ jl ^i' iiA liili W' BW IIM 4 y, .• I 1 i i i 236 SHEILA. ' Ay, ay, the bairn is a woman, an' lu's to get liis inafcli. Sic fun!' Slieila Imglipd a little, too. That curious chuckle of lioli's was very contagious. ' Kob, will you take another pupil? /want to learn G;i( lie too,' she said presently. ' You learn frae me ! Ye heard what I said, it's lituiu ri Gaelic I teach ; I hitma grannnar.' * Don't tell me that, Rob, when you can write sucli pei fcrr little poems. I heard a great proftssor from EdinbuiL'^li ;ir Murrayshaugh, one day, saying the}' were among the cla->ic liierature of Scotland, and I felt dreadful because I had never read them,' said Sheila quickly. ' I want you to teach me your own Gaelic, because I w.int to be able to read your poems, and to speak to the old people in the Glen in their own tongue.' 'Bless the bairn!' said Rob, under his breath, and stoojied over the peats again to hide the moisture in his eye. Tliose outside who only knew the rough side of the stocking weav(r would not have known him in such a mood as this, but Sheila had never seen him in any other. 'I'm going to come about the Fauld a great deal, Koh.' she said, rising presently to go. ' I want to get to know everybody from Findowie up to Garrows. How loni: do you suppose it will take me to make acquaintance wiili them all?' ' I dinna ken. There's some o' them hardly worth the tioul)lf», but ye'U find oot the ill wi' the guid. I see ye .ire begiimin' weel, my bairn, an' the new Leddy of Dahnore is to be such as was never seen.' ' Hush, Rob ! ' said Sheila, and her tears sprang again. Rob sat long after she had left him, pondering the thing in Xw^ mind, with a dreamy expression on his face which betokem d the deepest thought. The new Lady of Dalmore was not to let the grass gnu under her feet. Immediately after breakfast next morning th'' carriage was ordered, and great was the amazement of tic coachman when he received his order to drive to the office of HER OWN FOLK. 237 3 match. of Itol.'s •n Garlic i liatiurt \ peiTccr le cla->i(' ad iu'vcr ;t'!icli 1)11' L'ad yiMir I in their I stoopi.'d ?. Thiisc g wcavi r ut Sheila ?al, Roh; to know h)MLr do MCI' with orth the le ye wx^' ore is to n. mg in his )CtokeUeil ass griiw rning ih'' [It of the office of Mr. Colqiilioun, the lawyer in Perth. Miss Gordon was so far recovered that sho was al)le to accompany her charge, hut slic was quite ignorant of the ohjcct of tlie journey. She thoiii^hr to lierself, however, that Lady Ailsa might have s]»aifd the injunctions to keep Sheih'i in occupation. Tliere seemed tn \v ii (hiiiger rather of lier attempting too mucli. 'I tldnk you shouhl get down at tlie Sahitation, Miss (itinhui, and order our hmcli,' said Slieihi, wlien tliey reached IVi li. ' I will not be long at Mr. Colquhoun's.' The governess assented, and Sheila went alone to the laww r's dtfice. Needless to say, he was amazed to see her, hut his jrrccting was most kii d. Tlie scene at Dalmore, througli which his young client had carried herself so nohly, was still fresjj in iiis memory. 'Yes, I am staying at Dahnore, Mr. Colquhoun,' slie said, in answer to his first question, ' and I have come to ask you ^()I^u questions. There are a great numy things I want to know.' As she spoke, slie began to unfasten the string from a large fliit parcel wrapped in brown paper. It was the blotting jjad the Laird had used tlie last time he had a pen in liis hatid. -Mr. Cohpdioun was perfectly amazed, but in a few words Sheila explained the whole matter to him. Iler anxiety and distress even were so genuine, that he treated her comniunica- tiiin with a corresponding gravity, though it amused him very much. *My dear Miss Murray Macdonald,' he said, looking straight into the earnest face, 'I entreat you not to trouble yourself about tliis. I assure you Mr. Macdonald's mind w.is (piite iiiade up. His decision about D dmore was unalteiable. Both hidy Murray and I put Mr. Fergus Macleod's claim before hitn, l)ut it was you he wished to heir Dalinore. The will carrying that wish into effect was only drawn up three t inii)roM;ii le — that he should change his mind. And sujjposing he hai, wtMild he not have given the new will, when he made it, into safe keeping, or j»ut it wdiere it would be found?' ' Well, perhaps,' said Sheila, but her tone was very doubllul. 1. i 1 1,' 1- 1 r |. I 1 Li.1l 18 ill.:. (1 *■ 1 t , ll i :| ' ■ 11 I i! , ,1 1 1 ■' ; f'i I ? 238 SHEILA. * My (It'jir yonn? l.'uly, T -issur*' ynii it would vox and pricvo yonr fatlicr if lie knew of the nee llcss anxiety you arc jtiivii,.: yourscir,' s.iid tiic lawyer }j;ravel_, and kindly. 'And whv l.i. so downcast about Mr. Ft-rgus Macicod ? Hi"' uncle (lid \\u\ torf!;et liiin, and lu' is a clever young fellow, with life all hciuif him. He may make a far better ns(! of liis talents because Ik- lias bis own way to carve. This very thing which is vcxiirj you may be the making of him.' Sheila's face brightened. This was a side of the quesiidti which had never occurred to her before. ' So you must try and enjoy your inheritance. I am sine Dalmore could never liave a sweeter mistress,' said the old lawyer gallantly. 'Thet), if Dalmore is mine, I may do what 1 like; may 1, Mr. Colquhoun ? ' *Yes. In very important matters you would refpiin,' to consult Mr. Macfarlane, the minister, as your trustee.' ' Su[)pose, then, Mr. CoUjuhoun, that Mr. M'liean wInIkmI to put the cottars out of the Fauld, could 1 prevent him?' 'You are mistress of Dalmore; Angus M'Bean is ynnr servant. Miss Murray Macdonald,' said the lawyer, with a dry smile of enjoyment. He did not like Angus ^^'l)ean, and foresaw that the new Lady was to clip the ambitious taettu's wmgs. 'Then I may tell him, Mr. Colquhoun, that he is to leave the Menzies alone, and all the rest of the folk ? If they \\\y their rents, I wish them to stay.' 'You can tell him anything you like. It will do him good.' said the lawyer briskly. ' And in any difficulty with him come to me.' 'Thank you, that is all I wish to know,' said Sheila; and the look of grave anxiety quite lifted off her face. The lawur handed her to her carriage with a deference he did not always pay to more important clients. She had roused his det j)' >r interest and admiration. Harriet Gordon was amazed at Sheila when she returned to the hotel. She was so bright and happy, more like the HER OWN FOLK. 239 (1 pricvo '«' iiiviiiL' wllV 111- dill iKii II Ih'Iiiiv l';ill<-c lie s vc.xiii'j qiU'Stidii iim Mill' the old ; may 1, quire to 1 \vi>lir(l ])rcvci!t is }'"iir :h a k\\\ eaii, and IS tactdi'^ to Icavi' they pay rn good.' ill! Ct'lllC , and tlit* e lawur )t always i dt'ipi>r returned like the SIteila of long ngo. She talked paily all tlie way homo, j)(iiiitin,2 out every object of interest in the snia' j,deu, — the lliiniau camp, Ossiau's grave, and the Suklier's grave, — nut one was t'nrgotten. When they came near Corrymuckloch Inn, she stood up and l.ade the coacliman go over the (»Id road to Auehlny. 1 hey (liew tip at the factor's trimly kept lawn just as that genilem iti uas sitting down to his substantial three o'clock diiuier. 'riie two fme young lalins and pio-sy curls, immeiliat(dy (lew into a tremendous excitement at siijht of tlie prancing horses at the dining-ioom window, atul hid tlieinselves behind the curtairs to see who were in the carriage. Mrs. M'Bean would have hurried to the door to welcome licr distinguished guest, but her hiisbaiul restrained her; and when .Sheila asked f(>: the factor, she was shown into the bran- new drawing-room like : n ordinary caller. Young though she was, the child had her own pride, and felt that the factor might at least have come to the door. She was standing by the table, with her hand laid lightly on the fine embroidered cover, when th(! door o[)ened, ami Mr. M'Bean entered, all smiles, to greet the young Lady of Dalmnre. He had assumed a benign, almost fatherly demeanour, which, however, was chilK-d by the grave, somewhat haughty, look in the you?ig lady's face. ' (jood morning, Mr. M'Beat.,' she said (juieily. ' 6'ooc^morning, Miss Sheila. Pray be seated, and I will tell Mrs. M'Bean and the girls to come in. They will be charmed with your visit. WHitn did you come to Dal more? ' 'I Avish to speak to you, Mr. M'Bean,' said Sheila quite pointedly. 'I came to Dalmore yesterday, and I was at the Fauld last night. I heard from Malcolm Menzies that you spoke of making them leave the croft soon. 1 hope you will iievcr say such a thing to them again. And if they can makt? iimre money with more land, they can have Kory Maclean's croi't too. It is quite close by. I want the people to live liajipy and comfortable in the Fauld, and I am going to stay here and look after them now.' I I Mr, I* J n I ' :|iit f :i 240 SHEILA, Slieila dcliverpd tliis brave speech without a quaver in Ik 1 svvret young voice. Long afterwards, recalling that sccin' slie wondered at her own leni' rity, and I.iiiglied over il( recollection of the blank, dumbl'ouuded look on the Ikce > Angus M'Bean. t \ .11! iHipr. r'. \ 1 . I ' \ \ • 1 ■ 1 ,4 ; ii :!■ T'' i! ■1 ■■ r ■^ '; 11 ..>^, r in Ik !• t scene. )vor 1 1 ( e lacf 1 : , — -'^~.>>" V' ^^^^'Z^^Wi^ CHAPTER XXVII. HER RESOLVE. Oil, it is sad to feel our heart-spring gone, To lose l)0]^.e, care not for the coming thing. Batlet. l^LLEX MACLEOD was dwelling alone in bitterness of soul at Shonnen. After the Laird's death and the reading of the will, Angus ^T'Bean paid no more court to the hauahtv, dark- browed mi>tress of the L mIjc, and riglit well did she know w ;y. It only added to the W'i^lit of wrong wliich seemed licaped upon her If dark il iiices from an angry eye could have done evil to Dalmore, its Miniiiier beauty might well have been blasted; for often, often 'ill Ellen Macleod stand at the upper windows of the Lodge, and iti iier heitrt curse the place and all who dwelt within it. iiiir the curse causeless sliall not come. Peace dwelt upon •ilniore, and its young mistress was happy with the happiness A iii;li coiues of a contented, occupied, generous mind. The f III 1 iiad lil'ted from off the child, and tliough occasionally the 1 I I'ear that she miiiht be unri'jliteously enjoying another's ' litujti ruse up to daiken tliPi sunshine for a little, it soon I'l^-^eil. Occasionally she went to renew her search in the haiijs rooms, and even tap tlie old walls, after reading some talc of luysiery and crime, to seek for some secret cavity, but 1 1 ^1 11' liii. I'. ,1 242 SHEILA. ■il V. 1:1 there was no romance of that kind about Dalmore. Tho olr] house of Findowir, now a ruin, was said to be filh^l with curious recesses and hidden rooms, and even to liave undtT- p:round passages below tlie bed of the Braan, in wliicli tlic old Laird of Findowie had liidden in the dark days jifter CnlKuJcii, but there was no mystery of i-oma:ice or intrii^ue al)out DaliiKiro. Angus M'Bean had verily got liis wings clipped. ]\Ir. Mac- farlane, tlie minister of Amulree, and Sheila's only trustee, was about as unfit lor discharging the bu>iness part of his engaire- nient as a man could possibly l)e. lie was a stu(h'nt and a rechise, whose whole soul was engrossed by the study of (^verv 'ology' except theoh)gy. He knew all the folk-lore of Perfhsliiic, and liad tales about Aniuliee and Glenquaich at his finger-ends wliich would make other folks' hair stand on end. He knew the very paths the fugitives liad ttiken after Culloden, and the caves in which they lud. And as for brownies and nailocks, and other uncanny folk, he knew all their haunts, and every old 'ploy' in which tlie legends of the inule-neuk gave them a part. He was a kindly, honest, simple old man, who preached practical discourses, unembellished by any rhetoiical disjihiy or depth of I'casf.ning, yet finely suited to the needs of his iulk. Why Maedonald had left him sole trustee was a mystery, unless he had wished Sheila to have her own way absolutely. She consulted Idm on every point, but it was only a foini. for lie was with her, heart and soul, in her desire and plan to better the condition of the poor cottars in the Glen. He had long dei)Ioied the influence of Angus M'Bean with the old Laird, and had on more than one occasion tieated that woithy to an unvainish((l opinion, therefore he rejoiced that the old Laird's adnp'cd daughter was beginning her leiun so well. So the woik of ' sweeping tiie Fauld off the face of the earth ' came to a sudden etid, and the place took a new lease of life. Malcolm Men/ies got Rory Maclean's croft, and a horse, also two cows. The houses were repaired, and the wood driven from the head ot' the Glen by horses jirovided at the expense of the estate. Were I to attempt a description of Angus M'Bean's state of mind at finding himself foiled by a young girl, I should sunply fail, so we shall leave him alone. i k i ft 1 1 HER RESOLVE, 243 Tho olrl l«nl with e uiultT- !i till' old Ciillodcn, DaliiKirc. Mr. Mac- istee, was tit and a of cvci'v 'crtlisliiic, iiecr-ciids He knew 1, and tlir nailorks, 111(1 cvciY ,'e tlic'iii a prcatlicd idisplay or ^ Ids folk. ■ry, unli'ss (dy. She ni, for lie better tlie T deploied lid had on ivalliishcd s adnpjcd i woik of ) a >iiddi'li 11 Mcn/ie> jws. The ead of the Were I iiiiiid at )lv fail, so ihton, the stockinji-weaver, wrote ill^ occasion; im with tlu' haj)pv Rob Macnau FerrjU-s Macleod in Edinburgh, acquain changes taking place in the Glen, and Fergus rejoiced over it all in a manly, generous spirit, but was not much surprised. Sheila could never be anything but kind, and she knew and lovi'd the folk just as he did. Fergus was not very happy in Edinburgh. A part of his college life he eiijoye jiiirticular end in view. 'J'here were jilenty like him, — lairds' sous, who were supposed to get an insight into study whii h would fit them for the whole management of their estates, but who iiianiged to make their college days more a play-tinu; than lesson-time. Angus M 'Bean belonged to a different class. Ih' worked by fits and starts with all his might, when a more than usually impressive letter from Auchloy progged him up ; but he was an idle, dissipated young upstart, who spent his 1 i; f !lJ'' 1 1 I ! 1, ,1 'ill i> I \ H -J ' : I ■ t ii!i, ! 244 SHEILA, evenings in questionable company, and imngined himself a firn^ ' man about town.' Poor young fool ! in that idea, unfoitunatelv. he did not stand alone. He found plenty of companions, alsn; but Fergus seemed to be very much alone. Nobody could un- derstand just how he felt, and altogether that was an unprofit- able session for him, and he was glad when it came to an end. It was a dreary, wet night when he trudged up the Idiitr miles between Dunkeld and Amulree, leaving his bag to ec^nie by the post-gig next i^'.wj. He had travelled himself from Edin- burgh, Alastair being away for a week's fishing in the Lamrncr- muirs with the young Laird of Weniyss, and Puddin' M-Bi an deeming it wise to remain a day or two in town, imtil Mie effects of the farewell su[)per had worn off, before he put in an appearance at Auchloy, and subjected himself to the keen paternal vision, Fergus felt rather dejected and miseiaUle as he trudged along the sodden roads, and did not once loi k buck that day at the mist-wreathed face of Craigybarns He was rather inclined to turn his back on Scotland just thi'n, ha\iiip: got himself into a ' drundie ' state of mind. He was just at Ballocliraggan, when he heard a shout behind him, and, lookiiiir back, he saw a farmer's gig coming up rapidly, and recoLMiisf-d Donald Stewart, the farmer in Dalieoch on the Findowie side of the Braan. Fergus did not know him very well, for he was the largest farmer on the estate, and quite diflfcrent from tlic cottars up the Glen. Dalreoch had very little to do with Angus M''5ean, even, — his rt^nt being paid half-yearly to Mr. Colquhoun at the office in Perth. Bur Fei'gus knew him by repute as a fine man ; and indeed his face-, with its pleasant smile and honest, kindly eye- was enough to win re?])ect and liking anywhere. ' Jump up, Mr. Fergus,' he said heartily. * I was sure it was }ou. If you had only sent me word I coidd liave ini t \ lU at the train. There's nothing doing. We're just waiting tiiif weather for the hay.' ' It has been a lot of rain, I see, Mr. Stewart,' answered Fergus, jumping up, nothing loth, for he had not specially enjoyed his tramp. 'AVhat a fine hurse ! She's a splendid trutter, surely ? ' iself a fine brtuniitcly. lions, iilsd ; ' could uii- n unprofit- o an cikI. p tilt' IdllLT Ig to CCllU' from Ed ill - e Lamiiicr- in' M-Bcaii , until Mie e put in an tilt' kt'tTi lisei'alik' as i loi k hack He was len, lia\ii)2f \vas just lit nd, lookiiiL' rt'C()i:nist'd )\vit' side (if for lie was t from tlic ;o do with irly to Mr. lew him by its pleasant respect ami was sure it ,ve mi't yiu availing tine ,' answered jt specially a splendid BE I? RESOLVE. 245- 'Ay, Nellie knows her work,' said the farner, nodding affectionately over at the mare. 'An' she does it, uhich is more than some folk do. You've got your holidays, Mr. Feriius ? ' ' Yes, two months, if I go back to college,' answered Fergus. ' Yt)U don't look very hardy. The hills will do ye good,' said the farmer, looking kindly at the young man's somewhat pale, thin face. Fergus had worried himself in Edinburgh, and worry always tells. ' I don't like the town. What's going on up here ? ' a>ked Fergus. 'No' much. Did the factors son not come over with ye? ' 'No,' returned Fergus, but did not tell the reason why. He was not a sneak or a tell-tale, though Angus w^ould have told readily enough on him. ' And what will ye do with yourself all summer, do you think?' ' I don't know yet. They're getting on better at the Fauld now, Mr. Stewart ? * 'Ay; the factor's gotten anew master,' returned Mr. Stewart, with a quiet laugh of enjoyment. 'It disna dae to ask him lioo he likes the Leddy's hand on his bridle, Mr. Fergus.' ' It'll do him gdod. He's a mean tyrant,' said Fergus savagely, glad to get liis vexation out on somebody. 'And ye dinna like the college?' said the farmer musingly. 'No. I'll tell you what, Mr. Stewart; I'm going away after the Fauld folks to America,' said Fergus, impelled to confide in his kind friend. ' I'm sick of this old country. What can it do for a fellow ? ' 'Ii'll do ye good, Mr. Fergus. You'll come back, and think there's nae place like Scotland,' said the farmer, seeing there was something amiss with the lad. ' No' yet, Nellie ; up the brae, lass.' ' Oh, there's no need, Mr. Stewart. I can walk perfectly.' 'I ken, but I'll drive ye up. I've nothing to do, anyway, in tliis rain. Up, Nellie ! Besides, it's a jileasure to drive ye.' riio kind word, as well as the kind action, comforted the lad's sore heart, and took the chill edge off his return to Amulree .lii:- iii \ i i I if '■ ',1 111 346 SHEILA. I I \\ y\\ I'' i 1 1 I if i I ■ A \ I 1 I ■ PI * ^il I i il ,'' « lie tjilked mnrt; heartily as they went up Ballinreich Brae, and parted with Mr. Stewart at the Keeper's Wood with quite his ohl smile and ringing laugh. ' I'll come down and give you a day at the hay for tms, Mr. Stewart. It'll keep me from wearying, anyway.' ' All right ; see and come,' laughed the farmer, as he drove oif ; and Fergus walked on rapidly to Shonnen. He was d-:id he did not meet anybody on the road, but when he readied the gate of Shonnen, he saw his mother Avatching for him at tin- window. She was on the doorstep when he reached it, and her eye shone as it fell on her fine young son — shone witii a motlierly pride and affection which were perfectly justifiubh'. 'How are you, Fergus? I am glad you have come home,' she said, as she shook him by the hand. No warmer greening than the hand-shake, so eminently Scotch, ever passed between tliem. 'You are early. Did you gts a drive part of the way ? ' Yes, Mr. Stewart of Dalreoch drove me from Ballochraggau up,' said Fergus. 'How are you, matlier? I hope you have a go(((l tea. I'm perfectly famished.' KlUm Macleod went into the dining-room with a more buoyant step than usual, and a look of pleased satisfaction on her face. Fergus's home-coming made a new interest in her life. ' Angus M'Bean did not come with you ? ' she said, as they sat down to tea. ' Xo ; Angus was hardly ready to come home. He is not behaving himself as he might, mother. The lot he goes with liail a spree last night, and I suppose he would have too nuich. ' You never keep company with that set, I hope, Fergus ? ' ' Not I. You've only to look at me to know that,' replied Fergus, with his mouth full. ' We'll have to drop M'Bt ati's nickname, I doubt. He's as thin as a rake now. Anything new about Amulree, mother?' ' Notliing. At least, I don't hear it. You are looking well — nut like a hard student.' ' I'm not a hard student,' responded Fergus frankly. * Mother, I hate the whole thing ! I feel perfectly mad listening to the Br.ip, and quite his : tlits, ^Ir. drove off; -s dad he ached the im at till' t, and her le witli a rifiiibh'. ne home,' r jGrreeting 1 between rt of the ochraGjfian ou have a I a more action on est in her IS they sat He is not goes with 00 much.' rirus? ' t,' repUed M 'Bean's Anything ng well — ' Mother, ng to the HER RESOLVE. 247 old professors droning away about things I've no interest in. I caiit jzo on with it.' 'There is nothing else for it, my son,' said Ellen Maclcod, with a peculiar pressure of her long, thin lips. ' It is not what you like, but what you can get to do, with you now.' 'Mother, it's a perfect waste of money, for Tin perfectly cert:iin you could as soon make a minister out of Malcolm >h'iizies as me, — indeed, sooner, for Rob says that he has a poet's soul, whatever that may be. I'm a perfect clod, mother. I'd rather hire to be a slieplierd with Ualreoch, even, than go on at fliat old college.' ' 'I'liere is no use bringing up that vexed old question again, Fergus,' said Ellen Maeleod. 'Your destiny is iixed, and you can't shirk it. You are a gentleman's son, and though circum- stances have made you poor, you nnist act a gentleman's part. There is nothing for you but the Church.' ' ^'iiy there is, mother. Uncle Graham left me a thousand pounds to stock a farm, he said,' cried Fergus, alluding to his legacy for the first time. ' Mother, I've made up my mind. I think I'll go out to Canada after the Fauld folks. A thousand pounds will go further there than here, and there is no distinc- tion. All men are gentlemen on the other side of the Atlantic.' ' Don't talk so absurdly, boy,' said Ellen Maeleod, with a touch of her old impatient imperiousness. ' Do you think 1 would ever consent to your joining these people?' Fergus reddened, and his brow clouded. Always the same! Without sympathy or commiseration for his feelings, or as[)ira- tions, or desires. Uis temper rose a little, for the M;icdonald blood was hot, and he had reached an age when authority is scarcely tolerable. His mother saw the struggle, but did mt even admire the manliness which enabled him to keep silent out of respect for her. She was a strange woman. She had no interest, or tie, indeed, to bind her to life but her one son ; and yet she took a pride in making him completely subservient to her will. She would have him brave, manly, fearless, in every- thing and towards all but herself. She sought from the m;in the unquestioning obedience of the child. Mistaken woman 1 She would live to regret it. A certain latitude must be allowed M f 1 1 Ivl' 'f !, tin H 11 M t 248 SHEILA, to youth; even the duty of the child to the pnrcnt becotnos soiiH'tiines a matter to be settled by conscience. Tliere ar<', alas! too ni;my disobedient eliiMren ; but tliere ;ire also incon- siderate, tyr.mnicid j);irents. Ellen M;icleod soufxlit to be; ;i despot, and, though lier kingdom held only one subject, slie Wiis to find it a liard tiisk to rule. A love of power is inborn in women, but it is tempered hy the loving-kindness and gentleness of wom;inliood. h\it th< Litter had never been characteristics of this strong d;ing]iter ot a Highland rjice. We will watcli with interest the struL'-Lili' between duty and inclination in the breast of Fergus MaclcuJ. 1 ■ ,! Tj 1 ( CHAPTER XXVIII. COUSINS. And life is thorny, and youth is vain, And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain. , I COLERIDOB. HEILA, upon my word, you are the loveliest girl I ever saw.' * Oh, Alastair Murray, you stupid, stujjid boy 1 I think I shall set Tory on yoii. I don't think Edinburgh has improved you one single bit. ILis it, Tory ? ' Tory wngged his tail vigorously, and regnrded AList.'iir wifli a meiincing gnnvl. The cousins were in the dr.iwing-rooni at D;dmore. Ahistair had just ridden up on his pony witli a message from his mother to Sheila, and, being impressed by 'he great improvement in Sheila's appearance, had given vent to his rapturous admiration in no measured terms. It was evident Sheila was growing up, indeed, for at her cousin's praise a sweet, conscious flush mantled lier cheek. She d'd look very fair in her pure white gown, with its broad black sash ; and what astonished Alastair most of all w;is that she had coiled her h-ng plaits about her head, and m.tde her- self look quite a woman. * It's true, Sheila ; you're a perfect stunner 1 Be quiet, you 349 ' 1 i f 1 i 1 i 1. \ : it: !'l r ' I ..« '5<5 SHEILA. little b(>:ist ! ' ho addfd to Tory, who shnrponod his frrowl into a l)!irk. ' I siiy, Sht'il.i, what a lot of fellows '11 Ix; sweet upon y >u im!iiedi;it(dy ! /am, to befjriii with.' Sheila liui^ihed ; ;ind the sweet sound filled the old room witli a riugiug c-cho of gladness. ' Do you know you are frifrhtfully vulgiir, Alastair MurnivV I oidv wish Aunt Ailsa heard you. Is that what she sent you to say ? ' 'No; but I suppose I may utter a few words on my own account,' s;iid Alastair, in an ir.jured voice. ' You needn't bother being stuck-up with me, you know, Sheila, because 1 won't stand it. Well, my mother wants to know when yon are coming over, and / want to know if you are going to bury yourself here for ever? ' Sheila's bright face grew grave at these questions. ' I am very busy just now, Alastair.' ' Yes, I know. You are the little old woman who lived in a shoe,' said Alastair, in his comical, good-natured way, ' and I siipi)ose we are of no account. Are we related to you, or art3 we not. Miss Murray Macdonald?' * Oh, Alastair, do be serious for a moment. You have no idea what a lot I have to do. I am so anxious to have these houses sorted at the Fauld before winter, and unless I keep going over and looking after it myself, there is notliing done.' Alastair looked at his young cousin in amazement. She spoke like an old woman, and looked, at that moment, as if the whole care of a world rested on her slender shoulders. 'But, Sheila, haven't you a factor? "Whai's the use of all the fellows you pay to do your work, if you have to look after them?' he asked bluntly. ' You don't quite understand, and it would take too long to exphun, Alastair,' said Siieila, smiling again. 'When does Aunt Ailsa want me to come over? ' ' As soon as you can. Cecily aiid Mabel are coming from London. Perhaps that may induce you, if you won't come fur w^',* said Alastair pointedly. ' Aunt Ailsa knows 1 would rather be at Murraysliaugh than anywhere else in the world except here,' said Sheila. I* CO USIXS. 25J wl into a »'et u|i()ii )<)in witli Murray? sent yuu my own \ needn't ecjiuse I you are to bury ivcd in ;i , ' iind I Ci, or are have no ive these s I keep ; done.' nt. She nt, as if ers. se of all 3ok after ) long to ten does ng from come for lysliaugh I Sheila. •But I will come ovi-r and stay for a few days with Cecily ;iii(l Mabel very soon. Wlicti are they ooniing?' 'To-morrow. But I say, Slieil.i, are you really going to stay here now? My mother says she thinks you are, l)iit I didn't believe it.' ' Ves, Alastair, I am going to stay here now. It is home,' said Sheila, and her eyes grew dim. ' How queer you are ! Don't you care for dancing, iind all the fun and flirting other young ladies like? ft)r you are a young lady now, Sheila, — more's the pity.' '1 like fiui and frolic dt-arly, Alastair: but there is a crreat deil of work to be done first,' said Sheila, with such a grave, |iiro(.'(:u|>ied face that Alastair stared yet more. To him S'lH ila was a great mystery. How any young girl, e«ij)ecially (Hie so I right and beautiful as Sheila, should willingly bu y 'ieis( If in a phice like; Dalmore, and find her amusement in the won-y and harassing detail of estate management, was a mohlrin he could riot set hiniself to solve. He had heard .1 jood deal about Sheila and her Quixotic ideas at Murjays- li;iM.:li antl from outsiders, but Sheila herself perplexed him [iitii'onn.llv. • 1 don't know what will become of you, Sheila,' he said, a tiille hopelessly, as he gnawed the head of his riding switch, ai;d in<'ntally wished he could make growling Tory feel th*! \\(ii:ht of it. Tory evidently felt the weight of his resjionsi- liility, and did not approve of seeing a yoi'ing gentleman in t!ie halniore di awing-room, especially when he expressed himself with such unl)lushing candour. IVig, good - natured Ahe^tair had a curious vein of soft !=^eiitiinent in his nature, and he had always been in love with his pretty cousin. I ft-ar he was now to learn that that early I'lVe-niaking on the bonnie i»anks of the Logic was to have for hiiii a more serious side. ' When will you come, Slieila, so that I may fetch you?' 'I'll send a note over, Alastair. I can't fix a day until 1 get ihings in order for my absence,' said Sheila, with that delijhtfnl giaviiy which sat so quaintly upon her. * Won't you have aiiyiliing to eat after your lot g ride?' 25a SHEILA. 'No, tlinnks; just rose fioiii (linner. Upon my word, Sliciln, I ciiii't. get over tilt! cluingc in you.' * I must say tbt; siuiu' of you. Vou are such a l>ig man. We're all grown-uj),' iauglicd Slicilii. ' It' you will o.\cu*«' me for a little, Alastair, I will put on my liahit and ride dowti as far as liallinrficii with you. There are sonu; sick i)al)i<'S there 1 want to ask for. Scarlet fever, I fear, but I hope not.' ' All riglit. I don't care what it is, as long as it tak-s vou to iialliru-eich, and I can ride by you,' s.iid Al.istair darinijlv. Shi ila shook her linger at him as she ran out of the room. She did not keep him waiting long, and when she returned, in her dainty habit, with her bright, long ])liiits as of yore li inging to her waist, and the very smartest of little hiits, just far enough off her heiul to sliew tlie bright little ringlets on her brow, Alastair was hopelessly 'done for;' and to the end of his d;iys he never saw any one equal to Slu-ila, though he was obliged to admire her f'-om a cousinly distance. Sin ila was not a coquett(.', and her cousin's undisguised admiraiion rather disconcerted her. She kninv she was fair, — her mii inr told her so every day, — and she was glad, as she hsid a right to be, to think she was [)leasant to l(Jok upon, but she was neiiher vain nor affected ; a perfect naturalness was the child's chief cliarm. Half child, half woman, she was wholly, irresistibly wuMung. ' Have you seen Macleod since he came home ? ' asked Alastair, as tliey cantered down the hill. ' No,' answered Sheila ; and perhaps it was the exertion she was making to keep her pony in curb that brought the vivid flu-h to her cheek. ' Poor Macleod ! I'm sorry for him. He's a fine chap, Sheila. D iii't you believe atiy one who tells you anything else.' Sheila could have laughed right out, but her lips only curved in a curious little smile. ' And you know it's awful rough on a fellow, I always say, to lia\e a mother like yon,' said Alastair, pointing over to Shonnen, which looked dark in the strong shadow of Craig Ilulich. • What do you suppose is to become of Macleod, Sheila? It won't be very easy for him to settle down in Stralhbraan ;•* a COC'S/XS. 253 fjirmor, tbnnfjii I've l)t'!inl liiiii spcik of it. ITis mother !nt';m«. liim to l)t^ a miuister, Init I caii'i fancy Maclt'txl in the imljiit. Can you ? ' 'No,' answered Slieila, iind lier face was averted. She cmiM not understand why it iMa(h' her feel so strangely to Iicai iinothcr speak of Fergus, since scarcely an hour of the (l:i\ j.a^seii when she did not thiiik of him. ' Poor heggar ! I pli('ation. Fact is, Sheila, he's rather put upon all round, Ilulloa ! what are you crying for? ' ' I wi-^h you'd hold your tongue about Fergus Macleod ! ' cried Sheila indignantly. ' If you've nothing else to talk about, you can ride on t>y }' ourse If. Alastair whistled. ' I beg your pardon. Sheila. How in the world was I to kiK'W Ferg' s and you weren't sailing in the same; boat?' he said, plunging dee[)er into the mire, and blissfully imconscious of it. ' He's a little priggish and queer when you come to think iif it. though the best fellow I know, I say, what times we'll have when you come over! Are they jolly girls, the Desurts, Shcihi? You should know them, \\hen you were at the smn^ .'hool. es, they are vcr nice. I am scarry I spoke so quick I \ Alastair,' said Sheila, turning to him with a lovely smile, which ii 254 SHEILA. would have melted a much harder heart than his. * I am afraid I am cross and horrid, but I didn't mean to be.' 'Oh, come now, Sheila, don't make me feel jjorfectly ashaimd.' said Aiastair. ' I've .jough to bear with the pride I feel at ridiiii^ with such a fine young lady. You sit splendidly, Slicila, and what a pretty beast you have.' ' Papa bought it for my birthday just the week before he died. Cameron told me, the last time he was able to be out df bed was to go to the library window to see Rob Roy when he was brought h^me,' said Sheila, in a low voice, and witli a yearning look in her soft grey eyes, which told Aiastair lio-.v much she still missed the dead. ' Never mind,' lie said quite tenderly, and laid his big hand on Rob Roy's glossy neck, to show sympathy for his niistn><. ' We'll have as jolly a time as we ever had in our lives when you come over to Murray shaugh.' Sheila nodded, and they rode through Amulree in silence; a handsome, well-matched pair, as more than one said who saw them go by. It was a lovely evening, the close of a perfect Angnst day. The moors were purpling for the Twelfth, and evc;n or tliese high lands there was a yellow tinge on the standing corn, wlmh promised an early harvest. As they cantered up tlie shipe ov the Keeper's Wood, and swept round to the brow of Ballinreic li Brae, the whole strath opened out before them a vision ot'beaiiiy. with the green meadows and golden fields on either side of the river sloping up to the heather hills, wliich hemmed it in. The atmosphere was gloriously clear, and there vvas not even a haze of heat to obscure the view, and they could see, beyond the gieeii stretches of the Athole woods, the dark face of CraigyliaruN with its fir-crowned crest seeming to touch the pearly el aids. ' ('oiifess no. V, Sheila, Strathbraan is far bonnier than (ileii- quaich,' said Aiastair teasingly ; but Sheila shook her head. 'It is pretty looking down, and CraigyDarns and Birnam Hill are line, but there is no loch, and the hills don't seem so majt'stic as ours. 'You adore Glenquaich, Sheila. I think it a heatlienish s.rr of place, though Fergus says there is good fishing m tlie hichs," COUSINS. ■:d s;iid Alastair. 'Oh, you go off here, do you? Well, doti'i c;itc]i scarlet fever or anything to prevent you conihig over, mind.' Sheila laughed, and held out her hand, which Ahjstair took witli :i flourish, and in fun raised it to liis li[)s. ' Danciiic: and deportment a la Francais, tauffht here,' lu- laughed. 'Good-bye. I never saw anybody so jolly as you, Sheila.' ' You are very jolly too, when you are not stupid,' said Sheila, Avilh her sweetest smile, for she really liked Alastair, who liml ahvays been kind to her at ^furrayshaugh. So they parted, and Sheila rode slowly up the side of a harlev field to the elachan of Ballinreieh. and, lea\injT h ■y er pony 111 charge of a village ui'chin, entered th<' house where the cliildren were sick. SonieV)ody watched all her movements with an interest of which she was (piite unconscious. Fergus was strolling up General Wade's old road behind the Keeper's Wood, and i'rom the hill had seen the riders (,n ihe I'oad, had heard their merry laughter, and oljserved the aj)j)ai'ent tenderness of their parting, lie Avas still in a restless, moody, irntable state (tf mind, inclined to be at war with himself and all the world, and when he saw Sheila and Alastair apparently so thoroughly tisfied with each other, it gave him a kind (jf grim ple;isure. sa Nobody cared thtiu'dit. Of an yth 1, SI ung; tor nun ; even Mieila never jiave inni a Alast; had to do th course, and he would win, being one of the luckiest fellows in tin; world. After Sheila went up to Ballinreieh, he threw himself in the heather, ; nd started the gr(juse, who flew up with a Avhirr and a croak of al;irn). Curiously enough, he had chosen a s()Ot from \s Inch he could have unobserved a full view of the elachan, and could see Sheila when she came out of the house. When she did so, and mounted her pony, \\o picked himself up rather quickly, for, instead of turning back the way she had come, she came slowly riding up the old road, and would see him whicli- cvcr way he liked to turn. '1 hey had never met since that re- markable night after Macdonald's burying, though they had thought a great deal more about each other than either knew. Sheila had not come far up the old road when she saw Fergus on r .1 I:!!!'!' 1 ' 1 iff' 1 .liilJ KSil 1! ; 1 1; 1 it i \\' •i ■ 256 SHEILA. tlic liill, and he noticed her give a start, and pnll np her pnny as if h(! had stnnibk'd on a stone. He came slowly o\ cr the hi'atlier to the road, and lifted his cap when he was -.viiliin a lew yards of her. ' (lond-eveniiig, Miss Murray Macdonald,' he said, nf)f knowing wliat evil thing prompted him to call her by licr formal name. She flushed all over, and then became quite pale liut she drew herself up in her saddle, and, instead of extending her hand, she m'-rely acknowledged him by a distant little bon-, Slicila showed very clearly that there was more of the woman than the child about her now. His greeting had hurt her sliar|)ly, but her pride canie to the rescue. * Arc you not afraid to trust yoiir pony on these abominable hill paths?' Fergus asked, as he walked by her side. ' I\ob Roy is very sure-footed,' Sheila answered stiffly, still holding herself very straiglit, her sweet face white and cold- looking. But there was a blinding mist before her eyes, and she was obliged to keep her lashe?; down to hide it. 'I saw Murr.iy up. He didn't think it wor'h his while to call, at Shonnen, though he and I are supposed to be friendly,' said Fergus, with bitterness. ' It was my blame, perhaps : — he brought me a message from Aunt Ailsa, and I offered to ridn as far as Ballinreich with Iniii,' said Sheila (piietly ; but Fergus only gave a grunt. Shcili looked at him in sheer amnzement. ^\'hat had come over him V She liad thouglit when she saw him, what a delightfid t;dk they miglit have over old times, and what a pleasiu'e it would be ti) tell liim all she was doing and planning for Glenqu;dch. She eonld n it help thiid'ciiig, girl-like, in the midst of her distres^eil perplexity, what a h;ind on in perfect silence until they left the hill path and were out on the road again. 'J'hen Fergus stopped. ' Good bye, tluii,' he said, standing still, and Hfting his deliant eyes t > Sheila's sweet face. He hated himself, he hfited hef, he hateil all tlie wnrld at that moment, poor fellow ! Life seemed so haril ; it held nothing for him but vexations and dis- COUS/NS. 257 licr pony o\ cr the 5 witliin it said, not r by her [iiite pale, extending ittle bon-. le woman hurt her )ominabl(3 iffly, still ind cold- her eyos, while to friendly,' sage from vith him,' Sheila ver him ? tidk they iild be ti) ch. Siie (list rested i grown, ly's braw liill path fting his h(^ liated w ! Life s and dis- appointment and despair. He thonght tlie very per>p1(^ in ij' ■ (deii liad turned against him, and that they hail uiv(>n their whole hive and alh'gianee ti) Sheila; and yet, as he li oke 1 at th sweet, dear young face bent U[)(>ii him so an>i'iusly, and e e ini])h»iingly, he h-nged to ask lier to forgi\ehiui, even to ' iiLrain to him the Sheila of old. To his distorted irn igin io she seemed changed ; in reality, the cliange was ulmlly w" him. 'I hope I shall see you again. Fergns,' she said, and oiler her hand ; but he did not take it. 'No, you won't; I'm going away,' he answered aim. .•^ rudely. ' Where to?' asked SheiLi, with startled eyes. ' Atiy where, — to the devil, perhaps,' was his extraordinary reply, and without another word he strode away. 1 1 1 J 1 1 1 y ' 1 ,f ft \\ III: ' I If Ti7?rti>iTiW[fr»i,,;^;,;;^;g ^/'■'^i^l CHAPTER XXIX. SCHEMING STILL. An' oh ! it was a goodly tree I socht to male' a biggin' o*. Old Sono. N the factor's hnsiness-room at Auchloy snt Ancriis M'Bean and his hopeful son, in the grey dtisk of ;in August evening. They were both smoking, and had grown a little confidential over their jjipcs. ' If it's true that Macleod is going to America,' said the factor, ' there's nothing in the way ; you have the ball at your feet.' 'And suppose I don't want to kick it?' said young Angus, as he blew the smoke-wreaths gr;icefully over his red head, ami turned his sallow countenance towards his father. ' Oh, but you ■will kick it, utdess you are a perfect fool,' s.iid tlic factor, assistin;i; himself to a nionthful of wliiskv and wiUrv. I CD t/ ' It's not a position to be despised. Uidess you're a pcTlVft fool, as I said, you'd rather be a laird thnn a factor.' 'That's quite true; but it strikes me the ball would no<'dd wife were dead I'd fix liiin up.' 'You can't,' said PtuUVm' serenely; 'because Sheila lias taken them up. Look what she's done for them this sunnner J Iready.' 'True enougli, she has done a lot. If old Macfarlane liad been any tiling but a gomeril, I would have had tlie wlu'le tiling done, and the estalf; in splendid W(»rking order, \^\\\\\ does a minister know about business? Siie just winds Iiim round her little finger. I whiles wonder, Angus, whether the Laird had any iidding how things would turn out, and whether he did it all to torment me. It was a queer will, wasn't it?' ' It did for IMacleod, anyway, the insufferable prig ! ' said Angus savagely. There was not much love lost between him and Fergus Macleod. 'I won't believe he's off to America, till I hear he has arrived there.' * I hope he'll go. He might stand in your way,' said the factor cautiously. ' lie Avould if he could, but he never goes near Dalmore.' ' No; there's a dryness, thank goodness! between Slionnen and DaliiKjre. Ft-rgus Machiod's wife, whoever she may be, will have an ill time of it with his m ther.' ' I'm mair frightened for the Mvrrrays, I confess, than Fergus I'r liis mother,' continued the factor, after another sij) at his lunilder. 'They'll look sharply afti^r their niece, I'm thinking. 1 saw young ^lurray up not long ago. If they muke a match of it, we're done for, lad.' ' They won't, if I can help it. I'll make myself sweet to Miss Sheila, first ciiance I get,' said Puddin', as he pushed back his chair, and gave his fine collar a pull up. 'Anything to kill the time ; it's a dull hole this for a fellow.' SCHEMING STILL. 261 f" anrl in ilcMl jllst his 1)1 i\v. a-iiii with licvricil," <'i'y siiilit loila liiis suniiiicr lane iiad . What nds him Avhctlicr out, and .eer will, g ! ' said v^eon him L'rica, till said tlu' ore.' men and be, will n Fcrpfiis p at liis tliinkiii,^'. a match t to ^liss back his ) kill the ' Why don't you shoot and fish, like other young men V ' ;i>k('d his fatliiT. 'Too much of a bore, and deuced hard work besides,' said AiiLiiis, with a yawn. ' I'll away JUid take a stroll up to the Faidd, and see if I can fall in with Malcolm Menzics ; it is LiiMid i'un to raise his birse, ami it needs mighty little rai>iiiL: xiiiu'timcs. The fellow's more than half mad. lie should be (Imwu at Murthly. 1 must tell him that.' • Yt)ii'd better not go too far with him. lie had a graip up at me the other ilay. \\'hen the passion's on him, he does not caiv Avhat he does.' ' I'm not afraid of him,' said Angus, as he slouched indideiitly out of the room. The factor was (lisapj)ointed in his son, who iiad not turned out th(? smart lad he had lK»[)ed and expected him to l»e. Not but that he was smart and dandified enough in his appearance, and his tailor's bdls were lieavier than his (dass fees, hut he had imt as yet disjdayed any brilliance of inttdhu-t, or even an ordinary business c.ipaeity. So to marry him to Slicila Macdonald was the present dream of tlie ambitious factor's days. The two girls at Auchloy were iniseral'h; when their .imiable hiMtlu-r was at home, and there were (piarrtdlings in tii ■ house t'ldin morning till nigiit. lie was always jil)ing and jeering at them, and playing all sorts of unmaidy tricks upon them. Peer Mrs. M'Bean was sondy exercised by her grown-up family, and thought regret fidly of the days when they were bairns at lur knee, — thc^y hardly repaid her now for the toil of that eaiiy lime. l*u hlin' lounged out of the house with a Tam o' Slianter stuck oil the back (.f his red head, an no' in, so ye needna fasli comin' further. An' if she wad due mv biddin', she wadna speak to ye though she were in. Ye fdiiic ()' an ill kind.* ' Yes; b, \ I'; ,,tj improvement on the old stock, Jenny,' ^;iiii Angus slyl_^ , ;., In put his head round the door. 'Till im where Katie 1-, :iite ,( ";ood old soul!' 'No, I witina. If r/iu needs a convoy Malky can gang fnr her. If he heard ye speerin' for her he'd break yer b;uk for ye.' 'There would be Iwo at that, Jenny,' said Puddin', in his bragging way. ' So she's out of the chichan, that she needs a convoy? Ye've let the cat out of the bag already.' 'Have I? I didna say east or wast,' said the old woman slirewdly. ' Awa ye go; ye are ower like yer faither to be a bonnie sicht.' ' You ought to be glad of my comp:iny when they're all out.' said Puddin', edging a little further in. ' Don't you weaiy lying theie?' ' Weary ? Od ay ; but what's that to them ? I'll no' be 1mii,!X noo. I telt Katie the day that she widna be lang or she'd line auither eirand to Shian. I'll no' see the winter.' ' No fear of you ! you're as lively as ever, Jenny,' said x\np;us, with a quiet chuckle, for she had unwittingly let out that Katii' was away to Shian. ' Well, I won't bide to bother you. Tell Malcolm I was asking for him.' And, with a grin, Puddin' took himself off. He went down to the loch side, and stood for a moment debating which way to go, but probably Katie would come home by Garrows, for the old road on the other side of the loch led through a lonely wood, which would he rather gruesome after nightfall. He had just decided to take the Garrows road when he saw Malcil n coming over the bridge from Kiidoch, and stopped to have a word witli him. He took a curious delight in aggravating pour Malcolm, who seemed to grow more moody and strange every SCHEMING STILL, 263 cereniotiv, day. Even Rob, his faitliful triciul and .syniputlii/iicr, somctinu's t'eiirod Ww lad was goini? ('lean out of his senses. 'Fine night, Sir Mah-oliii,' .siid Aiiuus bantiviuMfly, ilie nionicut he was witliin hcariiii:-. 'Looking over your cxitu^ivc policies, eh? Many pheasants on your moors, eh? W'tnild yiiu give me a .shot for the First?' ' ^hlybe I will, I'uddiu' M'I>ean,' said Malcolm, with a strange, slow .smile; and lu' li.xed hi.s gleaming eyes, witli a curiou.s, furtive look, on the other's fac(.'. 'A thousand thanks, but I should not dure to intrude myselt on Sir Malcolm and his distinguished 0(>mp:iny of friends,' said Puddin', laughing at his own })()or attem[)t at wif ' lint you've got round the .soft side of Miss Murray Macdonae,!. "ly ! \\ liat a tine ste.iding you are getting! What if yoi sft match to it some night when you are in one of yonr ta Uiis?' 'Ay, what if I did that, I'h ? It would be , 1) mnie lowe,' said Malcolm (juietly; but his clenched ha> ^s were hegiiming to tremble, and the anucr was rising'' within 1. in. ' You'd find yourself in Perth Penitentiary, or maybe in Murthly Asylum, if you tried anythirig of the kind; but m ivbe there are worse places than Murthly lor the like of you,' > ini Angus, with a cruel, sneering smile. Instantly the blood riishe*! to Malcolm's face, and, with a nuittered exclamation, he stooped down and picked up a huge stone to hurl at his tormentor. But Angus was too quick for him, and, with a liglit I lUgh, he dodged round the end of the lu)use, and cut across the burn, and out to the road. Malcolm, still muttering, and with his iace convulsively working, followed more slowly, but wlu'U he got round the corner Angus was out of sight. P(>or Malcolm Monzies ! 'I he slruLiulino; gleams of intellect, which Rob ^lacnaughton had hoped woulJ grow brighter and cle.irer, until manhood and \\\(\ full knowledge of his own inherent power would finally dispcnvse the dark cloud which seemed to ohscure the lad's mind, were becoming dim and far between, Manhood brouglit no joy to the poor half-wit. no glorious sense of mental or phy>ic;d strength. It seemed rather to cast a deeper shadow on his heart. Even the Fauld folks somewhat feared him at times, and bade the bairns sLeer clear I I « ' .1 t , ;J 111 '* I 2>4 SI/J IL.U t) liini. P()f)r M li'olin ! lie wnulil ;is sffn lia\c hnrnn d a clilM ;is (I (' of his own lainl)s, wlio knew his very voire jiiul step, Ka:i(' was tlic only one who coiikl nuniiige liim riglilly, and he w I'i'shipped lier. iriif liad tlie poet's soul, ns Rob h:id so often held, it Imd ni'vi'i" f >und a voice, lie liad grown tired of hooks, and even the iMi(h' music of the (Jaelic had lost its charm. I'lit wlio Mild I tell what mystic music the lad's soul felt and resjjotidcil til out among tin* mountain solitudes, where the r j)ple of tin- icirn or the shr 11 call of the curlew were the only au(hlili' s iKids? He loved these wilds, and avoich'd mf)re thnn ever ilie haunts and presence of men. Even his kind old trieml the stoeking-weaver saw him hut seldom. \\"\\\\ his li.uids thrust into his trousers pockets, he looked into the house. ' \\ here's Katie? ' he asked his aunt. 'Oh, ye ken, ower to speer for 'lam Burns at "Wester Shian. Tlii're was a lad speerin' for her enow, and that'll be meanin' to pie her a convny.' ' Puddiu' M'Hean?' asked Malcolm angrily. ' M.iybe, an' maybe no'; an' if it was, can the lassie no' hac a lid without you at her heels, Malcolm Menzies? Ye are a lioiinie lad to tie yer sister up like that.' ' Did ye tell him Katie was at f'^hian?' 'Maylie I did, an' mayhe I didua. Come in an' shut the door, an' |iit on some ])eats. Fin star\iu' lyin' here.' l)Ut Malcolm paid no heed. The very thought that Puddiu' Md'ean shadd dare to go to meet Katie filled him with a l>urning indignation, and in a few minutes he was walking wi'h long str des away west from the Fauld. CHAPTER XXX. LOVES YOUNG DHEAM. iieamn to Tlie morlo said, Love is cause of Imnnur nye, Love iiiakeis cuwaids iiiuiiiiuod to piiivliiisL' William DrxBAR. BOUT half-wny botwoen Aiichlny and tlic bridfre at Shian Angus M'liean nu't Knlic. IL^ liciirtl her, before he saw lior, crooiiinyr a lovo-soiiir to herself, as sh c came swit ay on, not in tlie least timid tlioiigli it was (lark, but anxions to be lionie for lier aunl's sake. Katie might be thougiith'ss at times, but she liad a warm, kind heart. She had on lii-r Sunday gown, a fine; brow n 11 lerino, made witli a liiU skirt and a pointed Ijodice, cut open at tiie neck, wliere 1 ly tlie wliite fohis of the ki-rchiel" Katie Wire with such sweetness and grace. Ihr liat was ovi r lier .'U'lii, and the night wnid was pLi\ ing at will witli her boiuTu: li lir, and her fair clieek was flushed witjj the liealthful exercise of her cjnick, steady walk. K;itie had grown a little vain of lite, for folks were aye telling her how bonnie she Wiis, and, l>"or 1 issie ! she had no gentle mother to warn her not to l;;y Mich fl.ittery to herrt. But with all her little airs and conceits 1' WIS wlieil\ WMisomc and loveahie 1 1. d.h anc; 1 A nirus MI )eaii, tilt; I'act r's son, hid begun to think more seriously about lur tlian lie had ever thought about anybody in his life. And Katie? StSfi '*!} I < II ! H: ■f ' 't. 'i ■ 1 ll ■ 1 I. i ■ 266 SHEILA. Had the yours nu-llowod her old aversion to the Lid wlm had tiiniicntcd her iit si-hool, iitid fven yot lost no opportunity (if ii'isinu^ licr i)roth('r, who liad no ready toniy sni(/oth, and h-t down her skirt, whicli slu' had gathered aliniii her waist to save it fruin i!u' dusty road. Tliere was a (h-nnuc, unconscious lnok in iier sweet face, and she even inana^n-d Id give a litth' start of surj)rise when Angus M'liean stopjx-d in front of lier, thougli siie had recogniseti his foot a humlrid yards away. 'Oh, Mr. Aligns!' she said, being much mor(! civil to liiiii liian Malcolm ever was, ' what are ye doing here?' 'What could I l)e doing except coming to meet you?' In- said gallantly. ' Why didn't yon tell me last night that you were going to Shi.ui, and I would liave come all tlie way?' ' Oh, that would have been ower much, besides auntie wonld have heard,' said Katie shyly. ' How did ye find oot I was at Siiian?' ' Your aunt told me,' said Puddin ' unblushingly. * She knows I li-ive come to meet you, so there is no use being in suih a luirry. It's not often I have the chance to speak to you when there's nol)oily by.' • Were ye in the hoose ? ' asked Katie. ' Yes, ot' course ; when I want to see you, Katie, I don't care wlio knows,' said Angus, with gn-at emphasis. 'It's only you that IS ashamed to be seen with me.' 'I'm no' asliamed,' began Katie hastily. 'But' — Then slie stopped, and the sweet, hot colour flushed all Ikt face. 'But what?' asked Angus, bending his face eagerly down to hers. ' Dinna, Mr. Angus; ye ken what way,' said K=itic. in distress. ' Ye ken what folks wad say if I were to walk out wi' you, as ye are aye askin'.' LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 267 ' Novor mind tlicin, Kiitif; tlicy won't do half so much for ynii as I Would,' said Auf-Ms, drawiiijr her lialf'-uiiwilliii^ liaiid llll'OtI lih 1 us arm. II (' was ([uitc sincere ui w hat he SMHl II IS ntx Jmvc Inr Katie Meu/ies was the puri'st and most (lonest tVcli ilic I'aetnr's son had ever |u:iven house room in his sonu'wlmt ciiililv heart. Slie was so sweet ami jiure herselt', her iullueuce over him could not he for aiiytlnnfj; but {j^ood. • \a\ us s the nionr, instead of kitpiii.u' to ijie road,' he su.Lr;^'ested presently. 'I donht Maleohn will he cminj.^ to mec!t you, un Nvhv.' d he hates me, 1 don't km (W Katie shivered. ' Ay, he's like to kill me \vln'n ho sees nio speakin' to ye >ii(' Mall< manners wiien lie hkeil, though he did not treat his nnither or sisters to that side of his accomiilishments. But the pastime hcgim in ludiday-time was like to have a serious endin'ji' for ;ill concerned. Katie had begun to think about Anaus M'Bean 'ia\ and night. Whatever he might be tc others, he was always kind, teiidor, and considerate for her; then he was a gentl leman, Poor Katie ! these two words ' lady ' and ' gendemau ' were 4.:''",(' 268 SHEILA. I W\ m i •! !^ 1 i m llti !!'■ II !i words oi' PxngfTorated import to licr. Sho knew not! Idg^ of tlip ladyliood of ruiiid and lioart wliicli is iinlciciKh nr of ;ill outward circnnistMnces. Nor did slio dream ili.it liol) M.ic- nimglitoii, tlie stockiiig-wcavor, stood upon a pinnacle ol' gciitlcliood wliieli Angus M'lican, witli his town airs and most silly conceits, woidd never reach. 'What a slianie if Malky goes all the way to Shian ! ' said Katie, when they were away t'roni tlie road. 'Nevermind; it'll do him good,' said Angus (piiekly. 'Katie, I want you to write to mo when I go back to Kdinburgh.' ' W'lieii do ye gang'?' asketl Katie, in a low voice. 'In tliree weeks. What a short holiday this has seemed! 1 used to weary at Auchloy, but not this time.' 'Ilaeye no'?' asked Katie; and her heart was beating. Ini- slie knew quite well that lie meant she h :d kept iiim iVniu veirying, ' Is young Mr. Macleod gaun b ick too?' '1 don't know, and I don't care. Katie. Fergus Macleod and I don't get on. The fellow's a prig, and thinks it's a sin to have the least bit lark.' 'I aye thocht him very nice,' said Katie innocently. 'Div ye tliink him an' NTiss Sheila '11 l»e man an' v.iie yet?' '1 don't think it likely,' said An' us, a little conslrainedlv, for he suddenly rt'inembei-ed that he was siipposetl to be a suitor for Sheila's hand himself. But, with Katie's Inid cluigiiig to his arm, and her bonnie, sweet lace lnoking iqi shyly to his, lie did not seem to care a pin for Sheila or Imi- iiil:efit;iiK'e. What if love for this little country gii'l. wh'se j)ure he irt and sweet fice were her only dower, shoul I make a man oi' I'udtlin' after all? He was certainly at \\\> best with her. 'Some says she's to marry her cousin, yoimg Mr. Mtu'riy." said Katie, who seemed to take an absorbing interest in Slieila'^ set leinent in life, ' Is he a nice chap, Mr. Angus?' '.Nice enougli ; sot't a little,' said iVngus, in his off-hand w;i\. — not. of course, caring to tell Katie how persistently ami complerely Alastair Murray had ignored him in Ediidjnrgii. ' 1 sh nddn't care to marry Sheila Macdonald, Katie. Isn't she a bit of a tartar ? ' LOVE'S YOULG DREAM. 269 him I'mii, Mill rr 111(1 She's :in nn.trd, that's what I think, Mr. Annus,' said Katie [)ly. 'I never saw an)])()ily like her. I wisli I \va< rich an' like her, an' could ride abuot on u Imrsc, an' i)ii,ld u;i rfnlk.' * I'ci-haps you will some day, Katie.' Katie slioi'k her liead. 'There's little cliance. I'll ha(; to bid(» in the I'auld a" inv ys, likel\', k('ej)ing the hoosr an' milkiu' Miilkx's k\f.' 'Would v>>n hnive Malcolm it' 1 asked yon, KuticV' Katie shook from head to foot, and in the ele.ir hum iil uht lie iified lii'r (luestionitm' eves to her Io\cr's i'aee. iLci'i- 1 > »/ as a strange look on her t'ace — half" terror, half \vi i:di ring ly. It was the look of a woman seeking to !• as to ffive in return i'or her lo\''' and trust. An'-;ii> M-lMan •enow wi:ai ;i mill \v;is (juite ill earnest, and his eyes met Ka-tie's without llincl 1 1 n LI". Ih' meant no ill. It was an honest love he was olTering the u'irl at his side. He had h'arned enough evil, no douitt, ammig liis wild comrades in Edinburiih, but there was jji-ood lelt in him s tin. o"J 'Oh, Mr. Angus, what are ye sayin'? What do you mean':^' she asked almost pitcously. '^^'hat I say, Katie. Will a ou b(^ my bonnie wee wil'e some (lay, when I liave a homo to offer you ? ' A sob of gladness ])roke from Katie's lips, and she allowed iiim to fold hi'r to his heart, and to kiss her as a man ki-ses the weiiian of his choice Th lev wt •y re ah one in the \ast solitude ( f the moorland, with the locli gleaming whitely in the hojlnw and none to witness their betrothal but the stars that Ix'lnw, -«'(■ all and keet) silence ' I'ltt I'm no' fit,' whispered Katie at length, with all the linmilify of love. 'Ye might marry somebody far grander an' 'iiiin'r. ' Xobody will ever be grand<'r or bonnier than you to me, Katie/ said Ancus fondly. 'And I'll never niarrv anybody but vuu. You do like me, don't }'ou, Katit'?' 'Oh, I do! I do ! ' sobbed Katie: and Aiigu< ehi'^ped her cIdsc ag.dn, and strtiked her bonnie hair Vvdth a tender touch. He had never felt as he did just then. All that was best in W iilifc T ■- ? n' w i ■•*:; 1 f , ' ^ 1 1 a ' * ■ '. / , . 1 i : ■; ' y^ii . ■: ? h i ^: 1 -, ; 1 . .i': i .i i i' i .. I i: NIf 270 SHEILA. his nature rose to thv' surface, called f Ttli by the mystcrioiH iiiliueiioe of this young creature, \\\w gave him tlio ini]irKit trust of love. He even felt ashamed of iiis past life, of his idle dreaming, and frivolous, evil waste of g>lden opportiniity. and in a vague, uncertain kind of way made ;i vow for the tut me. He would live a different life henceforth for Katie's sake. ' Katie, you're far better than nie, hut I'll l)e better. Tvc wasted my time and behaved as I shouldna in Edinburgh, hut I'll be difTerent this winter, you'll s(h>,' he said manfully. If Katie had but known, she could have had no stronger prnni' of her lover's sincerity tlian that whispered coid'ession and jiromiM' of amendment. But she only looked u{) into his face and s:ii.l, with all lier loving heart in her eyes, — 'I dinna, want ye to be ony better, for fear ye dinna hkc me. 'But what'll they say at Auchloy ? ' asked Katie, wiili a slight cloud on her brow, when, after a long lingering, they went on again toAvards the light in the Fauhl. 'My mother Avill be delighted, I know,' said Angus at once. ' But, Katie, you'll need to leave it all to me. I'll make evcrv- thing right. We'll need to keep it quiet for a little, you mu^t mind, w ill you, Katie ? ' 'Oil, no' me; I'll hand my tongue for ever if yoti like,' ■<\\\A Katie. 'I'll be feared, ony way, for Malky kennin'. Hell he in an awfu' r;ige.' ' Katie, I'm afraid I haven't treated Malcolm very well. This very night I was teasing him. I won't do it again. Tin a honid fellow, not half good enough for you.' ' Oh, dinna say that again!' phaded Katie. ' Ai\' Malkv's awfu trick v.' ' Ay ; but I try to anger him,' said Angus, whose very nature seemed to have undergone a change \\\ the la-t hour. ' I'll try a. different plan with him. Maybe we'll win him to our side .\nyway, you'll stick to me, won't you, Katie?' 'Ay,' said Katie, in a whisper; but there was a world of confident resolve in that monosyllabic answer. Angus Mdji ;iii felt like a difTerent man. He could not believe that a siiiiplc declaration of love given and received could have wrought such :ik tU lJ'1,1:! LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM, 271 \n' Malkv's o our Mill'. a clinnge. He had begun to pay attention to bonnie Katie >r('ii/i('S more tlian a year before, to help to pass tlie lioIi(lii\^, a lime wliieli liiins; so heavy on his liaiuls at Auchloy ; .iml even at the beginning of this hohday, wlien he had Ix'en !«tnick ;iiu'\v by her winsome grace, he liad liad no idea of ihi-. Fii.m jest to earnest it had verily been with liim, but it \v.,> ,1 lieautifiil earnest, which was to bear fruit in liis life. In sjiiie of her littl(! weaknesses, Katie was a true woman at heart, and was not found wanting when a crisis came. ' I'll go back to Edinburgli and work like blazes this winter,' said Angus cheeiily, as they walked (»n hand in hand, but vt-iy slowly, it must be confessed. ' What are ye learnin' at the college?' Katie asked. ' Faith, I haven't leartit much yet,' Angus icplied. ' I'm suppiised to be learning to be a factor, '{'here's the law classes, you know, I should attend. And then I have so nian\' hours in the VV.S.'s olfice in Castle Street. But I've been awfully idle.' 'And when ye are done wi' the college, will ye be like Mr. M'Bean at Auchlo) ?' 'iSomething like it, Katie. I hope I'll be able to give \(»u as good a house. What grand times we'll have, won't we?' 'Splendid!' answered Katie; but there was a vague feeling of ap[)rehension haunting her even in the mid>t oi her lia[)piness. She did not know what it was, but a little cloud seemed suddenly to have arisen on the horizon and obscured its brightness. ' You'll not weary, though it should l)e a long time, Katie ? and you'll write often, and so will I; and I'll be b;ick at New Year.' 'But ye aremi goin' away for tliree weeks yet?' 'No, that's quite tnu', but I was oidy mentioning it. Is this the Fauld already? What a short walk it has been !' 'i d(Jot it's Lite, for the smiddy lichl's oot, — and see, so is Uoh Macnaughton's ! What o'clock is't ? ' 'Ten miiuites past ten! Impossible! My watch must be wrong!' exclaimed Angus, who could not believ > that two h"urs had passed since he niet Katie just below Auchlo}-, not two miles Irom the Fauld. •iff;. 272 SHEILA. ^ % h. ' No, it's riclit ; I'll catch it,' said Katie. ' Guid-niclit ; dinna keep me anitlicr ineenit.' ' [>ot inc come in and explain matters to tliem, and take the scoMinjf,' said Angus anxiously. M) no, that wad be far vvaur; Malky would be terrible mad. Giiid riiclit ; ' and, scarcely ])eriiiittin'j a last kiss, Katie bounded lliroiigh the clachan and into the house. Her aunt seenie-i to be asleep, l)ut M ilcolin was sitting by the fire, feeding it with peats, and wearing a very dark scowl on his face. 'A bonnic time o' niclit this!' he said, looking up at Katie. * Are ye no' feared to stravaig the roads in the ni.;lit time yi-rsel''? ' ' No' me. Is auntie sleepin' ? ' asked Katie, glad to get off so easily. 'Katie Menzies,' said Malcolm, rising, his two big nx.-'anclioly eyes j/lowing bke live coal, 'if ye gang oot the hills wi' Angus M'Beuu again, ill kill baith him an' you I* i^5<^ TfPl' '^^^^ I- CHAPTER XXXI. IN BITTEllNESS OF SOUL. Somo natural toars they dropped, but wiped them soon; The world was all before them. Milton. ^v||>ypOU liad better get your books looked out, Fergus; Vmd I have cfot all tlie rest of your thiiiiz.s r(^:i(l\' ' siud Ellen M.icleod to her son, after their early liinner on the List day o*' Se})tend)er. Ferii'iis rus(; to his fiM't, and pushed back ids chair. The question which liad been in abey.int e all the holidays nnist be answered now. 'Then I am to go back to the university, am I?' he asked. M)f coiu'se. Isn't that latlicr a superlluous 'uestiun?' she an to please you.' 'And if you w^n't be a, minister, what, pray, a-^e you going Id do?' she a^kcd, wiih a slight sneer. She ) ated to have iier !>' \\> set a>iilo. Sinc(! Fergus could not b( Laird of Dahnoro, 1 le iu;\t best thing tor him was to f ill iw in Ids ^athei''s foot- s e])s. Tne best fanulies in tne country weie pnmd to have s iiiN i:i t .e Church. ' 1 I Id V ni ;ilriMdv, mother, what I would like,' said Fergus, wiih sumeining of entreaty in ids voice. 'L •" me go away to 't.v 274 SHEILA. It .!l I ' 1 1 ■ i ■■ t ■ 1 \ 1 1 hi'' : ; I ■; ' ' 1 I,: t ! I' IJ 111 America, to sci; for myself wliat tlie n(3W ■world is like; nn'l jx'r'iiiijK,' lie ;ul(]eil, \viili a slightly melancholy smile, 'I shall c iini' l);iek a lictter lioy.' 'FefLTiis. I know nor what I have doiu? that I should have siich an uiidutil'ul son,' said Klleu Macleod, with u touch of |)assi()n. ' l'<'yi 1 have j)hinned, and scliemed, and even siniicd tor VDU. I iiave exposed myself to insult and injury, in mv eiide.-ivour to secure your riglits ior you. \N'here is ymir Lii'atitude y Now that DahnoK; is out of your reach, you oii'jlit til he thaidcfid that such an honourable and gentlemanly calliiii is lipcu to you/ ' I'm not denying tl:at it is a good profession,' said Fei'giiN ;i little sidlcnly. 'I'm only saying I'm not fir for it. Mother. I sliould be a curse to the Church instead of u blessing to it, as ;i minister slxaild be,' ' Vou are only a foolish boy, who doesn't know wliat he i< talking about.' his mother retorted cpiiekly. ' \\'hen you ar(> a year or two older, you will discover that I acted for your go' d Why, Fergus, a minister is on ecpial fbotitfg with the highest in the land He sits down at the most exclusive tables in tlic county. Just look at your own father. He was of no fhiiiily. vet I married him. The Church levels all distinctiiins ; audyuii ought to be thankful, I say, that it is open to yon.' ' lint, mother, that isn't the ])oint. 1 know all you say is true, but / don't want to wear a black coat and sit down at the exclusive tables in the county,' said Fergus hotly. 'I'm not lit I'oi- any of it. Fd ratluu' take a shepherd's place any day, a^ I sail! b(dbre, than be a miiuster.' Fd'en "vTacleod did not speak for a moment. She was viiy a'lgi ■,•. .ii;>l '. ;'ry determined, too. But she saw determinaiioii as. stfi ng wrii^Mi on her son's brov/, and began to realize that shti I ."d i-;;) Vin.^^r a child to deal with, but a man who claiiin'il a man's ri.;ii;s to decide his oW!i course in life. Fergus \va< now in ; twiMuieth year, and Inoked even ob^ His tall. n)!(scular l-iure was ilrmlv set: his fice had los; fhe hnvi>li ii> ik. He as a iiandsome, stal\.;n't, manl\' fellow-, who diil ii't lack ('ecision of characti )• or (h'tcrmination. l>iit it is nut easy 10 set a det(!rmined will against a moth(;r ; and Fergus had liceii IN BITTERNESS OF SOUL. ^IS so long under complete rule that he had a hesitation in chiiniing Ills own riglit of choice. But, whatever should he the result, tl;-.' hi'-l's mind was absolutely fixed on the Church (juestion. He knew that to hind hitn down by such trammels, and to lay upon his shoulders grave responsibilities, which only the grace of God can lighten, would be simply to ruin his life. He was not without foresight and shrewdness, and he had seen and knew of many melancholy examples, both of ' stickit ministers,* jiii'l of those who, though in full charge, W(;re not only useless, but who, by their inefficiency and unfitness, brought discredit on the Church. He would not add another name to that int'laiicholy roll. Wliatever his way of life, he would not make a failure of it. And all his tastes and inclinations and pursuits, though perfectly healthful and noble in themselves, were not of a kind which would sanctify the sacred calling of a minister. ' You had better look out your books,' said Ellen Macleod ([uite calmly, just as if the whole thing had been amicably settled. 'Isn't it upon Tuesday morning you will need to go? and this is Saturday. There is no use having a bustle and confMsion at the end.' Fergus bit his lip. Undutiful, angry words rose to his lips. Had he been less noble and self-denying he would have had no sciuple in uttering them. Possibly they might have done L^ood. I believe there are occasions and circimistances in uhich filial obedience ceases to be a duty. But Fergus did hold his peace, though the effort was tremendous. He picked up his cap and ran out of the house, feeling at that moment that nothing but the fresh wind of heaven would give him relief It was a fine, mild autumn day. There was little sunshine, but a kind of subdued brightness seemed to pervade the soft light clouds in the sky. The air was perfectly motion- less and still ; every sound in the far distance sounded clearly iind distinctly, as if it were just at hand. The bleating of a ■>\u•v\^ up on the very pinnacle of Craig Hidich sounded so close to Fergus, that involuntarily be started and looked round. llie sunmier was over. The bloom was fading on the heather, and there were no fresh buds on the wild fl< wers by the vvay- ti ill I. 276 SHEILA. Hit 1 i \ M^ ■ V ij ^ ^ '^-'^ ) ; 1 i side. The summer had been early, winter would be early t' 0. Most of the sportsriH'U had left Stralhbraan and Glcnquaidi, and the remaining grouse possessed tlie heather in pence, Fergus noticed all tln-e litth; things wliich went to ni;ike nj) the .suni of a quiet day among tiie ijills. He even looked at the dappled clouds moving eastward, and wondered how iotei it would be before rain came. Tlie corn was all in stooks on tlie crofts, but in these low-lying fndds, exposed to tiie wet iVdiii the loch, it took long to winnow. Farming in Glenquaich was certaiidy a trial of patience and faith, II(^ walked on almost uncnscionsly l)y the rough, stony ro;id to Kinloch, and through the clachan, quickening his step a little, not wishing to s[)eak with any of the folks. Theie were lew but bairns and old folk about, indeed, for all the able liaii'ls were in the harvest-field. 'J'he road which led to Shian. l>v the loch-side, cat tlirough a bonnie birch Avood for about lialt' a mile, — a picturesque walk indeed, for the loch lay i)elow, gleaming whitelv throuirh the drooi)ing l)ranches. Rowans Were hanging in ripe red clusters, and even the V)ramljie was taking on its richer purj)le hue. It was the birds' harvest as well as the harvest of the cottars in GleiKpiidch. Fergus walked leisurely, with his hands in his pockets; but he t'jok long, swinging strides, and, without any plan or effurt, he seemed to come quite near to Shian shortly after he lelt the Lo(^ge. He took iq) over the fields behind the old house of Shiat^, and came down on the kirkyard by a short cut. It was ins first vi-it to his uncle's grave. Before he vaulted the low wall, he saw at the opposite side a little carnage and two izrey ponies he recognised at once. Somebody from Dalmore was visiting the burying - ground ; and when he looked to 1I1" corner where the Macdonalds lav, he saw Sheila down on lier knees pMUiing fresh flowers on the turf. In a . i-nieiit he wa- over tlie wall, and had crossed to her siile. He forgot evei'v- thing l>ut that it was Sheila, and that the sorrow in her heart was a sorrow he could understand and share. The (!■ :id were dear to her as they were to him. It came upon him tin 11. quite suddenly, that Sheila, in spite of her great inheritance, was very forlorn. She had nobody in the wide woild she IN BITTERNESS OF SOUL. 1 1 could c.'ill liiT ov;n ; and tlion slie wns a gir! — one to wliom love and coriipaiiionsliip were like tlic ]>rc'atli c>\' lift', 'Slicihi,' lu' said, liis voice made very soft l)y the strotii: leclinir ot' his heart, 'how are you to-day?' Slit'ila started up, for she had not lieard him come, but sl,.> ]i;i(l a smile for him, and when they shook hands lie t'eh In i> trt'iiiWle. 'This is the first time I have been,' she said simply, as slic d to place a bunch of late roses at the head. ' llcw strau'je to see you here ! Do you come sometimes? ' 'Never; this is the first time,' Fergus returned. 'Slu-ila. I was a brute to you last time I saw you. Forgive me for it.' '() yes. I did not think about it in that way,' she said; and he knew she liad thought of it, but with what bitterness of lieart he little dreamed. Her mouth (juivered, and he saw her sliake from head to foot as she still bent over the grave. She was very desolate, ])0()r child ! It seemed to her at that moment that all she loved lay heneatli that green mound, and that there was very little worth having left in the world. ' Don't stand here, Sheila ; it is not good for you,' said I'ergus impulsively. 'Are you driving alone?' 'Yes; Miss Gordon would have come, but I thought I should like to be by myself ^^'ill you let me drive you home, Sheila?' 'Of course, Fergus; it will be delightful,' she answ( red : and lie saw a glad look steal into her eyes. After all, she u-(t.-< the same. He had oidy imagined a change in her. ' How (juiet it is liere; but oh, how lonely! AVhen it gets dark, and tin; wind iiii'aus through tliese trees, 1 should be afraid,' she added, with i sliL'.'it sliiver. li had done her no good to come. There is no comfort to the hungry heart of the living in viewing the last resting-place ; it seems to widen the distance between the loved avIio have gone within the veil. Such was Sheila's thought, unexpressed, hut telt deeply in her heart. Fergus felt perfectly happy as lie handed Sheila into the carriage, and, jum{)ing in beside her, tuok the reins. They had no thought of what the folks would 1 ' ' 1 1 i m m . 111. ;"i; ■I . . I'i In I' i » L IM : i ! -I 278 SHEILA. say ; and, I daresay, if they had thought of it, would only liave laufjhed. Were they not more like brother and sister than anything else? So Sliian folks were exercised that afternoon by tlie sjfrht of Miss Murray Macdonald's carriage crossing the Quaich Bridge driven by Fergus Macleod. 'You never come up to see me,' said Sheila, a little nii^ chievously, as tliey bowled smoothly along the road. 'What have you done with yourself all summer?' ' Lounged about, and done nothing. I did put up hay at Dalreoch one day, and I tell you I liked it. I'm thinkinj,' of •feeing with Mr. Stewart as shepherd, instead of going back to Edinburgh this winter.' ' Then you would live in the shepherd's house at Girron ; aini I should amuse myself at our drawing-room window watchiiii: you rescuing the sheep from the drifts, and falling into them yourself,' said Sheila, with a smile. Bur Fergus grew suddenly quite grave and silent. ' Sheila, I wi h you'd tell me what to do,' he said abruptly. ' What about, Fergus?' ' 1 can't make up my own mind. My mother insists that I must go back to college and finish the course. I want to go to Canada. I had a letter from Donald Macalpine. They arc getting on splendidly, iSheila, and never wishir,^ they were back.' ' Don't go to Canada, Fergus.' Sheila's sweet voice faltered, and a strange thrill shot to the young man's heart. What a strange, sw^jet thought it was, that anybody — especially Sheila — should wish him to stay for his own sake ! ' Well, but I can't be a minister, Sheila. I'd do some dreadful thing if I found myself in a pulpit with one of those fearsome black gowns on. And how could I make up sermons or say ])rayersV I'm not half good or reverent enough. I always think of the most idiotic things in church, somehow; so how could I be a minister?' ' Have you tried to tell your mother how you feel about it? Sheila asked, with a slight hesitation; for she had really never quite got rid of her childish fear of Ellen Macleod. 'I've tried,' Fergus answered gloomily, • but it's no use. She IN niTTERNESS OF SOUL 279 oiin't iindcrstiuitl, and I don't know wliat to do. Tt's not easy lor a tVllow to know what's his duty in this world, ^\'llat do think?' ■on ' Fcrjius, how can I tell? Perhaps — p('rhaj)S, I thiid<, you oiiLdit to obey your mother.' ' If I do, it will he the ruin of tne. I sliall never do an atom of pood in this world to myself or any other body. T be a stickit minister, Sheila, and bring disirrace on my t'v)lks.' ' Not you. Whatever you do, you won't stick ; and you know it,' slie said, with (juick confidence, which sent another waiin Ljlnw to Fergus's riven heart. 'Do you think your mother will not relent after a while?' ' I am sure she won't," Fer'jus answered gloomily. 'Oh, perhaps she will. In the nu^aiuinie, if 1 were you, I'd go back to E(linl)urgh and learn with all my might,' said Sheila cheerily. ' Here we are at Auchloy. Just look at the dining- ruom window, Fergus, and see liow many heads ther<; are.' 'One, two, three; and there's Puddin's beacon,' said Fergus, making a wry tace. ' Well, we've given them something to talk abi)Ut.' Sheila laughed too. ' You always call him " Puddin' " yet. What an atrocious name it is ! ' ' (rood enough for him.' 'Oh, why? He is rather amiabl(>, I think. He has been up at Dalmoi'e once or twice, and both Miss Gordon and I think liiui much improved. They say in the Fauld, Fergus, that he is courting Katie Menzies.' 'Katie Menzies? Never! He'd better take care. If he makes fun of Katie Pll be into him.' 'Why, Fergus, how very pugnacious you are! So you are Katie's champion? Well, I shouldn't like to be your rival.' said Sheila teasingly. 'Oh, conie now, Sheila. I'm not his rival at all, only I can't have him come making a fool of our village beauty. ^^ hy, if you knew the fellow as I know him, and the company he kei'p>,' said Fergus scathingly; 'he's not fit to speak to Katie Menzies, or to sit in th( drawing-room at Dalmorei' 1 i ' , 'M''' ! liWk: IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A 1.0 I.I ^ y£ 12.0 12.2 1-25 1 1.4 ,.6 ^ 6" ► V] ^1 /: x-v^ /A w Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 / f\ iV :\ \ [v ;^V^ 6^ ? ,<« ^ S^ o^ \im^ :H;! • i- ■i H I S r;f| ll i '4 t 280 SHEILA. " Vmi iire v<'ry Imrd on him — too hard, I tlii.ik. I am snic III' lias imprcfvcd,' said Sheila quietly; hut her eyes weie dcfjilv sliii l()\v((h Slie did not like this hard, hitter, iincharitahje siilc "f F. runs. She began to fear that years had not ini])r.>ved liim. Th'-y drive you,' he said, a trifle formally. 'Thank you for driving me,' Sheila answered, as she travc him her hand. 'Shall we see you at Dalmore before you g.. y ' ' I don't think so. I have not the same interest in the place now, It was a cruel speech, only from the lips, Fergus did n^t ktiow what always prompted him to hurt Sheila like that. She buried herself with the reins, and when they were stiaight >Iie took the ponii's' heads so shar[)ly th.it they gave a step backward. '1 coidd wish, Fergus Macleod, that I had never seen Dal- more,' she said ; and her eyes were bright and stedfast and cnM, and her voice clear and distinct as a bell. ' It is a burden upon me I am scarcely il>le to bear. Good-bye.' CHAPTER XXXTI. ALASTAIUS WOOING. Love sacrifices all tliiiifjs To bless the thiii'' it loves. E. B. Lytton. ,, i HE resiiit was, that Fergus wont back to Edinburgh on the 3id of October, and Ellen Miicleod imagined l«er victory complete. Looking forwaid, she saw a visi(.n which ])leasid her well, — her son established ill his father's parish of Meiklemore (the minister of which was now an old man), and herself installed once more as mistress of the manse. She would gladly quit Shonnen jiny day. She had nothing to bind her to the j)lace ; and Dahnore, which she could see so sjtlendiilly from the windows of the Lodge, was a constant eyesore to her. She was a cmsunim.'.tcly t-eltish woman. Her ])lanning was for her son, but it was alwavs to be pood tor Inis If likewise. She did not admit the possibility, even, that Feigns might desire to take a wite. His fiist duty, she consideied, was to in r. But F» rgus had not the remotest iiif«niion of becoming minister of Meiklemore or of anywhere els»\ lie was, for the time being, completely soured. Every hope and ambition blasted, the lad grew careless abiut every- thing. From idle h^'bits he drifted into questionable company. Had Ills mother known how that winter session was spent, she I ■ I 2il :■'■;, 282 SHEILA. ■' I ^ ' ■ ■! i ' 1 ■ I I M; J I ' , I would have regretted forcing his inclination. The we(klv hitter, so dutifully written when he first went to Edinburgli, liii;li erithusiasm, she had chilled by the narrow coldness of her creed. Tlie world was a mean, sordid place in the eyes of Ellci Macleod, — liuman nafiu" • a poor, empty, selfish thing; — and she had done her best to implant her ideas in the mind of her son. She liad tried to make him believe himself wronged and abused by others, but in vain. The lad wanted no heritage but his own grand dower of manly independence, perfect health, and nitble desire to cut out his own path in life. Poor fool! she would not even let him enjoy these, his heaven-born gilts. She fretted her own heart out for what was not hers, and tried to implant in him a similar weakening discontent. And wlu-n he turned upon her, and repaid her poor training with the indifference of a chilled and disappointed heart, she wrapped herself in the garb of self-righteousness, and esteemed herself a martyr. The whole world trampled upon her, even her own son, whom she had borne and reared. So the winter dragged itself wearily away. Ellen Macleod lived her dark, melancholy days at Shonnen, with nothing to break tlieir monotony, and Fergus — But I will not dwell upon this part of my hero's career. That blemished page wa> only laid bare to one, and then turned down for ever. Why. then, should we seek to pry into it? But I will say that. thou^di he was weak, erring, blameworthy, he avoided the grosser sins in which too many of his colleagues indulg'-d. At Christmas, Alastair Murray came home as usual, Angus M'Bean also, but there was no word from or of Firgus. Klhn Macleod passed two days of consuming anxiety, and then walked ALASTAIR'S WOOING. 283 over to Auchloy. She was a gaunt, haggard-looking woman, •rrown ohl before her time. She did not take life easily, and those who worry and fret themselves must carry with them the ontward seal of tin ir discontent. Her dark, penetrating eyt- gh'an)ed restlessly, lier brow was deeply lined, Ikt mouth marked by anxious, nervous- looking curves, which betrayed 111 r inner unrest. She was greatly to be pitied. There did not exist in the wide world a creature more utterly desulatc than she. She was shown into the smart drawing-room at Auchloy, and while she wait«Ml for Mrs. M'Bean, she looked contemptuously round the place, which was very showy, and niiieh decorated by the fair hands of Jane and Bessie. S|ifeimens of their skill in needlework and their artisiic ttiidiMtcies Avere visible everywhere. The j)aintings on the walls, signed by them, were productions of a fearful and wonder- ful kind. Mrs. Macleod was kept waiting (piite a quarter of an Imtir. it was eleven o'clock in tiie day, and Mrs. M'Bean was ^lill in her housewifely morning gown, and the young ladies in \\i;i])pers and curl-papers. Mrs. M'Bean, being without j)ride, wuuld have gone as she was into the drawing-room, but her (l.iugliters were horrified at the suggestion, and carried her up- ^lili^s to be dressed hastily. The consequence was that, after a time, Mrs. M'Bean, very hot and flustered-looking, and wearing ;i very still" black silk gown, quite out of place hi her own house iit that time of the day, at last managed to reach the presence lit' Mr>, Macleod. ' I'm sorry, I'm sure, to have kept you waiting so long, ma'am,' said she, the moment she was in the room, and to the lioiior of Miss Bessie, who was listening out>ide the door; 'but till' lassies woidd hae me to put on my best goon. I hope 1 M-e yt' weel. Mis. Macleod?' ' 1 am (juite well, thank you,' replied Mrs. Macleod, a little >'iilly. '1 must apologize for my early call. It was your son 1 a^kcd for. Is he not at home?' 'lie's at hame, but he's no' in the hoose,' responded Mrs. M liciin. ' 1 can send one of the hibsies to look for him, if ye likr.' • Oh, it doesn't matter. I can see him again, I daresay. I • 1 1 w 1 >u\ 284 SHEILA. \ I H ■I I V \% ! 1 !: only wantpfl to ask hirn about my son. I — I liave not hcinl f'loiM liini latt'ly, and I tlioiiglit An;^us might be able to tell inc sonx'tliinp; about liim.' Mrs. M'Bean — niotlierly, fcelini-lienrted woman — looked ;it tlie unhappy mistress of" Shonnen with genuine compassion. ' He's weel enouirh, onyway,' she said consolingly, 'tor I hear Aiiiius speaking aboot him. He saw him just aibre he left Edinburgh.' 'Did he? Did he say what he was doing?' inquired Ellen Macleod, with an eagerness .she could not repress. It cost her pride something to make these incpiiries, but fur the moment motherly anxiety was stronger than pride. ' 1 doot he's no' daein' just unco weel,' said Mrs. M'liean, with blunt candour. ' Oh, ma'am, speak to me as ye like ; I ken a' aboot it. My Angus gaed on the veia same way when he gaed to college first. The maister says a' young men maiui come to the end o' their tether.' ' Does Angus say my son is not behaving as he should, then ? " asked Ellen Macleod, with a sharp effort. ' Ay, weel, maybe he taks a drap whusky, or plays a game at the cairds, or gangs ot'tener than he should to thae ill places. the theatres, that if I were the Queen I'd stamp of!" the face o" the earth. They're the perfect ruination o' laddies and lassies, no' to speak o' aulder fules, that find the deil's pleasure in them,' said Mrs. M'Bean, with honest indignation. 'But dinna {\A\ yersel', Maisrer Fergus is a guid, guid lad at the bottom. He'll come to the husks quicker nor my laddie. I'm thaukfu' lie has clean picket himsel' up this winter, an' he's workin' \vi' a' his micht, an' liviu' as I wad hae him live. But I ken what you feel. Many a sleepless nicht hae I putten in aboot Angus M'Bean.' Ellen Macleod rose. Perhaps she had heard more than she wished or expected. She had very little to say. Mrs. M'Bean's homely-offered sympathy was irksome to her. She felt humili- ated that she should have called it forth. But her worst fears were realized. Fergus was foUowiug in the prodigal's footsteps in Edinburgh. What, then, was to be done ? She thanked the factor's wife somewhat stiffly for her infornia- ! I ALASTAIR'S WOOING. 285 tion, anrl took lior leave wlfliont so much as lookinp: at tlie two yout)<: Ia ^lle >li|»| »ii (ivu of tlie LMte of Aiieliloy, a caii'i;i<:(' caiiu? s\vee|iini: iiloiii: iIk' road from Sliiaii. It was o[)en, and in it sat Slicila. lof^kiii'.' lovely in lier warm winter attire, with tlie licli furs mnkinp a (l.iiiiiy Setting for lier sweet face. She flushed up at sipht ot Mrs. Macleod. The natural kindness of her heart proin})!!!! her to stop the. carriage and oflfer her a drive, hut it was ii> will she restrained herself. Ellen Macleod could not at that moment have given her a p]ea>ant answer. It increased her hiteiiiess to see the young misirtss of Dalniore looking si. hrivrlit and bonnie, riding in her own carriage, to which KMeti .Macleo(^ thought she had no right. Sheihi had been at thi LMiivevard with a wreath of Christmas roses. She was iioiny: ever that day to Murraysluiugh to spend her Christmas, and. wiih a tender, sensitive thought, wished to leave a reunm- lirance for those who would spend no more Chrislmases on earth. That afternoon, over a cosy cup of tea in Lady Aiba's boudoir, Sheila told of meeting Ellen Macleod. '1 am very sorry for her. Sheila,' said Lady Ailsa gently. ' Ahtstiiir says her son is not doing very well in Edinburgh.' 'In his classes, does he mean ?' asked Sheila, with her vy^s in ln'r tea-cup. 'No. He is not behaving himself. lie is drinkincr a little, and keeping company with a wild set. I am very sorry hn- l.iiu.' ' Aunt Ailsa, I don't believe a single word of it — not one ! ' cried Slieila indignantly, and her big eyes flashed fiie — 'not a single woi'd ! I don't believe Fer^-us Macleod -woidd djink 01 do hoi'rid things. lie has been frightfully ill-used by every h()dy, I think ; and 1 wish I knew how to make it uj) to him. And it's perfectly abominable of Alastair to tell such stoiits about his chum 1 ' Sheila had a temper of her own. Her aimt looked at her in amazement, which slowly melted away as a light dawned upon her. '■'!,.- f \ \ ;. jl . iijii I t. !i!f I I 286 SHEILA. ' Fergus lias a spirited champion, at any rate,' sho said, a liiilc dryly; for a hope she hjid formed for lier own son was suddenly (picnohed. ' Alustair had no object in telling a faUc- hood aljoiit, his clium, and my belief is that he has not told the worst. Whatever Alastair is, he is not spiteful. You arc not just, to your cousin, Sheila. But we will not allude to this vexed (piesiion again. What are you going to wear to-night, then ?' I don't know, and I don't care ! Aunt Ail-a, I am perfect! ; Miiserid)le ! ' cried Sheila, and there were real fears of pain ' 1 h.-r l)tight eyes now. ' If Fergus Macleod had been Laird >t Dalmore now, he would have been a good man. What use is it to me? It is just a burden on me, and nobody will take it from me.' ' Will they not ? There are plenty waiting for the chance, I can tell you,' said Aunt Ailsa comically, though she was truly sorry for her niece. 'More than one gentleman to-niL'iit would gladly take Dalmore, and its bonnie mistress to the bargain.' Sheila laughed. Her anger, flashing up in a moment, was gi.ne as speedily ; but Lady Ailsa saw that there was a sting left about Fergus Macleod. There was a dance for the yoini? folks at Murrayshaugh that night, — one of those quiit hut 'l(dightful entertainments for Avhich Lady Ailsa was famous. S'le made home home like and happy for her boys, and they simply adored her, and thought Murrayshaugh the dearest place in the world. It was a sight to see the little mother surrounded by her six tall sons; Roderick, the younge>t, was tit teen now, and only half a head less than Alastair. But wlien Sheila came, their allegiance was divided. Sheila was a prime I ivourite among all the boys, but poor Alastair had begun to iiiidc of her lately with something more than cousinly aftection. Sheila came down to the ball-room that night iu a white silk own, with the Macdonald tartan at her waist and t)n her sleeve'*, md a big bunch of white heather fastening her bodice, whioii \va> cut low, to reveal the white, stately contour of her tlu-oat. Her bright brown hair was coiled round her dainty head, and she looked like a young queen as she moved about, with a kitid A LAST AIR'S WOOING. 287 word nnd roarly smile for all Aunt Ailsu's guosts. Miiny atlniirinj: plauces followed Imt ; liut Slieila was siipreinelv im- coiiscioiis of licr own i)e\viKlering clianns, and so was whoUv ii iv-istib!e and winniiig. 'Slieili. if you don't danee tliis reel with me, I'll b" savaue,' siiid Alastair, when the dancing was about half over. 'You've been dancing with a lot of blessed lellows you've no right to speak to.' 'Dear me! Alastair Murray, I thought all Aunt Ailsa's guests would be gentlemen,' said Sheihi mischievously. 'Oh, well, I suppose they are. But, you know, I have some sort of a right to one dance, haven't 1 ?' 'Oh, I daresiiy. But I'm tired, Ala>tair, If you like to g.'t ine a shawl, I'll go out witii you till this reel is over.' Alastair departed in rai)ture, and brought her somebody's wrap from the cloak-room, a dainty cloak of Stuart tartan silk, lined with swan's-down, and fastened with two big silver buckles. ' 'I'hat isn't mine, Alastair, It's Alina Stuart's. See ! ' 'Never mind ; yoii won't hurt it. Come on, or the thing'll he over in a minute.' So Alastair took her on his arm, and led her out to the terrace, where it was cpiiet and delicious, for the night was wonderfully mild for December. It was like to be a preen Yule, though they had had several snow showers up at Aniulree. ' Sheila, nobody in there can hold a candle to you. We are all proud of you,' began Alastair, in his outspoken fashion. ' How can you speak such utter nonsense, Alastair .Murray '? ' ' It is not nonsense ; it's gospel,' said Alastair, too much in earnest to be particular about his words. ' I hope you won't go and take up with any of these fellows, and — and lOMrry them.' ' How many of them ? ' 'Oh, well, one, of course. But you needn't laugh at me. Sheila. I'm awfully fond of you. I don't supjiose, now, you r ^i' ' '■/ A 288 SHEILA. ' Mr ; 1 1 t i . ' ;!U cotild care anytliinp: for a big, rough clmp like rne, conlrl veil?' ' I do care a jinat deal for }ou, Alastair, said SIh-IIm, not tliiidsiiig, pciliiips, of tlie liiddt'ii lueatiing in lier cousin's winis. lltr licart — ay, and her thoufjhis — we:e in Edinltur^h wiili Firgus Miicit'od. Was slie now beginning to awaken to the |>:iin and yearning of her woinardiood ? Ahistair saw the prc- (»i'CM|)i('d h)ok. Tliere was nothing in ti»e frank, cousinly avowal to encourage liini ; nevcrtlieless he went bravely on. • You don't understand me, Sheila. I — I care about you in ;i tlilTerent way. I love you, Sluila.' M)li, Alastiiir, don't say such a dreadful thing!' cried Sheila, uitli crimson face, and hastily withdrawing her hand from iiis arm. • Ii isn't dreadful — at least to me,' said poor Alastair, qnitc ' uinl)ly. ' I'm in earnest, Sheila. Don't you think, after a uliile, you mijiht like me in that way?' ' Oh, nev*M ! it is quite impossible,' said Sheiln, quite ilreidcdiy. ' Don't let us be so foolish. We are cousins and eliMins, Alastair, and will never be an\ thing else. Don't look so miserable. You'll find you won't care anything to-morrow. You'll laUL'h at yoiirself.' 'Will 1?' Alastair pulled his yellow moustache rather >iiv;inely. 'That's the way you girls speak. You know nothing about a man's feelings, smd care less.' ' I do care, Alastair,' said Sheila softly ; and he saw she was \ e.Ned. ' Don't make that kind of face, Sheila. You make me feel that I aju a wrelcl). Come on in, and dance this reel with me. and I'll never speak of it again, — at least, for a long time. Doii'r, you hear them playing "Lady Anne Lindsay"? it's L!rand.' Sheila smiled, and put her hand on his arm again. ' Before we go in, Alastair,' she said, in a low voice, as they came near the open door, ' will you tell me if it is true that Fergus Macleod is not behaving himself in Edin- burgh ?' ALASr.JK'S WOOING. if9 about vou in 'Poor fclli'w! 1 it's Jivv fully down iti tlic rnfMitli, mtkI pcrluii «; lie h(in goDc a little ofY tlic sti;ii<.Hit ; liiit lu-'ll n- i»r do jiiiv- tliiiig vrry l);id,' s;iid AInstwir, with a manly kindiM'SS wliicli showed Ids fnie, lioiicst luMit. 'Don't V(x \ poor Ji'ssif Mackfii/ic, wliosj- xivicf at Slionnen was ratlu-r a trial for a girl who liaherd at (jlarrows, who was her ' hid,' but wlio was strictly forl)idden to come and set; her at Shonnen. Tlitir only chance of meeting was on Sumlay nights, as her mistress could not control her when she was out of the house, Ahout ten minutes to eight, both women w«re startled by a loud and continuous knocking at the door. Uoth sprang up, :iii(l ran out into the dimly-lighted hall, where they looked at each other in amazement, which was partly apprehension. Indeed, Jessie Mackenzie's teeth were chattering in her head, but Mrs. Macleod was neither a timid nor a nervous woman. 'Oh, ma'am, dinna open the door! It'll be tlie tinks,' jilcaded the girl tremV)Iingly, 'There was a great tribe o' tlieni cam' up the Sma* Glen the day, an' we hinna a num in the house.' ' Who's there ?' asked Mrs. Macleod, approaching the door, which, however, she did not uidock. ' It's me ; confound you ! can't you let me in ? ' said a thick, angry voice, which, however, she instantly recognised ; and in a tnoinent the door was flung open, and the son of the house, cdvored with snow from head to foot, came in. They did not notice anything peculiar in his gait or manner just at first. Jtssie, with whom he was a great favourite, ran for the carpet switch to sweep the snow from his coat and boots, but his nmtlier was almost speechless with amazement. 'Why in the world have you come home to-day, in a >tniiii like this, too?' she asked. 'How did you get up? ^\ litre have you come from?' ' From Edinburgh, of course,' he answered, quite rudely, in a manner so different from his own that his mother started. . f- ! ', 292 SHEILA. He threw liis wet coat and hat on the hall floor, and m.-irdicd into the dining-room, his snowy feet making wet marks on tlif carpet all the way. His mother noticed then that he S'Tiiici to walk unsteadily, and that tliere was sometliing strangt' a'lMMit him altogether. An awful fear took poiise^si()n of her; hut she was ('(jnal to the occasion. She stepped forward, and (hi w to the diiiing-room door, just as tiie maid came out of tlic kitchen with the biiish and a towel in her hand. ' Take Mr. Fergus's coat and hat to the kitchen and shnkr tliem, Jessie, and put on the kettle,' said Ellen Macleod, without a tremor in her Vv)ice. 'You can come for the hoots when I ring. He is very tired, I see. He has walked from Dunkeld.' Jessie, suspecting nothing, proceeded to obey her niistre.«s, who tlien went into the dining-room. Ft-rgus had a ch.iir planted straight before the fire, and the soles of his boots stuck against the red-hot bars of the grate. The water was riitiniii.: off them on to the polished steel ash-pan, and a cloud of stiaiii was rising about him. His mother went straight to the hciirrh, and surveyed hiui a mouient in silence. What she endund during that instant was fearful. 'Well?' he said, with a rude laugh. 'Will you knoAV nic again ? Get out the bottle, and let us drink to the New Ytar. It'll soon be here.' She turned her liead away, for her face was grey with the sharp pain at her heart. It was a physical pain, brougiit on by the shock. Was that her boy — that jiale, haggard, dissipaud- looking young n)an, with the bleared red eyes and hollow chcid-:^, liis hand shaking with nervousness as he clutched the back of he chair? Had she driven him to this? 'Get out the bottle,' he reiterated, giving the fire a kick with his sinijed boot. 'It's a sorry welcome lor a fellow atur a t«Mi-mile walk. What are you staring at ? ' ' Ar you. I can not believe that you are my son,' came at length liom between her pale lips. ' F;ict, tiuuigh, — him in the flesh. He needs a little sjiinf. though,' he said, with a hideous leer. 'Is there aiiyihin^ hi the sideboard ? ' ' f >. wMm THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. -''93 ly son,' came at The shock of agony over, — tor it was afjony to that proud woman to see her noltle son thus dchascd, — licr tciiijH r rose. Had she been wise, slie would have hehl lier peace, hut in her stat(f of mind at the time, perhaps it was too much to expect from her. ' What do you mean,' slie demanded fiercely, ' coming lionie to ihsgrace me in this state? The st(.ries I have heard of \{mr misdeeds are all too true, I see ; hut I hoped you wouhl have respect enough for me to come home sohcr, at least.' ' Draw it mild, old lady ; you slunild he thaidottle, I say, and give us a pull for my pains.' He rose, and made a move towards the sideboard ; Init in •\\\ instant his mottier had turned the key, and slipped it into licr p )cket. Fergus was in a hall'-maudlin state, too drunk, indeed, to be angry. ' I'll get my coat. There's a nip or two left in it yet,' he said, opening the door. 'It's away! Mere, Jessi(! M;i(l\virl of the diift. A low ci'y, which Jessie never forgot, broke from Ellen Mac- h'ud's lips, and she darted after him, but was almost blinded in a moment. 'Comeback, ma'am! oh, come back! Ye'll be buried and ki led I ' cried Jessie, shaking w^ith eveitement and terror, for such a filing had never happened in the (piiet house of Shonnen before. Ellen Macleod did not go far. tjhe hud not lost her senses I *;■ I 'f 1 ! 1; i\h i, I m ' !M"I iffi HM ■ :M S9 H Im M 1 m ; i R '' M ! 1 .v. ■ 1 »i 'i 1 ' i m 1 V L 1 i %. 1 . 294 SHEILA. quite, and she saw that it was useless. She came back into the house, and shut the door with a hfind which did not falftr; l)ut iier face was awful to see. ' He has pone to Ijis death, Jessie Mackc nzie ; no huni.in lii'inp can seek him on a niglit like this. God help him iuv] me! Then Jessie fell to weeping, and even offered to strurrnlc up to the inn and get men to look for him, but her mistnss only shook her head, and, passing into the dining-room, :iL'iiin shut herself in. Jessie Mackenzie wandered up and down the hall, wringing her hands in misery, trembling still from tlie excitement. The whole thing had happened so suddenly, and li.id passed so quickly, that it was like a dream. Elion Mjicleod was alone with her agony, and it did its work. Her face worked convulsively, her lips were bleeding with her effort to k^ep them still, her hands shc>ok, nay, her whole proud figure trembled as if it had received a shock. Once a lonir mojm broke from her lips, and then, as if unable to bear the tumult of her soul, she knelt down by the table, and presstd her brow upon the hard edge until it made a deep red mark. Hut she did not feel that it hurt her. In moments of such intense mental anguish the physical is as nothing. God was tlealing sharply with this strange woman. Hard of heart, she needed a hard discipline. Would it avail? Would it fulfil its desired end ? In that position she knelt, battling with her pain, until the dead ashes dropped from the grate, and the lamj) went out with a feeble flicker, leaving the room ?old and dark. In that position the grey dawn of the New Year's morning found lier. • • • • • • • Miss Murray Macdonald had returned to Dalmore on the 29t,h of December; they could not persuade her to remain for the New Year's festivities at Murra)shaugh. Siie hit Miss Gordon at the manse, however, to spend New Year with her family, and came up alone on a snell, bitter afternoon, when a few stray snowflakes were scudding before the north wind. If Yule was green, it bade fair to be 'a white Hog- manay. THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. !95 ■i-iii, %\ Slieila had enjoyed lierself thorouglily at Mnn yshan^li, but she was unfeignedly glad to be home. Dahnore niijiht be a burden on her shoulders, but slie loved the place with a surpassing love. Though she was so young, and had a bright, pay, happy spirit, she was never dull, even when alone in her rambling old house. She had her pony and her rambles out of doors, her books, painting, and music in tin* house, therefore time did not hang heavy on her hands. She was neitlna* indolent nor difficult to please, Cameron, the housekeeper, who adoi«'d her, said she was the most industrious young lady f^he had ever seen, and Cameron had spent all her life in service. On the last night of the year Sheila was alone in the drawing- room. Tory lay snugly cm led up in a corner of the couch, with his presuming little head on a crimson satin hand-painted cushion. Tory was undoubtedly a spoiled dog, but he was very, very old now, and his young mistress indulged him to the top of his bent. On the hearth-rug lay a noble staghound, who, it must be confessed, was a formidable rival to Tory. He was a gift from tlie Murray>naugh boys, and rejoiced in the namt; of Whig. In Miss Murray Macdonald's drawing-room politics were at a discount, for Whig and Tory both agreed. It was nin'i o'clock, and Sheila l/egan to yawn a little over her work, and to'wish the supper tray woidd come in. S:id(lenly Tory pricked up his ears, and Whig, lifting up his grand head, sent forth one deep, warning bark. Sheila rose in some surj)iise. They kept early hours at Dalmore ; she fancied the doors would be all locked, and some of the servants already in bed. There was not a sound to be heard ; even the wind seemed to breathe quietly round Dalmoie, and drifting snow makes no noise. But presently there was a quick knock at the flra wing-room door, and Cameron, looking somewhat scareil, came in. ' What is it, Cameron ? * asked Sheila, fearing something, she scarcely knew what. ' Miss Sheila, a strange tfiing has happened. Mr. Fergus Macleod has come, and' — ' What does he want? Why did you not bring him up at once? Tell him to come up now, Cameron,' said Sheila If!: (Si i 1 ■ J $ : 196 SHEILA. quickly ; and the sweet colour flushed all her fair face with ,1 ci'imsoii glow. ' Oh, I couldn't, Miss Sheila. He's not right, poor young M'tiHiMiian ! ' 'What is the matter with him? I'll go and see him. Is <• ill the library?' said Sheila, with an apprehensive look. She could not understand the hesitation in the housekeeper's manner, and it irritated her. ' O no, 3'ou mustn't go down,' said Cameron, laving a (1(4. lining hand on the arm of her young mistress. 'He has had too much driid<, I think. Miss Sheila, and he has come Si-eking his Uncle Graham, he says. I trii'd to persuade hini to go quietly away, but he won't ; he is in the library, silting quietly, thinking I have gone to fetch the Liird.' Sheila grew white to the lips, and began to tremble. Tlie housekeejter saw her put a check on herself, and clench her hands to keep them still. She turned her large, e.irnest eves full on ti.e housekeeper's face, with a half-resolute, half-palheiic look. ' I shall go down. Come with me, Cameron, but remain out of the room. Perhaps I may be able to make him go quit tly away.' She spoke with evident effort. She had received a shock which made her feel weak and ill. She could not believe it of Fergus. She wi>hed to see f )r herself. Her tone was imper- ative; Cameron had never heard it more so, and she turned silently and opened the door. 'Who let him in?' Sheila turned on the stairs to ask. ' I did. Miss Slieila. The girls are in bed, and Haniish dozing over the fire.' 'Nobody saw him but you, then?* 'Nobody, Miss S:ieila.' ' I am glad of ti at,' said Sheila simply ; and the housekeeper wiptMl a Tear from her own eyes. Sheila did not hesitate at the library door, but turned the h.indle, and went in with sw' 't, unfaltering steps. The libiary \v;i> Used as a dining-room when the ladies were ahme, and the tire burii'^d in it all day in winter. Cameron had turned up THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. 297 ir face with poor young tlie l.MTnp, and there was Fs Sheila, I'll build up the fire in the libiary, and let him abe. He'll tak' no harm, poor lad ! They say Providence takes care o' bairns an' foolish lads likt^ him,' said Cameron. ' I'll lie down myself in the bed in the Laiid's room, an' I'll hear him if he moves. And I promise ye I'd get him ;iway from Didniore in the mornin' afore there's a move- ment in the house.' ' I'll see him before he goes. I shall not be asleep,' said Sheila. 'Be kind to him. Cam ron, for my sake.' ' Ble««s ye, my b.drn! an' him an' a',' said Cameron fervetifly. ' He'll be a braw n-an for a' this yet. It'll maybe be the makin' 0' him to hae sleepit this nicht in Dalmore.' Sheila smiled a wan smile, and crept away upstairs. She ' I " I m^. Hi i 298 SHEILA. passed by the drawing-room, where the dogs were whininu :if tlie door, and went along the corridor to her mother's room. Two hearts were breaking that night for Fergus MacltMnl^ misdoing. Slieila threw herself across the bed, and her grief found vein in one low, passionate cry,^ ^ Oh, mamma 1 mamma 1 ' - I ' CHAPTER XXXIV. NEW YEARS MORN. For mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face ; And love tlie human form divine, And peace the human dress. William Black. ERGUS IMACLEOD slept soundly until four o'clock in the morning. Cameron, sitting with a plaid round her in the Laird's arm-chair in the adjoining room, heard him move, and, the bedroom door being ajar, she could see him quite well, lie sat up, rubbed liis eyes, and stared round him. He did not seem to renlize at first where he was. There was a glowing fire in the wide grate, and the lamp was burning on the table. The room liad never looked more home-like and familiar, but what room was it? But for the weiiihl of her sorrow and anxiety both for him and Ijer mistress, the housekeeper could have laughed at the look of utter helplessness and perplexity in his face. He •rot up at length, shook himself, and took a turn round the room. Then he stopped straight opposite the fireplace, and Caiiieron saw him fix his eyes on the portrait of his uncle's ^^it'c, which hung above the mantel-shelf. These sweet, serious t yes seemed to be bent upon him in mild, sorrowing surprise. He started, and drew his hand quickly across his brow. \ .' 1 ! 300 SHEILA. ' ' 11 I ! ■\ ♦ Annt Eflitlil' he said. ' Heavens ! I am at D.ilmorc! Wli.it 1 i('s it moan?' Tlic liousckoepcr r^so, and made a m()V(>ment with her cliiiir '» MttiMot his attention before she entered his presence. ' Mr. Fergu*;,' she said gently, ' sit down, and I'll exphiin to ; oil how you came liere.' He looked at her in dumb amnzemenl, and then sat down ;i> iiliediently as a child. He was quite sober now. but he did iK.r I'raliz ' his situation. He felt like a man awaking from somr ln'uildt'ring dream. ' Don't you remember coming up last night, Mr. Fergus, and M-kiiig for your Uncle Graham?' He sliook his head. ' I don't reiuember anything but getting out at Dunkeld station, and plougliing up the road through the snow,' he s;iid, tr\ - ing to make memory perform her function. * When did 1 coniey' ' At nine o'clock.' 'Were you anywliere else on the road?' ' Yes, I was at home,' he said, starting up. ' I remember my Miotlier, and she was friglitfully angry. Cameron, I was drunk! \\\\\\\. state was I in when I came here?' ' Y(ju had had too mucli. I s.iw it at once, Mr. Fergiis,' saiil Ciineron, feeling an ititense pity for him. The awaktMiing \v;is a t'eaifid experience for Fergus Macleod. The veins on lii>^ bri'ad white brow were swollen like knotted cords; tlu; pt'rs|)iiation stood in great beads on his face. 'Tell me all about it, Camenm. What did I do? Was I wild ? Did 1 make any disturbance ? ' ' O no, none. Nobody saw you but Miss Shi'ila and me.' She told him piu'posely. She wished him to sufftr; to have ids wholesor.ie lesson without alleviation. It might, as she had said, be his salvation. ' Did she see me ? O my God ! ' There was no irreverence in the exclamation. It was wruntr from him by keen mental anguish. Before Cameron could reply, the door into the hall was softly opened, and Sheila iierself stole in. She had never undressed. She .still wore her warm grey tweed gown, and a white linen collar, fastened by 1 .11 w-k NE W YEAR 'S MORN, 301 "ergus, and iicmbpr my vas drunk ! ^rgus,' said tM)iiig was ins ()M liis iords ; tlu; was \Yrunil\ h. ,; tJK! sound of their voices hidow. It could not icacli tl le I ii h I w , I inmates of the house, who were sleeping in the lemoic When her young mistress entered, Cameron slijjpcd out. II 1 eyes were wet, her heart sore, for these two ^()un•J: ('if.inn w ho loved each ther, and who met in such stranuc and circumstances. I thought I should like to see you, Fergus,' Slieila >iii(i befor e you went away Her voice was of surpassing sweetness, lier accent genilc aiid kind, but with a ring of mournfulness in it. l'« rhaps \\k\- girlish idol was shatteretl ; and that, to a sensitive heart, is sometiiing of a trial. He swung round, gave her one stai ihd lool;, and then, flinging himscdf on the couch again, yavc \\u\ to tears. 'Jliey were tears of bitterest penitence 5 r" pe and shanir The noise of his subbing di>turbed Sheila. She walke i ovci- to the firej)lace, and, leaning her arm on the oak shelf above it, stood very still. Ilir tears were all shed. It was as if the face of the mother in the i)ictiire on the wall was moved witii conipa-sion for them both. The mild, lieauiilul ey» s sceini-d alniDst to speak. ' No doubt her spirit was there. Slu ila I'l h oiiiforied and strengthened to go throngh this (jrdeal. She had something to say to Fergus. She felt that God would Liuide her tongue. At last he grew calmer, and stood up, and looked at the slight figure of the young pirl by the hearth. 'I shall go away, Sheila, without a>king ynii to forgive m . I >hall never forgive myself. I have disgraced my own nan.. , iiiv uncle's memory, and your home. Good-b\'e.' >ry }■' He jrave his head a sliti;ht inclination, and turned to l'* .i;i Siieihi's look held him back Ndt yet. I h uive something to say to yon, rerLMi'i W I \- sliduld 1 not forgive you ? I will not sayyouh.ive idt ^X^s. wrong, i)ut I cannot let you go feeling as you do at ilii> !i oiii( 1. 1 could not do it to a stranger, least of all to yotL \ 11 'm p !(, 302 SHEILA, I ''! 'li I I 'You are too kind, but your kindness cannot litrliton mv burdj'n of sluiino, Slirilji. As I live, I know not wliat ti-mptt d nic to degrade niysrlt' brfbre //o^/,' lie said, with passion. ' Better to nje than to strangers, Fergus,' siie ,>:dd sadly ; hut tlie kind h)ok never lett her face. ' I will tell you I was not so njucli sur[)rised, because 1 bad beard yoti had gone off the straight path a little. But you will find it again, and walk sledCa-.tly in it, for your own sake and for mine.' 'For yours? Then you do not altogether hate and despise nio, Sheila?' cried the utdwippy young man, with a gleam ot bopt- in bis melancholy eyes. ' Despise and hate you, after all that is past, Fergus? ' said iSlieihi reproachfully. 'I cannot, caiuiot do that; for I fe»'l — indeed I do, and it is well-nigh hreaking my heart — that had 1 not robbed you of your inheritance, you would have heeii a different man. You would have been reigning here, the honoured and beloved Laird of Dahnore.* These words caused Fergus Macleod the deepest surprise and concern. He saw how deeply Sheila felt what she was saying, and again be cursed bis own lolly. lie saw that she tonk blame to herself for bis sin. He could have knelt at her feet and besought her forgiveness anew, but the look c>n her face deterred him. ' Husb, husb ! ' be said hurriedly. 'Do you think I have ever grudged Dalmore to you? \Vhen I hear how they speak your name, and see what you have done for the j)lace and the people, I am thankful that it is in your bands and not in mine. When I leave here. Sheila, you shall never see nie again, but in all your efforts for the people's good, in all your generous, noble kindness, be sure that no blessing or congiatu- laiion can be tiuer than that of Fergus Macleod, unwcriiiy th >ugh he be.' There was a flush now upon Sheila's cheek, and her eyi; filled with apprehension. 'Where are you going, Fergus?' she asked, somewhat falteringly. 'After last night, I hardly think my mother will care to keep me at home,' replied he, with a slight shudder. 'She NE W YEAR 'S MORN. 303 will be glad to send me where all the scapegoats are sent, — across the sea.' 'You seem proud cf your cliaracter,' said Sheila, with slightly curling lip, for her righteous atigcr rose at his toiu', wiiich did no honour to his niaiiliood. Bur suddenly her mood changed; her face became beautiful with the tenderness of her heart; her eye shone with a high resolve. The titne hatl eotnc for her to exercise the woman's privilege, not otdy to comfort, hut to spur on to highest endeavour; and so her childhood went away for ever from Sheila Macdonaiu. ' Fergus, I will not say you nuist not go, — nay, I think now it would be better to break all the old ties, and begin anew. Promise me that, for the sake; of the old time, you will begin anew, and try to live your life nobly. I have expected so much. I do expect it still from you. There will never lie to me a second Fergus Maeleod. Don't disappoint me. There i> no grand achievement or noble height which I have not h( lifved you could reach. Only on condition that you will t'idtil my dieams will I say good-bye, and bid you (ind speed !' Suri'ly the words were Heaven-given. They infused new i (• into Fergus Maeleod ; they showinl him the pos>ihilities of hie. They even asNured him that one fall need not mean iMn-.tant grovelling, that hoj)e had a benison for him yet. In a wt.r 1, they made him a man. He drew himself up ; a light cauii' into his blue eye something like the flasiiing light of old ; he ^ave his mouth a determined cur"'e. Sheila saw that he was saved. ' So help me God, I will ! ' he said, and these words were a vow. 'I promise to you, before (iod, that from this day I am a different man. In addition to all you have done for olheis, Sheihi, you have saved me. Yes, as I live, I believe had you treated me differently, my shame and horror would have sent iiie sir.iight to destruction.' ' No, no ; you are not wholly bad,' said Sheila, with a slight snule, which was more pathetic than her former deep gravity. ' Go, then, Fergus ; some day, not far distant, I trust, 1 shall be [iroud of my friend.' She extended her hand, but he shook his head. yj- I iM ' 1! ■ >i f ■ 1','-' .; - i r i" 304 SHEILA. ♦ I Mm nof WTthy to tniu;li it,' ln» «?iii(l. * If tli.'it snmn day t'vcr cdinfs, Slii'ila, I hope 1 shall he iildi; to stand in yniir prf'scncc without slianjc, and ti U y.ni what I owe to y'Mi.' SIm* took )i step foi'wai'd tlici, and, seeing he wiis goiii^', followed Idni out to ill • door. When he set it open, tlu-y saw that flic stonn had ceasfd. The lower. ng olonds wt»re drifting aci<»s the sky, hut riglit above wliere they stood tliere was a cl(!ar patoh ot'blne, in whieli many stars were shining. ♦ Stars of promise,' Sheila said ; and then they stood for a moment i?) a silence wdnch touched th.^rn both witli soh'nniity. The past lialf-hoiir had been one of keen tension for both, and now the shadow, perhaps, of an eternal jtarling was upon thein. It was not wonderful that Fergus had nothing to say now, still less that Sheila's lips should be; silent. There had been too much between then), to part with words of commonplace farewell. ♦ It will be dawn soon. I must go,' said Fergus ; and their eyes n)et. In that look tlie heait (»f each was revealed to the other. Sheila turned about, and, gliding into the house, closiid the doer. Then Fergus Macleod knelt down on tlie snow- cover(!d doorstep, and prayed. When he rose from his knees, he walked away I'rt^m the house with a step which had resolu- tion and hope in it. In his des[)air and disappointmertt he had tried the j rodigal's husks, and had now come back, clothed and in his right mind, to the right way, which, with the help of God, he woLiid n v^r leave again. • • • • • • • That night had passed strangely at Shonnen Lodge. Mrs. Macleod was shut in the dining-room, Jessie Mackenzie keeping a vigil by the kitchen fire. She had sli|»f)ed out before mid- night, and unlocked the front door, so that if the wanderer sliDidd leturn he would gain admittance at once. She was too fiightened to sleep. At five o'clock she began to move about and attend to her work. More thin once she went to tlie dining-room door, but always came treml)ling back I'roin it again. 1 do not know what she feared. The stillness was like death. She felt that she could not go into that room until it .! i NR W YEAR 'S MORN, 305 to say now, •re had lu'cn cuiiiri)uii|)lace !iOclge. Mrs. was (1 ivHtilif. Poovihly licr niovpmonts aroused her niisfro»s, fur, alter a liim'. to liii- intense relief, Je>sie lie;ii(l a step in tin* diiiinir r<»(»ni. I lien tlie door \\;is opened, and Mrs. M.icli ixl I'lMie tliron;ih to tlie kiiclieii. Sli ;diiio>l >cr anied at siilir of lier. Her ha liei lace pale as that of thi- dead. le was like a spectre U'SSU! ir was quitf white, an liitt >ld I'll re his been no word, 1 suppose, Jessie?' she said, in a in cold, passionless vo ce. ' \o, nia'ani. Oh, how co'd yon look! Come and war yonrseU'at the fire; 1 kept it in all iii;:hr.' 'You should hav(! been in your Ind,' said Mrs. ^^a<'leod ([ilietly; but she obeyed the kind re(pie>t, and stood by th'- tir(> a inouM'fit, warminy; lur cliilled, i)liie fuij'ers at the ejieijful L'l nW. •It is after five, I see. You eati li'dit the dininu-ruoin tir(;; I think it has gone out. I shall go u[)stairs and lie down f^ or a litth Her voice sounded low and somewhat broken in its tone. The hopelessness of it struck Jessie, tliouyh sin* was not a close ()l)ser\-er. Her kind heart was instantly touched. 'Sit down here, ma'am, or I make ye a cup of tea, .nnd when ye aie drinkitii; it J'll make a fiie in your room and put the Ixjttle iti tlie bed. See, the kettle's boilm'.' 'You are a good girl, Jessie. Very well, I will sit down. Yes. I am very co d,' said Ellen Macleod, s' ivering from head to fo.)t. Je>sie was seriously alarmed. She wished it was (hi^liLiht. 'Ihe things that were hapj»ening at SlKHinen were too much for her to cope with alone. But who could she seiid fur? Her mistress had no friends. Jessie was very active. Ill an incredibly short time slit^ had a nice cup of tea for her misii'ess, wlio took it gratefully, and si[)ped it with evident ieli>h. But her face liad still that worn look ; her eyes wt re dry and gliitenng. She was thinking of her boy, lying among the snow-drifts — dead, and she bad driven him to it! Poor, pioiid, breaking heart ! its punislunent was very great. Jessie Mackiiizie was up in the bene with a firm, steady, iiiaidy sti'p. The foot sought the dining-room, and then came u ! ' '.f 306 SHEILA. striding into the kitclicn. Ellen Macleod let her tea-cup fall tlowii on the stone floor, but sat perfectly still. Then tiit- 'ijuic approached her, and knelt down by her side on the fldor. imd an arm w.is thrown about her where she sat, and a voic' IiIKmI her ears — her own boy's familiar voice, though broken iind trenil)ling in its tone. 'Mother!' it said, 'mother, forgive me 1 I believe '.ud lias.' But there was no answer. Then, looking up, he saw the white hair, the haggard, pain- lined face, the agony-dimmed eyes, and knew what he had done. ' Mother, mother ! speak to me ! I am your son. Speak to me, and forgive me ! ' he pleaded. Then he looked at her and wondered, for her lips parted, and the smile on her face was to him a glimpse of heaven. She laid her hand on his brow ; slie I assed it round his neck, and bent her own cheek until it rested on his bright hair. And so mother and son in name became mother and son in heart. God had spoken, and not in \ ain, to Ellen Macleod. I t ■! ! ! ; i-. .m\ CHAPTER XXXV. SIGNS OF EVIL. Canst thou not minister to a inin short and simple, yet very solemn. ^\v. Macfarlane's earnest words sank into her heart. When it was all over, six st'il\v;,n men foimed a sort of litter with their arms, and then l)ore the (Coffin out by the door. Blind Rob was leady with his ]iii)es, for he played a pibroch Uyx all his neighbours at the bnr\iii^s. and so the melancholy train went down the path, which liad l)een swept cU-ar to the loch. Sheila went out to the back of the house, and watched the strange procession winding its \\;iy across the whitened landscape, all the traj)pings of woe seeinin^ darker and more striking in contrast with the spotless puiiiy ot the snow. The sky was leaden-hued, and seemed to Inmu hiw over the castle, the air was soundless and heavy, and IJol's pibroch seemed to fill the Glen with its mournful waihiiL:. Altogether, it was an impressive sight, and one which Sheihi would not readily forget. When she went back to the hoiiM-, Katie was crying by the fire. As she looked at her, Sheihi cduld not but think how bonnie and sweet she h)oked in lnr b,.,i k I'lock, which seemed to set oft the fair whiteness of lu-r taee. SIGNS OF EVIL. 309 'Don t cry, Katie. Aunt Janet was an old, old wonKin. vu know, and she was quite ready to go. Let us tliink liithcr tliat she is free i'rotn all her p.iiii now,' said Shcihi s;>t'tly ; luif, licfore Katie had time to answer, the door was softly opetu-d, and young Angus M'Bean looked in. ' 1 bfg your pardon, Miss Murray Macdonald,' he said shamefacedly. ' I thought Katie would be alone, or I would not have come,' 'Come in, come in. I am just going,' said Shcihi, with a sliglit smile. 'Katie, are you nut going to speak to Mr. M-BeanV» Katie's face was as red as the peat glow, but Sheika saw that her eyes brightened. luvohmtaiily she looked at Angus M'Bean. She wondered just then wliat his evident lovf lor Kntie might mean. She coidd almost have asked him theif iind then. Had she been ten years older she certaiidy would have asked him. But she was fain to think the best of him. And it was a good sign that he did not seem i)ut out at lindiug her in the cottage. So she bade them both good-bye, and rodo away, leaving Angus to comfbit Kati( in his own way. ' Ye'U need to go away before Malcolm comes home,' said Katie, after they had talked of a grct many things very interesting to themselves, but not of special import to us. 'No, Katie; I'm going to wait till Malcolm comes back. Miss Murray Macdonald saw nie here, and all the neighl)ours know I am in, and I'm not going to run away from him,' said Angus firmly. ' He'll be awfu' angry,' said Katie nervously. ' lie said (ince that if he saw me speaking to you again, he'd kill us baith.' 'Let him try it,' said Angus lightly. 'Katie, I can't bear to go back to Edinburgh and leave you with Malcolm. He'll not be good to you.' 'Oh, he's weel enough when he disna ken nor hear onything ahoot you,' said Katie, with a sigh ; for, indeed, her heart did fail her a little at the prospect of her life alone in the house with Malcolm. He was so dreadfully changed. ' How dour he is, Katie 1 He keeps up a grudge for ever,' i \ 3IO SHEILA. V :tr f I Ml , said Angus presently. ' I told him once that I wished I had never torniented or told tales on him when we were all at Pttcr Crerar's school, and asked him to let bygones be bygones, but he just glowered at me, and said he would ca' me into the locli. I told him he was too ready speaking about the loch, and liltiiiL'' stones and graips to folk, and, faith, he got into such a tcnilili' passion that I was ghid to get out of the road. We'll need tn marry without his consent, Katie.' ' Ay, an' gang faur, faur awa', if we ever dae,' said Katie, in a low voice, for a constant dread was upon her. Altlumdi Angus M'Bean had really tried to make manly amends for liis past persecution, Malcolm would receive none of his advances. He seemed to hate the whole household at Auchloy with a mortal hatred. He even seemed to be soured, too, against his very neighbours in the Fauld. The only person who could call forth the kindly impulses of his heart was Sheila. It is not too much to say that he worshipped her with a dumb, faithful worship, something like the blind, unquestioning attachment of a dog to its master. It was grey dark when the mourners returned from the funeral, and when Malcolm came striding into the house, — a strange-looking figure in his ill-fitting black clothes, — he could not at first distinguish who it was silting opposite Katie at the fireside. ' It's me, Malcolm,' said Angus pr'^jcntly ; for he wished to assert a kind of j ight to Katie before her brother, in order that the future might be easier for her. 'Oh, it's you, is't?' said Malcolm quietly enough ; but Katie, who could read every expression on his face, saw his nostrils dilate and the veins rise on his brow, as they had done of late on the smallest provocation, thus indicating that his nervous system was too easily excited. ' Well, if it's you, there's the door.' ' Tuts, man I don't be so snufTy. Let me sit and crack a little ; I'm going away the day after to-morrow,' said Angus, in the same hearty tone. Malcolm set the door wide to the wall, and then, with one swing of his powerful right arm, he swooped down upon the factor's son, and whisked him out of the place, locking the door SIGAS OF EVIL. 3" beliind him. Tlien he turned to K.ifie wiili MnziriGr eyes, and sjiid sullenly, 'If ye say a word, or if I see or hear o' ye speakin' to that deevil ngain, I'll turn ye cot efter him. The hoose's mine noo, mind that ! ' Katie began to cry again, and crouched by the ingle-ncuk in perfect misery. Finding himself thus summarily ejected from the hous >, Angus M'Bean stood for a moment undecided what to do. Ir was fearful to leave Katie there with that madin;in, for sncli Angus held him to be, and yet he was very powerless. He nn.ist go away in the meantime, but of one thing lie was certain, that he could not and would not leave Katie at Malcolm's mercy very long. He walked sh)wly along a beaten footpath to Aucliloy, so slowly ihat it was jntch dark when lie got home. His sisters were spending the New Year at Crieff, and hio father and motlier were having an early tea in the dining-room when he went in. 'J'he factor's brow was as black as thunder ; his son saw at once that there was something seriously disturb- ing him. ' Got your courting done, eh ? ' he asked, with a bitter snee'-, as Angus drew in his chair to the table, and asked his mother for a cup of tea. ' Maybe, and maybe no' ; that's my business,' he answered sharply enough, for his father's tone irritated him. He was vexed and perplexed, at any rate, and did not feel equal to any more censure of his actions. Malcolm's summary treatment rankled in his mind. 'It's a queer time to court just after the coffin's carried out of the house,' continued the factor sourly. ' I wonder you didna think shame, if she didna. Ye might have let the auld wife be cauld in her grave before ye began.' 'Any word from the lassies to-day, mother ? ' asked Angus, turning his back not very dutifully on his father; whereupon that worthy's anger got the belter of his judgment. ' Had I kent ye were in the hoose wi' the lassie when I ^mA by, I wad hae come in, and laid my whip aboot yer Iug<, my man I ' he said loudly. ' And Miss Murray Macdonald saw ye too, that was more.' < J 3IJ SHEILA. \ \ h;;.i \'\ ' it M ;it * Slie was in when I Avas in,' said Angus dryly. ' So yp ]i;ivcn't ? for it cainia be them baitjj.' 'Then it's not Miss Murray M;iC(1on;tld,' said A"i:ii«i ilnngedly, determined to m;ike a clean breast of it, liis nuni la'inLr made tip to marry Katie. 'Then is't Katie Menzies?' ' Yes; ' An' are ye going to marry her?' ' Yes.' 'After a' I've done for ye? D'ye bear tbat, Mrs. M'Bc.ni? Your braw son's gaun to marry Kaiie Menzies — cr;izy Midcolm's sister.' Mrs. M'Bean never spoke, but poured out anotlier cup of tea to steady her nerves, liut she cast a look of sympathy ujion her S(»n, which let him see plainly what /ler oi)iiiion was. IJu' factor was too angry to notice it. He was fiiglii fully dis- ai)pointed. He had built up a fine castle for his one son, and here it had fallen about his ears. ' Angus M'Bean, are ye in your ripht mind ? That's what I want to ken. It seems to me that the mad Menzies hae made ye aboot as dtift as they are.' Angus smiled. He did not stand in aw^e of his father, and, I fear, had not that respect for him with Avhich a wise father inspires his son. ' M:iybe,' he Siud carelessly. ' Mad or not mad, I'll mnrry riobndy but Kiitie Menzies, do or say what you like.' Thti factor clenched his hand, and brouiiht it down on the table with a thump, wdnch set the tea-cups rattling ag;iinst each other, and knocked over the milk jug into the jelly glass. 'If ye marry her, I'll disinherit ye I D'ye hear me? I'll disinherit ye, Angus M'Bean!' ' I can't help that. I can work for myself.' 'Hear him! after all I've spent on him!' cried the fiictor, as if adjuring a listening audience. 'Ye owe me bunders u' pounds I Ilunders, I say, but hunders '11 no' pay't.' S/G.\S OF EVIL, 313 one son, and 'Well, if yon look at it in tliat way, fatlicr, von can niiikc oiif a 1)111, and I'll Inok upnn it as n delit,' said young Aii^ms (|uit'fly. ' lint vou'v'f! oidy edu(;atHd nn-, and 1 tlnuifilil it was a tarlit'r's duty to give his baiins the best educatitni in his power.' ' Had I but kent that ye wad make sic a rnin o' yer life, I wad hae shippit ye awa' to C.inada wi' the coitars!' cried the factor. 'Laddie, ye had a siilciidid fnlure befoe ye, an estate and a grand wile lyin' to your veiy hannd, an ye liae thrown it away ; but a judgment will come upon ye for it, I ho{)e and pray.' 'You speak very surely, father. I am as certain as I atn sitting here, that though 1 were to court Miss Mnrray M. cdonald for a thousand years she would never marry me. 8he tliinks herself far better than me; besiiles, I would rather work for my wife than take everything froni her.' 'Hear tid him! He's speakin' oot o' a book noo,' saiil tlie factor sarcastically. 'Mrs. M'Bean, can you no' speak a word to put this rascal by his folly ?' 'I'm glad he's that sensible, Angns,' was his sjionse's unexpected reply. 'And as for Katie Menzies, she'.s a boimie, sweet lassie; ye nticht hae dune waur, far wan Angn*;, my man. And ye hae baith my blessin', whatever yer fail her may say. There's fanr owre muckle tryin' to be big an' grand iino Pair folk's fanr the happiest. For my pairt, I hae never kinr muckle ease o' mind sin' I cam' doon the Ghn to Auchloy. So take ye heart, my man, an' work wi' yer haunds for Katie, an' the Lord wull bless ye baith.' It was a long speech for Mrs. M'Bean, and had her feelings not been wrouiiht up to a certain pitch, she would not have dared to utter it before her lord and master, who ruled her in all things. But it was a matter of conscien>je this, and Mrs. M'Bean was a good as well as a kind woman. She was profoundly thankful that her son had at length taken so firm a stand for the right. Many a salt tear she had shed for him in his more degenerate days, before Katie's sweet influence had wrought in him for good. Mr. M'Bean cast upon his wife a look of withering scorn, I ; I t \ ^1' ;i : , i 1 ( I I t I ' 314 SHEILA, L ■ iincl, with his hond in the air, marched out of the room, as if ho felt it irnpfissihle to V)reatlie in the same atmosphere with them. lie never alluded to it; again, but there was a maiknl coldness in his d<'meanour towards his son during tlie biii t' time he remained at liome. Angus went away witliout a word ; his chisses were taken out at college for the spring session, so he might as well take advantage of them. But he determined that, in addition to w(»rking very hard at his books in Edinl)uriili, he would keep a look-out for a situation as under-factor, and that if he were successful in obt-dning his desire, he would marry Katie without delay, and make a home for himself and for her. • 1 ill ^1 1' ,1 CHAPTER XXXVL MY WIFE 1 My wife's a winsome wco thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine. ERGUS MACLEOD went back to college the day after Angus M'Bean left Aucliloy. His class fees were paid up till Easter, and he could not idle the spring months at home. It was finally settled that ln' and liis mother should sail for Quebec by the first steamer which made the voyage from Glasiiow after the ice broke up oil the Sr. T-awrence. Wiierever tiie boy was would be home and ]!ara(iise now for EUen Macleod. He warned her of the hardships, but she said she would make them easier for im. Seeing that her lieart was set upon it, Fergus said no Tiioic. The new mother he had found was so dear to him, that he could not bear tlie thought of parting with her. It liad been a strange experience for them both. It almost seemed us if they had made a new and delightful acquaintance with each other. His mother was now Fergus Macleod's sympathizer and confidante; to her he poured out all the miserable experiences of those vvinter months in Edinburgh, told all the idle dissipating of time and opportunity, the desecration of talent and privilege. And she did not blame, 3i3 '|1 'K M.I. u ;l I J! ii i6 SHEILA, liiU only hnrlo liim go on in a new and better way, and take eniiiMge. II(! Iiiid told lier, tli(! tiiglit befoii! lie left Slioiitieii, wliiit had triiiispiicd at D.dinore, and wlien he sj)oke of Slieiln. Iii». niotluM' knew hy his hu>hed voice and fidl, earnest e\e what she was to iiini His dearest ; and slie, liis niothiM*, nni^t lieiicclorth bo content to he second. But even that, in lier Utw- tniind peace and happines";, seemed a Hith* tiling. Slie kinw in her heart that Sheila was worthy the highest homage that Fergus or any man could give her. She even admitteil tn herself that Fergus was not worthy of her yet. The day miLjlit Clime when the desire of her heart, whicdi slie had long allnwiMi to end)itter her life, would be an accompli>hed fact, and Fergus would be Laird of Dahnore, and if not, he would fill some other sphere as worthily. I hope this change for the L:*^'er in Ellen Macleod docs nut savour of the miraculous or the impossible. In tliis history heretofore, the hardest, most unwomanly side of In f character has constantly obtruded itself; but that, even in these hard days, she had inid her moments of remurse, 1 cannot doubt. Many an unseeen, uidked hrr >oh's forgiveness for her long harshness towards him veiy humbly, even with tears, and, having obtained it, alluded no more to that dark past. She sought rather to atone t'oi' ir i»y making the present sweet, and the future br'nlit. It was characteristic of the woman, and a hopeful sign, 1 think, that her repentance was real. 'Ihere is no good, hut ivtlicr harm, to be got in dwelling upon past evil of any kind. Lot it be rcpenttd of sincerely and atoned for. it' |'(issil)le, then buried for ever. We are not called to ahaso oiiselves perpetually to the memory of sins connnitted. Let otu- solemn striving after good be the earnest that we no longe; desire evil. MV WIFE! 317 H > 1 After liPT boy wont bnck to Ediiibtir.h, VWw MmcImocI s(^f licrsclf to m.'ikc picat preparations, in the way of M-winji and kt)irtiiihorii of half its bitteriu'ss. Having learned that Ferrrus was in Edinbnrgli, Alast.dr sought him out in his old lud;iiriay to you.' 'Very likely, after the way you've persistently kept ou if my road lately,' said Alastair, with a grin. ' Do you know, it's only four weeks to-day till the classes an- up, and I haven't done a stroke of work ? ' 'It's hardly worth tackling to now. You look as if \i>ii needed a holiday already. Do you stew here for ever? ' A good deal. Look at the time I lost in winter. It makes me savage to think of it. Alastair, why didn't you tell me what a fool I was? ' ' Because you might, and probably would, have requested me to mind my own bnsiness,' said Alastair serenely. ' And I knew you wouldn't go too far. It's not in you.' ' I went far enough,' said Fergus, with clouding brow. ' Sit down, num. I suppose I may tell you now I'm off to Canada n Aj)ril.' 3^8 SHEILA. K i\ f ' its m •' - I. 11 ' ir ' Fact. It's the least lean do, isn't it? to po out and ».i'f tlic place they've called after inc. Feiuiis Creek is our tliNiiiiiitioji.' • Onv destination! Who is going witlj you?' ' My mother.' Alastair whistled, — not quite so much with surprise at the aiiMr)unceMient, as at the tone in which Fi-rgus spnkt; the>e i\vi» words. 'Well, I wish you luck, old boy. 1 suppetse ilit-y are gettmg on famously out there. Are you going t'.i >,ttle?' ' Yes ; I'm going to buy land with the money my uncle left n e, and start larmimr.' * Ail serene; I'll come out and see you when I'm throuL'li ^vith mif grinding,' said Alastair, with the air of a hard-woikcd siudent. 'Come on out for a stroll, Fergus. It's a lovely hiiiht. You never saw a more 'glorious moon, and we can talk .IN well outside as here.' ' I don't mind if I do,' said Fergus, reacliing out for his 1() its. He felt glad, honestly glad, to see Alastair. He liked liiiii lit'iter than any fellow he knew. But who did not like Alastair? He had t.iken his dismiss J <'rom Sheila very philosopliicnlly, till ugh it had been a grievous disappointment at the time, liuf Alastair believed in making the best of everything, and su k pt himself and others happy. They strolled out together arm in arm, and turned aloriL' Nicolson Street towards Newington. Fergus did the most ut' the talking, and did not pay nmch attention to anythitiLr piissing round him, but Alastair's eyes and ears were always (i|>en. ' I say, Fergus, that's uncommon like M'Bean. It U him,' he said suddeidy. 'And who's that he's got with him? What a ])retty girl ! ' Fergus looked up, and his eyes fell on the sweet face of Katie Menzies. She was walking on the other side of tlie s ivet, and her hand was through Angus M'Beaa's arm, and '% MY llJFEf 319 ig out for Ills her face lifted confidinprly to Ins. Tlie siu'lit made tlic hot, ijidi^iijiiit l)ln()d surge to Fergus Macleud's Ijicc, and tinjrlf even to Ids very fiiigt-r tips. ' 1 know who it is. A girl from tlie Fauld. She's liere for no good. But I'll lie even witii him. I'll mnkf Idm give an account of Idmself, and I'll take her home, it' she'll go.' ' You won't go one step just now,' said Alastair, gripping hitn firm aiid fast by the arm. ' You never want to nii>s a iliauee of distinguishing yourself, if ii's only in a street Lrawl. Do you want to be the centre of a crowd immediately, and have a hobby marching you od" to the lock-uj)? You've no business to interfere with M'Bean, or the lassie either.' ' Yes, 1 have,' said Fergus fiercely. ' She's one of my folk, and she's an orphan, and he had no right, the villain ! to «niiee her away. I will go, Alastair. Let go ;i y arm.' ' Wait a minute. Now she's gone into a slioj). Let's go over and pretend to meet M'Bean accidentally, and see how lie"ll look. Wdl you promise first not to take hitn by the throat, lor you look fit enough, or even to speak, till I give you leave? We'll manage it all beautifully, and circumvent him too, if you only keep down your wild Macdonald temper. It'll be the undoing of you some day, Fergus, my boy.' Fergus held his peace, though his eyes were suspiciously brilliant looking. So, keeping him tightly by the arm, ^Vlastair marched him across the street. Katie was in a provision store, and Angus was standing at the window survi'ying the tt-mpting array of ham, butter, eggs, and cheese displayed there. He did not see the two young men pass him, nor hear Alastair's smoihered laughter. It was so irn'sistibly fimny to him to see; the dandified Angus M'Bean standing appai-ently engrossed at a grocei's window. Al^ter going a few yards they turned again, and stopped beside the window too; then Angus saw them, but e to take a house in Ediid)urgh. Fergus asked for Mis, M'Bean, and was instantly shown into the sitting-room, MV WIFE/ 321 wliere the young cniipln were liaving a cup of coffre and a liit of l)reacl and cliccst' for snjjpcr. Katie, all blu-ijie-i and smiles, jumped np at sight of ^^r. Fi I'gus, who hi'ld our Ids liand, and said lu^aitily, — ' 1 ju-t came round to congratulate you, Mrs. M'Bean. I was stunned in the street, and liadn't a word to say. 1 beg xour pardon, Angus, and I wi^h you j'>y.' 'Not at all; oelighted to see you, aren't we, Katie?' said Ant>us, a trifle confusedly. ' Will you take a cuj) of coHe.'V Rini for a cup and plate, Kati«\ Sit down, Fergus.' So Fergus sat down at the tahle with them, and liow proud and happy was the bonnie young wife to have Mr. Fergus sitting at her own table. Never bad she looked so sweet, so graceful, so liappy. IIapy)iness is a great beautilier, and there was no need to a^k if Katie was hap[)y. Fergus I'elt more and moie ashamed of himself for his uncharitable suspicions abiiut her liusiiand. ' I'm only vexed at running away as I did from Malcolm,' said Katie, with a tremble of the li|), after they had spoken for a little about it. 'But if he had known, I believe he would have killed me, Mr. Fergus. I dintui ken what's to become of poor M;dky. I fear he'll need to go to Murlhly at the end. He's no' safe.' ' You can't vex yourself about him, Katie, for I'm sure you (lid more than your duty to him,' said Fergus kindly. ' And are you going back to spend Easter at Auchloy ? ' *0 ru") ; we're disinherited,' said Angus, with a laugh, 'by everybody but my mother. She sent Katie her ble^^ing and a silk dress. ^^'e'J•e done with Auchloy.' lie spoke lightly; and, indeed, he did not feel the rupture with the others as long as he had his mothei's bles>ing. But Fergus saw Katie's sweet face shadow a little. Now that slu; was his wife beyond recall, she feared he had sacrificed too much for her. But he would not let her think it, much lf>s say it. A new man, indeed, in every respect was Puddin' M'Bean. They confided their hopes and plans to Fergus, and it was near midnight when he went back to his lodgings. Tiiey ! i 1 f f i -) i 1 t 1 P iniiil': i:i'' '% ll !il:'!* ' II 'It , ,.1 !i '!=( ^ I > ! u! 'J.2 2 SHEILA. scetncd dreary and cold. The sight of Angus and his bonnie wift,' had reminded liim of what was so f;ir out of his rciuh. Kvcri if Sheihi cared for him, and remained true, many ycais must pass before he could hope even to stand as an ec^ual iu her piesence. .11 i c7 CHAPTER XXXVIL If; A DARK NIGHT. I suffered hate, slow hate, That bides its time. J. B. Selkirk. ERGUS MACLEOD went home as usual upon the thirty-first of March. Their steamer, the Bosphorns, was to sail from Glasgow on the twenty-second of April. lie found that his mother had got the ; ri'parations well forward for their departure, and tliat she was ill tlie best of health and spirits. The intervening time passed i.ijiidly, for theic was a great deal still to do ^ and their last • lay at Shonnen, in the old Glen, came before they knew where liey were. The best of the things at Shonnen were going with them; for though the transit of their goods would be more expensive than their own j)assagcs, money would be saved lit the other end. There were no upholsterers' warehouses as \t.'t in the township at Fergus Creek. 'I'm going over to the Fauld, mother, to say good-bye, and '■■ t all thi'ir last messiigos for the folks over the sea,' said ! ■: LMis, aftvr their early tea. ' But I shall not be late.* ' Don't hurry; I am going out also, Fergus, up to Dalmore.' Fergus gave a quick start, and looked at his mother with sniuethiiig of apprehension in his eye. She smiled a little, and shook her head. us 324 SHEILA, m iB^;^i!! \ \ ■ '.: ^: *! I ' I have somelliing to say to Sliciln, Fergii«, — sonictliinpr wliicli it would not gi'ieve you very nmcli to lu-ar. Can 1 tiike lii'i :my ml^'^s;lge from you?' ' None, except that I have not forgotten tlie last niglit of tie year and my vow,' said Fergus, a little huskily; and, going up to his niotiier, he kissed her, without .-.nying another word. They understood each other; but it' Fergus, as he sti-ollfd alonfT to the Fauld, thouglit more of the house on the hill than the low-lying clachan whither he was bound, it need not he wondered at. He went b}' Kinhjch, looked in for a word witli the few wiio still remained there, and then crossed the l)iidge, aiul up by Mulcohn Menzies' croft to Janet's cottage. He had never yet seen Malcolm since he came home. He had had a grt'at deal of journeying to and from Glasgow, as well as to Crieff and Dunkeld, in connection with their voyage; but though he had been several times in the Fauld, as 1 said, he had never seen Malcolm. He had heard of him, however, — dark hints from most of the folk, and even Rob Macnaughton could only shake his head when his name was mentioned. Rob had sustained a severe disappointment in the ill tuining out of M dco!m, who, beyond a doubt, had the heaven-born gift of hong, though he had never given it voice. It was not his blame, poor lad ! if nature had given him the larger gift, she had taken from him something of infinitely greater value. There was no doubt that Malcolm Mei>zies lacked in judgment, and that the F dk were not far wrong when they called him 'daft.' No iiunum being had heard him speak Katie's name since she went away; and one m.in who mentioned it one day suddeidy found hi I self levelled to the ground. The melancholy, miseraMe man dwelt alone in the cottage which Katie's bonnie presence had iieen wont to brijihten, and no foot but hU own was ever allowed to step across it. How he lived they did not know. For days toi^elher there would be no smoke at his ' lum-he:d.' and he had >old all his cows. A crust of bread and a drink nt' Water was his only food, and in a few weeks' time he was reduced to a skeleton. Rob Macnaughton had tried to take him iti hand, — 'had pcniited out that Katie had nuide a good marria'ie. for which he, Malcolm, should be thankful ; but the wild, fii A DARK NIGHT. 325 cVsord. n (1 brnin seeuiccl incnpable of tnkircr in tlio f.-iot. 1I»' linl hut one tlrsirc, — thoiigli, witli tlie cuiininjji: of the in>;iiu'. it w's never bi'eiitlied, iuid that wiis to have his i'eveii<.'e iijion A'uns M'lieaii. He was i)i(iiiiji- his time; and, hnviiig licnd iliat young Anp,us liad come over for a day 01 two alone, to ^'ct ;iu;;y some of his l)cIonp:ings Iroiu Aucliloy, he was const.nifly lirowliiig about on the wateli. Fergus found tlie cottage door 1(1 kt'd ; jind tliougli lie j)eered in at both windows, there was no -i.n of M dcolm. He was, indeed, prowling about the birth woo ! on Ine other side of the loeh, waiting for young Atigtis MiJean, whom he had seen cross the bridge in the afternoon. l)isai)j)ointed of Malcolm, Fei'gus leapeo the burn, and lilted the Mieck of Kob Macnaughton's door. Kob was at his loom, which went som.-what slowly and heavily now, for the stocking-weaver's powerful limbs were not proof against the hand of time. Kob had now become a Ixnt old man. ' Kob, come into the kitchen ! ' cried Fergus cheerily. ' Mind, it's our last crack.' Kob got off his stool as nind)ly as his rheumatic leg would allow him, and came hiriiling ben to the kitchen, with the old- tiniG smile on his face. ' So, lad, ye are for off? ' ' Ay, Kob ; to-morrow Glenquaich will know me no more, — at least tor ^ome years.' he addt an d 1 lis voice gave a (piiver. "c"> It was a wreiich to leave the old Glen, and Achnafanld,— ay, and Crom Creauh, which sheltered what was dearer to him than life it.elf. ' Weel, weel, when ye come back, Fergus Macleod, the s at Tunich, and he would not be in from the fields until after seven, at any rate.' 'We'll go and meet hitri, then, Angus. I don't want to alarm vou,' said Fergus, 'but I fear Malcolm Menzies means mischief lo-night. Have you seen him since you came home?' 'No. What do you n.ean, Fergus?' asked Angus quickly, will a di»tuibtd, startled look on his face. ' K'ob Macnauahton saw him away over the bridge, and didn't like ihe look of him,' said Fer^^us. ' He may mean noihiig, but it cm do us no harm to go as far as the [ilantation and meet your father.' Feruus was much excited. Angus, though the interest was more specially his, was quite cool. But he was cast in a ! 1 ■ w A DARK NIGHT. 320 Inst niclit in s not at lest ; he wad gang difTcrrnt mould from Fcrirns Macl< od. Brsld«s, 1h> d'd not roall .ngus hinibfir UTgns was so e Peter Ross s until alter on't want to anzies means ame home?' gus quickly, the interest as cast in a af)]irt •heil witldii it the sia,L:liuuii(i \v,l^ iyiiitr, as if keeping puard over it. lit; raisi d his niajrsiic 1iim(| and gave a ^rowl at sij^lit of the stranger, and tiien, as if moved Wy a second tlionglit, lie came slowly to meet her, giving ld> tail a friendly wag to reas>ure her. She laid her hand on his he;el, and sj)oke a word to him, which apjjeared to please him hiiji |\, for he gumhoUed before her in his uncouth fashion up to tin- door. Tiie dog's Welcome ])leased her. It seemed to au:;iii Wi II for her recepti ion wunui th The 1 lousemaici 1 wh o an>wt'i(il the hell looked very genuinely surprised to see her. ' Step into the library, ma'am, if you j)lease, and I'll tell Miss Sheila,' she said, holding open the library door. An ordinal^' c iller would have been u-hered at once to the drawing-ionni, but the gill was dubious whether her young mistress would see Mrs. Macle.id. She saw her look of surpiise when the ejrl gave her the name, but without a moment's hesitation site went downstairs. She stood just a second at the library dour, tni- her heart was i)eatmg more quickly than usual. She did imr know what this visit of Ellen Macleod niiylit portend. W'lieii she entered the room her colour was heightened, : id when Klleii Maele(^d turned from the window and saw the liss(jm figure in soft grey, the sweet face crowned by its plaits of sunny haii, and wearmg a half-startled look, she thought she had never beheld a more lovely creature. ' (iood-evening,' Sheila said kindly, but did not olTer her hand. She did not quite know how to act. The niemoiy of the ))ast was with her, but there was that in the face of Edi n Macleod she had never seen upon it before, and which seemed to nudce the childish terror more and mote like a dream. Ellen jMacleod looked for a moment on the girl's sweet, llu-hed face, then she advanced swiftly, with outstretch' d hands. ' Will you touch my hand in friendship, Sheila Macdonald, just to give me courage to go on ?' ' 1 do not understand yon,' Sheila faltered ; and she laid her own soft, warm young hands on those outstretched to her. I ; 1^ PEACE, 333 II MacJonitkl, Thf'n Ellen ^far^'()(l bent and k'lNScd tlicm, before slie dnw lierst'If away. * I liave Cdnie, tliouLdi late,' she said, with a ciirions hn-ki ness in her voice, ' to ask your forgiveness for all tiie wn)ii;_' I have done to y<>u.' 'It is nothing!' cried Sheila, out of lier sweet cotnjjas'iioii ' nothing at all. I am so glad to see you. Do sit down ; li.. cotne up and take off your lioniu't, and stay with me for a liitl. . 1 am so glail to see you at Dalmore.' ' Oh, child ! you ni;dled. 'Can you forgive me, not onlv N r yoiirsell", but lor those who are away ? ' ' Yes, yes ; don't say another word ! ' cried Sin ila, with wi t eyes, and a smile which radiated her whole face. 'Look at iii\ mother there in the picture. She seems to smile upon n-. I am sure she is 'dad to see us together.' Ellen Macleod broke down. She thiew herself in a chair, ami soblx'd convnl>ively ; and Sheila, moving to her side, laid h like the nether millstone. Sheila, but that awful ni^iht broke it. I couhl not live through such anoiher.' Slieila touched the white liair with a very tender, lini:erin.: touch. There was something almost divine in the look uimhi her face. She liad a heart an angel might have enviid. Sn' only wished she could wipe away every sting which mtiU'rv had j)lanted in the bosom of the woman by her side. T; e past was forgotten. Its harshest discords were lost in the >wt 1 1 harmony of this blessed moment. Her heart's desiie w.iv ,iil- lilled. The only enemy she had had in the world was now hei' triend. A sense of the goodness and mercy of (iod lilU-d ihe child s soul with a song of humble thanksgiving. She could have knelt upon her knees and prayed. ' I have long wished to come, but my courage failed me. When I thought of what I had done to you, of the uiek'd 334 SHEILA. m / , r ■ .; : :| tliouL'lits I liad entertained towaids you, my conscience seeitit (] to dare me to come. But we go away to-mi^riow, and I told nivs(df that I could not go without a word of furL!;ivene: J :!■ 336 SHEILA. Ill M u;i III -/! ; J ! !-' iii('SN;igc for tliose across thi^ sea. But Ik^ 1i;u1 kept Ins vow to see lior fiicc no more until he should have redeemed the time, Mild had a wliite f;iir i)age to lay abi)ve that lilemi>;lit'd one which would he ever before his eyes as a warning and a shield in liie time of temptiitiMU or moral trial, and though Shcihi und^r- -"i'ood it all quite well, and honoureil him for his stedfastness of iiiriK)se, her woman's heart was rebelliously sore, and even the; I uMire seemed daik and gloomy. It was shroiuled in uncertainty, :ind she could not find much comf jrt even in the thought that I'ergus had promised to come biick. Kllen Macleod was home before Fergus. She found Jessie M;K',keiizie busy among the bagg;ige, bustling about with a great s -nse of im])ortance. fShe had elected to throw in her fortunes with tile smnll family she had so long served, and they were • 1 ly too willing to take her with them. ' I'm snre Maister Fei'gus needna hae bidden sae lang at the Fauld the nicht,' were the words with which she greeted her mistress, ' 'Jliere's five boxes no' roped, an' it's nine o'clock, an' iiie c:irt comin' at six o'clock in the morning.' ' Mr. Fergus will nor be long of roping these, Jessie,' said her m'stress good-humouredly. ' Now, while you Were packing, did \ oil keep to the lists I made out, so that we c;m lay our hands on wlnit we want without requiring to turn every bo^ out ? ' ' Yes, ma'am, everything's licht ; jist ask me when ye want ony thing, ati' I'll lay my finger on it jist at once,' replied Jessie proudly ; and ju>t then Mr. Fergus returned, and her mind was I'tlieved by the sight of the five boxes roped and Libelled, ready tor the hold of the Bosphorus. Over the fire that night Fergus and his mother talked of past, present, and future, and wdien she gave him Sheila's message i.<^ never said a word. Siie forbore to look at him while she dtdivered it, and immediately changed the suhject, for which hei' son blessed her in his heart. At six o'clock next morn- ing a carriage from Dalmore came bowling over the Girron Biig, and drew up at the gate of Shoimen. The coachman had a note for Mrs. Macleod. It was only to beg that, as a last favour, she would make use of the can iage to the station, and there was a basket of spring flowers and some hot-house fruit for the journey. PEA CE. 337 ept liis vow to ined tlie tinv', ilcmi'ilH'cl OIK' and ;i shield in Sheilti uiidnr- stedfastness of , and even tlu; in uncertainty, B thuu^lit tiiat 3 found Jessie it with a great ti her fortunes ind they were ae lang at the e greeted her ne o'cluck, an' 'Tine ye heard the news about Auclilov, sir?' asked the man. toiidiiiig his hat to Fergus when he came out of the gate. ' Xo ; what's that? ' a-ked Fergus, in a starth'd voice. * He wasna hanie a' nieht, and they've found liini this morn- ing in the Braan just helow the brig, dead.' *Di owned?' abked Fergus, in horror. ' Ay ; but he was hurt, they say, afore he was tlirown over. 'I'liey're seekin' i"ur Ahdcohn Menzies. He liasna been in the Fauld since ihe I'oreiiicht yesterday. Tiiey say he's awu' ower the hilJs to Aherfihly, clean stark mad.' Ah, poor Malcolm Menzies! Tlie bitter end had come. The nursing of a revt-ngelul passion, working upon an excitable, overstrung temperament, had thrown reason from her throne. Fergus, lemembering their luddie-lime; turned away v\ith his eyes lull of tears. 'ssie,' said her e packing, did lay our hands boK out ? ' vhen ye want replied Jes^Nie her mind was dbelled, ready talked of past, eila's mc-sage liiro while she ct, for which k next moin- L' Girron Biig, lan had a noie St favour, slie d theie was a r the journey. f ' < ' >i 'I ^■J ■i ' ! li I ■ . ^i^^X^^^^^lGfi30z "_>>'' ,"/■• ' >ry//TM»i7^ CHAPTER XXXIX. MACDONALD S LAST WILL. M Does the road wind up hill all the way' Yes, to tlio very end. jv| HEY found poor ]\ralcolm ere the day was far spent, and took him to Forth Prison to await his trial. The trial would be a mere form, for nothing could be proved ; and it Avas probable that, after the examination, he would be removed to the asylum at Murthly. Colin Fisher, the farmer in Kinloch, had been the first to see the body of the factor 1} ing on the river bank in the early mornmjr lid was quite dead, with a long bruise on the temple, administered by some heavy in-trumcnt, or perhaps sustained in his fall, Tlic affair was discussed in all its bcarinirs with that morbid miiuite- ness country people love. The wildest rumours were iifloat; 1 :ut as there were no e) e-Avitnesses to the struggle, — if there had been a struggle, — nothing certain could be known. The accept- able idea, however, v/as that Malcolm, in the frenzy of the inoMient, had thrown Anrrus M'Bean over the brid-ie. It was impossible, owing to the height of the parapet, that he con'd have fallen over it, even if struggling close by it. It created a ]iainful sensation in the Glen, where both v.'ere well known. There was nothing but pity for the poor lad who had done the cruel deed; and as for Angus M'Bean, the factor, they spoke 338 ^ MACDONALD'S LAST WILL. 339 I- kindly of him, with that beautiful touch of lovinfi-kindnoss and chiiriiy which death never fails to bring forth. He is a callous man who will speak evil of the dead. Annus M'Bi'an the younger went through to Edinburgh, and brought his wife to Auchloy the following morning. His mother, with an unselHsh kindness for which many blessed her, and none jnore earnestly than poor Katie herself, would not turn her back upon the innocent because of another's sin. She it was who wrote the sad news to Katie, and she gave her a daughter's welcome to Auchloy. And in a few days all was over, and Angus Al'Bean was laid to rest in the kirkyard at Aniulree, iind his faults were buried with him. During that trying time for the Auchloy household, Sheila was constant in her kind attention to them. It was in such ways, sharing their griefs, and sympathizing with their joys, that the young Lady of Dalmore endeared herself to her people. She believed that a great responsibility rested upon her; she held her heritage as a solemn trust, and, as far as her knowledge went, did her utmost for all with whom she had to deal. There were few grumblings now in Glenquaich, for Sheila was a wise, just, generous mistress. She did not, however, give charity to any except the most needy; she had a shrewd sense of what was due to herself, likewise ; and it was her aim and desire to footer in the cottars that independent, self-reliant spirit wiiich was wont to be Scotland's glory. Of indiscriminate civing she had seen the evil, and, while carrying out all reasonable improve- ments, and giving her tenants fair conditions under which to live, she required that there should be no arrears of rent after some past debts to the estate were wiped away. There was no excuse for the idle or the shiftless, and these, of course, com- plained that the new rule was as hard as the old. Sheila knew every household in the Glen, and kept the black sheep, of whom liiere were a few, strictly under her own surveillance. She had her troubles; sometimes her generous kindness and honest endeavours were met by ingratitude and disappointment ; but, on the whole, the Glen, and especially the Fauld, was in a flourishing, contented state. Shortiy after the factor's death, and having first taken counsel with her friend and adviser, Mr. I; -I f I liH! fti t I 't 1^' 'I. 340 SHEILA. C(ilqnlionn, tlio linvyer, Slicila rode over to Andiloy one niulit, towards the end of May, to interxiew youncr Annus M'Bt-aii. SI le was s tak en 111 to tl le Irawintr-rooni, w here Katie, look Ml. very wliite and tired, liad lain down on the couch for a itsi. Malcolm was constantly in Katie's heart. Sheila was shockt tl to see her. Could that pale, sh;idowy creatine in the hiatk frock be tlie lK)nnie red-cheeked Katie of yore? She started up, a^^hanied of being caught ; but Sheila's kind smile, ever ready, reassuii'd her. * The heat has tired you, Katie ; isn't it ver^ hot for M;iy ? ' she said plea'^antly. 'I hope your husband is ni ; I want very m uch t o see nun. 'lie will not be very far away. Miss Siieila,' said Katie, and seated herself dis[>iritedly an the sofa, as if she had lost her interest in life. ' Katie, you look quite ill.; I am afraid you are vexing your- self about something.' 'It's Malky, Miss Sheila; ye see, I daurna mention his name here ; but oh, if I could only see him ! Do you — do you think he'll be hanged?' The words came out in a sort of gasp ; and the look of absolute terror and agony on Katie's face shocked Sheila inexpressibly. The thought of ^Malcolm on the scaffold had dwelt with Katie ni^lit and day, and was eating her very heart out. Sheila was filled with compassion, understaiuling how the poor girl's feelings were pent up in her own breast. She must have suffered terril)ly during the last few AVeeks. 'Hanged! O no, Katie dear; you must not think of such a thing,' she said, with quiet reassurance. 'I was at Crieff to-day seeing Mr. Ctihpihoun, and we were speaking aliout Malcolm. He says — and you know he is a very clever man, Katie — tliat Malcolm will not be punished at all, even if anything were proved, and that is impossible; he was not responsible, lie wdl be sent to ^Nlurthly, and will be very kindly and carefully dealt wiili there, I assure you. You may believe what I am saying, Katie, for I would not deceive you, and Mr. Culquhoun knows all about it.' Katie burst into tears. "VYhot relief these words gave her [■! ■ f (■ MACDONALD'S LAST WILL, 34T vexing your- none knew but licrself. She dried her eyes lia'stily wlien the door opened and her linshand entered. She hft tlu; ronm iniinediately ; and Sheih\ saw how Angus's eyes followed h»r, and knew that it had made no difTcrence to him. ' Your wife has been vexing herself needlessly about hi r brother,' said Sheila, after she had shaken hands with Angii-. ' I quite understand how she caiuiot talk about it, even to ijou." • I saw tliere was something worrying her. I know what it is. But they can't do anything to him, nor would Wf wish it,' said Angus, in a low voice. 'Poor Malcolm was not responsible.' ' I have just been telling Katie that, but if you would tell lui- too, I am sure it would do good,' said Sheila. ' I came over to see you on a little matter of business. Are you going back to Edi!d)urgh soon? ' 'Indeed, I don't know, Miss Sheila; I must stay here, I sujipose, till I get something to do,' said Aniius, with rather a melancholy smile, for he had found office -seeking a heart h-s task. ' Would you care to take your father's place ? ' Sheila a^ked at once. Angus M'Bean flushed all over with surprise and delight. The idea had not occurred to him, as he did not consider himself qualified for such a post. ' I am not fit, Miss Sheila. I have had no experience — practical experience, I mean ; but I would do my utmost to serve you,' he said, not without emotion. 'I am sure of that; and, you know, as to experience, we will be the less likely to fall out, for I have a great many whims. Do you third? you could put up with them?' Angus M'Bean did not for the moment speak. A load was lifted from his heart. He saw that it was not a wise nor a goo'l tliirni; for him and his yoim"; wife to dwell under the; same root wi'li his mi'ther and sisters, however kind they might be. lie knew that it must soon have an end. He had almost begun io fear, indeed, that, dearly as he loved Katie, he had done her an injury in marrying her before he had a home to offer her. ' You mustn't say a word,' said Sheila, with a pretty, wilful 342 SHEILA. \\ v \y^ ■\ '!!■ H- '1- ! smile, ' for I have quite made up my mind about it, and laid nil my plans. Your mother and sisters will stay on here, — that is, if they wish it, and you and Katie can live at Shonnen. Mis. Miicleod left the keys with me, and I know she will be quite pleased that you should live in it.' ' Katie will thank you. Miss Sheila, for I cannot,* said Angus M'Bean huskily ; ' but I will do my utmost to serve you.' ' I am sure of it, and I need no thanks,' said Sheila, with a sunny smile. ' I have spoken to Mr. Colquhoun about it. I went to see him to-day for that purpose. You will go down to Crieff at an eaily day, Mr. M'Bean, will you not, and settle tlie whole matter with him? And now I must shake hands witli my new factor, and run away, for the boy will be tired of holding Rob Roy, who hns a rooted aversion to a strange hand on his bridle.' She would not wait for thanks. Sheila did not do good for selfish motives, to win approbation and flattery and praise. She was, as I said, honestly striving to fill worthily and well tiie responsible place God had apportioned to her. She did the duty lying to her hand, and so found a blessing with it. She went away from Auehloy that night leaving sut)shine behind. She had given to the young couple, who had nothing in this world but loving hearts and willing hands, an aim and a hope for the future. The very day after his son's hasty marriage, Angus M'Bean the elder had drawn up a new will, leaving everything to his wife and daughters. Young Angus had not even the proverbial shilling to console him, and matters had begun to look serious for him and his young wife. But Angus would not long have remained idle. Love had made a man of him, and he would not be ashamed to soil his hands for Katie. Sheila gave Rob Roy the rein going home, and that frisky animal almost flew over the road. She wanted some violent, invigorating influence; the days had been strangely dark and even purposeless since Fergus went away. She had thought that there would not be much difference. She had seen him so seldom, even while he was in Edinburgh ; but ah ! the rolling sea was a strange barrier, and the world beyond Glenquaich was very wide. She had quite decided, indeed, after the business % 11 : MACDOXALD'S LAST WH.L. 343 jiboiit tliH iifi'v f.ictor Wiis concluck'd, to go over to ^^Iln■llysll..1l;:ll fijr Ji wi'i'k. Sue was \vc;iryin 344 SHEILA, it had been found. The few cramped, uneven words were as follows : — 'This is my last will and testament. 1 leave Dalmore and Fiudowie to my iH'pliew, Ferj^us Macleod, upon one condition, — that he marrit'S my beloved daughter, Slu'ihi Muiray Macdonald, and adds the name of Macdouidd to his own. If he uill imt fulfil these conditions, my former will, drawn up by Culquhoun, will stand good. * Graham Macdonalo.' As she read, the hot blood cha«ed away the paleness fr. ni Sheila's neck and cheek and blow. She laid her arms down upon the table, and buried her burning, throbbing face upon it, and cried until she uas weak and spent. It Avas not a pha^aiit discovery for a young girl. Gralium Maedonahl had not in this done wt*ll by the child he so loved. For there had btt'ii no spoken love between her and Fergus Macleod, and }«'t, in the interests of truth and right, the contents of this will nHi>t be divulged. Poor Sheihi! her j)roud young heart had to ^teer its way through many bitter waters before it anchored in iIp- haveu of love. ^c % lords were as CHAPTER XL. *TIIE CAMPBELLS AUE COMIN . » » B'lt T (liniia s^o thn lirooin, \vi' its tassels, on the lea, Nor hear the liatiu's sang o' my aiu couutrie. GiLFILLAN. 1 HE close of one of the swoct days of early summer in the far West. The soft air was resonant with tlie lunn of tlio insect world, and laden with the delicate odours of budding le.if and Kuisiin'T bloom. The mnples had donned their loveliest attire; the sumach had its tender, bright shoots spread out in the sun, beech and oak and ash lliuiued their emerald hues beside the soiid)re leafage of the pine. There were yellow buds on the stately golden rod, and the forest primeval was carpeted with a wondrous carpet of gaudy lilies, red and white and yellow, standini; up bravely on their delicate but sturdy stems, and verily making the desert to blossom as the rose. The grass was living green on the rough road>ides, and the sparrows chirped noisily in every bougli ; and sometimes the dainty blue jay, vain of his pretty dress, would fierch on the rail of the quaint snake-fence, and utter his cheery but not very musical note. The sky was crystal clear, shading to westward from palest amber to flaming red and gold. The masses of the forest trees stood out against it with startling clearness, and a soft mellow light lay on tlie clustering lioinesteads, as if shedding upon them a benison of MB 1' 1 346 SHEILA. 'I ,' goodwill and pcjiCR. The fall wheat was green on the lirtlc cleared patelns, and the h<';ilthy lops of the niangolds showing in other i)lart'.s between the stinnps of the trees. Ir had l»een no lifjjht labour to which the pioneers from Cileii qnaieh had set themselves; but their hearts did not fail them, for wherever they put in their plou^rhshaie mother earth yielded them a l)ouiitiful return. 'I'lie landscape was very flat, varie gated oidy by the daik masses of the bush, with here and there u rolling breadth of rising ground, which could hardly be called a hillock. The homesteads were primitive, h\\1 picturesque; the houses being built of substantial lf)gs, welded together with rouudi cement, and roofed with shingles, — pieces of wood cut and laid after the manner of slates. The roomy barn, which in- cluded stable and byre and granary, — in u word, the whole 'steading' of a Scotch farm-place, — was built after the s;ime style, and represented an extraoidinary amount of labour. The several liouse and barn raisings in the township had been a source of great interest and amusement to the younger ena- grants, though the expedition with which the older settlers wrought v\hen tliey came to help, and the amoujit of laborious toil tliey put into the wcrking hours, r.ither astonished some of the lazier members of the new community. Imitation is a good thing, and these barn raisings brouglit out the ' smed- dum' of the Highland exiles as years of 'daidlin'' at home would never have done. The roads were very rough and un- even ; the ground in many places being swampy, a difficulty obviated by the laying of logs across the way. As time went on, and drainage became more common, tlie roads in the new- township would improve. The principal road led direct from the little village to the nearest railway station, twenty-three niilcs distant. The village, called so by courtesy only, consisted of one store, of that curious type seen nowhere "but in the backwoods of a new country ; a blacksmith's shop ; and a little frame house, which, from its shape and appearance, was evidently a j)i;ice of worship. On this fine evening the village or towiii^hip of Fergus Creek seemed to be in a state of urprecedented r.-l ! I * THE CAMPHEf.LS ARE COMIiY: 347 livi'lincs"!. Tlic liiilf cn'ck, a limpid, pellucid sfr«'atn, flowing' in Ji s.mdy Ix'd, likr ilic \>\\v\\ in tiic old soiijr, ' wiinplcd tliroiiLdi tlic cliiclian,' and the siniddy stood ' ayont it,' and at iIh' smiddy dooi', tin- centre of an interested and excited throng, stood onr old I'riend Don.dd Macalpine, tlie smith, iookiiifr moie li de and hearty than he had ever dune in Achnafanld. Donald had not changed iiis tiade, lor, ol' course, wherever there aie a niiinlier of faims in a district, a smiddy is indispcii'alile, >u' and young, came out to the door, th.e gay ribbons of her cap llutit ring excitt^dly about lier (lushed lace. ' Ony word yet, Donald? 'J'he jeuks is dune to a tnm, an' the ketile's begiimin' to bile in.' ' riity caiiia' be lang noo, Mary, my woman,' Donald aii>wer. (1 cli< t-rily. ' Allooiu' an hoor for the train bein' lute, tliey sl.oidd be here in aboot ten meenits.' ' Awa' ayont the road, then, lads; an' you, Cam'll Stewart, gai' yei- j)ipes play "The Cam'lls are Comin'" wi' a' yer ndi'ht A II nil' an' me an' Jecms's wife an' the weans '11 be dauiu'iin* e;tei- ve.' and the conn '■}• >1' ipany themselves into a kind of [)rt)ce>sion, and marched off down the ro;i(l, and yotmg Campbell Stewart, the third laddie of the former tenant of 1 urrich, put the ]iipes to his mouth, and blew the fannliar blast wdnch had so ofu'ii awakened the echoes of the (iliM (punch hills, lie had on the bright Macdonald kilt, jthiid and all ; and every man in the township who possessed a kilt had got into it, and it was like a miniature Highland I. I I r'l ■ ;i ! ' m ll ♦: A ■-; ■'iH 1 1 •1 348 SHEILA. rcsimont mnrcln'ng along tlie road. The Avliole clan Imd gMtlu'rcd ill tlic t'laclian, all tlin women and tlio haiiiis too; boonic Annie Stewart, young Jamie's wife, witli a b.iirii in lur aims and o e at lier skirts, and iier motlier-in-law too, who, tlu'Uiili prantiy now, looked almost as young as Aimie lierself. Jiimes Stewart of Turrioh had never ceased to bless the d.iy which had brought him to the kindly, healthy land across the sea. Though Ar.-iry Macalpine's face Avas wreathed in smiles, there was a suspicious dimness about her eyi.'S, which indicated tin- working of an inward emotion. There was a nervousness aI)out her, too, and again and again she broke away from the Talk of the women to run into her own snug kitclien for another look at the table. ' If it had only been INIaister Fergus hissel', Ailie Stewart,' she said to James Stewart's wife. ' He tak's bite an' sup wi' a'l)ody, an' is aye pleased, but it's anither thing to cook for the leddy o' Shonnen.' ' Dinna you v»'X yoursel', Mary, my woman,' Ailie answered gently. 'Efier sailin' on the sea, an' e;itiii' dry morsels in the train, an' the kind o' meat they gie ye here at railway stations, the 1( ddy o' Shonnen will no' find fault wi' youi table Better nor her inicht relish it, fur I never snielt a better smell.' Miiry laughed ; but in she went again, for the sound of the pi[)es had turned evidently, and was now being b(jriie on the swelling bosom of the wind straight towards the clachan. ' They're comiir, Mary ! we see the buggy on the tap o' the hill!' cried Ailie excitedly. 'Come awa', granny's doos,' she added to the bairns, and set off from the door. But Mary did not follow. From the window-ledge she took a little flower-pot, in which, bowered among green moss, there s'ood up, brave and bonnie and strong, twu yi llow-eyed, [)ink-lipped gowans. This she set on the middle of the long low table, which Avas covered with white hoint'- made bread and scones and oat cakes, and golden honey and firm yellow butter and delicious cheese, all made by loving hands in the township. Every household had sent something to Mary ^.lacai^-Iue's table that night to tunipt the exiles froui i THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN\' 349 ole clan Imd lie haiiiis too; ii b;iirii in lin- -law too, who, Annie liiM'scIt'. bless the d.iy iind across the in smiles, there I indicafetl tin- 'vousiiess about )m the talk of r another look Ailie Stewart,' te an' snp \vi' cook for the Ailie answered morsels in the ilway stations, able Better smelh' sound of the borne on the achan. le tap o' the y's doos,' she low-ledse she among gieeii stroncr, twu )n the middle white home- en honey and bv K lei ,e exiles from over the sea. M;iry's liands trembled as she touched the i^owans. God alone knew with what love she had tended tliat sweet k('ep>ake from her bairnie's grave. And when the tirsi bud had become a bonnie (lower, she \\vA received it as a direct message of comfort from the heaven where her bairn was waiting for her. As she heard the din coming nearer tlie house, she ran into the parlour, and, breaking a wee bit heather from the big bunch which hung always above the mantelpieec. she divided it into twg sprigs, and laid one on the plate at the head of the table and one on the right hand. Then she put the tea in the teapot, and, all trembling, went out to the door. And there thev were: the younilul smile. ' You have a welcome for me lor my son's sake. I see it in your eyes.' 'Ihis fairly broke Mary down. ' Come in, come in 1 diima speak, my leddy, but come in ! '1 h*- 11 T^ \ y< 350 SHEILA, tea's ji' ready, an' yer bed's clean an' sweet wi' linen spun in the Fuuld ; an' set?, tluav's tin* heather and the gowans frac Shian, an' a' tliinizs tliat's hamelike an' c;inny ! — Bur giiid I^ord help me ! Don;dd says I'm an aiild fule, an' so i am. Cume in, come in ! ' When Ellen Macleod saw the table spread with so much good cheer, and was ushered into the dainty little bed-chamber ^bu•y had provided for her, and above all, as she saw the kindly light of welcome in the face of the smith's wife, her composure shook. Oh, hovV she had misunderstood and misjudged the folk, wdioj^e hearts were as pure as gold ! ' I do not know what to say, Mrs. Macalpine. I feel your kindness in my heart. My boy will thank you. I trust every- thing to him.' Then Mary knew that a great and wonderful change had taken place in the relations between mother and son, and her hands were very gentle as she helped the mistress of Shonnen off with her many wraps. ' It's a lang, weary journey, my leddy ; but, my certy ! ye arc better afFthan we were when we cam', for there's a siuid meal o' meat waitin' ye. Sirce ! when I cam', an' saw naething but trees an' trees an' better trees, and was telt we had to cut them doon to build a biggin' o', I felt gey queer. It's no' an ill country, ma'am, when ye get used to it. An' the sticks burn better nor the peat, though baith ways the fire's like a hungerr bairn, — aye greetin' for mair. There's water, ma'am, to A'a^-h yer face; an' I'll dish up the jeuks that Rory Maclean shot twa days ago in the swamp, and they're mair tender than the L^rouse or Patricks on Craig Hulich. An' to think that no' three weeks ago ye Avalkit the auld roads, an' saw the loch shinin' in the sun I But I maun awu' ; I'm a stupid auld wife ! ' ' How mony hae ye room for, Maiy, at the table ?' cried Donah'. y)utting his 'lam o' Shanter round the door. 'The Laird'll no' sit doon his lane.' ' We ci)uld pit doon nine or ten. Bid the Laird wale them, an' I'll bring cu[)S,' Mary answered back; and what a lauphinj and joking there was over the Laird's 'walin!' He chos*- all the old folks, and when they were gathered round the board * THE CAMPBELLS ARE COM IN", 351 :n spun in the IS frae Shiiin, lid Lord help 11. Cuine ill, so miic]i good lianiher Mary e kindly liglir [)()sure shook, le folk, whoso I feel your I trust evcry- [ change had son, and licr IS of Shoiinen certy ! ye arc 's a gnid mciil nacthing but d to cut thciii t's no' an ill e sticks burn ke a huiiGfert I'am, to A'a^h ean shot twa in the Lironsc three weeks n' in tlie sun I cried Donnh'. le Laiid'll no' d wale tlicni, it a lauiihiiiii- He chost- nil Hd the board was himself the only young one among them. Ilis mother sat by his right hand ; and then, after Doiiahl had asked the blessing, in a broken and ^uite inaudii)le voice, Fergus got up to his feet. ' Fi'iends,' he said, and his manly voice shook, and the red flush of deep emotion spread all over his handsome face — ' friends, I want to thank you in my own and my mother's name for'— He came to a sudden stop, and then the aAvkward pause was filled by the sudden music of the pipes sti iking up the lively air of 'Lady Anne Lindsay.' So Fergus laughed, and sat down. Then the ' jeuks,' all brown and savoury and teiuler, were set before him *o carve, and he was so hungry he made short work of them. Ellen iSL^cleod sat very quietly by his side, si{)j)ing the delicious tea, and enjoying Mary's dainty morsels to the full, but not saying much. Slie was content to stay in the back- ground and let the boy be first. But she was no restraint upon them, for the few words she spoke were so gentle and kind that they looked at her in wonder, and reproached themselves for the misgivings they had entertained about her coming. It was a merry, merry meal. What a questioning and answering! Fergus was sore put to it to speak and eat with all his might at once ! As was to be expected, they were eagerly interestel in all the Fauld news, — in Katie ^Fenzies' maniage to young M'Bean, and poor Malcolm's misdoing, which had resulted in the untimely end of the factor. He had b(.'en a harsh task- master to them, but they genuinely deplored his gri< voiis death. Late that night Fergus sat up round the fire, with the smith an' time all tliese arrangements were made. l'\'r:ius and liis mother saw and approved the place; the dei d of imrehase was diawn out and signed ; and the end of June saw lilt' lifli; household from Slionnen settled amor>g all the familiar luriiisiiiiigN in a roomy and comfurtalde frame farm-house, and I\rgus Mack'od a Canadian landowaer in his own right. m \\ ! '■ i;i 19 to possession. CHAPTER XLL A MAIDENS HEART. Alas 1 for the years thnt lie Between love's reaping and sowing! J. B. Selkirk. mn ' ■J" ' .JVli, ADY AILSA was extromely puzzled over the denoue- ment of the interesting love afTiir between Slu'ila and Fergus Macleod. She could not understand it at ail, and felt afrgravafed with the foolish young man for deliberately turning his back uj)on good fortune such as lies in the way of very few ; and not good fortune oidy, but as sweet and winsome a wife as atjy man coidd ever hope to win. Wiien she thought liow much her own Alasfair, to say nothing of hiilf a dozen oiliers, would have given for the chance, it made her feel very sore against the independent young scion of the house of Macdoiuild. But then she knew nothing of the undercurrents, for dearly as Sheila loved her aunt, there were some things slie could not tell her. The secret of Fergus's fall was safe with the women who liad witnessed it. Where the interests of their h brouglit by the wind's eart'ss had faded, her face was quite pale, and her expression sad i A MA/DEN'S HEART. 355 almost to hopelessness. She did not speak, but laid her motherly hand above the girl's slender pale fingers, and Sheila caught it, and laid her cheek against it. So they sat in silence for a time. * Aunt Ailsa,' came at length very low from Sheila's lips, ' do you think it makes God very angry, if sometimes, wlicn we are very wretched, we think we would not mind very miicli though death came to end it all ? ' ' My Sheila, these are not fitting words from yotir lips,' Aunt Ailsa replied quite gravely, though her lips trembled. * God has blessed you, my darling, above many.' ' Oh, I know He has, and 1 am not ungrateful,' was the girl's passionate answer. ' But sometimes, auntie, I think it would be so easy to be poor, and even not in good health, if other things were different. Is it wrong to think that I have too much care ? I can never remember a time when something did not weigh upon my heart. I have never been quite happy, I think, since mamma and I lived down by the ri^er. It is so hard to grow up.' * I know what weighs upon your heart, my c'arling. I under- stand it aU,' said Aunt Ailsa softly. 'Not quite, auntie,' returned Sheila quickly. 'You know some things, but not all. It was very hard to bear when tlh^y went away,' she added simply, and without affectation. ' But there is something else. It happened nearly three weeks ago, and I have been trying to think what would be the right thing to do, Aunt Ailsf'. I have found papa's will.' 'Bless me! Sheila, are you always harping on that old fancy yet?' ' No. I have found it, and here it is, Aunt Ailsa. See, I have brought it to you to read, for I have nobody in the world now, but only you.' She drew the folded scrap of paper from the bosom of her dress, and gave it into her aunt's hand. Lady Ailsa put on her eyeglass, and scanned the few words which were of such serious im|)orr, to the girl at her knee. ' I never heard of such a thing 1 ' she cried indignantly. * It was wrong and cruel of Macdonald to do this. Sheila. I cannot ' ':• 1 ■ ■ , m ^3 1 ^/ n IB '■ tiil! iL... ■ » ■ . ■t!!i '\ 356 SHEILA. help it, \^ I spi^iik hnrslily of the dead. Why did you go jx'king about in odd corners, seeking this to your own heart- })ri'iik, child ? ' * I didn't poke ; it came to me. I suppose the time had come,' said Slieiia, with a dreary smile. Tiien her colour ruse, and lier lips trembled. 'Do you quite understand it, auntie — do you see the wretched, miserable position it puts me in? I ve'' V Fergus Macleod, and he is l)ribed, as it were, to rbere is no condition put upon me. Suppose I had ii,i he would 1)0 kept out of Dalmore, and could am K • take • to refu feel aggrieved. is a SiJiameful thing ! ' 'Shamel'ul ! It is a dis<:race and a sin !' quoth Lady Ailsa hotly. ' Let me toss it into the fire. I wonder you did not do it at once, child ' Slieib shook her head, and turned her face away to the window, and watclied the green tree-tops bending to the wind. ' Sheila, tell me truly. I must know everything. Has Fergus ever spoken a word of love to you ? ' 'No, never,' Sheila answered, with her face still averted. ' But — but I know — at least I think — he would, if things were different.' ' You care for him, then. Sheila? ' ' I am afraid I do, Aunt Ailsa, very much,' Sheila whispered ; and the sweet colour flushed all her face again, and she was fain to hide it. 'Tlien there need not be much fuss or vexation about it. Sheila,' said Lady Ailsa, with a quiet smile. ' Mr Colquhoun need only write a few iiscreet words to our exile, then there wdl be the wedding chimes and the happy ending, and, I'm sure, very tliankful will I be to get you otF my hands. You don" I- kuftw what a responsibility and care you are to me.' Hut still Sheila only shook her head. '1 suppose he must be told?' she said at length, in a low, (iouliifnl voice. ' In the interests of justice, if of nothing else, he must,' Lady Ailsa answered significantly. ' And what do you suppose he will do ? ' r \ A MAIDEN'S HEART. 357 id you go jwn heart- j time had t)lour rose, t, auntie — me in ? I it were, to Dpose I had and could Lady Ailsa did not do vay to the ig to the ling. Has 11 averted, ihings were whispered ; id slie was about it, Culquhoun then there :, and, I'm nds. You me.' in a low, he must,' * there need be no fuss about it. not a time to allow foolish s." wav. If you do, the happiness oi' *.s I 'M» ' Take passage home in the next steamer, if he is in his riglt mind.' ' If I thought he would do that, Aunt Ailsa, I wouh^ (j away somewhere, and hide myself for ever!' said Sheila j)assiou- atrly. 'It is a shame! It is just a bribe. I suppose few could resist it. Do you think Fergus could? ' ' Sheda, I do not understand you. There is something you are keeping back,' said Lady Ailsa perple.xedly. ' If you care for Fergus, and he c;ires for you' — ' But I am not sure. I only said he might, if things were different,' put in Sheila. ' And he cares for you,' repeateu A t Ailsa steadily, lid before, this is 'S to stand in the :h your lives may be lost.' There was a long silence. Th ^yheila rose to her feet, and gathered the skirt of her habit in her hand. Her face was quite pale and grave agaiii. Her aunt thought she looked old beyond her years. 'The case, as we understand it, stands thus, then, Aunt Ailsa,' she said quietly. ' I am in possession of Dalmore, but if Fergus Macleod should wish to marry me, it is his. If I sliould not wish to marry him, I may still remain in possessi'k yon t(» foifxive nie if I liave said too miicli. I couM not liave siiid less, 1 ibiiik, and made you undersfand, VVc are settled Iw re on onr own farm. My nioiber is bappy, and tbe fuiure is hiiubt witb piomise. kSbe knows all tbat is in my iieart. I love my motber next to you. Strange ibat I sbould j)resnme to write of love to yon, but distance and circunjstances are accountable for une.xpected actions. I sball trespass no more till tbe time comis 'vben I can stand an equal before you, anti, if you are frre, H>k for your love. Give nie your prayrrs, SInila, atul sometimes a tbongbt. All my life and hopes and jiinis are l>onnd U[) in you. I must lay down my pen. I could say so n»iu'b more. It is not easy to stop. May God bless and take cat e of you. Siieila ! I say it in deep reverence. — And I am, while I live, yours devoiedly, *FEr.Qus Macleod.* m I be June sun lay biight and polden on the bent head, on the swret, downcast face, radiant witb the sutishine of love. A lo id wa^ lifted from off the child's slionlders; her heart was filli d witli that deep, unntteraltle gladness which comes only once. By and by, Fergus had his answer. It was very short, but it suiiici'd : — ' Dkar Fki!GUS, — You will find me waiting when you come. ' SaEILA.' And so the probation began. ■^mS^^^r. CX-v^' CHAPTER XLII. *A JDDEECIOUS FRIGHT.* The (It-ar old places — So lull of uumoiies for you and me t J. B. Sflkirk. O letters passed betwoon these yonnp; people during thtir probaiion. They were very loy;il. Old Time was to \vork his will with them, but whatever change he might make in other places or in other hearts, his fli;.dit would find them the same. But they were nor absolutely without news of each other, for Ala^tair and Ferjius k« pt up a kind of desultory correspondence, and so there was a bond kept between the old world and the new. Frrgns was making his way steadily, and prospering, Ahistiiir c<»nld make out from his letters, though there was 1 oiliitig of the spirit of boasting in th«m. He was farming at ■^ n hine Ilill en the most approved [)rii'ciph'S, and had, indec d, I :Migniat(d a new agricultural t^ra in the district. lie had not • !y rais»d the good land on his farm to the highest pitch of hivation, but by degrees had redeemed the swamps by drain- i!j<', and so added considerably to his estate, lie threw himself li at and soul into his work, and, having a quick perciytion, shrewd fore>ightedness, and pron:|.tn*»ss of action, he biide fair to become a rich and successful man. He began to uira his atteutioQ to stock-raising, and had some ox the best blood sent Ml |i ■ 362 SHEILA. out to him, which opened up a new and fine field of enterprise. These things, of course, did not become accoinphshed facts all at once ; they were the growth of years. And here, perhaps, Fergus erred a little in his high-mindedness and independent resolve. In his consuming anxiety to do well, and to have something worthy to show as the result of the years, he forgot what the waiting might be for Sheila. His life was full of interrsr, of engrossing work and occupation; hers was empty, and, in a sense, purposeless, and the time seemed to her fear- fully long. Sometimes the child grew sick of hope defern d. Dalniore was no longer a source of unceasing anxiety and care. Angus M'Bean the younger was such a true, kind, and faithful steward, that there was no longer any need for the mist ess's constant supervision. The relations between Dalmore and the Glen were of the most delightful description. So, in a sense. Sheila's life became purposeless, and Aunt Ailsa was not at times without deep anxiety about her. The child seemed to be standing still. It was as if the development of her character had been arrested, — 'as if she had lost hold of the purpose of life. She stayed a great deal at Murrayshaugh, and generally wintered abroad with her aunt and uncle. Sir Douglas was in poor health, and the third v nter after Fergus went away, he died at San Remo, and Alastair became Laird of Murrayshaugh. The liapj)y, meriy household was becoming sadly thinned. The lads w^ere scattered^^ — one at Woolwich, one at Harrow, and one studying in Edinburgh. Tlie other two were still at Glen- almond, though Gordon, the younger, was showing signs of restlt ssness, and threatened to emigrate to Canada after Fergus Macleod. Sir Alastair bore his honours meekly ; there was no fear of his popularity among the fc>lk. He was dear to young and old, gentle and simple alike. He was engaged to be married to one of the bright English cousins who had been one of Sheila's companions for a year at school, and Lady Ailsa was looking forward to abdicating in her favour. She had many a laugh about it; dear kind heart! she was thoioughly hapj)y over it, and would make a snug home for herself and the younger boys not too far away. And thus matters stood five years after Fergus went away. At Easter, young Gordon '•\ . I A juLEEcious fricht: 363 f enterprise, bed facts all ?re, perhaps, independent ■jnd to have rs, he forgot was full of was empty, to her fear- ipe deferrt d. 2ty and care. and faithful he mist ess's lore and the ), in a sense, , was not at d seemed to fier character irpose of life. d generally iglas was in nt awny, he rrayshaugh. inned. The row, and one 11 at Glen- ing signs of after Fergus lere was no ar to young ^Hged to be ) had been [ Lady Ail.sM She had 5 thoioughly •self and the s stood five II ig Gordon rebelled altogether at going back to Glenalmond ; and, after a long talk with his mother, Sir Alastair decided to take a trip to Canada himsflf, in order to see what prospect there was in the new country for his young brother. He had another errand, too, which was spoken of but briefly between his motlur and himself. 'And you can see for yourself what Fergus Macleod is doing out thrre.' Lady Ailsa s.'.id. ' I ai.i rather doubtful about him myself, Alastair. It is unlike a young man to wait so long and make no sign. It makes me sore to look at Sheila. And to think what matches she could have made in the interval ! But for that young renegade we would have seen our Sluila with a coronet on her brow.' ' \\'hich would have been irksome to her, mother, unless Macleod had put it on,' laughed Alastair. ' I confess I don't share your fears about Fergus. lie's a fearsome, determined chap when he likes, and I can understand just how he feels. But 1 confess I think Sheila is wearying.' ' If you tell him that, or even hint at it, Alastair, you stupid boy! 1 don't know what I shall do to you.' 'Oh, mother, what do you take me for? Am I going to make our Sheila cheup to anybody?' queried Alastair, in his boyi»h way. ' No, no ; trust me, I'll ordy give Fergus a "judetcious fricht,'' and won't I enjoy it?' I ady Ailsa smiled then. She could trust her big honest son with .'r^lu'ila's interests, so there was no more said. Sheila's face Hushed all over, and the tears sprang in her eyes, when Alastair rode up to Dalmore to tell his errand and say good bye. Having made up his mind, he took out his passage at once, and everybody was astonished to hear of his sudden resolve. Sheila had been in the south country, spending Easter with a friend, and so had heard nothing of it ur.til Alastair came to say good- bye. He talked a gieat deal about exploring the country and its prospects for the sake of Gordon, and oidy said, as he ^hook hands at the door, — ' I'll likely see Macleod, Sheila, if I am in his neighbourhood. Have you any message?' But Sheila answered quite quietly, and, Alastair thought, with. !v i: 364 SHEILA. Hi a touch of coldnp.ss, * No, I have no message. Don't stay away too h)ng, Alastair, or Aunt Ailsa and 1 will be miserable.* Tlure was a lump in Alastaii's throat as he looked at the sweet, pale young thing in her black frock, and he mentally resolved to make the 'judeecious fricht ' as rousing as possible. So he kissed his cousin, and went his way. He sent no warning of his coming to the friends over the sea; but, in spite of his careless, indifferent words to Sheila, he made straight as an arrow from New York to Ontario, and to the nearest station for Sunshine Hill. The railway had been extended since Fergus went, and the nearest station was now within eight miles of the farm. Alastair was amazed to find thiat there was not a horse or conveyance of any kind to be obtained for love or money at the station. But what was eight miles to him, accustomed as he was to doing his fifteen or twenty over hill and moor at home? So, after getting directions for Sunshine Hill, he left his luirgage, and started off. It was a very warm afternoon. Summer had rushed on apace after a tardy spring, and all vegetation was in an advanced state. The road was terril>ly dusty, Alastair sunk to the ankles at every foot, and before he had gone two miles began to feel out of sorts. He had rather admired the country as he came along. The grass had not yet been burned up by the intense heat, and all the peach and apple orchards were in bloom. But, as he laboured along the dusty road, with the hot, strong sun beating upon him, and nothing to relieve the glare, he muttered something under his breath which sounded uncommonly like ' Beastly country!' Tired out at length, he sat down on the fence, and got a cigar with which to solace him^^elf. ' Believe I'll sit here till sundown,' he said com- placently, his irritation disappearing under the genial influence of his cigar. ' Hulloa ! here's something coming. If it's a gig, or even a cart, I'm in luck,' It was a buggy, which to Alastair seemed a curious-looking affair ; but the horse was a smart trotter, and the driver a pleasant-looking elderly man, evidently a farmer. He drew rein as a matter of course when he approached the stranger. ' (iood-day. Going far, eh ? ' *To a place called Sunshine Hill. Do you know it?* A JUDLECIOUS FBI cut: 365 Don't stay miserable.' )ke(l at, the le nientjilly as possible. no warning spite of his »i)jht as an t station for iiice Fernus miles of the not a horse or money at customed as nd moor at Hill, he left 1 jifternoon, ing, and all was terribly id before he ! lind rather had not yet h and apple ig the dusty md nothing his breath Tired out at ith which to he siiid coni- lial influence If it's a gig, 1 to Alastair ^-as a smart in, evidently se when he it? t'i * Of course I do ; I'm going within half a mile of it. Get in. Warmish day.' 'Rather; thank you, I'm in luck,' said Alastair, as he jumjxd into the comfortable seat by the driver's side. The leather cover was up, and it was delicious to be sheltered from the glaring sun. ' Stranger here, I see,' said the driver very freely. * Yes, just come over.' 'Fr< m the old country ? Thought so. Any relation of Mr. Macleod's ? ' ' Only a friend. Do you know him ?' asked Alastair inter- estedly, for here was a fine chance of hearing some independent testiniony about his friend. ' Know him? We all do. He's one of our prominent men. He's in everything — everything good, I mean. He's a lip-tdp fellow, and the best farmer I ever see'd. I've been in the farm- ing line myself for forty years, but he's learned me a thing or two.' ' Has he really? He is a successful man, then? ' ' He's a genius. I'll tell you what. They don't think much of the old country gentry here, but he's thrown tliem all otl' their calculations. It takes a man with all his senses about him to serve Mr. Macleod.' ' Is he so hard on them ? * ' Oh, bless me ! no ; but he knows everything, and he won't let a slovenly bit of work slip. I don't want no better recom- mendation with a man than that he has served at Sunshine Hill, and my mistress will tell you the same about the hired ^irls. Mrs. Macleod's a real lady, but she knows what's what. Come out thinking to settle, eh ? Fine country this. Look at tliat wheat, sir. Did you ever see its marrow? 'i'his is the kind ^f weather, now. Did vou ever see sunshine like this in Scotlavi) ? No, you never did. I'm from Scotland myself; out thirty-tin ef year come September. Me and the mistress was home la^t year tor the fir>t time, and we couldn't ])ide for the rain. Do you know what I told them at Carmunnock afore ' .lanie a\v.i\ ? I just bade them get Scotland roofed in or I cam' back. Ha I ha!' $66 SHEILA. j r 1 1 { i * i 1 1 i I : '■ ■;' i \ ■ 1 ] -n:^ i 'l 1. . The old farmer laughed, so did Alastair. His heart was light. Tlie news of Fergus was good. * Ay, he's a fine cha[>, Mr. Macleod. He's foremost in all that's good. They're going to make him the reeve of the town- ship next election.' 'What's that?' ' A kind of general supervisor of all the interests of the district. He's young, but he's fit, very fit. See, yonder's liis barn. You can't see the house ; it's in the orchard at the back of the barn. We'll be there in a crack. If you're going to stay a bit at the Hill, we'll be seeing you at our place. You're gentry, I see ; but we're a' ae kind here,' said the farmer facetiously. ' ril be sure to come, thank vou,' said Alastair sincerely. * Am I to get out here ? ' Ay, an' cut across the mangolds. You'll see the house whtm you get by the bush there. Good-day. YoiTll never settle in the old country, sir, after ye've been here,' said the farmer, with a laugh. ' Good-day.' Alastair lifted his cap, and vaulted the primitive-looking snake-fence at a bound. The old man had put him in the best of humours, and he was full of delightful anticipation of his meeting with Fergu«?. It was nearly six o'clock now, and the sun, veering westward, 1 ;o lost the fierceness of his heat. Shadows were creeping ov*^r i.ie bush, and long, shuiting yellow lines of light lay athwart the shingled roof of the b.irn. Alastair could see it quite well, as his long legs took him quickly over the dry furrows between the green bushy mangold to[)s. There were some cows wandering about the yard, lazilv whisking their tails, and a lamb, with a tinkling bell on its neck, trotting about, nibV)Iing the green grass near the fence. It was a peace- ful, plentiful picture; and when a few steps more brought the stranger within sight of the picturesque house, with its wide verandah hung with green creepers and the purple clusters of the clematis, and surrounded on all sides by the wealth of the apple hlooin, he stood still for a moment, and said aloud, — * By Jove, i not bad for the backwoods. It's a perfect piciure.* •^ JUDEECIOUS FRICHT.' 367 heart was emost in all of the towii- erests of the yonder's liis ] at the back I're going to aco. You're I the farmer air sincerely. e house when pver settle in I the farmer, lidve-looking II in the be^t patiou of his now, and the of his heat, anting yellow of the burn. < him quickly nangold tops, izily whisking neck, trotting t was a peacH- ! brought th<' with its wide le clusters of weiilth of the aloud, — t's a perfect Presently, from out the wide-open doors of the barn there came a big stalwart figure, in shirt sleeves, and a big straw hat slouching over his shoulders, — Fergus himself, in his working garb, his honest face as brown as a russet apple with the sun. He caught sight of the trespasser in his mangold field, and put up his hand to his eyes to try and make him out. Alastair grinned, and his heart beat a little faster as he quickened his j)ace. lie had a breadth of pasture to cross between the man- gold field and the yard fence, and as the distance between him and the waiting figure lessened, he saw quite well a curious change come upon the face of his old iriend. At last they were within h;iil, and Alastair's ringing voice, a trifle less steady than usual, l)roke the drowsy stillness. 'Ilulloa! Fcrgie lad, anything to say to an old churn?' * Alastair, as I'm alive ! ' The face of Fergiis twitched, his firm under lip quivered, and for a moment his keen blue eye grew dim. Then, in silence, the two men grippi d hands, and looked into each other's eyes. It was a moment of d^ep emotion for both, for they had been like brothers in the old time. Alastair was the first to speak. 'Never a word of weh;ome, old chap — eh?' he said, wi'h a comical smile. ' Ahtstair, you — you duffer! not to write!' Fergus manngec to say at last ; but the light in his face was good to see. ' You're not sorry, then, to see a kent face ? ' 'Sorry!' Fergus's mouth twitched aga' and he gripped Alastair by the arm, and began to mar( him towards the house. ' When did you come ? Where hav.- you come from ? What made you think of coming? ^^'llat do you want? Did you come to see me?' Fergus -is.ed all those qu< s- tions in a breath, and Alastair answered them all in his own I'asliion, which made the glad light deepen in his friend's eyes. 'Shut up! I want my tea, or dinner, or something. I'm famished. Here's your mother.' Alastair took off his hat, as Mrs. Macl^od, attracted by the 11 ?iil 368 SHEILA. w ■ ' sound of voices through tlie open door, came out on tlie verandah. ' How do you do, Mrs. Macleod ? Any room for a tramp? Too ha(i, wasn't it, to steal a march on you?' ' Mr. Muiray — Sir Alastair, I mean ! ' Helpless surprise sat on the face of Ellen Macleod, but in a minute she recovered herself, and had a welcome for the stranger from over the sea which did his heart good. She looked at Fergus, and when she saw the expression on his fuce, she knew what it had been to him to leave the old land and the true friends there. 'Is it you, Alastair, really?' he asked for the sixth time, after they had got into the house, and the tempting odour of the sup[)er was about tliem. 'Don't vanish away. I'm afraid to lift my eyes off you, in case 1 discover that you've been an optical illusion.' ' A very substantial illusion, as Mrs. Macleod will find presently when I get at the table,* laughed Alastair. 'I say, what a fine place you have here, and how immense it is to see you ! T tell you, I'm jolly glad I came.' Just the same old Alastair, full of fun and boyish chaff. The old university slang sounded like sweetest music in the ears of Fergus. He dared not trust himself to speak, somehow. ' 1 tell you I'm a fool, Alastair. I can't do anything but look at you. Mother, is not it grand to see him V ' ' It is indeed, my son,' Ellen Macleod answered; and as she passed by Alastair's chair, she laid her hand on his broad shonicler, and smiled down upon him, and that motherly smile, 30 JAfiiiikc aiything he had ever seen b»'fore on the face of Ellen Ma^'eod cotiiuletely upset Alastair, and he gave three cheers tlnr<* ;*! d ^hciv And jifrer that the happy supper began, but nobiid ate except Alastair, and he spoke all the time with liis mouth liil. The face of Fergus was quite a -dy. In his wilde>t c 'eams Alast.iir had never imagined the .w eting would be quite . / glorious. In the s veet gloiming that evening, oviT a pipe of peace and l(>ve on the verMnd;di chairs, the two friends talked over everything, past, present, and future, until it grew quite dark l)elt of the cry in the but the na both were 'I say, end of his ' Some < Mlow 1 dryly. ' 1 don't ' Oh, w( I daresay indifforenc For J' us ' '1 here time has n ' When may have Fergus bronzed h ' Do yoi richly des remark. ' What ' Most t don't lool< your chan ' What ' What thrown o You're an sweetest chance, you lock sleepy.' Alastai the park) 'AjuDEEcious fricht: 369 I' quite diirk, and the shy young moon came up luliind the dark l)elt of tlie busli, and the owls began to hoot and tlic coons to cry in the swamp away down in the hollow. Everything, I said ; hut the name of Sheila was not mentioned, though the minds of both were full of her, and e;ich knew it. 'I say, Feriiie,' Siiid Aliistair at hngth, throwing away the end of his third cigar, ' when are you coming over?' ' Sonie day,' Frrgus answered. ' How long will some d;iy be of coming?' Alastair asked dryly. ' 1 don't know yet. I haven't made up my mind.' ' Oh, well, if there is nothing pariicular you want to see about, I daresay it doesn't matter mucii,' Ahistair remarked, with a fine indifference, which was yet full of suggestiveness. Fcr^rus caught at it at once. 'There are two or three things I am anxious about, but the time has not come yet,' he said rather hastily. ' When it comes, take care it is not too late for anything you may have set ynur heart on.' Fergus started, and a look of apprehension crossed his bronzed face. ' Do you know what T think, Fergus? that you are an ass, and richly deserve to be told it,' was Alastair's next characteristic remark. ♦What for?' 'Most things, but one particularly. I'll tell you what, if you don't look up Ditlmore before long, I wouldn't give a fig for your chance.' ' What do you mean ? ' ♦ What 1 say. No, I have no more information to give. I've thrown out the hint. Maybe I came expressly to give it. You're an ass, Fergie, because you're throwing away — wt-U, the sweetest, jolliest girl in the world, and I only wish I had the chance. There ! it's out now. I say, Mrs. Macleod, when do you lock up — eh? Isn't it nearly len? I feel uncommonly sleepy. ' Alastair rose lazily, and sauntered through the open door into the parlour. He looked back with a grin after Fergus, who 2a lifp 370 SHEILA. took the three verandah steps at a bound, and disappeared urnoDg the apple trees. Then Alastair sat down beside Mrs. Miiclood. and had a long, delightful chat with her. But he saw Fergus no more that night. The 'judeecious fricht' had taken due effect. i \ m- iiiWi: 'ri 1 CHAPTER XLin. love's crown. They were blest beyond compare, When they held their trysting there, Among the greenest hills shone on by the snn. Shairpk. OB MACNAUGHTON, the stocking-weaver, was lying ill in his bed at Achnafauld. The rheumatics were not improving with age ; for months now the loom had been silent in the f\op, and Rob seldom able to move farther than between the bed and the fire. But the brain was still busy, and his ' sangs* were the delight of the mistress of Dalmore. He had a new one every time she came to see him. And that was very often ; for Sheila, as of yore, was ever to be found where her gentle presence and her bene- ficent hand could be of any service to others less blessed than herself. Rob's worship of her was a very perfect kind of thing, though it did not find expression in a multitude of words. She was so absolutely free and at home with him, and he with her, there was no subject under the sun they did not discuss. Rob Macnaughton knew more of the inner heart of the young Lady of Dalmore than any other human being. They talked often of the exile who lived in the hearts of both ; and Rob was fain, fain to look upon his face and touch his hand again. He had sometimes thoughts of writing to him, and would have done it m II 37* SHEILA, 1. 1 1' I u ; ^ had the rheumatic hnnd permitted ; but though it was very jile.isant to have Sheihi write out his songs for him, he could not have asked her to put on piiper what was in his heart for Fergus. It too nearly concerned her. Kob had a keen per- ception. He knew the curious, tender thrill of the sweet young voice when they spoke of Fergus, and it grieved his heart to see the wistfulness creep to her bright eye, that far-away look which told of the hunger of the heart. He was sore puzzled to iHiderstand what still kept the bairns apart, especially as Fergus was doing well and making money in America. But, of course, that was never spoken of. Rob could only wait and hope for the fulfilment of the greatest desire of his heart, to see Fergus Macleod atid Sheila man and wife in Dalmore. He was greatly interested, of course, to hear of Sir Alastair Murray's trip to America, and to know that he had met with all the Glenquaich folks, and found them in such prosperous circumstances. Alastair was making quite a tour of the new world ; he had found his Canadian welcome so sweet that he had made quite a visitation at Sunshine Hill. But September found him making tracks for home again, and Sheila came along to the Fauld in the lovely gloaming one night to tell Rob his ship had arrived at Liverpool, and that he would be home next day at the latest. ' I'll bring him along when he comes uj Rob,' she said, * and you can ask him everything you can think of. Won't that be far better than my telling?* ' I'll can speer mair particular, maybe,' Rob admitted. * D'ye think he'll be lang o' comin' ? ' ' No. I am going down to Murrayshaugh in the morning. I may stay till Saturday, and I'll make my cousin bring me up early in the day, and alter lunch we'll come along. Will that do, Rub?' ' Ay, brawly. Ye'U be as fain as I am, likely, to hear the news. But it will be guid news, of that I am sure.' * Oh, so am I. Won't it be pleasant to hear him tell what he actually saw? It is so different seeing the way of life there, so much more satisfactory than hearing about it.' A slight tremble shook the sweet young voice, and Rob knew LOVE'S CROWN. 373 d Rob knew that her heart was sore. Old, ruggod, occontric thoiigli he \v:is. the st^cret of that maidenly hc:irt was not hid from the sfockinj- woaver, and he felt a great rclji'llirig for his hairn. ' \\ v\\, I must go, Rob, and ask for wee Nellie at the smith's,' >ai(l Slieila. 'Nine bairns, Kob ! What would Donald and Mury say if they saw so many crowded into their ol > // 1^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 374 SHEILA, \\ . . n *Is*t you, lad, or a wraith sent to warn rre o* my end or yours?' he asked, leaning heavily on his elbow out of the bed. ' It's me, Rob, come back,' said the unmistakeable tones of Fergus Macleod's own voice. 'Just one grip, man, and I'm away. You know where.* ' She's in the smith's, sir,' Rob answer*»d ; and though Fergus's iron grip nearly brought the tears to his eyes with J,he '^ain of his m.imed hand, he never uttered a groan. * I know. Wish me good luck, Rob, and let me off. I'll be liere again to-morrow.' So saying, Fergus wrung his hand again, and disappeared as ({iiickly as he had come. Then Rob lay back in his bed, and wiped the sweat-drops from his brow. He was wildly excited, anky, the dark hills encompsissing it like a watchful guard. ' It is not cold, Sheila; will you stand a little at thi< gate?' said Fergus, after a moment; and Sheila stood stdl, with her round arm lying on the upper bar, and Ikt face turned towards the (ilen. Fergus, looking at it, thought, the sweet outline more sliarply defined, and saw a weary curve about the mouth which stabbed him to the heart. Sheda had not been happy in Dalinore any more than he in Canada. But he had yet to learu why she was not happy. He dared not believe that it was on account of him. ' I have come back. Sheila, as I said I would,' he began, in full, earne>t, manly tones. ' When I went away, I Siiid a great deal about coining back weidiny, and with some- thing to hiy at your feet. I have nothing except a clean record for five years. In that time I have hotiestly fried, with God's help, to live as He would have me live, and as 1/ou would like me to live. I have tried to live so that the LOVE'S CROWN, 377 iination. people among whom I lived would not be any the worse of my presence.' ' But better — much better, Alastair told me,' Sheila said, and her face was all aglow. Slie knew nothing of coquetry or afTectation. She loved Fergus, and he was by her side, seeking her love. She would give it to him, not grudgingly, but out of the fulness of her heart. ' Now that I have come back. Sheila, when I looked on the old place, and saw the light on our hills, and mo>t of all, when I saw your face, I knew that life holds nothing for me more than what is here. You know me. Sheila, — all I h.ive been and am. Will you bridge the great gulf between your beautiful life and mine, and give me yourself? I can't speak about my love. I will prove it to you, if you will try me, unworthy though I am.' It was no dishonour to his manhood that his voice shook and his eye grew dim. Sheila never spoke, but her smile became divine, and she moved close to him and laid her bright head on his broad breast ; and when he clasped her, as a man clasj)S Heaven's best gift, her hands met about his neck, and her soft cheek touched his. And so, among their own hills, within «i}iht of the loch and the clachan, with which were interwoven the bright memories of bairn days, these two entered upon that new life in which God permits His creatures to taste of heaven. And so Love the Omnipotent healed all old sores, made rough places plain, and smoothed the tangled skein into a web of silken sheen. Fergus Macleod left the Glen no more until he took his wife with him. There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed. Sheila, who had found the waiting so dreary, did not say nay. She had an absolute trust in her young lover ; she had proved him to the uttermost ; and she was willing — nay more, unutterably glad — to give herself to him without a question or a doubt. Fergus accepted this trust, which always brings out all that is best and most worthy in a man, with a humble and yet confident heart. These weeks . \i 378 SHEILA. before the wedding were a dream of happiness which they tlionght could never be excelled. They had so much to tell, so much to speak of. Sheila's beautiful and simple life needed no revealing ; but Fergus told her all that was in his own soul. He had a high ideal, towards the attainment of which he would strive with all the manly might God had given him. To live that life nobly, to do to the utmost whatever duty lay to his md, to accept every responsibility as from God, — when such was Fergus Macleod's estimate of life's purpose, I marvel not that Sheila went forth by her young husband's side with a heart filled to the brim with womanly pride and unspeakable trust. His care for her was a thing of which I cannot write. She was more precious to him than life ; so, in the shelter of that brave and stalwart arm, we can leave our Sheila safe. They were married in the drawing-room at Dalmore on the fifteenth day of October, and on the twenty-third sailed from Liverpool for New York. The honeymoon was to be spent at Sunshine Hill, where the mother's heart was yearning over them, and waiting for their coming. It was not like going to a strange land, Sheila said laughingly, for wherever Donald and Mary Macalpine were, there would be a bit of home for anybody from Glenquaich. They spent the winter in Canada ; and in the spring, when the trees were in bud, and the primroses yellow on the banks of the burn, they came home to their own. That was a great day for the Glen. And Ellen Macleod was with them, — a sweet- faced, gentle, kmdly woman, who worshipped her new daughter with a devoted love. She abode with them till the festivities of their home-coming were over, and then retired to her own house of Shonnen, from which she could look across to the sunlit windows of Dalniore. They asked her to share their home ; but she, being wise, kept to her own biggin', but spent many a long day at the old house, and rejoiced over the bairns there with a joy which had in it sometimes a touch of pain. For in the old days she had missed much herself, and caused otiiers much needless pain. But peace and love and happiness reigned at Dalmore and iU LOVE'S CKOWN, 379 in the Glen, and tlie last days were better than the first. Fergus fulfilled all the best promise of his manhood, and became a power for good in the neifihhourhood. As for Sheihi, she wa« content. Love was her life's crown. Husband and wife took many a trip to their Canadi.nr estate, which Ft-rgus left under competent managcincit and so the ties were nol severed between the old world :i > the new.