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This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est film6 au taux de reduction indiqu6 ci-dessous. 10X 14X 18X 22X y 12X 16X 20X 26X 30X 24X 28X n 32X ails du tdifier une nage The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: National Library of Canada The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grdce d la g4n6rosit6 de: Bibliothdque nationale du Canada Les images suivantes ont dt'^ 'V-V n -Ml 6o THE HEIR OF LINNE. had done one the preceding night, but when she reached the couch whereon the laird of Linnc was lying, and took her seat on the small footstool by his side, her blue eyes lit up with such a light of affection as made the young man wonder still more. Then, as the old man again signalled for him to depart, he quietly moved from the room, and left the two together. CHAPTER VIII. THE LAIRD S CONFESSION. No sooner were they left alone than the manner of the old man changed, and, taking the young girl's hand in his, he looked into her face with a curious smile. " It's an ill task, Marjorie," he said, ** waiting for dead men's shoon. How like you yon slip of my brother's ? " Then, without waiting for her to reply, he continued, "He has a shifty eye and a treacherous heart, I'm thinking ; eh, Marjorie ? Did you see how he glowered when you came creeping in ? He's wondering, I'll swear, whether you are kith and kin. Have you told him noth- ing?" ** Nothing," answered Marjorie. " We have hardly spoken to each other." THE HE'JR OF LINNE. 6l " Sandie says he asked for strong drink last night, and he nearly choked me with the fumes of his tobacco, the graceless loon ! Yet, for all that, Marjorie, blood is thicker than water, and he's the heirof Linne." " Yes, sir," said Marjorie, uncomfortable under the old man's eyes, still fixed with a curious expres- sion upon her. " Come, tell me, graceless as he seems, how would you like him for a husband ? " " For a husband ! " cried Marjorie, starting. " Ay, and why not ? You are a lonely lass, and he will be the laird when I am gone." " But you will not go ! You are better and stronger already." " The hand of Death is on me ; the blood runs cold as quicksilver at seventy years. I'll soon be lying in my grave." " No, no ! '" " But ay, Marjorie ! But if I was not ripe, do you think I would be gathered ? Now, listen, Marjorie. I have been a sinful man. Thirty years ago, I was graceless as yon young limmer, but I have repented ; and if there is hope for me, there may be hope for him as week Let that stand. You ken, Marjorie, I never mairied ? " " I know that, sir." " But do you know all ? You know nothing! 'Tis a secret that re^.s till this day between Willie Macgillvray and me. Years before you came to this house, flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone was cast, by God's will, to the bottom of the sea ! " 62 THE HEIR OF LINNE. The girl looked at him in wonder. His face was set like granite, but his eyes were dilated and shone like fire. " There was a lass as bonnie as May morning. She was a poor peasant ; I was a rich man ; and I beguiled her under promise of marriage. She bore one bairn, a son, Marjorie! The golden-hair'd laddie ! I think I see him now ! Had I done my duty to man and God, he would be kneeling here this day, and all I have, all I have saved and kept (for I have aye been a saving man), would be his own." He paused in great agitation, threw himself back upon his pillow, and gasped for breath. " Do not speak of all this," said Marjorie. " You will make yourself ill again." " I must speak ! The secret's gnawing me, Mar- jorie ! 'Twas a judgment upon me ! Willie Mac- gillvray said so, and he was right. I should have taken the woman to my heart, and the bairn upon my knee ; but I was o'er proud, proud as Herod ; and now, like him, I'm eaten up as with worms. Oh, but he was a bonnie bairn, weel-faced and comely, with eyes like the blue sky, and a voice like running water. Had he lived, he would have been a man o' men ! " "But what became of him, sir } " asked Marjorie. " Did he die ? " " Drown'd, drown'd ! Mother and son went down, with a curse on me ! I betrayed my pro- mise ; I refused to do an act of justice ; and, sick with despair, she went away to join her folk in THE HEIR OF LINNE. ^3 'le. jnt |ro- lick in Canada. I would have called her back, but it was o*er late. 'Twas the year o' the great storm, and the ship was lost, with every soul on board.'* He paused again, and, stretching out a lean hand, pointed to a rude painting in oil which hung over the bed : the portrait of a man in the prime of life, with a dark, forbidding face, narrow, harsh, and stern. " Look yonder, Marjorie ! That was me, when the strength of manhood was upon me, at the time when the curse fell ! An Edinburgh artist painted it for ^v^ pounds and his keep, and folk say it is weel done ; but to me, it seems like the ghaist of the wicked past. Weel, I repented ! Sickness came, and in sickness I saw my sins grow bigger and bigger. Lonesome years followed. I had no friend, no man to whom I could open up my heart, but Willie the Preacher! At last, one day, ten years syne, he came to me, leading a wee lassie by the hand. * Your flesh and blood is drown'd under the sea,* he said ; * here's something to keep and rear instead.'" "Yes, I remember," sighed Marjorie. " Your own father and mother were dead, and you were alone in the world. The moment I saw ye, my heart went out to you ; for you had my son's clear skin, and blue eyes, and golden hair. But at first I was mad with Willie Macgillvray, and ready to drive you both from my door. * Who is she ? ' I asked, ' The bairn of a better man than you or me,' the rogue replied ; ' one Alexander Glenny, who was at college wi' me, and died a minister o' i[ '■\ I'i 04 THE HEIR OF LINNE. the kirk.* Then you began to sob and cry, fear'd of my frowning face ; and that pleased me, and, since ye did not wish to stay, I inclined to keep you ; and stayed you have till this hour." Tears were streaming down the girl's cheeks. Her eyes were full of dreamy retrospection, all her face full of sorrow. Stooping forward, the old man patted her hand, not ungentTy, as he said — " Dry your tears, Marjorie ! It has been a cheer- less life, I ken, here alone with me ; but all is for the best. You have had schooling from the dominie, and Willie Macgillvray has taught you the Latin and moral philosophy, and you have a tongue like a lady. And a lady you shall be, when I am lying in the kirkyard ! " *• Do you think I care for that ?" cried Marjorie, " All I want is to remain with you, and be your nurse.*' " Poor lassie ! poor lassie ! *' muttered the laird. " You've grown round my heart like a mistletoe round the oak ; and you're white and bright as the mistletoe-berry. My own daughter could not seem closer to my heart, Marjc.ie." " I am your daughter, sir, am I not ? Indeed, I love you like a daughter" " Ay, ay, ay ! And you shall be a lady yet ; I have set my heart upon it. But oh, Marjorie, if I had seen my son The bonnie laddie, flesh o' my flesh, bone o' my bone, that should have been my heir! Drown'd, drown'd ! Will I meet him, I'm wondering, when the sea gives up its dead ? " He lay back upon his cushions, moaning and THE HEIR OF LINNE. 65 muttering to himself. Suddenly he started, and Marjorie sprang to her feet, for a voice in the room said — "Who comes here like a wolf intil the fold ? Who comes here like a thief in the night, to steal my boy's birthright ? " Standing erect and bareheaded in the middle of the chamber was Willie Macgillvray, as worn and woebegone, as ragged and wild, as ever, and cov- ered now with the snows and frosts of many years. But though old age had set its marks upon him, his figure was still straight and hale, his voice deep and musical, his manner full of strength and power. "Is that you, Willie Macgillvray ? " said the laird, nervously. " What brings you at this hour.?" " I came to see the limmer who would steal the birthright," was the reply. ** He*s down yonder, and I have seen him ! " "You mean my nephew Edward.? Weel, he is my nearest kin." " The hawk lies wounded on the ground, and the corby-crow would inherit ? Let me show him the door, and point his ill face southward, to the land whence he came." " I sent for him," said the laird, sharply. " He will stay here till I bid him go." Willie was about to speak again, but at a look from Marjorie he desisted. Falling back upon his pillows, Mossknow cried, waving his hand towards the door — 66 THE HEIR OF LINNE. " Go ! leave me — both of you*! It is ill to trouble a dying man. Leave me, and let me try to sleep." Without a word, Marjorie stooped and kissed him ; then, turning to the mendicant, drew him gently from the chamber. Passing downstairs in silence, they left the house, and, as they did so, encountered Edward Linne upon the threshold, leaning against the porch and indolently surveying the dreary landscape. He met Willie's scornful look with a careless yawn ; but smiled and nodded to Marjorie as she went '* Come down with me to the seashore," said Willie. " I sicken when I breathe the air o' Castle Hunger. Let the old man sleep a while ; maybe the Lord will send a dream to Vv'arn him against yon graceless loon." It vas a dark and chilly afternoon ; the sky was cloudless, and the hills stretched away inland in inky silhouette. Their way lay across dreary moor- land till they came in sigh^ of the sea, and, a:j they went, following no footpath, but crossing ijie bleak moor, the heather grew thicker and the grouiid swelled into purple knolls. Neither spoke ; both were deep in thought. Emerging from the moor, they gained a country road skirting the edge of the sea, and came in sight of a thinly wooded piomon- tory facing westward. The wood was composed of bare fir-trees and a tew stunted pines, and on the inland side, facing the road, hung a rain-beaten board, nailed against a tree, and bearing this tre- mendous inscription in rudely painted letters — J^ THE HEIR OF LINNE. 67 TAKE NOTICE! PRIVATE! In the name of Willie the Hermit! Steel Traps and Spring Guns! Cave Can em ! Keep to the Road! Marjoric smiled, as she had often smiled before, at these words of warning, and, entering the wood by Willie's side, found herself before the hermit s habitation. Built among the trees, against the side of a low crag, w. . a rude hut or cabin, roofed with withered branches and peac cut from the moss The bare cliff formed one side of the hut, the others were rudely built of stones carried from the seashore. There was a broken door, and a small wooded window-pane, both secured from some ruined cabin among the mountains. The door stood open, and they entered. On the bare earth within were a couple of stools, a rude table, formed of the stump of a tree, and a couple of planks that formed a sort of bed. A peat fire was burning in the middle of the hut, and filling the place with its blue smoke. Down the inward wall, or cliff-side, ran the damp green and golden moss, trickling with dews distilled by the solid rock. It was a miserable place, but Willie entered it with a proud sense of jx)ssession. " Sit ye down, Marjorie ! " he said, while the 68 THE HEIR OF LINNE. girl paused, half choking with the thick smoke. " Peat reek is good for the lungs, my lass, and for the eyes as weel. I have found the peace o' God here, and it's ne'er come to Castle Hunger. Not a stone, not a peat stack, not a bough of wood, but I carried here with my own hands. There's water from the rock, an ever-flowing fountain, and with a bit of bread now and then, and a sup of milk, and the hens to lay me bonnie white eggs, I'm better lodged than a king." As he spoke, two or three ragged hens were running about his feet. He put his hand into his pocket, and drawing out a handful of dry corn, threw it down among them. He sat down on the boards of the bed, and lifted some dilapidated books which were lying thereon. " The mind must feed as well as the body, and I have my library : the Bible o' God, according to the new Moral Law ; the poems o' Robin Burns, published by MacEwen o' Kilmarnock ; Shelley's * Queen Mab ;' Bunyan's * Pilgrim's Progress.' But there, you ken them all." Marjori^ looked at him in wonder ; for, though she had known him so many years, he was as great a puzzle to her as ever. " Oh, Mr. Macgillvray," she said, " how can you bear to live in such a place, and you, as the laird says, a gentleman born ? " Willie smiled and nodded. " And a graduate o' Edinburgh University, and a minister o' the kirk! See my name on this bpok Marjorie — the Rev. William Macgillvray, THE HEIR OF LINNE. 69 B.D., which stands for Bachelor o* Divinity, or Damn'd Blackguard, just as ye care to take it ! Esau sold his birthright for a mess of porridge, and I, Willie Macgillvray, sold mine for a mouthful of drink. Weel, weel, it's a world of ups and downs !" •' But you are growing old. You should have some one to look after you, instead of living here all alone." ** God looks after me," returned Willie. ** Mar- jorie, woman, I see Him looking at me all night through yon hole in the roof, and his eye is blue and bonnie, like the summer sky ; but whiles He weeps for my sins, and His tears shower down upon me like the falling rain." So mad and yet so wise ! thought Marjorie ; for she knew that the man who talked so wildly some- times was as shrewd as the shrewdest farmer in the district. " Tell me about the laird," she said. ** Will he get better ?" ** In his grave," answered the hermit. "I see the sleep-Gtour in his eyes already. Conscience gnaws his vitals as the vulture gnawed the liver of Prometheus, and he calls, like yon Titan on Cau- casus, to he elementary powers o' Nature — * the air, and the fountains, and the laughing sea, and earth, the mother of all ! ' Weel, they hear him, and in their eternal mercy are weaving him a shroud and howking him a grave ! " "He will not die!" cried Marjorie, while the tears streamed down her face. ** Why should he live ? " asked Willie, sadly. h 1 ! ; ' 70 THE HEIR OF LINNE. '* I am sure you will miss him, sir. He respects and loves you — he has been your friend." " Maybe, maybe," muttered the hermit. " I have forgiven him long ago. And yet — I can ne'er forgive him if he brings in yon evil limmer to steal my bairn's birthright ! " Reminded by these words of her conversation with the laird, Marjorie bent forward eagerly and said — '* Is it true that he ever married — that he had a child ? He spoke of a son to-day, but I thought that he was wandering." '* He spoke the truth. He iiad a son, a bonnie son." " Who was drowned long ago at sea ? " ** Ah, drowned, drowned ! " cried Willie, with sudden vehemence. ''He died and left his death at the door o' John Mossknow." ** If you heard him speak of his son ! Oh, sir, it was pitiful ! He must have loved him so much ! " " I taught h'm that lesson," answered Willie, grimly. " I dinged the truth into his lonely heart, till he fell on his knees like David, and cried, * Absalom ! my son, my son ! ' But it was o'er late. The deed was done. They will meet up yonder — the old man with his withered face and rheumy een, the boy with his blue eyes and golden hair ; and the Lord will judge ! " '* Are you certain that he is dead .»*" cried Mar- jorie. " Maybe " " No, Marjorie ; had the Lord spared him, we should have heard. The mermaids have him, and the spirits of the deep waters. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 71 ' Nothing o' him but doth change Into something rich and strange ! ' I never stand by yonder shore, and see the golden tangle drifting in with the tide, and the medusae floating and sparkling in the sun, but I seem to catch a glimpse of the boy I loved. Peace be with him now and for evermore. Amen." Troubled and distressed beyond measure, Mar- jorie rose and held out her hand. ** I must go now, sir. The laird will be want- ing me." "Go, then, Marjorie, and leave Willie Macgill- vray to his prayers,'" said the hermit, placing his strong hand on the girl's head and turning her face towards the light that stole in from above. ** Eh, my lass, but you are bonnie ! You took the heir's place, and shed a light o' salvation into Moss- know's hard heart. Weel, it is a lass, when it should have been a lad. Had ye seen my boy, you wr "lid have loved him, Marjorie ! " * I am sure of that," cried the girl. ' So bright, so sunny, 30 bold and bonnie — a sunbeam, Marjorie ! He spake out his mind like a man till a man, when he saw me under the curse o' drink. * You're drunk again, Willie ! ' says he. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings is the evil man rebuked ! I've never tasted whiskey since the day I got the news of my boy's death ! " Here Macgillvray spoke the simple truth. For twenty years he had been a teetotaler ; yet the old habits of his youth and early manhood had left their indelible marks upon his brain. So wild and 1-: f' tHE HEIR OF LINNfi. eccentric were his outbursts still, that people yet attr'' "ed them to strong liquors. As Marjorie left the cave, or cabin, she glanced back and saw that the old man had fallen upon his knees and was praying aloud. Greatly moved by what she had heard and seen, she walked slowly from the wood, and crossing the road, made her way again towards the open moor. CHAPTER IX. BRAWNET. She had only gone a short distance, when she saw quietly grazing on the moorland, a shaggy moun- tain pony, saddled and bridled, which stood as if awaiting her return. When she came up and patted his neck, he raised his head and sniffed her fair neck and hand, then stood quietly as if he expected her to mount and ride away. " And so, Brawnet, my pet," she said, "you have followed me over the moor ! Did old Sandie sad- dle and bridle you, and send you to find your mis- tress ? " But she did not amount. Her hand continued to pass caressingly over the animal's shaggy neck and shoulder, her eyes quietly regarded him, THE HEIR OF LINNE. 73 but her thoughts were far away. Presently she threw the bridle over her arm and walked along, the animal following her. She was looking at the sea now, and thinking of the story which the laird had told her only that day — the story of the bright-eyed boy who should even then have been at his father's bedside, but who, alas ! lay cold and dead at the bottom of the ocean. Ever since she had heard them speak of the outcast lad the thought of him had haunted her, and the words of Willie Macgillvray had only intensified her feelings of interest and pain. "If only my dream were true," she murmured aloud. "If he would come back — oh, if he would only come back ! " " And if his presence would bring any comfort to this God-forgotten place," said a voice in her ear, " I most heartily wish he would, though I haven't the slightest idea of whom you are talking !" She started, looked up, and encountered the eyes of Edward Linne. He had not stolen upon her unawares ; he had simply followed her as she walked along the bridle- path, wondering as much at her beauty as at the strange preoccupation of her manner ; and she had been too much lost in thought to hear the sound of his measured footsteps behind her. But when she quite unconsciously uttered her thoughts aloud, and he answered her, she started as if awakening from a dream. ** I beg your pardon," continued Linne, raising his hat politely, for something in the girl's manner 74 THE HEIR OP LINNE. compelled him to treat her as a lady. " I am afraid I have startled you, but I didn't mean to be rude." And he thought once more, " She is certainly very pretty. Who the deuce can she really be?" She returned his bow in the same coldly polite manner as she had done on the preceding day, when they had met at dinner, but she said nothing. They looked at each other for a moment in silence ; the girl's eyes were full of a questioning curiosity, his were full of admiration. Had Edward Linne met Marjorie under ordi- nary circumstances, and had she behaved as would any ordinary girl, it is certain that her beauty, pro- nounced as it was, would have made but little impression upon him. He had encountered any number of light and pretty woman ; a comely face, therefore, had little charm for him. But this girl had piqued his pride and awakened his curiosity. , Although she had met him as the heir of Linne, and must have observed, even after so sho t an acquaintance, that he was a more than ordinarily handsome man, she showed no disposition what- ever to bow down to him as a superior ; indeed, she had treated him rather as an equal, whose per- sonality had no charm for her. At least, this was how he read it, and he was piqued accordingly. Had he known the truth, however, it was pro- bable he would not even then have been standing on the hillside calling up his best smiles for Mar- jorie. Her coldness of the night before had arisen not from hauteur but simple nervousness. Since THE HEIR OF LINNE. 75 )ro- [ar- isen Ince she had been an inmate of the Castle, she had met few strangers, and the duty of entertaining this one was a task she by no means loved. During the dinner, therefore, she had sat like a pallid statue, cold to the finger-tips, and the moment the meal was over she had been glad enough to escape to her room. But now her nervousness was increased tenfold ; for, as she stood looking at the young man, who by this time was smiling most sweetly upon her, she recalled the words which the laird had uttered to her only the night before — *' What would you think of him for a husband, Marjorie ? " Perhaps the very question had been put to him ? " What would you think of her for a wife, Edward ? " At the bare thought of all this, the girl's cheeks grew crimson, and she turned as if about to depart. But the young man stopped her. '' Do you know," he said, gaily, ** you are not treating me quite fairly. I am here as your guest, and yet you persistently avoid me. Have I offended you during the few hours I have been here ? " "Offended me, sir.'^" said Marjorie, quickly. " No, indeed. How could you do that ? " She had thought to please him, but she had only succeeded in wounding his self-love still more. He shrugged his shoulders. " Possibly," he said, " my existence is of so litde importance to you, that anything I might say or do would have no power to offend you ? " If by this he expected to surprise her into pay- ing him a compliment, he was disappointed. She % :l> 1. 76 did THE HEIR OF LINNE. 3t even contradict his statement. But, seeing that he still barred her way, she said quietly — •• I think you should let me pass. I have been out o'er long already, and the laird will be wanting me. But the young man did not move. *• Come," he said, "don't let us part before we have become friends. Although we have eaten at the same table and slept under the same roof, we have not even committed the first act of friendship. Won't you shake hands .-* " She held out her hand in a moment, and he took it in both of his. "There is nothing to prevent our remaining friends, believe me," he said, earnestly. For the moment he mo'^t honestly desired her friendship, for was she not the only human being in that dreary neighbourhood with whom he could exchange a word ? "And now," he continued, pleasantly, "won't you permit me to walk with you for a little ? There is plenty of time, I assure you. When I left the Castle, scarcely a quarter of an hour ago, the old man was sleeping peacefully, and the grim retainer, who was keeping guard over his master, said he hoped * Miss Marjorie wouldn't come back, for she needed air and rest as much as his master needed nursing.' And, indeed," " added the young man, "I think he was right. You look too pale for a lady who has spent her life on the Scotch hills." " I am aye pale," said Marjorie, simply. He had ceased to bar her path by this time, and they were walking side by side along the road. i \ •> *. THE HEIR OF I iNNE. 11 " Won't you let me lead your pony for you ? " he asked, offering to take the bridle, which was still thrown lightly over her arm. But Marjorie shook her head. *' Brawnet would not follow you," she said ; then added hastily, " He wouldn't follow any stranger ; but he knows me, because I have ridden him ever since I was a little lass." " Ah ! t jn you have lived here all your life, I suppose } " " A good part of it, I think. I was about ten year old when I came to live at the Castle." " You are related to the laird ? " " No, indeed. Why do you say so ? " " I don't say so," returned the young man. " I only Jiope so, because then you would be related to me. As this assertion seemed to require no answer, she gave none. After a few minutes' silence, the young man spoke again. "How could you endure to live here for so many years ? " he said. " Do you think you could not do the same ? " she asked, smiling. " Assuredly not. I think a few years' residence here would qualify me for a lunatic asylum. Have you been happy here ? " *' Yes," was her reply. " Maybe I wearied and fretted at first," she added, determined to be truth- ful at all hazards. ** The place was so lonely, and the laird was so strange that I feared him, and longed to go away. I used to spend all my days in n f ii 78 THE HEIR OF LINNE. the woods and fields about the Castle ; and some- times I would sit down and cry, thinking of my mother and father, and the happy home I had had before they died. That was how I came to know Ikawnet here, my own pony. I was sitting in a field one day, crying and dreaming, when I felt what I thought was a hand passing over my hair, and when I looked up I met the eyes of the poor beast quietly looking at me. I felt so lonely and desolate, and he looked so much as if he wanted to be friends, that I got upon my feet at once, clasped my arms about his neck, and kissed him ! " She paused suddenly, and gave a quiet glance from beneath the brim of her hat at her companion's face. During the last minute or so she seemed to be living over again the days of her childhood, but suddenly she came back to earth again. She was confiding her petty childish griefs to the fashionable young man who was known as the heir of Linne, and he was perhaps laughing at her. But she was mistaken. His face was as grave as her own ; he was becoming more and more interested in her, and when she paused he looked up astonished, " Go on," he said. " Well, sir, after that," she continued quickly, " Brawnet and I became great friends, and life at the Castle was not so dull to me as it had been before. I used to fill my pocket with bread, and go down to the field every day to feed my new friend, who always looked for my coming, and seemed glad when I was by. ** The servants told me to avoid him, that he was THE HEIR OF LINNE. 79 a vicious brute, that he had nearly killed his last master, and was even beyond the management of the laird. But he was never vicious to me ; indeed, he soon became the only companion I found in my new home. The moment my breakfast was over, I would race off to the field, with my pocket full of bread and sugar, to feed Brawnet ; and when I had fed him, I would leap upon his back, and he would race round the moor, throwing up his head and neighing like one gone daft. But my happiness didn't last." She paused, and then continued — *' Sandie met me on my way to the paddock. * Miss Marjorie,' he said, * I have news. Yon brute's sold.' * Sold ! ' I cried. ' Do you mean Brawnet ? ' * Ay, Brawnet,' he continued ; * and what for no' ? The laird is over saving to keep a brute that's good for naught but feeding, so make much of him until he's ta'en awa*.' And he walked away and left me. I did not move. I could not, for I was choking with rage and sorrow. When I could conquer myself, I turned my face from the field .where Brawnet was awaiting me ; but, ten minutes after, I stood in the laird's room. " * You shall not send Brawnet away ! ' I cried. * If you do, you may send me with him, for I will not stay here. If he is vicious with you, it is because you have treated him unkindly as you have treated me. He is gentle with me because he loves me ; but no one could love you^ for you are a hard, cruel man. He is the only good thing in this wicked place, and if you take him from me, I will not stay. % .i' '!■ V\ 80 THE HEIR OF LINNE. I tell you, I will not stay!' Well, sir, the laird rose from his seat, and stood frowning at me. * Is the bairn gone mad ? ' he said ; then, pointing to the door, cried angrily, * Leave the room ! ' But I was not to be scared. ' Yes,' I said, ' I will go, for I do not wish to stay with you. I wish I had never seen you. I wish I had never come here ;' and I turned and left him. Leaving the house, I ran to the field, and found Brawnet still looking eagerly for me. I put my arm round his neck, and sobbed and sob- bed ! I took no ride that day, but I gave him the contents of my pocket, and when he had eaten it all up, I caressed him again, and wept over him. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulders, and, look- ing up, I again saw the laird. His face was not angry now. He looked curiously at me, and said, in a voice which was not unkind, * Marjorie, why are ye here ? Come home.* I did not answer, but looked around for Brawnet. He was grazing some distance off. ' He fled away at my approach,' said the laird, noticing my look. 'Maybe he would come if you called him. Try.' I did as he bade me. I walked a few paces away, and held forth my hands, and called his name. In a moment Brawnet came trotting up to me, and when he was near, I laid my hand upon his mane, and turned to the laird. *Do you want him, sir.-*' I asked. The laird shook his head. */ don't want the brute,' he said, with a strange kind of smile, and walked away muttering to himself. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 8i CHAPTER X. EDWARD LINNE SHOWS HIS AMIABLE SIDE. II il She paused again, and for some minutes there was silence. Edward Linne felt rather than saw that the girl was crying. He was not a sentiment- alist himself, but he was not averse to seeing a little sentiment in women, especially when its exhibition did not bore him. In this case h.e was not at all bored. Although he could not at any time have broken into wild enthusiasm about a child's feeling for a dumb animal, he gained during that recital some knowledge of the people amongst whom he had been suddenly thrown. Besides, by getting the girl to talk about a subject which interested her, he believed he might eventually bring her to talk about one which interested hhn. Anything, he acknowledged, would be better than the cold silence which she had maintained the night before. Besides, he had gathered during this recital one important fact ; the girl was evidently not so nearly related to the laird as he at first had feared, if, indeed, she was related to him at all, which he now doubted. She would have no claim upon the estates when they passed into his (Edward Linne's) hands. There was some comfort in this reflection. The very thought of a second claim had almost given (6) ^ i->.i 82 THE HEIR OF LINNE. i\ him a sleepless night, for he had reflected on the number of creditors who were waiting impatiently for the old laird of Linne to be quietly laid in his tomb. "Yes, I am afraid I shall have to sell up,'* he reflected, looking at the turrets of the old castle, which were dimly distinguishable in the distance ; **but I mustn't sell the pony evidently. Well, after all, the bruie wouldn't fetch much. I'll present him to her ! " Then he turned to his companion. She had cer- tainly been crying ; her lip was stiH quivering, and there were traces of tears upon her cheek. ** I fear I have made you call up painful memo- ries," he said. " Let us talk of something else." But the girl smiled sadly, and shook her head. " It does me good to talk of it," she said, "since I am aye thinking of it, and it makes me very unhappy.'* " Unhappy — why .-* " ** Now that he is ill, and now that I love him with all my heart, I cannot bear to think that there was a time when I did not love him, and told him that I could never do so." " Humph! but you see he deserved your anger; and since you are so fond of him, I presume he deserves your affection." "He has aye been good to me," said the girl, gently. Then, turning suddenly upon the young man, she said impetuously, " Oh, sir, he is a stern man, I know; but his life has been a troubled one,i and I am i are he is not happy. But you are his\ THE HEIR OF LINNE. 83 >n the iently in his )," he castle, ;ance ; 1, after [It him id cer- g, and Tiemo- Ise." head, "since i very e him there ,d him inger; le he girl, [young stern one,i ire hisV kinsman and his heir ; you are more to him than any one in the world. Try to bring him comfort." The young man shrugged his shoulders. ** I have done all that has been asked of me," he said. "He sent for me, and I am here. But you have not finished your story. I know he gave you that pony, for he is here." " Yes," returned Marjorie, '' he gave me Braw- net, or rather, he did not sell him. Every day I went to the field, dreading to find it empty, but it was not. The laird often spoke to me now. Then, after a time, I was sent to a day-school, some mil ":s ofT, and I used to ride to school and back again on Brawnet's back. * Marjorie,' said the laird to me one day, ' you have tamed me, jvst as you tamed yon shaggy brute, Brawnet ! ' " " He seems to be a strange man," said Linne ; " and he appears to have led a strange life. Has he no intimate friends } " " None, I think, but Mr. Macgillvray." " And who the deuce is he } " " The old man who lives down yonder at t^^e cave. " Ah, yes, I remember i He came to the Castle this afternoon, and looked at me as if I were a ticket-of-leave man ; and then, after giving a grunt of dissatisfaction, walked unceremoniously into my uncle's bedroom. He seemed to be master of the place, though he looked, like a servant. A queer friend for my uncle to have, truly ! I wonder what it means ? " Marjorie said nothing. She felt they were tread- 84 THE HEIR OF LINNE. N ing upon dangerous ground, and wished to change the subject ; but the young man continued — " I thought it was strange, when I saw him at the Castie ; and now that I hear of the friendship from you, it seems stranger still. They are more like master and servant with a secret between them ! Don't you think so ? " He looked at the girl as he spoke, and although she struggled to show no sign of confusion, she felt that all the blood was deserting her cheeks, and that her hands were trembling. Whether or «iot he noticed this she did not know ; but he con- tinued — " People have strange secrets sometimes, you know. Miss Marjorie ; and Linne Castle is just the kind of desolate, ghost-haunted place which one would expect to contain a family skeleton. Besides, in his younger days, my uncle must have had some- thing to do with his fellow-creatures ; he wasn't always an anchorite. What do you say, shall we make inquiries and find out what the skeleton is, just to give ourselves a little employment ? " But the girl shook her head. Then she held forth her hand. " Good-bye," she said ; I must be going away now. I have waited here o'er long." The young man looked astonished. ** Good-bye ! " he said. " Why, we shall meet again in the house, shall we not ? " *' Maybe," she said. • " Maybe, indeed ! * Must be,' I prefer to say. I don't mean to let you go until you promise that we shall. Why, what a hard-hearted young lady THE HEIR OF LINNE. 8s held 1st be •> Imeet say. that lady you must be, Miss Marjorie ! Do you know what you have done ? You have held a cup of water to the lips ofa thirsty man, and have let him drink ; and now you would say, ' Go and die of thirst in the desert, for you shall drink no more.' Come, promise, Marjorie ! " he added ; and as he men- tioned the name without the prefix, the girl's cheeks flushed slightly. " What must I promise ? " said the girl. " Promise not to avoid me so persistently. Give me a little of your company when the old man does not want it. That is not much to ask." '• No, indeed," returned the girl, stretching out her hand. He took her hand and pressed it ; then, before she knew what he was about to do, he lifted her in his arms and placed her in the saddle. *' Au revoir !'' he said, smiling, and raising his hat as she rode away. And as she went, as her figure grew dimmer and dimmer in the distance, Edward Linne watched her with a curious expres- sion on his face. " There is, after all," he murmured, ** something more in this than meets the eye ; and though my rustic companion appears to be so innocent, she knows more than she cares to tell just at present. Well, she has promised to be companionable — that is something ; and if she doesn't impart some news to me before long, I shall begin to think my old charm of manner is gone I " m i!' I * 86 THE HEIR OF LINNE. CHAPTER XI. THE REVERSE OF THE PICTURE. When the figures of Brawnet and its rider had faded into the dim distance, and were completely lost to view, Edward Linne began to wonder what he could do to pass away the long, wearisome hours which still remained to be disposed of before the hour for dinner. What could he do ? Absolutely nothing, but lie on his back among the heather, smoke a cigar, think of his past life, and speculate as to the future. Neither of these reflections was calculated to bring him much comfort ; his past was not such as he cared to look back upon, while, as to the future, who could tell what that would be ? At present, he acknowledged to himself, the out- look was a little overclouded. If everything had turned out as he had hoped and anticipated, if, on his arrival at Linne Castle, he had found his uncle at his last gasp, with only strength enough to place his hand in benediction on the head of his heir, all would have been v.ell. The young gentleman could have stepped at once into his new position, and, after the funeral was over, could have taken his departure, had he been so disposed, happy in the knowledge of having a decent balance at his banker's, and being in possession of a patrimonial home. This was the future he had in his mind's THE HEIR OF LINNE. ^7 eye when he had made the journey to Linne Castle ; and now, how all was changed ! So far from being at his last gasp, the laird seemed likely to linger, if not for months, at least for some weeks to come ; while he, the heir, must hang on at Linne Castle in daily and hourly dread of some unforeseen occur- rence, which would cause the old millstone — as his nephew irreverently called him — to alter his will, and leave him, Edward Linne, a beggar. Besides, there was just the possibility of the laird recover- ing, in which case — '* Confound it ! " cried Edward Linne, " it doesn't bear thinking of. Still, it would be just like ih'i cursed luck which always pursues mc. But I won't think of it. I can't mend matters by making myself more miserable than I am ; and perhaps, after all, Tye nothing to fear. I shall only have to wait a little longer than I had antici- pated, that is all ; and in the meantime I must make the best of life in this accursed wilderness." He lit a cigar, threw himself on his back on the heather, and let the sun pour its rays upon his face. It was a splendid day for the moor, and nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to tramp the hills for an hour or so with his gun and dog, and pick up a few birds before dinner ; but even that amusement was denied to him. He must play the hypocrite, and effect a sorrow which he did not feel. He lay for some time, puffing away at his cigar, and trying to banish thought. Then he threw his cigar away, stretched out his limbs, tilted his hat Jr iiff ti 88 THE HEIR OF LINNE. I over his eyes to shade them from the powerful rays, and dozed. But he was still half conscious of the sounds around him, of the monotonous washing of the sea on the distant shore, of the rustling of the heather beneath the light breath of the breeze. At last, he jumped to his feet with a start. " By George ! I must have been asleep," he said. Then he looked at his watch. Several hours had passed since Marjorie had left him ; he had managed to dream and doze them away some- how. But it was still some time to dinner, and if he took a walk along the seashore it would bring him to the Castle in good time. He started off, reached a circuitous path, which led down the steep face of the cliff, and soon gained the sands below. They were quite deserted, or so they appeared to be ; the tide was rising fast, and a salt breeze was blowing in from the sea. Having little time for loitering, he walked somewhat quickly along, picking his way among the rocks and stones, and keeping well up from the water's edge. He had gone some little distance when he looked at his watch again, and found that he had still time enough to take things more leisurely. Where was the use of hurrying ? he said to himself ; there would be no chance of seeing Marjorie bcifnrc dinner. So he clambered up the rocks, ami liink n nriit, turning his face to tne sea. He had sal thus lor some minutes, when he was HlailK'd by the sound ol a woman's voice sinying softly. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 89 He looked around, but could see no one. Then he listened, and the sound came again. " It must be a mermaid," he said laughingly to himself, '* or — Marjorie ! " The latter thought made him rise with alacrity to his feet, and make his way along the rocks to the place whence the sound proceeded. The shingly path by which he had come lay on his right, and it was as deserted' as it had been when he had passed along. To the left there jutted out a sharp, rocky promontory, passing around which he came upon the creator of the sound which had so startled him. A young girl, evidently a peasant, sitting upon a rock, with shoes and stockings in her hand, and dabbling her bare feet in a pool in the sea. He could not see her face, but he noticed the bright gleaming of her reddish-golden hair, since the shawl which had covered her head had been thrown back on her shoulders ; and he could just catch the words, which she crooned rather than sang — *' whv left I my hame, Why did I cruss the sea, why did I depart From my ain countree ? 1 sigh fur Scotia's shore, And I yearn ncions the sea, But I canna get ae glint O' my ain umintrLe I " Sad and low, as if full of unshed tears, was the voice ; in tones as woeful and strange, indeed, a mernmid might have sung, waih'ng for a mortal '!( 90 THE HEIR OF LINNE. lover, like the sea-maid in the ancient Danish ballad. His first impulse was to go down and accost her, his next to continue his way home. He had not gone many yards, however, when he heard a light footstep benind him, and almost immediately a voice said — ** Begging your pardon sir, but I should be muckle obliged if you could tell me the time o' day." Something in the tone of the girl's voice startled Linne strangely. He turned quickly, and faced her. As he did so, she gave a cry of surprise and joy, and stretched forth her hands calling him by his name. But he neither moved nor spoke. His face grew livid in its whiteness, and the perspiration stood in beads on his forehead. Seeing this, the girl grew alarmed. *' Edward," she cried, " what ails you ? 'Tis me, 'tis Mary, frae the mearns of Kirkmichael. What gaurs you look so pale ? " "You, Mary! Here!'' With an efifort, he conquered himself, and seized the girl's hands in both of his. " You startled me," he said ; ** and no wonder." Then, looking nervously about him, he added, " tell me, in God's name, what brought you here ? " " I came to seek iox you'' ** For me .? " " Ay ; maybe you thought I had forgotten, but ye ken weel I can never forget ! " THE HEIR OF LINNB. 91 She paused, as if expecting an answer, but none came. He wanted to think rather than talk, since for the moment he could not decide what it would be best for him to say. The encounter had been so sudden, so unlooked for, that for the moment he completely lost his self-command. But as he stood looking into the face of the girl who had risen like a spectre before him, the past loomed beyond her like a graveyard giving up its dead. Fully three years had passed since the two had met, and yet how well he remembered the night of their last parting ! As he looked into the girl's face, he seemed to feel her arms clinging about his neck, and to hear her voice sobbing softly, *' You will come back, Edward ? Oh say you will come back, or I shall dee ! " And he had kissed her tear-stained face, and had given the promise — " Yes, Mary, I will come back." And since that night she had never heard of him again ! " Edward," said the girl, troubled by his silence, ** why are you sae dumb } Hae ye nae word o* welcome to gie me after a* these years ? " Again she held out her hands, but this time he did not take them. " What welcome did you expect ? " he asked, coldly. " What is past is past, and should be for- gotten. Still, since you have recalled it, tell me what you want. I will do what I can." It was now the girl's turn to look astonished. Fixing her eyes curiously upon his face, she said wearily — ** I hae had a long tramp the day, and I'm a wee : .fl ^> %. ■.^. -''■ ^-"^ ▼•„o. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) h /. ^/>X ,^ /. f/^ ^6 I.Vj |50 ■ I.I 2.8 2 |2j5 im ^ 1.25 1.4 J4 ^ 6" — ^ V] "■^.■V'*' ^^v /. '^> /A Photographic Sciences Corporation ^ ^^ •SJ <^ fv 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)872-4503 o^ ^. ■ 92 THE HEIR OF LINNE. tired, and ma>:>e dazed and dreaming. I dinna understand ! " *' Yet my meaning is clear enough," said Linne. ** I presume," he continued, looking at her coarse, travel-stained dress and bare feet, ** that you want assistance. For the sake of the past, I am willing to help you, but I shall only do so on condition that you leave this place instantly, and promise never to come here again." The girl looked steadily at him. ** And dae you think, Edward, it is your siller I want ? Dae you think I cam' for ^/la^ ? " ** I don't know what else you can want, unless you are mad enough to imagine I am going to repeat the farce of three years ago." She gave a short, hard laugh. " And is that what you call it, Edward Linne ? My faither was right, then. He said you had come to poison the life o' her you pretended to love. Till the day you crossed my path, I had never grieved or never grat ; since then, God help me ! I hae kenned nae peace. Look at me, Edward, homeless, friendless, wearifu', and sair spent. Yet my heart was light till noo. I thought I had ae body in the world to dry my tears ! " ** And so you have, if you will but be reason- able. Of course I will help you." *' I dinna want your help. Dae ye think it was chanty I cam' to seek ? Na, I cam* thinking to find an honest leal-hearted man. But I ken noo what it is you are, and I hope to God I ne'^r may see your face again ! " THE HEIR OF LINNE. 93 ** Then you will go ? " "Ay, ay, I'll gang," she replied, looking him firmly in the face ; *' but before I gang I shall visit Linne and see the laird ! There is a young lassie there who is as simple as I was mysel'; and I'll speak to her as weel before I gang ! " In a moment his face changed. He made one quick step forward, and seized her by the waist. ** What ! you, threaten do you } " he said. But quickly changing his tone he added, '* Oh, Mary, Mary, what a little simpleton you are ! Didn't you see I was acting, and that I only did it to see if your love was real } And it is, it is ! you love me for myself. You are my own Mary still ! " The change was so sudden that the girl was stupified. " Then your heart is the same ! " she said. '* You've no' forgotten ? " " Forgotten ! " he said, passing his hand over her golden hair, and drawing her tenderly to him. " Oh, my darling, how could I ever forget } " *• Then why did you lea' me a' those years, and ne'er send word or line ? " " What could I do ? " s?id Linne, " At first I thought, I will wait till I have good news to send her ; but a cursed ill-luck always pursues me, and I had no good news to send. Then, after a month or so had passed, I looked forward to being able to come back to you when I had good news to bring ; but that will soon be over now. There is good luck in store for me at last, I think Mary. But we are losing time,"*he said looking at his watch. ■,'5.1. m ■■ I. m 94 THI£ HEIK Ot LIN Mi'. ** I must be at the Castle in a quarter of an hour. What am I to do with you ? " " Tak' me to the Castle. Wha has the better right ? " ** Take you with me to the Castle ! Good heavens ! no, Mary ! Listen ! Before I came to this place a few days ago, I was absolutely a beggar — even poorer than you, for my responsi- bilities were so terrible that my only escape seemed suicide. Now I have a chance of brighter days. The laird is dying, and at his death I shall be his heir. If by any chance he heard of our affection, he would disinherit me, and I should be left to starve," ** Tell him the truth," returned the girl, quietly. *' He is a just man, and will acknowledge your wife.*' ** If I did as you desire, he would disinherit me, and leave us both to starve ; whereas we have only'^o wait a little, and I shall be able to put you in your proper position. Come, I am sure you are a sensible little woman. You see all this as I see it, do you not, my darling ? " She dropped her head, and a sob escaped her lips. " My happiness is aye to come, and ne'er comes," she answered, letting her tears flow freely now. *' It's awfu' waitin', and waitin' ! I cann^. bear it ! What's your will ? What is it you wish me to do ? " Return to your home and wait there quietly until I come for you," THE HEIR OF LINNE. 95 ** My hame ?" returned the girl, raising her tear- ful eyes to his face. " I hac nae hame noo ! " " No home ! " " Nane. After you went away and left me, folk whispered to my faither that you had beguiled me ; and when he taxed me wi' the truth, I couldna defend mysel', for you had made me tak' a solemn oath ne'er to tell that I was your lawfu' wife. Then he drove me from his hoose ! " ** Drove you away ? " " Ay ; fast closed the door on me, and tell't me he would ne'er open it to me again till I came to him wi' my marriage lines.' ''What did you do?" '* What could I dae ? I just went across the muir and got a farmer's wife to take me in to watch the kye ; for I thought it would be only for a while, and I looked for you to' come. I thought you would tak' me back to faither and tell him a!. But I waited and waited, and you didna come. Then ae day I heard that faither was ill, and I went hame thinking I maun break the promise I had given. But when I reached the hoose faither was dead ! " "Dead!" •* Ay, Edward. I begged them to let me see him, but they wouldna ; and my sister Jean did what faither had dune — turned me awa' frae the door. After that I didna heed what became o' me I waited about the clachan till I saw faither laid in his grave ; then I went awa', staying in ae place and anither, until ae day I heard tell o' the laird o' '{ !l ■'1 ■ ''•■'II m *■ m I' itf ■?\i 96 THE HEIR OF LINNE. Linne, and asked about him, and foond he was your ain uncle, and lived in Linne Castle far awa'. Then I thought, if I can win till the laird, he will gie me news o* Edward. Weel; I hadna the siller to ride in the train, sae I just tramped it, and then gat a place in a fishing-boat, and I gat to the toon last night. A guidwife hereaboots let me hae a bed. 'Twas she who tell't me the old laird was deeing, and the young laird waitin* to wear his shoon." ** And you told her who you were?" " Na, na, Edward ; I couldna break my oath," she answered. " And yet just now you threatened to break it" " Ay, that was when I was mad. My heart was weel-nigh broken when I thought you sae unkind!" ** Well, we won't talk of that," said Linne, who was dreading another outbreak, longing to get away from the girl, yet afraid to leave her. "What am I to do with you now, Mary ? " ** Shall I just go back to the hillside and stay wi' yon guid wife ?^' He hesitated. His chief anxiety was to get her out of the place ; for although she had proved to him how steadily she could keep an oath, he dreaded her continued presence, since he would be com- pelled to meet her from time to time, and gossip might begin. Still, he had no time now to plan for her future disposal. He had lingered too long already. Perhaps it would be well to adopt her suggestion for the night, he thought, and he could think of some detinite plan by the morrow. He THE HEIR OF LINNE. 97 looked up to tell her of his decision, and stared in wonder as his eyes rested upon her. Now that the flush which excitement had brought to her cheeks had died away, her face was ghastly in its whiteness, her lips looked quite blue, and there were black rings around her eyes. " What is the matter? " he said quickly, think- ing she was going to faint. The girl wearily lifted her hand, and pushed her hair off her forehead. *' Maybe I wa..t my dinner," she said, smiling sadly. " The wife gied me a dish o' porritch the morn, and it is a' I hae ta'en since yestreen.'* She was absolutely almost starving, but still his thoughts were of his own safety. " Did the woman who gave you the lodging know you had no money ? '* he asked. •* Ay, she kenned it. I couldna give her a baw- bee." *' Well, get some other lodging for to-night. Here is some money," he said, placing a few shil- lings in her hand. " Rest quietly in the town till to-morrow night after sunset, then meet me again here. Do you understand. " Ay, I understand." «' And you will do it ? " . *' Ay, ay ! " she murmured sadly. " Well, good-bye." he said, taking her hand in his and pressing it gendy ; then he turned on his heel and walked quickly away. Could he have seen the girl's face as he did so he would have lingered a moment to give her a (7) 1, \k il :^ 98 THE IIKIK OF LINNE. more lender adieu ; but he was blind with selfish dread. As his figure faded from her sight, the girl gave one piteous moan, and sank subbing on the shore. CHAPTER XII. A COTTAGE INTERIOR. At last the girl dried her eyes, and rising from the ground, made her way wearily from the sea- shore. Heedless of Linne's orders, she went straight to the cottage where she had slept on the preceding night — a small, one-story building, stand- ing with several other detached cottages of the same class, on the side of a mountain burn. It was, indeed, the very place where Lizzie Campbell and her son had dwelt twenty years before. A new tenant dwelt within it, otherwise it was but little changed. The woman of the house, a widow of fifty years, was seated at the door, knitting. As Mary approached, she looked up with a nod and a smile. ** Sae you hae come back, lassie," she said. " Weel, I thought I had seen the last o' ye, since ye stayed awa' so lang. Come awa' ben, for you look sair spent ; ye shall hae a bit supper wi' me this night." THE IIKIR OF LINNE. 99 She rose and entered the cottage, and without a word the girl followed her, and took her seat on a stool beside the hearth. Though the cottage was poor enough, consisting as Ic did merely of two small rooms, with earth for flooring, and rotting rafters overhead, everything was neat and in its place. A cloth of coarse linen covered the rude bench which served for a table ; a few sods of peat lay smouldering on the hearth ; beside them stood a large black pot, half full of steaming potatoes. Laying her knitting aside, the woman proceeded to place upon the table two iron spoons and a couple of dishes ; then she lifted the lid cf a large wooden box which stood in a corner, and took from it a bowl of milk and some scones ; finally, the potatoes were turned out and set steaming on the board. ** Come awa , lassie, ' said the woman, kindly, as she took her seat at the table, and invited Mary to do likewise. " There's a scone till ye, and a sup o' new milk. Ye need food badly, or Tm sair mis- ta'en." In response to the invitation, the girl rose, and pulled her chair to the table. Before eating, how- ever, she drew from her pocket the few shillings which Linne had given her, and placed them before her hostess. The woman looked astonished. *' I bade ye eat and be welcome," she said. ** I didna ask for siller." " You're ower kind to me,'* answered the girl, quietly ; '• and 'tis na* good for me to tak' charity frae you when I hae the siller to pay." " You hadna a bawbee yestreen," continued the .k' ■ M i M lOO THE HF.IR OF LINNE. woman. " and noo ye hac siller ! I hope 'twas weel gotten, lassie ? " The look on the girl's face seemed to satisfy her, for she continued — " The Laird aboon kens good frae evil, and 1 think I see His proper mark upor. ye. You hae the look of an honest lassie ! Eat your supper, and keep your siller for harder times. Ay me, ye mind me muckle o' a lass of my ain, deid these ten years." She pushed the money towards the girl, filled her plate with potatoes, and dividing the milk into separate bowls, gave her one ; but, as Mary posi- tively refused to eat unless she was allowed to pay, the woman was at last persuaded to accept a shil- ling. It would more than pay for the food, she said, while, as for the bed, why, if the lassie didn't sleep in it, it would be empty. So the dispute ended, and the two began to eat. During the meal Mary uttered scarcely a word ; but the garrulous hostess talked away, all the while, however, keeping her shrewd eyes upon the girl, whose drooping spirits seemed to revive with every mouthful of food. Suddenly there was an interruption. A clear voice said — " Can I rest here for the night, goodwife ? " The sound, unexpected as it was, startled both women, who at once turned their eyes in the direc- tion whence it proceeded. It came from the door- way, in the shadow of which stood a man — young, tall, and well built. He wore a shabby coat of rough tweed and a loose woollen shirt ; he had no T.IE HEIR OF LINNE. lOI waistcoat, but a broad leather belt was fastened round his waist ; a loose red scarf was thrown lightly around his comely neck, and his head was covered by a broad black wide-awake. He stood looking at the two women who sat at the table, and as neither answered his question, he repeated it. "Guess I'm a bit played out," he said, "and don't want to go any further. Will you take me in ? " ** Come ben, young man," said the good wife, rising to her feet. " You're no' of these pairts, I'm thinking ?" " No, good wife ; I come from beyond the sea." ** From America, maybe ? '* *' Yes, from thereabout. Well, can you give me a night's shelter ? " ** Ay, and welcome, laddie, since you hae come sae far," returned the woman ; '• but 'tis a poor place ye ken — jest a but and a ben." Without waiting for a more pressing invitation, the man entered the kitchen, and, removing his hat, gazed curiously around. As he stood thus in the full light the woman saw him more distinctly. He was a handsome young fellow, off ot more than five or six and twenty ; his hair and beard, which he wore long, were bright golden ; his eyes clear blue ; but his face, neck, and hands were burnt brown, as if with exposure to tropical suns. Large earrings of ruddy gold hung in his ears, and on his hands were several rings of the same metal. His manner was bold and careless, as of one accustomed to shoulder his way fearlessly f» mi Ifi' ifi- itm! '. .fl .'f1 I02 THE HKIR OF LINNE. among rough men, and his eyes and mouth, though not ungentle, were full of determination. While he gazed curiously about him, the woman hastily put together the few potatoes and scones that were left, and brought out another bowl of milk. ** Will ye tak' a wee bit supper ? " she said, looking at him again, and wondering whether she should address him as an equal or a superior ; while Mary quietly rose from the table, and returned to her seat by the fire. Throwing his wideawake hat carelessly aside, the stranger took the seat which the girl had va- cated, and began to dispose rapidly of the few eatables which were placed before him, while the women sat by, watching him curiously. When he had finished his meal, he drew from the breast pocket of his coat a bright blue silk handkerchief, and carelessly wiped his beard ; then he looked up and, encountering the eyes of his hostess, he smiled. " Well, goodwife," he said ; " I guess you were thinking I'd a good appetite ? " *• Ay, and I was thinkin* too, maybe, it wasna the first time you had drunk a bowl of Scotch milk. Are you a stranger to these pairts, sir ? " " Guess I should be," he answered, carelessly ; " since, as I have told you, I come from America."' ** Ay, ay, I mind," she answered, brightening up at once. ** Then, maybe, ye ken the black pits o* Pennsylvania ? I have a laddie o' my ain there, sir ; ay, as braw a laddie as ever wore shoon. He THE HEIR OF LINNE. 103 went away this ten years, come termday, and Tm thinkin' some day I shall see him back agin, just stcfppiu' into the house as you did yoursel' the noo. Weel, you're heartily welcome here for his sake, and your ain," she added ; ** sae just set ye doon in the ingle, and tak' your pipe while I put the things aside ; and then, maybe, you'll tell me a bit aboot the place where my boy stops.'* He rose from the table, and as he did so, he again gave that curious look around him. He seemed to be trying to recall something which was forgotten. This time the woman noticed the look. " Have you lived long here?" he said, carelessly. " 'Tis near on twenty years since I cam' to the cottage. Before me there was one Tiizzie Camp- bell dwelt here. She was a sorrowfu' woman, and she had a son, a wee laddie wha folk said wasna born in the shadow o' the kirk. Weel, the puir lassie and her bairn went awa' to America, but they never reached there, for the big ship went (loon, and they were drooned at sea." To this the man did not reply. He swaggered over to the fire, and lifting a burninc: sod of peat, lit a black briar-root pipe which he had been filling, while the woman, having scattered a few cold pota- toes among half a dozen ragged hens, took her seat on a stool in the ingle, and recommenced to work upon the knitting, which Mary's appearance at the cottage had caused her to lay aside. " You hae friends in these pairts, maybe ? " she said, again addressing the stranger. He laughed. I i k! I '^ Mi I! I04 THE HEIR OF LINNE. ** I can't find many friends anywhere, goodwife," he replied ; " but I've business at Linne Castle, and since you'll let me bide here for the night, I'll make my way there in the morning." " To Linne Castle ? " said the woman amazed ; " that's unco' strange, for here's a lassie wi' busi- ness there too ! '* "Is that so ? " he replied. " I thought this was your daughter." *' My daughter ? Na; I hae but ae bairn livin', and he's far awa* in yon strange land. This is jest a puir lassie that's bidin' here for the night, like yoursel'. But dae ye ken, sir, that the laird o' Linne is deeing ? " " Dying, is he ?" answered the stranger. "Well, I suppose the world has spared better men ! " " The laird's no' an angel, if that's what you mean, sir. He hae aye been hard on the poor ; and folk say," she continued, in a confidential tone, " 'twas the laird himsel' had a hand in the doonfa o' poor Lizzie Campbell. Weel, nae man kenned the rights o' that. But the day has come noo when the laird will reap what he has sown. 'Tis poor wark to lie on a deathbed wi' a black con- science, and only a stranger to wear the shoon that you put aside. T here's the heir o' Linne waitin' in ae room, and the old laird deeing in anither. If ye hae business wi' the laird, ye should gang quick to the Castle, for he isna long for this warld." Then turning to the girl, she added — '• Did ye get news of the laird the day, lassi THE HEIR OF LINNE. 105 The girl started. From the moment the stranger entered the room she had quietly retired to the chimney-corner, where she had sat with her face partly hidden, listening to all that was said. Shi- looked up, and found the eyes of the stranger fixed curiously upon her. For a moment she returned his look, then she flushed slightly, and turned away. ** I cam' to see the young heir, no* the auld laird." ** The young heir ?" returned the stranger, in a curious tone ; " and who may he be, my good girl?" " He's jest a young gentleman," cried the good- wife, interposing, " what cam' to the place a few days syne. Folk say he's nephew to the laird, and since he bears his name he'll hae the siller ; but, if the laird did right, 'twould all goto Miss Marjorie. She's just been as good as a daughter to him, and should iia be beggared for a stranger." '' Miss Marjorie ? " said the stranger. '* There's a pretty good houseful of them, I reckon ! And how long has Miss Marjorie, as you call her, been there } " *' Since she was a wee lassie, ten lang years past. It was Willie Macgillvray brought her 10 the Castle when she was a bairn. She hasna had a gay life, ye ken, jest leevin' wi' the laird, but she's a leal lassie, and she's just the sunshine o' the place." Here, either accidentally or by design, the young man yawned, and the woman added — " But 1 see you're o'er weary for muir talking, ; ■^k ^!| m I ■ I tn io6 THE HEIR OF LINNE. bir, and the puir lassie's weary too. I'll just place the beds for the night." So saying, she rose and began to move about, making the necessary preparations. There was in the kitchen a pressbed in the wall, which she arranged for the young man ; then, when all was ready, she gave him a kindly good night, and retired with the girl to the inner room, where they were to rest together. Left alone in the kitchen, the stranger rose, and looked around him with evident curiosity, examined the black rafters, the bare walls, the rude furniture of the chamber. Then, as if satisfied, he sighed heavily, walked to the door, and looked out. The moon was shining brightly over the neighbouring hills, and the brook at the foot of the brae was filling the air with its low murmuring. " Men die and passHway," he muttered to him- self, *' but the old landmarks do not change. I seem to remember everything I see ; but it's like a dream." For a long time he stood looking sadly out into the night, then he closed the door, threw himself upon the biid without undressing, and slept soundly until dawn. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 107 CHAPTER XIII. THE YOUNG CANADIAN. Early next morning, when the woman entered the kitchen, she was rather astonished to find that her male visitor had gone, and without leaving word or message of any kind behind him. It seemed an abrupt leave-taking, but the man had strange ways ; so, without further speculation, the goodwife at once set about tidying up the kitchen and making ready for breakfast. There was little to do, and when, some half an hour later, the door of communication between the t'"o rooms opened again, and the girl appeared, the kitchen looked as neat and tidy as it had done on the previous day. The bed which had been given to the stranger showed no sign of having been used at all. There were fresh potatoes steaming in the pot by the fire, and bowls of new milk on the table. To crown all, there was the kindly goodwife bustling about, with her usual bright face and pleasant smile. The girl looked more composed than she had done on the previous day. She had dressed her- self with some care, and as she came forward, and the full sunlight fell upon her through the window- frame, the woman looked at her with undisguised admiration in her eyes. ** Eh, but you're a bonnie lassie," she said, taking 4 'n f m ' \''?*l io8 THE HEIR OF LINNE. the girl's face between her hands and kissing her on the forehead. But the girl maintained her usual silence, and the two sat down to breakfast. Scarcely had they taken their seats, however, when the visitor of the night before appeared on the threshold. The woman looked astonished. " Sae you're hereawa' again, after a'," she said. '* I thought maybe you'd gane to Castle Linne, and that we had seen the last o' ye, young man ? " "I've been having a stroll by the sea," he said ; " and now I'm ready for breakfast. It's too early for a visit to Linne Castle, I guess. People with bad consciences lie late, they say." He entered the room, removed his hat, and took his seat at the table. When the meal was over, he placed a piece of silver beside his plate, rose, took his hat, lit his pipe, and announced his intention to depart. " I suppose," he said, " I can have the bed again, good woman ? " "And welcome," answered the hostess. "Are you thinkin' of biding lang hereaboots ? " " I don't know. I've got a job to do, and I must wait till 'tis done." " But maybe you'll be staying wi' the servants at Linne Castle ? " A curious look came into the man's eyes. " Linne Castle ? " he replied. " Guess that isn't for me, or the likes a' me. We'll leave fine houses and snug rooms to our betters, goodwife — to them that can buy hearts and sell lives, and who, when ' fi: THE HEIR OF LINNE. 109 their miserable days are spent, die with the cer- tainty of Hell before them ! " The woman looked fairly amazed. The man before her seemed to have utterly changed. The expression of his face was dark and revengeful, his right hand was clenched, and he was trembling with passion. ** It is na' becoming to talk like that," said the woman. "If the laird has sinned, maybe he has repented." " And what if he has ? What will his repentance do.*^ Will it heal the hearts he has broken, or mend the lives he has destroyed ? Will it bring one glint of happiness to those who lie cold in their graves ? No ; if there is a just God above us, there is no rest for such men, even though on their deathbeds they repent to save their miserable souls ! " Then, noticing the scared look on the woman *s face, he added lightly — " Don't mind my chatter, goodwife. I come of a rough stock, and I'm a bit rough in my talk at times. Well, I'm off to the laird now." Then turn- ing to the girl, he added, *• You've got business at the Castle, too. Will you walk with me across the hill ? ;' The girl turned away. " I hae nae business at the Castle," ** Then your errand is done ? " " Ay, 'tis done," returned the girl, still keeping her face averted. *' Will you be for ganging awa' the day, lassie ? " asked the woman. i: no THE HEIR OF LINNE. '* Maybe," returned the girl, evasively and very sadly. " Weel, I shall miss you. 'Tis mony a lang day since my hoose has looked so cheerie as with your- sel' sitting in it. When I look at ye, I'm thinking of my poor lass that's in her grave and of my poor boy that's awa' in a foreign land." **You mentioned one Willie Macgillvray last night," said the young man, interrupting her. ** I fancy I've heard tell of the name." "If ye kenned folk wha came frae these parts, you hae certainly heard o' it for a'body kens Willie. He's an auld man now, ye ken, but he's a good man, sir, for all his strange ways." " Does he dwell hereabouts ? " " Ay, in a place that's little fitted for a scholar like himsel', 'Tis just a 'vee bit cave in the hill. But Miss Marjorie gangs to see him, and folks say the laird has been there whiles, to ease his guilty mind by confessing his sins to Willie the Hermit." ** Folk hereabout seeni to be pretty busy with other people's affairs," said the man with a careless laugh. " Guess I'll have to be pretty spry, or they'll begin to discuss me ! " " And what for no' } " returned the woman, laughing. ** Well, I guess I'd better be off, anyhow," said he. Then, turning to the girl, he added, *' I'm off straight to Castle Hunger. I can leave a message for you. my girl, if you want to send one.** " Na, na," answered the girl, quickly. *' Dinna heed my message or me^ Then blushing crim- son with confusion, she turned away. ■N THE HEIR OF LINNE. Ill The young man, alter looking at her curiously for a moment, turned to go. Accompanying him to the threshold, the woman pointed out to him the shortest road to the Castle ; then bidding him a cheery good morning, and expressing a hope that he would return soon, she re-entered the house and set about her labours for the day. Meanwhile the young man pursued his way, half carelessly, yet with ever quickening steps, like one who is hurried to a point which he dreads to gain. Sometimes he paused and looked about him, and as he did so his face wore a curious, prizzled look, as if he were trying to remember a half-forgotten dream ; then at last, his eyes, in sweeping over the landscape, rested upon the towers of Linne Castle, and he gave a sinister kind of smile. "I have more to do than I bargained for," he said. " To tell a few unpleasant truths to a man on his deathbed is like warring with a woman. I thought it would be man to man. If I li;id met him on the hillside, even altho* his hair had whitened and his face had lined with age, I could have said my say ; but to hiss it into the ear of a man who is struggling with d jath is another matter. And yet, why should I pause ? I am only doing my duty f " He walked on more quickly, switching the heather with his stick as he went ; and as he came well within sight of the building, his face grew harder and harder, for his thoughts were busy with the past. ' t ■ r •'Q i^li: iiii I 12 THE HEIR OF LINNE. " This is the road she has trod." he said to him- self, " with sore heart and aching limbs, many and many a time, a wretched supplicant for mercy which never came. I wonder if he thinks of all this as he lies yonder ? Then there's that girl I met in the cottage. Who can she be, I wonder ? Looks as if the old play was being enacted over again. I should like to make the acquaintance of the heir of Linne, and I mean to keep my eye upon the girl also. She has got a tell-tale face, and will never be able to hide her secret long." Ere long he was within a dozen yards of the house, and paused, as if uncertain what to do. All the windows and doors were closed, and there was no sign of a living soul ; and the silence around was so deathly that, when the stranger uttered his thoughts aloud, his voice rang out with strange dis- tinctness. " If I could only see the heir or * Miss Mar- jorie,' '* he said, with a smile, " my work would be just a bit easier, I fancy ! Sounds rather queer to tell a servant you've made a call on his master, who happens to be dying. That's what I've got to do, though, unless By heavens, here's the very vision I was looking for ! " he added, as the front door opened noiselessly, and Marjorie herself appeared upon the threshold. Her whole appearance betokened anxiety and a protracted night watch. Instead of her usual tight- fitting dress, she wore a loose grey wrapper, and stray tresses of her hair, which had been hastily fastened up at the back, fell upon her shoulders ; THE HhIR OF LINNE. "3 her face was pale, and her eyes red with weep- ing ; yet, as she tripped lightly down the steps and approached the stranger, he thought he had never seen a countenance so lovely. "Can this be Miss Marjorie?" he said, uncon- sc '.ously uttering his thoughts aloud again. The girl looked surprised. " Yes, I am Marjcie. Do you know me ? " she said, looking at the stranger from head to foot. He took off his hat. ** I beg your pardon," he said. ** No, I do not know you. I had heard of a Miss Marjorie living in Linne Castle, and, when I saw you, I uttered my thoughts aloud." " You are a stranger ? " ** Yes, I am a stranger, and have business with the laird of Linne." The girl turned her head away to hide the tears which sprang to her eyes. "The laird is very ill, sir," she said. "They say he is dying. All the night through I have been beside him, thinking every breath would be his last; but now the bad spasms have passed away, and he is more at rest. When I saw you from the window, I came out quickly, lest you should knock and dis- turb him. His business in this world is done. He must be left at peace now." " Yet I have a message for him which, if he is still ali^'e, he ought to hear." " Could you give me your message, sir ? If I find he is able to listen to it, he shall hear it. The '8) • . ■J M HCl Ill m ii fi ,(• 114 run HEIR OF LINNE, sight of a strange face would disturb him and do him harm." But the stranger was persistent. " My message is only for the ears of the laird," he said, firmly. The girl looked curiously at him. "Is it a message that will cheer him and bring him comfort ? " she asked. "God knows! Anyhow, he must hear it." He looked at her as if he expected she would move aside and invite him to enter the house, but she did not do so ; and when he made a movement as if to pass her by, she laid a detaining hand upon his arm. " Think, sir, what you would do," she said. " He is an old man ; let him die in peace. If you will give me your message, I will take it to him, but you cannot and shall not see him." " I guess you do wrong to keep me here,'* said the man. " I come from Canada, and I bring a message from one John Mossknow might like to hear about before he dies." The girl looked at him more curiously. Suddenly a new light broke upon her face. " You come from one who knew the laird ? " " Ay, from one who knew him well ! " " Oh, tell me, sir, is it possible that you bring news of his son ? " It was now the young man's turn to look astonished. "His son?" he said. "What son?" " His son who was driven from his home many THE ni:iK of linne. 115 yar. ago. The laird has told mc about him. It would bring him comfort to hear of him, if he lives ! " The young man looked on the ground as he answered — "My message is not from his son, but it is im- portant ; and though the laird were at his last gasp, I must speak to him before he dies." A step on the gravel walk attracted their atten- tion. Turning quickly, Marjorie saw Edward Linne. He looked at the stranger questioningly from head to foot. ** You seem to be a stranger to these parts," he said, ** and I should advise you to make yourself a stranger to Linne Castle. What do you want ? " ** I want to see the laird/' was the reply, " Then you cannot see him. The young lady has told you so, no doubt ; and, take my word for it, the young lady is right. It is not the custom for dying men to receive strange visitors, I think, and the old man is sinking fast." Without another word, Linne moved away and re-entered the house. The stranger turned with a smile to Marjorie. ** Who is our amiable friend ? " he asked. ** That is Edward Linne, the laird's nephew and heir." ** Indeed ! The prospect of coming into so much wealth should have a better effect upon his temper, unless he is tired of waiting, as those who look for dead men's shoes usually are. But come, do you intend to copy the manners of that puppy, and per- sist in turning me from the door ? " :i; ^i 1? ■ 1:1 Ii6 THE HEIR OF LIN NE. " Oh, sir, I am anxious to do what is right," answered the girl. " If I thought the laird would not he pained to see you " ** Then, as you are so fearful, suppose we let the laird decide for himself. Will you give him a message from me ? Then, if he refuses to see me, I will go." To tnis the girl consented. The stranger pro- duced a pencil and a piece of loose paper from his pocket, and wrote down the following words : — " A messenger from Canada, bringing news from one the laird kneiv well long agoP Folding the paper, he handed it to Marjorie, who hastened up to the laird's room. In a very short space of time she returned, and found the stranger standing bareheaded in the hall. " The laird will see you," she said, ** and Don- ald will show you to his room." CHAPTER XIV. THE LAIRD AND THE HERMIT. From the moment that he crossed the threshold of Castle Linne,.the young man's manner, always free, bold, and suggestive of a rough life spent among rough men, became even rougher and bolder ; and, without removing his hat^ he swag- THE HEIR UV LINNE. >I7 gered upstairs after the old servant, taking little need to step lightly on the oaken staircase, and looking round him with a careless frown. Reaching the door of the laird s chamber, the servant knocked gently, and then, opening the door, showed in the stranger, who, still with his hat set boldly on his brows, found himself face to face with the master of the Castle. A few short hours had wrought a painful change in the old man's condition. His face was white as marble, his eyes were dim and sunken, while, lying back upon the pillows of the rude uncurtained bed, he breathed heavily, as if in pain. But weak and spent as he seemed, something of his old fire remained, and flamed up in the dim orbs which he fixed eagerly upon the stranger. " Who are ye," he cried feebly, *' that would force yourself unbidden into the presence of a sick and maybe a dying man ? Come closer, that I may hear what news you bring." The young main approached the bedside. His face wore a curious expression of mingled pity and contempt. " Take off your bonnet, man ! " cried the laird. The young man smiled grimly, and with a care- less gesture swept off his hat, showing a high, fair brow and lightly flowing ringlets. *' I come from America," he said, "and I bring a message to John Mossknow, the laird of Linne." ** A message ? Who sends it ? " • " One who knew you long ago — Lizzie Camp- bell, once a dweller in these parts.'* ii Ii n j:yiete--:«.>«.^f, ,j^.-,.^.,. ii8 THE HEIR OF LINNE. •* Lizzie Campbell ! " echoed Mossknow, while his grim face twitched convulsively. *' What ken you of Lizzie Campbell ? I knew one of that name, who was drowned in the great storm, twenty years ago." "Are you sure she was drowned?*' returned the other, with the same grim smile. ** The ship went down, but the woman you knew was saved." " How ken you that ? " cried the laird, trembling like a leaf '* Speak, man — quick ! " '* Because I have talked with her many a time, and knew her well." The laird sat up erect, glaring at the young man's face and stretching out his palsied hands. *' And her son ! her son ! Tell me of him ! Was the boy spared, too } " *' My message is from the mother, not the son. !f the son was drowned, his was the better fate, for he did not live to share his mother's shame. " Tell me the truth ! " gasped the laird. ** My son ! Does my son live ? " The young man shrugged his shoulders. ** I knew one Robert Campbell out in Canada. I never knew that he claimed to be kin of yours." " Don't torture me," cried Mossknow. " Man, man, have pity on my grey hairs, and let me ken the truth.' " Give me time, and you shall hear all I know. First, then, of Lizzie Campbell. She died last win- ter, after many a year of sorrow, among her kin in the west ; but, before she died, she gave a message for me to bring, should I ever see Scotland where ^ THE HEIR OF LINNE. 119 she was born. "' Tell John Mossknow,' she sg,id, * tell him, if he still lives (and the hard heart is hard to kill ! ), that for twenty years I have spoken no word and left no sign. I had outlived my hope, which withered up the day I sailed from home. But I would still have John Mossknow acknow- ledge, for my son's sake, that I was once, m the sight of God, his wife, and that, when I gave him my troth and gave birth to his seed, I did so believ- ing he would keep his plighted word.' " The youi.g man paused. In spite of his efforts to delivci' the message without betraying any signs of agitation, his voice grew choked as he proceeded, and his face showed the wild lights and shades of strong internal passion. And every word he spoke went like a knife into the heart of the laird, who, without looking at the speaker, fixed his dim eyes on vacancy, and plucked with tremulous fingers at the coverlet of the bed. ** Was that all ? " he murmured, after a time, still not looking at the stranger. " All that I remember. I wrote the words down that I might not forget them. A little afterwards the poor woman died, and carried the story of her sufferings to Him who is the Judge of quick and dead." ** What is your will of me?" cried Mossknow, suddenly looking up. ** I understand the message, what then ? " *' Nothing more," returned the other. " I have done my duty, The rest lies with you. Did the woman speak the truth ? " m 1" } fii .\ ■' I '' H ■■■■ f If •i t;ae;-..r..^.-:--, , . ., ~^jg I20 THE HEIR OF LINNE. .Mosskiiow did not answer. His thoughts again seemed far away. The young man turned from the bedside and stood at the window which com- manded a dreary prospect of moor and mountain As he paused thus, with his back to the laird, the evil shadow seemed to pass from his face, his lips trembled nervously, his eyes were moist with tears. " You have told me nothing," said Mossknow, suddenly ; " nothing of what I seek to know. I asked you of my son. Think you he still lives ? " " He mr.y live," answered the young man, not turning round ; " but better for him if he is dead." " The hand of death is on me," said Mossknow. " I am a dying man. I would willingly make atonement for the past." " Too late for that ! " **Why do you say that?" cried Mossknow. " Why do you come here to torture me .'* Did s/ie bid ye The young man turned slowly and looked to- wards the bed. "She bore her sorrows like a saint," he answered. *' She never complained, and she died forgiving the man who had wrecked her life." " And the boy — my son ? " " Do you think he forgave you ? Do you think, if he had a man's heart, he could pardon the father who sent him out into the world a bastard ? No! On his mother's grave, he swore " He paused suddenly and moved towards the bed. The old man sat erect, with eyes wide open and arms extended. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 121 "Come closer, closer, that I may look at ye! My old eyes are dim — I cannot see your face! Bend down, man, bend down ! " The young man instantly obeyed, and put his face close to that of the laird, who clutched him wildly, crying — '* Your name ? Tell me your name ? " The other whispered in his ear. The next moment, with a gasping cry, Mossknow fell back upon his pillow without a sign of life. A minute later, the stranger passed from the room, and stood at the head of the stairs. " Below there ! " he called. " Come up, some of you. Your master is dying ! " He re-entered the chamber, and the next moment Marjorie and Ed^yard Linne joined him there. Placing his finger on his lips, he pointed to the bed. Grim and gaunt as a skeleton, the laird lay as if dead, his grey hair strewn upon the pillow, his eyes wide open but sightless, his thin arms spread upon the coverlet. With a low cry, Marjorie knelt by the bed, and took one of the lifeless hands. " Speak to me, sir! It is Marjorie ! Oh, he is dead ; he is dead ! " Edward Linne and the stranger stood together by the window. ** What does it mean ? " said the former, with a scowl. " What has happened ? " ** We were talking together when he fainted as you perceive. He will rally yet, perhaps. Is there a doctor atte/idingf him » if'. '] iXfi ■I r i i -M 122 THE HEIR OF LINNE. Linne shook his head. ** The old man would have no medical atten- dant," he replied. " Well, they kill more than they cure. My busi- ness here is done." He walked over to the bedside. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Marjorie looked up into his face. " Oh, sir, will he recover ? " *' God knows," he replied in a low voice. At that moment Mossknow stirred, breathing painfully ; his fingers twiched nervously, and a faint sound came from his open lips. " Wet his lips with wine ! " said the young man. *' I fear he is sinking." Without another word he left the room, descend- ed the stairs, and passed out at the front door. His face had grown strangely pale and sorrowful. He stood for a moment in the porch, looking out on the lonely prospect ; then, with a sigh, walked forth upon the open moor. Scarcely seeming to heed which way he went, he strode along through the heather, turning once or twice to look back on the grey towers of the Castle. Presently, he reached a country road winding away towards the mountains. He leaped down from the high heather-clad bank, and wand- dered on thoughtfully. Presently, he paused again, and saw, on the verge of a wood, the board nailed against a tree whicn intimated to all and sundry, that hard by was Willie the Hermit's habitation. He read the words and smiled. Then, with a THE HEIR OF LINNE. 123 brighter face, he entered the wooJ, stepping lightly and stealthily, and approached the hermitage. The door stood half open. Creeping behind it, so as to be unseen by any one within, he peeped through the wide cranny between its hinges. Seated on a stool, close to a peat fire which filled the hut with its smoke, was the wild figure of the Prophet. He had an open book upon his knee, and was reading, half to himself and half aloud. For some minutes the young man regarded him ; then, with a smile, moved from his hiding-place and stood in the doorway. Willie looked up from his book. "Who's this trespassing on my property? Can you read, young man ? If so, did ye no' perceive the proclamation ? " '* I beg your pardon," returned the other, with his old swaggering manner, which he seemed able to assume or dispense with at will. " Hermits are scarce, and I wanted to have a look at one." Willie closed his book, and rose to his feet. " Who may you be ? By your tongue, you are not of these parts ? But take a guod look, young impudence ! As you say, hermits are scarce, and prophets scant, in these days o' steam-engines and railway trains." " You are William Macgillvray, sometimes called Willie the Preacher ? " **A11 the world kens that," returned Willie, phlegmatically. ** So if you have no better busi- ness to bring you, gang about your business, and leave me to mine." I" if ■'■PX f-:i: i m I ' ■ si': 4 'I m I a: 1 'I 124 THE HEIR OF LINNE. The young man laughed good-humouredly. " And you live here ? " he asked, smiling. ■" And I live here. Ay, and God willing, I shall die here. Now, march ! " " You are somewhat inhospitable. I am a stranger, and should like to have a talk with you, my friend. By the way, I have just come down from the Castle, where there is likely to be mourn- ing soon ; for the old man is at his last gasp." ** Say you so .'* " returned Willie; **then I'll be going to his bedside. What tookyou to the Castle, young man ? " " Private business." " With John Mossknow ? " " Certainly." Willie looked keenly at the speaker, whose wide- awake hat was now drawn low down over his fore- head, partly concealing his face. " Few folk have business with John Mossknow. His work in this world is nearly done. Did you see him." " Yes," replied the young man, with a nod. "And his adopted daughter, and the amiable young gentle- man who is waiting to wear his shoes." ** Dawm Aim for an interloper ! " exclaimed the Prophet, adding, with unconscious comicality, *' Lord, forgive me for swearing ! " ** Damn him with pleasure," said the young man, pulling a wooden pipe out of his pocket, and light- ing it coolly. '* But why ? " ** Mind your own affairs," cried Willie, sharply. " I see you are one of the new generation, in which THE HEIR OF LINNE. 125 the monkey predominates o'er the human. Lord M onboddo, a learned idiot, traced such Hmmers up to the ourangoutang." " Come, come, that isn't polite ! '* " It's no' polite to disturb a gentleman at his devotions, and smoke tobacco at his front door ! I have clouted better folk o'er the lugs for less, young man." The other laughed again, quite merrily. ** For so thorough a hermit your sentiments are a little unchristian." *' I'm in a bad temper," returned Willie, dryly. ** So I perceive. Why ? " " Why, ye limmer ? Because, as I sat there reading, my thoughts wandered away from the book, and I was thinking — thinking ! " " What were your thoughts about ? " " I was thinking this world is just a heap of dirt. I was thinking of the awful responsibility of Him that made it. I was thinking that, if I were God, I would put it out like a rushlight, and gang to bed for ever in the dark ! H oomph ! " • With a snort indicative of mingled contempt for the world and for his listener, Willie came out, shut the door, and turned the key in the old padlock which fastened it. Then he glanced again at the stranger, who had turned his back upon him, and was gazing quietly up through the trees. " Come ye from England, young man ? " he inquired. ** Your tongue hasna the English ring." The young man turned quietly. m 126 THE HEIR OF LINNE. " I come from across the sea. From the land of the setting sun." *• On an errand to John Mossknow." '* On an errand to the laird of Linne. " Who sent ye ? " cried Willie, quickly. *' It is your turn now to be inquisitive," said the other, laughing. *' What s your name ?" " I have none, my friend. I have come to look for one." So saying, he walked from the wood, and stood in the open road. Far away before him stretched the great sea across which he had sailed. Willie followed, muttering to himself, and stood by his side. *'You favour one I kenned long years syne," said the hermit, thoughtfully. ** Man or woman ? " asked the stranger. " Neither one nor other. A bairn, a bit laddie. You have the same bold blue een, the same fair golden hair. His name was Robin Campbell. I loved him like my own. ** I knew one Robert Campbell out in Canada. Perhaps it is the same." Willie shook his head sadly. " No, no ; the laddie I speak o' is long dead — drown'd — lying at the botton of the sea, far, far awa' from the shining o' the sun." The young man looked upward, and, taking off his hat, stood bareheaded, with the sunbeams pour- ing upon his fair brow and golden ringlets. Then, with a strange smile, while Willie started in won- der, he uttered the following words — THE HEIR OF LINNE. 127 " Yon's no* the sun, Willie Macgillvray I Yon*s God ! " The words, the tone startled the old man as if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet. He uttered a wild cry, and gazed awestruck on the young man's face. CHAPTER XV. THE SHADOW FALLS. While Willie, the hermit, was being interviewed by the stranger from Canada at the entrance to his cave, the gloom and sorrow were deepening over Linne Castle ; for the laird was rapidly nearing his end. For some time after the stranger had left the sick room the old man lay motionless, with his dim eyes fixed in a death-like stare. Marjorie, on her knees beside the bed, pressed the thin, cold hands, and sobbed piteously, naming his name, but he neither moved nor spoke ; while on the other side of the bed stood Edward Linne, watching with a curious expression the heavy, stertorous breathing of the dying man. Presently attracted by the piteous sobbing of the girl, he went to her, and lifted her from the ground. *• Come away, my girl,'* he said, tenderly. ** This is no place for you." if t ) 128 THE HEIR OF LINNE. But Marjorie resisted. " Don't take me away from him ! " she cried, hysterically. " Indeed, indeed, I must stay!" *' Then you must cease fretting," he whispered. " Come, be brave. You have been expecting this for weeks. It is better for him that it has come." He placed her in an armchair which stood near the bedside ; then he went to the bed, placed his fingers on the old man's pulse, and again looked with cold curiosity at the fice. The eyes were now looking straight at him, and were full of recognition. *' He has recovered consciousness," he said nervously shrinking back. In a moment Marjorie was by the bedside. She clasped the thin hand in both of hers, and gazed tenderly down upon the old man. As she did so, the light in his eyes grew softer, and his lips moved. *' He is speaking ! — he wishes to say some- thing!" cried Marjorie, bending low, that she might catch the words of the dying man. But she heard nothing. " What is it, sir ? " she asked, softly. " Do you wish to speak ? have you some- thing to say to me .'^ " The head moved slightly, as if in assent. "What is it ? " she asked again, as she placed her ear closer to the old man's lips. The heavy breathing continued, but she could not hear a word. " Oh, it is terrible ! " she cried, while the laird, still making violent efforts to speak, turned his eyes in piteous entreaty from one face to another. (( What shall I do ? THE HEIR OF LINNE. 129 "You can do nothing," said Linne, "but leave him to die in peace." *' But he wishes to say something, and cannot." ** No," said Linne ; '* I don't think he will speak again." For the eyes were already becoming dim, and were fixed again into that vacant stare. ** Come, Marjorie," he continued, again placing the girl in the armchair, " this is not the sort of scene for you ; but, if you will stay, you must be reasonable. If you cry so much you will make yourself ill." He placed himself between the armchair and the bed, so as to hide the girl's view of the dying man ; but it was unnecessary, for Marjorie's face was buried in her handkerchief. For some time no one spoke ; Linne was soon lost in his own thoughts, and Marjorie lay exhausted in the chair. Suddenly both started. There was a hurried footstep on the stairs, and the next moment the figure of Willie Macgillvray stood in the doorway. With a cry of joy Marjorie sprang to meet him, but the old man, whose manner was full of strange excitement, quickly put her aside, and approached the bed. •* Are ye living, John Mossknow ? " he said. " Tell me, are ye living, and do ye ken what it is I say ? " The eyes, still fixed and vacant, gave no sign of recognition, " He lives, but he doesna hear me," said Willie, sorrowfully. " Tell me, Marjorie, my doo, has he been long like this ? " ** Yes," answered the girl. ** A while ago he (9) hi ' i 1 :|'.- : ; »30 Tlir, IIIIU OF LINNE. recovered consciousness, and tried to speak to me, but only his lips moved, for I could not hear a sound. Oh, Mr. Macgillvray, will he never speak again ?" ** The Lord knows," answered the old man, reverently. ** And now leave the room both of you, for I want to be with him alone ! " Marjorie looked at Linne, who replied, ** I re- fuse to leave the room, and should like to know by what right you order me to do so ? " Willie looked up at him with a curious expres- sion, full of contempt and dislike. " You craw o*er soon, and you're no' the master yet, young man," said he. " But gang your ways ; or if ye will no/ R^^^^g then stay and welcome." " Shall I go. Willies ? asked the girl. " No, Marjorie," he answered ; **but keep away from me, lassie, for I have something to say to the laird." Then, bending over the old man, he said — " If ye ken who is by ye and who speaks till ye, make a sign." He watched earnestly, but no sign came ; except for the regular breathing ihe man showed no indi- cation of life. Willie thereupon moved from the bedside, and walked excitedly up and down the room, muttering to himself Now and again he paused, and gave a curious look at the young man who stood so calmly watching the death-throes of his kinsman. Presently Willie approached the bed again ; this time he uttered an exclamation of delight. Once more the eyes were full of recogni- tion. THE IIEIK OF LINNE. I3» " Keep back, both of you ! ** he said ; *• keep back ! I have something to say to the laird." Me bent low and whispered in the old man's ear. Then he looked into the filmy eyes again. " He kens what it is I'm saying," cried Willie. " Thank the Lord, he kens ! " But even as he spoke, the laird uttered a deep sigh, and his jaw fell. " Marjorie, my bairn," said Willie, as he rever- ently bowed his head, ** say a prayer, if you can ; the laird is dead ! " It was indeed true. As Linn* stepped hastily forward and laid his fingers upon the pulse, it ceased to beat. *• Yes, he is dead," he repeated with a sigh of relief. Then he turned nervously away, as if to shut out the ghastly sight before him. So the shadow which passes from dwelling to dwelling fell upon Linne Castle., Persuaded by Willie, Marjorie was induced to retire to her room, where, thoroughly exhausted with the fatigue of the night, she at last sobbed herself to sleep ; while throughout the house, despite the moving hither and thither of the ser- vants who were in attendance on the body of the laird, there was that hushed silence which ever accompanies death. Yet it was simply the old story over again — ** Le Roi est mort ; Vive le Roi ! " for while in the room above the body of the old laird was receiving the ghastly honours of the dead, in the dining-room below stood the t i M i' tn : it ili 132 THE HEIR OF LINNE. young Iciird, his heart expanding with joy at the posiiion he believed he had attained. " I'm glad it's over — very glad it's over," he said to himself ; *' for at times I began to be afraid the old man might recover, and so disappoint me after all. And now the question is, what am I to do ? Sell up and be off, or linger here a bit, and live like a country squire ? And Marjorie — what is to become of Marjorie ? I know what I should like to do with her, but unfortunately I'm bound hand and foot. . . . And that reminds me ! Mary is to meet me again to-night ; and I musi keep the tryst, too, or heaven knows what the little babbling fool may be induced to do if she hears of the old man's death. Well, I've time to have something to eat, and then I'll slip off; no one will see me. And suppose they do .'* who has a right to question my movements now ? No one. I am master of the situation — absolute master ; only, to avoid a scandal, I must keep the girl away." He rang the bell, and assuming a tone of com- mand which made the old servant start and stare at him in wonder, ordered a repast to be prepared for him at once. " Stay," he said, as the old man was retiring. *' How is Miss Marjorie ? " ** She's lockit up in her ain room, Mr. Edward." " Well, tell vour wife to remain in attendance upon her. It is my wish that she should be tr i • '. m 146 THE HEIR OF LINNK. ** What way will ye follow and torment me ? I wish nae company." " Tell me where you are going ? " *' Back to the gudewife at the cottage. I'll bide there the night, and the morn's morn, maybe, I'll gang awa'." " Promise me one thing — to let me try to help you if you are in any further trouble." ** Weel, I'll promise that," she answered ; " but nae man can help me noo." He stood still, and suffered her to go. She passed wearily across the hillside, pausing once or twice to look back before she disappeared. " The old story, as I suspected ! " muttered Roberts to himself. "How queerly things repeat themselves in this miserable sham of a world." CHAPTER XVII. ASHES TO ASHES. On a wild, windy January morning, when thick flakes of snow were beginning to fall, John Moss- know, laird of Linne, was carried to his grave. It was a shabby, yet a striking, funeral. There was the hearse, a somewhat ramshackle conveyance, and two mourning coaches, in one of which Edward Linne sat in state, while the other was occupied ^•^ THE HEIR OF LINNE. 147 :m lick )SS- It ras ice, rard )ied by Marjorie and t ato neighbouring landowners, old acquaintances of the deceased. For, despite all remonstrances, Marjorie insisted on following her guardian to the grave. Though these were the chief mourners, a large procession followed on foot, and among them bare- headed and wild, was Willie Macgillvray. Farmers from the neighbouring hills, peasants and crofters, men and women, had gathered to pay the last tribute of respect to one who, with all his faults, was the honoured representative of an ancient line. As the funeral cortege moved slowly down towards the lodge gate, and onward towards the skirts of the seaside town, it was recruited by many strag- glers of all ages ; and when it reached the burial- ground, a bleak spot on the open hillside near the sea, the place was already thronged with townsfolk, sailors and fishermen, men and boys. Looking out on the throng of life, Marjorie rejoiced that the world was willing to do her dead friend so much honour. The snow fell thickly as they gathered round the open grave. Then, when the ceremony was over, and the coffin was lowered to its last resting- place, Marjorie saw, close to her, the young man from America, standing bareheaded and looking down. Their eyes met, and his were full of deep sympathy and pity. At that moment, Edward Linne, looking pale and ghastly in his deep mourn- ing, touched her on the arm. '* Come, Marjorie ! " he said. " All is over." But she only gave a great sob, and did not move. , "p. ■:'"..i m M m m "M .ri ;i- it : I n 148 THE HEIR OF LINNE. The earth rocked under her, and she seemed faint- ing when she felt herself supported by a strong arm, while a voice said — " The young lady is ill. This is no place for her ! " Recovering herself, she recognized the young stranger. She looked at him gratefully through her tears. " Come, come," said Edward Linne, impatiently pushing the other aside, 'Met us get home." For a moment Roberts seemed inclined to resent the interference, but, conquering himself, he drew back with a shrug of the shoulders. Just then there was a movement of the crowd around the grave, a low murmur of voices, and Willie Mac- gill vray, his grey hair blowing in the wind, appear- ed at the head of the grave. Some attempt was made to prevent him from speaking, but he would not be silenced, and he began the following har- angue : — " The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away ; blessed be the name o* the Lord ! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ; the hard heart is like a piece o' sand- stone crushed under the heel, and the hard een gang out like glowworms in the dark. Men o' Linne, he that sleeps here was a man like your- selves, born unto sin and tribulation ; a sad man. for he was childless ; a weary man, for he had lived long and lonely in the world. I have sat at his board, poor as I stand here, for he wasna proud ; he knew the messenger o' truth, though he came in ragged duds to warn him. I have broken bread THE HEIR OF LINNE. 149 with him, I have talked with him as brother unto brother, and this I will say of him — that tho' he had sins upon his head, he knew them to be sins, and he repented." Willie paused, and the people, a little shocked at his oration, began to move from the gra\*^. Edward Linne, as he turned away, said in a loud voice — ** Silence the old fool ! It is an outrage ! " But Willie, without turning his eyes on the speaker, continued rapidly — ** Who calls his elder fool, is a fool for his pains ! The old erne dies, and the young corby crow would inherit ; but the wise man smiles when he sees the crow in the eagle's nest. Have ye for- gotten, men o' Linne, what the old song says ? Kir. "1 tn • n 1 * The bonnie heir, the wecl-faur'd heir, The wearifu' heir o' Linne, Lonely he stands at his father's gate. And nobody bids him come in ! ' " Fain, fain would I see such another, fair and comely, honest and leal, stand at the gates o' Castle Linne this day, while the interloper shrank in his shoon, and the bells o' the kirk rang welcome, welcome ! " He was proceeding in this strain when Roberts, pushing his way through the crowd, seized him by the arm. He was about to shake off the interfer- ing hand, when he turned and recognized the American, who said something to him in a low voice, and drew him rapidly away — a proceeding ■ i L-.'. . A50 THE HEIR OF LINNE. which Edward Linne witnessed with no little satis- faction. Marjorie and Linne returned to the Castle in the chief mourning coach, the other two mourners returning on foot to the town. As they drove along through the thickly falling snow, Marjorie leant back sobbing bitterly, while Linne, full of a new exultation, looked with flushed face out of the carriage window. How sad and lonely looked the Castle, in poor Marjorie's eyes, as they returned up the snow-clad avenue ! The moment ""hey alighted, she passed up to her room ; while Linne, pausing in the lobby accosted the old serving man — " Look here, Donald ! Serve me up some dinner in an hour. Miss Marjorie will dine with me, I expect. I suppose there is no wine to be had, eh } " " The laird was teetotal, sir, as you know, and his orders were " " Be good enough not to talk to me about that," cried Linne, lighting a cigar. " My uncle is dead ; it is not now a question of him, but of me. Send down to the town and order half a dozen bottles of good sherry. I'm not a teetotaler, remember! " He walked into the dining room, and found the blinds drawn down and the room dim and cheerless, with no fire on the hearth. He rang, and ordered a fire to be lit at once. Then, throwing himself into an armchair, he soliloquized — " I suppose I must keep up appearances for a day or two. Thank God, it is all over ! My only anxiety now is to know if there is a will. I have THE HEIR OF LINNE. 151 written to Menzies, and he will be over in the morning." Menzies was the name of the laird's solicitor, who resided in Glasgow. As yet he had made no sign. Within the hour, the old servant announced that dinner was ready to be served. *• Lay the cloth here," said Linne, " and then call Miss Marjorie." The cloth was duly laid and all prepared. Then Donald, after a visit upstairs, returned and said that Miss Marjorie did not care to come down, as she had a headache. " Tell her I must see her, on most important business." •* But Miss Marjorie said " " Deliver my message, confound you ! You are too fond of talking. Do as I bid you ! " The old man bowed and retired. After an in- terval, the door opened and Marjorie appeared, her eyes red with weeping, her face pale and very sad. ** You wished to see me," she said. " Yes, of course. In the first place, I want you to sit down and take- some dinner." " I cannot eat," was the reply. Nevertheless, as he persisted, she sat down with him ; and now, for the first time, Edward Linne ostentatiously took the head of the table, gave his orders like the master of the house, and grumbled not a little at the homely fare. Marjorie scarcely noticed the change, she was so full of sorrow. M 'J 4! »' .= ■M 152 THE HEIR OF LINNE. Pressed by her companion, she just put the food to her Hps, but her tears choked her, and she could not swallow one morsel. The repast over, Linne said — *' Do you mind my smoking ? " She shook her head sadly, and, almost withcnt waiting for the sign, the young man lit his cigar and proceeded to smoke with an air of great enjoy- ment. " Vm sorry there is no wine to offer you," he said, airily. ** My uncle was far too temperate, to my fancy. However, we will mend all that. And now, Marjorie, I want to talk to you about yourself." She looked up wearily. "Yes, sir,'* she replied. " Pray don't call me * sir ; ' it sounds so formal. I suppose we shall continue friends ? You see, Marjorie, I'm rather in a difficulty, so far as you are concerned. If my uncle has left no will, as I presume, the entire estate — such as it is — goes to me as heir. Now, I don't quite understand your position in the matter. ** My position ?" " I suppose now, between* ourselves, you are in no way related to my uncle ? Don*t be afraid to tell me the truth." '* I have told it you already. I am just an orphan, and neither kith nor kin." '* I thought perhaps — you won't be angry i* — that you might, after all, turn out to be his daughter." THE HEIR OF LINNE. 153 ** His daughter ?" she repeated, in astonishment. "But the laird was never married." " No, of course not ; but — ah — you know what I mean ? Don't think me impertinent ; I have no vulgar prejudices. You might still be his daugh- ter, though he never actually married." . Marjorie flushed scarlet, and rose from her chair. " There, there, forgive me ! " he cried. ** I see I was wrong. But if things are as I say — I mean, if there is no will — what will you do ? *' " I do not know," said Marjorie, sobbing. ** Of course I cannot bide here." "Certainly you can. My own affairs will, no doubt, take me a good deal away, but, remember, this is still your home." He said this grandiloquently, and really felt as if he were b<="having with noble generosity. A few minutes afterwards, finding Marjorie little disposed to carry the conversation further, he suffered her to retire. 1^^ '■; 11 fi i'^ m ij: Si ^54 THE IIEIR OF LIKNE. CHAPTER XVIII. THE WILL. Next morning, on rising late, he was informed that Mr. Menzies from Glasgow had arrived, and was waiting for him below. Descending, he found him in the dining-room — a little, shrewd, fox-faced man of sixty, with very decided manners and a sharp, querulous voice. This was Mr. Menzies ; but he was not alone. Standing by his side was Willie Macgillvray. On' seeing the Preacher, Linne started in astonishment. '* What brings you here ? " he said sharply. ** We had enough of this folly when my uncle was alive, but now " ** This person came with me, sir," said the lawyer. ** My last instructions were to read the will in his presence." *' The will } What will ?" cried Linne, startled. ** The will of John Mossknow, laird of Linne, drawn up by me, and witnessed in my presence, in this very room, on the twenty-seventh of last October." ** My uncle said nothing of any will ! " cried Linne, almost angrily. ** It seems very extra- ordinary." Here Willie the Preacher put in his word — THE HEIR OF LINNE. 155 ** Possess your soul in patience, young man, till Mr. Menzies explains everything. I told ye once before — the cock may craw too soon ! " The lawyer, with a dry cough, sat down at the table, put on his spectacles, and drew out his papers. " Oblige me, sir," he said, ** by calling the house- hold together. It is essential that every one should be present, including, of course, the young lady whom the late laird adopted." Fuming with impatience, not unqualified with alarm, Linne rang the bell, and gave his orders. Presently Marjorie entered the room, and took a seat by the window. Then came the old servant Donald, and his wife, who did the housekeeping, and the company was complete. " This is the last will and testament of j ohn Mossknow, laird of Linne," said Menzies, produc- ing a document. '* I break the seal in your presence." Having done so, he proceeded to read in a low, monotonous voice. Divested of its legal phrase- ology, the will was to the effect that John Moss- know, being at the time of sound mind, unmarried, and without direct legitimate issue, had made dis- position 01 tne landed estates and moneys in his possession as follows : Firstly, to his nearest heir male, Edward Linne, his nephew, he bequeathed the sum of one thousand pounds sterling and the freehold estate of Linne, consisting of five hundred acres and the tenements thereon, including the Castle, subject to all the mortgages and burdens pi. ■I. I' ' =1':. M: i - ' '; I J •■ I ■ ■1-1 ■HP mm 156 THE HEIR OF LINNE. thereon, specified in a schedule ; to his faithful servant, Donald Sutherland, and to Mysie his wife, a sum of fifty pounds annually, payable by the aforesaid Edward Linne ; to his friend, the Rev. William Macgillvray, the sum of five hundred pounds ; to his adopted daughter, Marjorie Flem- ing, for her sole use and enjoyment, all the rest of his possessions, including the moneys lying at the bank or out at interest, the estates of Muckle Barn- more, Lesser Barnmore, Eskdale,and Farnacleugh, all contiguous to Linne, with all the farms and pasturage thereon. . Scarcely had the lawyer read thus far, when Edward Linne sprang to his feet. ** There is some mistake," he cried ; " perhaps I should rather say a conspiracy ! My uncle " " Be good enough to let me finish, sir," said the lawyer. " But if this will means anything, it means that I am practically disinherited. What is Linne itself but a barren piece of moorland, with scarcely rent- roll enough, after the mortgage money is paid, to keep the Castle in tenancy ? " "That is just possible," returned Menzies, with a smile ; " but you will oblige me by listening to the end. There are conditions.". ** Well, go on ! " cried Linne, impatiently. " The bulk of your uncle's estate lies in the lands bequeathed to this young lady. The moneys bequeathed her amount in hard cash to fifteen thousand pounds, or thereabouts. But the testator goes on to say : * It is my last wish and injunc- THE HEIR OF LINNK. 157 1' ■ tion that the foresaid Marjorie Fleming, to whom I hereby bequeath the lands and moneys above specifiedjshould marry the aforesaid Edward Linne. I express this wish and injunction, but make it in no way binding upon her, should she see any just legal or other impediment ; yet, since I know her to be dutiful and loving, I believe that my wish will be her law, and that, by fultilling the latter, she\^ill keep the estates together, and preserve the direct line of the lairdship of Linne.' " Edward Linne glanced at Marjorie. She sat pale and stupified, as if scarcely realizing the meaning of what she heard ; but the laird's own words — '•What say you, Marjorie, to Edward Linne for a husband ? " — were ringing wildly in her ears. She remembered, too, how eagerly he had spoken of the marriage, how anxious he had been that the name and heritage of Linne should be preserved through further generations. '* When was this will made and witnessed ? " demanded Edward Linne. " As I have told you, sir, on the twenty-fifth of last October," replied the lawyer. " But I have not finished. I have here a codicil, added as late as the fifth of last December." He paused, glanced round, coughed, and read as follows : — ** I, John Mossknow, laird of Linne, being still of sound mind, but feeling my end drawing near, have nothing to add to the will drawn up and signed by me in October last, and delivered in the presence of my solicitor, Andrew Menzies, and the requisite witnesses, save one thing only, which is at 5 i W' n. r '•: i 158 THE HEIR OF LINNE. once a codicil and a confession. Twenty-eight years ago, I had a child by one Elizabeth Campbell, a peasant girl, living with her father on my estates. I promised marriage to the said Elizabeth Camp- bell, who looked upon me as her lawful husband ; and inasmuch as we lived together several nights and days as man and wife, before witnesses, she was my lawful wife, and her son was my lawful son. Yet out of the hardness of my heart and the sinful- ness of my disposition, I denied her and rejected her, causing her to sail with her child to Canada. The ship on which she sailed was lost at sea, and I believe every soul on board perished. Never- theless, since the ways of God are inscrutable, and even the seas have before now given up their dead, I make proviso in this codicil that if, by any miracle of chance or divine dispensation, my son, Robert Campbell, child of the aforesaid Elizabeth, should be living, he is, without question of legitimacy, to be acknowledged as my soiij and lawful heir, the inheritor of my name and all my lands, reserving only to my nephew, Edward Linne, the sum of one thousand pounds ; to my foster-child, Marjorie Fleming, an annuity of three hundred pounds, to be paid quarterly out of the estates ; and to my old and faithful servant, Donald Sutherland, and his wife the annuity already specified in my will. I add this codicil with neither hope nor dream that my son, Robert Campbell, survives, but partly to ease my conscience of its heavy burden, and partly to justify the poor woman who, I hereby again acknowledge, was my wife in the sight of God." The lawyer paused, folded up the document, and ;e, THE HEIR OF LINNE. 159 laid it on the table. Marjorie was sobbing bitterly ; why, she could scarcely tell. Willie the Preacher sat bolt upright in his chair, gazing with a curious expression of triumph and dislike at Edward Linne, whose agitation knew no bounds. Then, at a sign from the lawyer, the old couple left the room. *' I have fulfilled my duty," said the lawyer. '* Mr. Mossknow's wishes are, I believe, quite clear. Putting aside the remote possibility of the survival of his direct issue, he has left the bulk of his pro- perty to the young lady, with an injunction that she should unite her fortunes to yon, sir, who inherit the patrimonial castle and titular estate." " I was right," cried Linne, pacing up and do'vn the room. "My uncle was a madman ! Whoever heard of such a tissue of absurdities .'* " ** There was method in his madness," interposed Willie the Preacher. "He knew weel what he was doing. Weel, Marjorie," he added, " you have heard the will read. Is this young slip to be your husband ? " But Marjorie only sobbed — " Oh, do not speak to me ! I want nothing. I'll take no money. Let Mr. Linne take every- thing — it is his own." " Remember the laird's wish, my doo," persisted Willie, still with his eyes fixed on Linne. *' Enough of this ! " cried the young man. " You shall not torture the young lady. If this will is a legal document, which I doubt " " It is legal, sir," said Menzies. " Nothing now can set it aside." i ■I ,.i i r, ^t1 ' ; 1, ,.,. ■ ?; :;"!!: m I'll ibo THE HEIR OF LINNE /•i! " It was delivered by a lunatic! Had my uncle been a sane man, he would never have consorted with such associates as this man, who is as mad as he ! " Curiously enough, Willie preserved his temper, and smiled as if amused. " Say you this o' nic, young man?" he demanded. " O' one who is a gentleman by birth, and a B. D. o* the University of Glasgow } Marjorie, my lass, what say yoti ? " Still sobbing, Marjorie took his outstretched hand and kissed it. "Oh, Mr. Macgillvray, you were m.y guardian^s only friend!' He loved you and respected you, and I — 1 love you too ! " *' Hear ye that, Edward Linne ? " said Willie, gently patting Marjorie's shoulder. " Here's one, at least, who doesna think that B.D. stands for 'damned blackguard*! For all that, I ken weel, and Mr. Menzies here kens, that I have been a disgrace to my cloth, and an ill-conditioned vaga- bond ! " The lawyer gave a short laugh, and replied—^ '* You shall not trap mc into any libellous state- ment, Mr. Macgillvray. It is enough for me to know that my late client had your entire confidence. He was eccentric, certainly, but as sane as I am at this moment." His business done, Mr. Menzies took his depar- ture, accompanied by the preacher as far as the lodge gate. Left alone with Marjorie, Edward Linne looked steadily at her for some moments, and then said gently — THE 1 1 KIR OK LINNK. i6i '* Of course you will remain here, ttotv ? With tearful eyes, she looked up into his face. " Oh, Mr. Linne, I hope you do not think me to blame. Indeed, indeed, I did not know!" '* I am sure of that," he answered. " Pray do not think I envy you your good fortune. No, in- deed — ! congratulate you!" She looked so pretty, so winsome, in her per- plexity and sorrow, that he added to himself — " Come, it might have been worse ! I shaU have the estates, af r all, and Marjorie 'into the bargain ! " CHAPTER XIX. •f I (11 m : » !■ : \ ■■i al '111' MARJORIES DILEMMA. Thus it was that the grey-hair'd witch Fortune shook her box, and by a dexterous turn of the hand turned every tin ing topsy-turvy. I't was rather confusing at first, since Linne, who had so easily assumed the airs of a grand seigrteur, found it some- what difficult to lay them aside ; while Marjorie, who had always regarded herself as a nobody, felt appalled at the greatness which had suddenlv f?ll«n upon her. She was utterly amazed, and for the first twenty-four hours she obeyed the instincts of her nature, and remained locked in her own room and upon her knees. But if the chief actors in the drama found it dif- \\ n ■■ u (ii) l62 THE HEIR OF LINNE. ficult to decide as to the right and wrong of the case, the public soon made up their minds. It was the one act of the laird's life which called forth general approbation ; the one thing which suc- ceeded in sending him to his grave applauded by one and all. Everybody loved Marjorie ; every- body looked with distrust and dislike upon the interloper, who had come, as they averred, to rob her of her just due. Consequently, when it became known that the interloper had been dethroned, and that Marjorie held her fate in her own hands, the joy was great and general. During the day the news was talked over with delight by many a fireside, and when night set in bonfires blazed at many a cross-road. From the window of her room Marjorie saw these demonstrations, and felt more pain than pleasure. It seemed like exulting over the fallen, she thought to herself, and that was utterly foreign to a nature like hers. Even when she remembered the scene which had taken place in the Castle the moment the truth became known, when she recalled the bitter accusations which Linne had made against everybody concerned, she felt no great resentment towards him, ever alleging as his excuse the bitter- ness of his disappointment at the change. The blame, if blame there were, must, according to Marjories idea, fall upon those who had led him to look upon these things as his own. It was like crowning a king and then dethroning him ; yet everybody seemed unreasonable enough to expect the disappointed monarch to rejoice. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 163 ': :< to lim Ike ret xt While Marjorie was busy pondering above stairs, Edward Linne was equally busy pondering below. Although he had managed by a strenuous effort to curb his temper, and make it appear to all con- cerned that he was, after all about to accept the inevitable with a good grace, he had no intention of letting the matter rest until he had assumed him- self that all was hopeless. It w:>s a case of sink or swim with him. For many yt::ars past he had been living upon the chance of this inheritance, and now that the old man's end had really come, the time had arrived when he must face his responsibilities, if he could not dispose of them. True, there was still one chance left if he chose to take advantage of it ; but the very thought of this was appalling. The old man had expressed a strong dying wish that the two young people should marry, and Linne believed that Marjorie could be easily induced to fulfil her guardian's behest. And if she did, what would be the result ? He could satisfy his creditors, certainly ; but he might succeec. if the evidence of the other girl ever came to light, in preparing for himself a prominent position before a criminal court in Scotland. He shrank from the punishment, not the crime, and in the meantime set himself to work to think of some other way out of the difficulty. Presently a bright idea struck him. There might be another will ! The old laird was quite eccentric enough to have made another, and hidden it in some mysterious corner of the Castle. With this idea in his ir«ead, Linne set himself to work tp I1 ■ f 1" m If • * 3 III {S\\ jif M ■,iJ i>-)i i' 1 64 THE HEIR OF LINNE. search every corner of the house. However, his search was in vain. "It is no use," he said at last, with a sigh ; '* the only thing I can do is to make myself agreeable to Marjorie." The other clause in the will, which left the pro- perty to some unknown individual whom the laird called his son, he never once took into considera- tion ; and in this matter he believed Marjorie would entirely agree with him. Having failed, then, in his endeavour to find any scrap of paper which would enable him to disinherit Marjorie, he decided that the next best thing for him to do was to make himself as agreeable to her as possible. Since the reading of the will, she had kept her- self aloof, and he had been left alone. On the second day, however, when old Donald announced to him that his breakfast was served, and he went into the dining-room and found that he was to breakfast again alone, he sent a message to Mar- jorie, hoping she would come down. In obedience to the request she came. She looked very winsome in her plain black dress ; but her manner was subdued and strange. When she gave him her hand, it trembled slightly, and she scarcely raised her eyes to his face. Break- fast being over, and the two left alone, Linne re- ferred to the will. " I am so sorry, sir," murmured Marjorie. " Why are you sorry ? " said Linne. '* Well, sir, it was not what you expected," con- THE HEIR OF LINNE. 165 ' ^1 tinued the girl, " and it looks like taking every- thing from you." Linne paused a moment ; then said — " You can't rob a man of what doesn't belong to him. Of course, if my uncle had done nothing for you, the duty would have fallen upon me ; so I am very glad it is as it is, Marjorie. But you mustn't treat me as if I were your enemy ; l hope it won^t interfere with our friendship. Promise me it shall not." " Indeed I'll promise that. Why should it ? " " There is no reason why it should ; indeed, there is every reason why it should no/. He wished us to be friends, didn't he ? " At this direct reference to the dead man and to the conditions of the will, Marjorie sighed heavily, and turned away her head. ** He ^^as always a good friend to you, wasn't he, Marjorit ^ " "The only one I ever had," replied the girl, furtively wiping away the tears which came to her eyes. ** Doesn't that make it easier to try and do what would please him were he alive ? " ** Oh, please let me go ! " said Marjorie, rising hastily, her cheeks aflame again. But Linne blocked the door. ** I won't let you go till you promise not to avoid me," he said. ** I am a stranger here, you know, and have no one but you." She gave the promise, and he allowed her to pass. During this interview no direct mention had •■ ''. I n >;«■ W 1,1 1 66 THE HEIR OF LINNE. been made of the second clause in the will ; never- theless, Marjorie thought of it a great deal, and a couple of days later she set out over the moor to- wards Willie Macgillvray's cave. She wanted to discuss this matter, which was becoming all-absorb- ing to her, and she felt it would be worse than use- less to discuss it with Linne. For, despite the young gentleman's extreme friendliness to herself, she felt a certain distrust of him, and was convinced that he would not be interested in the finding of one who on his appearance must inevitably step in as the heir of Linne. But, above all things, Marjorie loved justice, and she felt that since so little justice had been done to the boy during his childhood, he should, if he sur- vived, receive a full measure now. Besides, in what better way could she serve the laird than by fulfilling his dearest wish ? And she knew that that wish was that his son, if he lived, should have his own. Of her own loss in such a contingency she thought nothing ; indeed, she did not regard it as a loss, since, instead of regarding herself as an heiress in her own right, she believed that she was merely holding the property in trust for the right- fi'l heir. In any case, she herself would be sacri-. ficed, since, if the heir could not be found, she would feel herself bound to carry out her guardian's last wish, and marry his nephew. So, that morning, when the girl left the Castle and set out across the hills towards the hermit's cave, she felt anything but a blithe and gladsome THE HEIR OF LINNE. 167 le IS LS heiress. The grief of the last few days had sad- dened her, and she thought everything looked sor- rowful — the hills brooding together beneath a low- ering sky, and the utter stillness of the calm grey sea ; but when she had proceeded some distance, the fresh, cold air brought a colour to her cheek , and raised her drooping spirits. As her spirits revived, new hopes arose ; so that when slu; reached the cave she felt more like her old self again. The door of the cave was partly open ; but as she came along the rugged path, which, as Williii often remarked, " led to his front door," she could not see inside. ** He must be in," she said to herself, "and deep in his books, poor man. Well, it is good some- times to disturb him ; he reads o*er-much." Approaching on tiptoe, she gave a gentle tap at the door, and put in her head. "Are you there, Mr. Macgillvray ."^ " she said. " I have come to talk to you." She suddenly paused and drew back. The cave was, indeed, tenanted ; but the man who sat there was not Willie Macgillvray, but the stranger who had interviewed the laird on the very day of his death. m 'if' ■il « it: ;^ :M ■A t:V1^ 1 68 THE HEIR 9F LINNE. CHAPTER XX. CONFIDENCES. He was sitting on a stool quietly reading. At sight of the girl, he rose, looking rather astonished, and put his book aside. " Don't let me frighten you away"' he said, with a smile. " Pray come in." But Marjorie remained where she was. " I thought to find Mr. Macgillvray," she said. ** Well, 1 guess he will be here directly ; I am waiting for him too." There was an awkward pause ; then he said — '* Don't you think you would like to come in ? " " No, thank you," returned Marjorie. ** Then I suppose I shall have to come out," said he. *' Guess it looks rather inhospitable to stay by the fire while a young lady of property remains out in the cold. You are my* visitor, you know, since I happen to be keepjng house for our eccen- tric friend, the hermit." " Don't disturb yourself," said Marjorie ; ** I won't wait." '* You had better wait now that you have come. If you object to my company, I will go." But this Marjorie would not allow. She had no • right, she answered, to intrude upon him, still less to drive him away. So she decided to remain ; and THE HEIR OF LINNE. 169 since by remaining outside she compelled him to do the same, she entered the cave, and took a stool by the fire. But she purposely avoided looking at her companion, and only spoke when she was compelled to answer him. He soon noticed this reticence. ** Excuse me, young lady ; but I reckon I have managed in some way either to pain or annoy you.'* She raised her head, and for the first time looked him in the face. As she did so, tears sprang to her eyes. ** What's the matter, eh ? '* he said, brusquely. " Do you not know ? " she answered. " You persuaded me to let you see the laird. After you went into the room, he grew worse ; and he never spoke again." " I see ! I see ! " said the young man, gloomily. "And you regard me as the cause of this ? You need not answer. I know what you want to say. But let me assure you are wrong. I did not hasten the old man's end ; he had got his billet when I arrived. I gave him a message which should have brought him comfort, even at his death- bed ; and perhaps it did, who knows ? " Marjorie did not answer. She looked at him quietly from beneath the broad brim of her hat. Presently she said — " You come from America, sir ? " *' Thereabouts. From Canada and the wild west. I have spent most of my life there, I guess.** ** And you knew people there who knew the laird ? " ii rr- If i i-d m t I70 THE HEIR OF LINNE. " Yes," he replied, after a moment's hesitation. " Did you ever meet one Robert Campbell ? *' " Guess I met a good many of that name — the Campbells — out there." ** Yes ; but did you ever meet one who knew the laird, who had been in Scotland, who " " Whereabouts does he live ? " broke in the stranger ; " and what is he like ? " Marjorie shook her head, *' I don't even think that he is alive. I have never seen him, and I have been told again and again that he is dead." " Then, why on earth are you so interested in him ? " " I will lell you, sir. You have heard about the laird's will .? " ^ '* Well, yes ; I've heard he made you an heiress instead of making our amiable friend an heir." " Ah I but that is not all. He has left the money and land to me on two conditions ; and one is, that should this Robert Campbell be alive and ever found, he is to become the heir of Linne." ** And rob you of all your possessions, eh, except a flea-bite, a mere pittance compared to what you have now? Let us put it plainly. If the young heir happened to be alive— which is very improba- ble, you know, if the story they tell of the ship- wreck is true — and comes forward to claim his own, you are left without a shilling. Well, I don't think you need worry yourself. Even if he is alive, and knocking about the prairies, ten to one he'll never hear about this ; so you're safe." THE HEIR OF LINNB. 171 •' Safe ! " echoed Marjorie. *' Safe and square. Keep as quiet as you can about it ; don't make confidants all round, and the news of the young scamp's good fortune may never reach him, even if he lives ! " Marjorie looked at him in astonishment ; then she rose. " I don't think I need tell you any more," she said. '* I thought, maybe, since you had travelled in America and knew the world, you would be able to help me." " Stop a bit ! " he cried, as she was moving to- wards the door of the cave. *' What do you want to do ? " " I want to find Robert Campbell, if he is living, and tell him of his father's will." " Come, come, missie ! " ** And if he is living in any corner of the earth, I will find him. Even if I spent half my fortune in searching for him, there will still be the other half for him when he is found." " Do you mean to tell me that you wanl the young heir to be found ?" " Oh, sir, of course I do ! " " Give me your hand, missie," said the stranger, holding forth both of his. ** I've met a good many specimens 01 the human race in my time, but I never met one like you. Why, you're a heroine," he continued, patting her little hands with his broad brown one, and looking admiringly into her pale face. " I do believe you'd be right down glad to give up the property to this stranger." i I !( .1 t. 1 '■ 1. I i-t ' m * ''Ml ., lilt, ,1 4-M-m M 172 THK HEIR OF LINNE. *' Indeed, I would, sir," returned Marjorie. ** The laird was always thinking about him, and always longing to do what was right ; but death came o'er-soon, and — and " " And you were left to complete the work which he left unfinished. Well, how do you mean to set about it ? " '* I don't know," returned Marjorie. *' I am so ignorant of the ways of the world. What do you think I should do ? " He shrugged his shoulders. " Well, now, it's rather hard to answer that ques- tion offhand. It's kind of awkward to hunt about the world after a shadow. But since you have confided in me, I'll think the matter over, and see if I can help you. That is, if you'll promise not to worry about it, but to let it rest with me." She gave the promise, and the conversation took another turn. " Have you ever been in Scotland before ? " asked Marjorie. ** Yes ; I was born in Scotland, and when I was a youngster my people emigrated. Now, I've got a cattle ranche in the wild west." " Then you are going back ? " " Well, yes ; I shall have to go back. And there isn't much to keep me here. I shall be sorry to leJive my friend the hermit, though. He is a fine specimen of a nineteenth century recluse, and we have become friends." ** I suppose your relations are all in Canada ? " " Guess they would be, if I had any," he an- THE HEIR OF LINNE. ^73 swered, with a smile. " I'm lonely there, as I am here, except for the cattle. But you," he said, as if eager to change the subject — " what will you do now? It's dull for a young lady like you, to live in a place such as this." ** I have always lived here,'* answered Marjorie, simply. •' Then, if you don't succeed in finding this same Robert Campbell, or his ghost, you will settle down and enjoy the property ? " Marjorie hesitated. " There was another condition in the will," she began. " So there was. Our friend the hermit has told me. But I thought it was only a wisA ? " " It is just the same thing," returned Marjorie. " Excuse me there ; I think you are wrong. When a condition is imposed, it becomes necessary to carry it out ; whereas a wish is obeyed if one finds it possible to do so. Am I right } " "Yes, maybe." " Possibly, though, you intend to carry out your guardian's wishes ? " " I should like to carry them out," returned Marjorie, without a trace of confusion in her tone. * 'Ah 1 that is another matter," he replied, totally mistaking the meaning of her words. **Then, if you do carry them out, I for one, hope you will be happy." He took her hand and pressed it tenderly. As he did so, the figure of Willie Macgillvray ap- ', •• l! 174 THE HKIR OF LINNE. i > peared at the door of the cave. Marjorie ran to the old man's side. '* Is it you, Marjorie ? " said the old man, clasp- ing the hand which she held out to him, and look- ing curiously at the young man. " It does my heart good to see you out again, my bairn. And how are things going at Castle Hunger .'*" " It's eerie there," returned Marjorie ; "it will ever be eerie now, Mr. Macgillvray." " And yon limmer lingers still ? " " Yes, indeed ; he has more right there than I have. The Castle is his own." *' True, and it's more than enough for him. And so you've been making friends with Mr. Impudence here ? Weel, you might have done worse ; for though he has an impudent tongue, he's an honest sort o' laddie, and, when he's so minded, he talks like a book. I hope he's done the honours of my house weel, Marjorie ? " As the young man looked at V/illie, his face was irradiated by a smile which made him seem strangely handsome. '* I have tried, Mr. Macgillvray," he said ; "but your cave here is like my ranche out west — more fitted for rough men than for a pretty missie like this young lady." " Dinna speak lightly of my abode, young man," said Willie, indignantly. '* It's a grand habitation!" Turning to Marjorie, he added, " He's an impu- dent loon, Marjorie ; ye see that in his eye. But he kens something of the world ; and I like his gleg, wild ways, and I have bade him welcome. But are ye going, Marjorie ? " I THE HEIR OF LINNE. 175 " Yes," returned the girl ; ** you were so long in coming that now you have come I cannot wait." " Are ye walking, or did Brawnet bring ye ? " " I walked." ** And you are thinking of going back alone ? If I was a young man, Marjorie, if I was the same as when I used to preach to the folk, and lecture the laird, and take a drop frae the bottle, Td walk with ye to Castle Hunger. I was a wild carle in those days, my dear — ay, and reckless and de'il-may- care ; but there was one that always made me cry shame on myself. He was a wee bit laddie, with a roguish eye in his head. I mind more than once he stood up before me, the imp, and said, * you are drunk again, Willie Macgillvray ! ' and I felt down- right ashamed." " Unpleasant memories ought to be buried, Mr. Macgillvray," interrupted the stranger, laughing. ** Weel, it brings me to what I was saying, young man. I am not so young as I was, but you're young enough. So be off wi' ye ! Walk wi' this young lady to the Castle, and take good care of her." The stranger, who seemed willing enough to obey this behest, picked up his hat on the instant ; but Marjorie protested that she wanted no escort. Willie, however, who would take no denial, had the pleasure of seeing the two finally walk away to- gether. It was not altogether a comfortable walk ; for, owing to some reason which neither could explain, the conversation between them was rather con- strained^ When they had gone two-thirds of the 1 _■ if. t^ 176 THE HEIR OF LINNE. way, Marjorie paused, and hesitatingly extended her hand. " I have to visit a cottage close by here," she said ; *' so I will say good-bye." He took her hand. *' Can't I wait and see you safe home afterwards ? Our pious friend is sure to cross-question me." *' I would rather you did not wait," she replied. " Very well. But shan't we meet again ? We must, you know. I will think over what you have said to me, and talk to you about it again." *' Very well," returned the girl. "Good-bye, sir.'* " Good-bye," he said ; and she walk id away. He watched her as she tripped across the heather. As he did so, a hand was laid upon his arm, and, turning sharply, he found himself face to face with Edward Linne. CHAPTER XXI. THE TWO MEN. The moment Marjorie had disappeared, Linne turned to Roberts with a scowl, and demanded — ** What were you doing with that young lady. I saw you tof^ether in close conversation." " Don't be alarmed, governor," returned the THE HEIR OF LINNE. 177 Other, laughing. ** We were only talking about trifles. I met her by accident, and as she was in- clined to be confidential, I listened." " What did she say to you ?" *' Asked me about America and Canada, and whether I had ever come across one Robert Camp- bell. I told her I had known a dozen of that name." " Humph ! anything else ? '* *' Then she went on about this business of the will, and told me the old man had left you out in the cold — unless she took pity on you, and made you her husband." '* What! she said that!" exclaimed Linne, angrily. •' Something of the sort — ncl exactly in those words, but I gathered it from her pretty cackle. After all, governor, you're in luck's way. You've only got to jump through the church door, and you've got the loaves and fishes still." " D your impudence ! " cried Linne. '' Oh, d it, by all means, so long as you don't d me ! " " She must be mad, to confide in such a fellow as you ! " ** Well, you see," said Roberts, dryly, " she ain't proud, like you ; she comes out of the people, and it's only accident that has made her a lady. She's free-spoken with everybody, and doesn't judge a man by the coat he wears on his back. But I see you're in trouble, mate ! Now's the time to call in Hungry Jim ! " " What do you mean, you scoundrel T' demanded Linne, fiercely. (12) tfi' 178 THE HEIR OF LINNE. I I ! nil ** Don't get riled. YouVe clean stuck between what they call the horns of a dilemma. On the one hand h a rich young lady, ready and willing to marry you, just to be had for the asking. On the other hand, worse luck, is the girl youVe married already ! " " Linne grew livid. " Married! You lie ! I'm not married!" he cried. " If that woman says so " " She says it, and she stands to it, as you know, mate. Well, what then ? Say the word, and Til settle Aer ! '* Linne drew back and looked at Roberts, who, with as ugly an expression as his fair face could assume, met his look with a savage wink. '* Settle her ! " he murmured. " How ? " •* You leave that to me. I haven't been raised out in the wild west for nothing, just say the word, and I'll guarantee that she'll clear out, and leave the coast clear for you to marry." " I'll have nothing to do with it," said Linne, trembling violently. **1 tell you I have nothing to fear. I am a free man, and shall marry or not marry, just as I choose." " I thought you had more pluck, mate," returned Roberts, with a grin. ** I tell you straight, that girl means to be troublesome." ** What can she do ? " '* Blow the gaff, as the thieves say. Even if what you say is true, and she isn't your wife, she can tell such a story as will put a powder barrel under your plans, and blow them and yw r^ht up into the air." THE HKIR OF LINNE. »79 to that In It she irrel It up He paused and watched Edward Linne keenly. Linne shook like a leaf, ^i.nd trit^d in vain to appear composed ; then, with trembling hands, he drew out a cigar and attempted to light it in vain. ** Want a light mate ? " said Roberts, drawing out a match-box, and striking a lucifer on his sleeve. " There you are. Why, you shake as if you'd got the ague." After an effort Linne found his tongue. '* Pi rhaps I am a fool to trust you," he said. " If I admitted that this girl was a nuisance to me, how could you assist me ? " '• In more ways than one. To begin with, this is a lonesome place ; people have been drowned hereabouts, I'm told. Accidents happen every day." Linne looked positively ghastly. ** You villain ! Do you mean to say that you would commit murder ? " " Anything to oblige a pal," returned Roberts, coolly. '* But that isn't the only way. The girl's tired of you and might like a change. Suppose I could tip her the wink, and persuade her to leave the country in my company ? " ''Can you do that?" cried Linne, eagerly. " I'll undertake it for a hundred pound ! " *' How should I know if you kept your word ?" ** No cure, no pay. I'll get her out of the way first, and then call on you for the money." Linne reflected. He saw clearly that he was already in the man's power, insomuch as he knew his secret. He gathered, too, that the fellow was i r r A I i i I i i|'[i! il^' i ih. ^:^ iili I 80 THE HEIR OF LINNE. a common desperado, to whom a hundrc ' pounds would be a fortune. The girl was desperate ; might, and possibly would, make a scene at any moment ; it would be a positive blessing, therefore, if Roberts could play the special providence as he proposed, and spirit her away. But if he agreed to the man*s terms, one difficulty remained ; he did not possess the sum demanded, and would be comparatively short of funds till the laird s affairs were legally settled. " Do as you propose," he said, at last, "and I will agree to your terms. Only, you will have to wait a little time for the money." " I'm willing to do that," replied Roberts ; " that is, I'll wait till you collar the dollars. All I shall want will be your I O U for the money, payable when you realize." " Very well ; you undertake it ? " " Right away. Just you go home quietly and make you mind quite easy. Leave all the rest to Hungry Jim ! " So they parted — Linne in no very tranquil state of mind, wending his way back to the Castle, while Roberts hastened to look after the girl. He was not a minute too soor3 in finding her ; for, after a long search, he saw her standing on the very spot where he had seen her before, looking down into the great chasm between the cliffs. Her back was towards him, and he approached her unseen and unheard. He was close upon her when she uttered a wild cry, and with uplifted arms seemed about to leap THE HEIR OF LINNE. l8l ': i rild down to her death. Swift as thought he caught her and drew her back. Without turning her face to see who held her, she screamed and struggled ; but he raised her bodily in his arms, and carried her from the cliffs edge ; then, as he released her, she fell shuddering on the ground, weeping and moaning aloud. CHAPTER XXII. WHISPERS OF A DARK DEED. Edward Linne returned to the Castle in no very amiable frame of mind. He was angry with the woman he had wronged, angry with the bold Canadian for finding out the secret, angry with himself for his stupidity in compromising his future for the sake of a mere country-girl, who had never had more than good looks to recommend her, and who had, to a certain extent, lost even those. Easy, however, is the descent to the shades ; one black step taken, it generally leads to another. Having made up his mind to act the villain as regarded poor Mary, he had literally (as the thought) summoned up the Devil to assist him. Of course, it never entered into his calculations that Roberts was anything short of a thorough scoundrel — a vulgar bravo, ready to do any despe- 11,,*! I'd ■•^1 •-'■^^ l82 THE HEIR OF LINNE. rate deed if well paid for it. Had he not himself said so in good set terms ? Still, Linne was uneasy. It would have been far better if he had had nothing to do with such a desperado. Roberts, however, knew his secret ; and he must either have accepted his offers of as- sistance, or made the man a dangerous enemy. Little as he knew of Marjorie's character, Linne knew enough to be certain that, if she knew the truth, she would be certain to side with his victim, and utterly refuse to marry her betrayer. Now, as far as he could yet see, a marriage with Mar- jorie was inevitable, unless he was to remain a poor man. And he had liked the girl in his idle, selfish way, from the moment he first saw her. Of her beauty there was no question ; nor of her goodness, though he did not care so much about that. She fascinated him somehow with her still, thoughtful ways, her tenderness for the dead, and her steady, unquestioning fidelity to his memory. He was piqued, moreover, that she did not seem overpowered with the splendour of his person or the elegance of his manners, but accepted him quite simply and coolly, as an every-day young man related to her guardian by blood. However, he was determined to possess both her and her money, and in order to do this, It was necessary to keep Mary out of the way. In the meantime, he had made everything com- fortable at thi' Castle. Donald and the old house- kee[M!r n^niaincj, on sufferance, as it were, but two trim country -girls were taken in as servant-mijids, THE HEIR OF LINNE. «83 and asmart valet from Edinburgh came dcwn to look after Linne's own person. The old cellar was filled with wine, ordered on credit ; a smart horse and new dogcart were bought on the same terms ; and altogether, things looked, as Linne expressed it, more civilized. Save for Marjorie, the young man would have been off to London or Paris — the only places on earth, as he thought, fit for a gentle- man's habitation. As it was, he .tried to make the best of his dull life, drove about the country, called on neighbours, went over the moor now and then with his dogs, and consulted local experts about the prospects for salmon-fishing. Several days passed after the interview record- ed in our last chapter, and he was growing very uneasy, when one morning, as he stood smoking in the porch, Roberts appeared, looking agitated and somewhat pale. His manner was furtive and anxious, and he beckoned Linne out before he spoke. "It has been a tough job, mate," he said, •* but I've succeeded! " " What do you mean ? " cried Linne. *' Speak low, speak low ! I've done the job ! " Linne started, and grew quite ghastly. " What ! You don't mean to say " " I mean to say that you'll never be troubled agahi by the girl that called herstilf your wife." "My God!" cried Lituiu, thu beads of perspira- tion standing on his brow. " You haven't " He broke short in the sentence, and added eagerly *' Remember, if there has been any foul play, U I !l ! i 1 84 THE HEIR OF LINNE. rests on your shoulders ! I'll have nothing to do with it, or you ! I wash my hands of the affair ! " "Wash them as much as you like," returned the other, savagely, " you'll never get them clean, I reckon. I've done as you bid me, and, by , you'll have to pay my price ! " Linne shrank back, for he was at heart a cow- ard. The man seemed like a wild beast, ready to spring on any one at the least provocation. " What have you done ?" he demanded, moist- ening his dry lips witi: his tongue. ** Never mind. All you wanted was to get rid of the girl. Well, she's disposed of. ^fow I want that hundred pound." ** Not one penny shall you have, till you give me an explanation. You talk as if you had mur- dered her ! It's too horrible ! " Roberts gave an ugly smile. *• You didn't say that a day or two ago, when we made our bargain. You were eager enough then for me to dispose of her — yes, by thunder ! " " It is a falsehood!" cried Linne. All I said was that I wished her to be got out of the coun- try." " Isn't it the same thing ? Suppose we put it that way, mate. She's left the country, then ! You're a free man — free to marry whom you please ! " Linne was stupefied with terror. He could not shake off the belief that a dark deed had been done, and already he seemed to hear the hue and cry after him for complicity. He trembled like a THE HEIR or LINNE. i8s leaf, and looked nervously on every side, as if ex- l^ecting to see the emissaries of the law appear and arrest him on some hideous ch.irge. ** Why, what a chicken-hearted chap you are ! " said Roberts, contemptuously. " That's what always gets over me mate. Such men as you think nothing of breaking a girl's heart and driving her into her grave, so long as you don't see the shadow of Jack Ketch; whais more, you'd strangle a poor creature fast enough, if you could do it safely ; but the moment you see danger ahead — " " Hold your tongue, and leave this place ! " cried Linne. *' I'll not talk with such a scoundrel ! " ** Take my advice, mate,'* returned Roberts, with a threatening look, **and don't rile Hungry Jim. Vm mild as mother's milk to those who treat me square, but I'm rattlesnake poison to the man that rounds on me, mind that ! I've come for that hundred pound ! " •* I told you I had not the money ! " •' Never mind that. Your I O U will do me well enough, as I told you. I'll wait a bit for the cash." " Suppose I refuse ? " Roberts laughed, showing his white teeth vici- ously. " Then we'll see it out together. I'll go straight away to the police-barracks and tell them what I've done, and who paid me to do it. I'm not at all particular. A man can die but once, as the saying is, and I shall be polished off in good company. Come, which is it to be ? " Roberts evidently knew his man. A few minutes ,1 m I' ) V •Jl w m Kmi IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A ^ J^^4^. ^^/ '/!^^'4. ,^ <^ ^'m%' (/J I • ^J Ina ^^^ * I.I 1.25 2.5 s«.l 2.2 ^ 1^ •- ._ tiiUi. 1.4 16 V] <^ /] /: m:^j> ^ *^, .'^ >' .•> ^ ,» y y^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4S03 ^ d 4^ \ ^<\ V LV o^ >.1j '<«^ 1 86 THE HEIR OF LINNE. I later, Linne entered the Castle, and returned with the paper, which he handed over. "How am I to know that you will keep this secret ? " he asked, trembling violently. " Now you've treated me square, I'll treat you square. Likely enough I shall be going away." •' Tell me, for God's sake — is Mary — is she You know what I mean ! Speak ! " Roberts answered with a nod and a significant gesture. " But she will be found ! There will be an out- cry ! Everything will be discovered ! " '* Leave that to me. We don't do things by halves out in the west. I'll tell you one thing — she's just as safe as at the bottom of the sea as the laird's dead son — that little chap that was drowned — and I promise that she'll never rise to trouble you till he rises to do the same 1 " He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Linne, in a miserable, terrified condition, to creep into the house and fortify his nerves with a glass of strong spirits. Jaunty and light-hearted, whistling to himself, Roberts strolled down the bleak avenue, and came out upon the open road. With his clear blue eyes arid fair, sunburnt face, he did not look the least like a murderer, but held his head up high, looked frankly into every face he met, and, if spoken to, answered cheerily. His way lay past the hermit's cave, and as he approached the little clump of trees where it lay he saw Willie Macgillvray standing in the roadside. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 187 Hastening his steps, and still whistling merrily, he met Willie face to face, and their eyes met. *' Weel, ye murdering villain," cried Willie, ** ye bloodthirsty descendant o' Cain, what news ?" ** I have told him," answered Roberts, smiling. " My conscience ! And what did he say ? " " He was frightened out of his wits at first, s. *^ tried to make out that he had never given me any instructions. Then I talked to him. The man's a coward, I find. And at last he gave me this paper. * I O U one hundred pounds.* He ought to have added, ' for value received in assassination.* ** Willie took the paper, and read it eagerly, first adjusting on his nose his horn-rimmed spectacles. Then he cried, with twinkling eyes — '* Take care, ye limmer ! I'll turn Queen* evi- dence ! I'll come to the hanging o' the pair o* ye! " Then Willie laughed outright, making a peal of merriment, in which the young Canadian boldly joined. CHAPTER XXIII. AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. Several weeks had passed away, when Edward Linne received a summons to go southward on business connected with the estate. He informed Marjorie of the fact one morning at .breakfast. She i88 THE HEIR OF LINNE. had just returned from an early walk to the old burial-place where the laird was lying, and was unusually sad and thoughtful, so that she scarcely answered when he told her that he was going away. "I'm afraid my departure won't trouble you much," he said, a little reproachfully. *'* Well, no doubt, I have been poor company. I think you, too, ought to have a change." She only shook her head, replying — " I want no change, Mr. Edward. When shall you return ? " " In a few days, I hope. But I wish you would not persist in calling me * Mr. Edward ; ' it sounds so absurdly formal. Though I am not your blood relation, I feel at if our lives were closely bound together, as, indeed, they should be, if my uncle's wishes have any weight with either of us." Her face flushed slightly, but she met his gaze quite calmly. He continued, somewhat uneasily — " And that reminds me, Marjorie, things cannot go on in this way for ever." " Indeed, no." " You know — I am sure you know — in what esteem I hold you. Up to the present, I have not liked to speak of it ; but I think the time has come to be frank. The awkward part of the matter is that I can't be so without running the risk of being misunderstood. You remember the wish expressed m "ny uncle's will ? " ** Yes," she answered, quietly. " I remember it well. I'm aye thinking of it." ** But seriously ?" THE HEIR OF LINNE. 189 ■i ir rhat not :ome ler is )eing jssed )er it *• Yes, Mr. Edward. I was «^hinking of it this morning as I stood at the laird's ^rave." He rose, and bene over her. She did not shrink away, but looked up at him with frank, honest eyes. The colour in her cheek deepened a little, that was all. *' Well, I have thought it all over too. If you were a penniless lass, my task would be easy enough." " How's that, sir ? " '* Why, then, without fear of misconstruction, I would say, ' Marjorie, I love you — I wish you to be my wife,' " He took her hand gently. She still kept her eyes upon him, and did not draw the hand away. Her steady gaze made him uncomfortable, and, as she was quite silent, he continued — ** Have you nothing to say, Marjorie ? Cannot we manage somehow to understand each other ? You know I love you, do you not ? " '* How should I know that, Mr. Edward ? " she answered. ** You have never told me so." *' Then I tell you so now. From the first mo- ment we met, your beauty fascinated m.e, and your goodness soon completed the conquest. Come, shall my uncle's injunction be fulfilled ? Shall we join our fortunes together, and make this dull old place merry with an old-fashioned wedding ? " He bent closer, and would have kissed her, but she drew her face from his and repulsed him, with- out coquetry and without anger. *' You must give me time to think, Mr. Edward," t« [■'! m I90 THE HEIR OF LINNR. she said. *' I know my uncle wished me to marry you ; I can never forget that. If it was not so, I would answer you now, as frankly as you have spoken." *' What would be your answer ? ' ** It would be this — I cann >t marry you, because I do not love you ; and because — yes, because I am sure you do not love me." ** How can you say that ? " cried Linne, with a gesture of protestation. " I swear to you " ** I think you like me, Mr. Edward, and I think you mean kindly. But love is different. What pains me most is that I should have the money and the lands which are rightly yours. But I do not wish to keep them. They are yours, not mine ; and I never shall be happy till you take them back." " But what can be done ? Surely, unless you hate me too much, marriage would be best." ** I do not hate you, and I wish I could do the laird's will. Give me time to think it over ; give me till you return home." So it was settled, and in the afternoon Edward Linne departed from the Castle, carrying away with him the impression that Marjorie was a simpleton, and could easily be persuaded to become his wife. This, however, was to some extent a miscalcula- tion. The giri, though ignorant of the world, had shrewdness enough to perceive that Linne's affec- tion for her was a very doubtful quantity. She esteemed him because he was her guardian's nephew ; indeed, her one thought in the matter was m THE HEIR OF LINNE. 191 the dead laird. Grateful, dutiful, and affectionate, she was eager in all respects to fulfil her beloved friend's behests, in all matters save the one. Her conscience troubled her ; for she felt that in hesita- ting to marry Linne, she might be grievously offending the manes of John Mossknow. To the question of worldly position she was supremely indifferent. She had never had money, and never desired money, and she had not yet realized the idea that she possessed any. It seemed a very simple arrangement for her to hand over everything to the heir, as she eagerly desired to do ; but then she hesitated, lest by 30 doing she should offend the dead man in not carrying out the spirit and the letter of his will. Sorely troubled, she sought advice at the fountain of her guar- dian's inspiration — Willie Macgillvray. Curiously enough, the old man laughed at her, and refused to advise her either one way or the other. Since the laird's death, or rather since the scene at the funeral, Willie had undergone an extraordinary change. He seemed years younger, at least in spirits ; his old good-humour had returned to him ; and so amiable had he grown that, whenever he encountered Edward Linne, he ceased all offensive manifestations. So when, after Linne had gone away, Marjorie begged him to help her, Willie only patted her on the shoulder, and said — " A lass must dree her own weird, as the fools say in the Highlands. Marry the young limmer ? Why not, Marjorie ? " "It was the laird's wish ! " 'i' li ■m 192 THE HEIR OF LINNE. ** Dying men wish strange things. He did not make it a condition." *' I wish to do what is right," she cried. " You are a good man, Mr. Macgillvray. Will you not guide me ? " " Be guided by your own heart, Marjorie. If ye love the limmer, marry him ! " " But I do not love him ! " Willie smiled pawkily. His enjoyment of the girl's perplexity was immense. " Then keep the siller," he said, " and let the heir whistle for another wife." '* I will never do that," she cried, indignantly. " I will never keep what is not rightly my own." Finding no counsel in the hermit, and a little angry, indeed, at what she deemed his foolishness, Marjorie again puzzled her own little brain how to act. The days passed, and she had come to no determination. Mounted on Brawnet, who was now the most honoured and overfed beast in the stable, she took long rides over the estate, or wandered on foot by the seashore, and pondered over the problem which was puzzling her. No change whatever was made in her dress or in her demeanour. Though Mr. Menzies had sent her a draft for a considerable sum on the local bank, and had asked her for further instructions, the draft lay neglected in her bedroom, and she. had not replied to the letter. Yet at every point she was reminded of her changed position. The country folk saluted her as a great lady, and when she went into the town to make any simple pur- chases, the tradespeople were almost servile. -^ • THE HFIR OF LINNE. 193 ye )> her her )ank, the had she The Iwhen Dur- Do what she might, she could not shake away ihe conviction that her guardian's will was con- structed solely with a view to her marriage with his nephew. Why, otherwise, had he left the titular estates, a barren stretch of land, to Edward Linne, while making him comparatively a beggar .unless he married her ? Surely, surely, the laird would have been grievously offended if he had thought his dying wish was to be disregarded. She remembered, too, his own words, when they spoke together of such a marriage ; and how, despite all his distrust of his nephew, he had insisted on the necessity of h'ts inheriting, that the land might not go out of the family. Several miles distant among the hill^. to the east- ward, that is to say, inland from the sea, was a lonely mountain loch, and on its side a solitary shepherd's cottage. It had been a favourite spot with Marjorie in summer, when the cuckoo was telling his name to all the hills, and the water- lilies were opening in the shallows, with oiled leaves and alabaster cups. Thither she rode one morning on Brawnet, eager for solitude. The air was clear, though cold, and the faint chill breath of the coming spring could already be felt in the air. The way she followed was a bridle-path, or scarcely a path at all, strewn with loose stones and boulders, precipitous, and even dangerous, if Braw- net had not been mountain-bred and as sure-footed as a goat. Brawnet took his time. When a tuft of grass or bunch of dry bracken caught his fancy, he stopped and nibbled at it till he was satisfied. (13) ]• !.■!'■ r', : .< 194 THE IIKIR OF LINNE. When he was tired, he paused, looking round some- times at the pretty figure seated on his back, and blinking sleepily on hen Clad in a plain stufl gown, with a common straw hat upon her head, Marjorie looked much more like a peasant girl than like an heiress and the lady of the land. She reached the lake side at las«^, and found all still as death — the water calm and black, the heather-clad hills rising on every side, the heaven above grey and dim. Nature here kept an eternal Sabbath. Save for the one tiny shepherd's cottage on the hillside, there was no sign of hun.an habitation. Dismounting, she left Brawnet to his own de- vices — his first proceeding being to seek out a soft, grassy spot, and roll over on his back, saddle and all. Marjorie laughed and shook her little riding-whip at him, but, regardless of all remons- trance, and indifferent to all dignity, he continued his awkward gambols. Then, when he had finished, he rose, shook himself, neighed, and began to graze carelessly, picking out the succulent morsels. Leaving him to his devices, Marjorie walked along the lake side in the direction of the cottage. She had not gone far when she saw descending the hillside the figure of a man. He came eagerly towards her, with flushed cheek and sparkling eyes, and she recognized Roberts, the young Canadian. ** This is a surprise," he cried, taking off his hat. " What brings you so far from home ? *' ** I often come here in summer time," she replied ; THE HEIR OF LINNE. 195 )lied ; " and I thought I would like to come over now. I rode over on Brawnet." " Tm glad to see you, anyhow," said Roberts, looking at her in admiration. " The mountain has brought the colour to your cheeks, missie, and you look as pretty as a picture." Despite his assumption of a rough manner, there was something curiously gentle in his tone. For the first time it struck her that he was very hand- some. Tall, erect, and strong, with his hat set boldly on his brows, and a staff in his hand, he looked like some young Gr<.ck shepherd, in the times when such shepherds drew their descent from gods. *' All well ? " he asked, walking by her side. *• No news, I reckon ? " She shook her head. " Why h'dVG you come here ? " she asked. "Oh, I'm a kind of Wandering Jew, and am found everywhere. I like quiet places like this. I like to be alone with the great Spirit that made the mountains and the sea." She looked at him in surprise. His tone, his very accent, seemed changed; there was not a trace of his old rough manner. " I am used to solitude," he continujd ; *' but there where I live; the prairies stretch round us Kke the ocean. Watch them when the wind blows, and you would think they were great blue billows rolling. You may gallop for days, and see nothing else but waves and waves of moving emerald grass. That sort of thing makes a man feel small.*' 1'^ 190 THE HElk OF LINNE. " You have lived there all your life ? " " Ever since I was a boy. Did I ever tell you I was Scotch by birth ? '* " Yes, you told me that." " Mountain-bred, you see. I had an old teacher, a sort of schoolmaster, who first taught me to think about religion. I should amuse you if I quoted some of his sayings ; but they sank into me, and many a time they kept me straight when I was going crooked. Do you know. Miss Mar- jorie, there are folk in this world who think that no God made it, and that it came by chance ? " " They must be very foolish," she answered ; " or, maybe, just mad folk." ** Mad with their own conceit — idiots that think to sail the great ocean of life without a compass. To think that a man can stand up before yon sky, and see the stars coming and going like ships of fire, and say "that there is no God ! " She looked at him in deepening surprise. His face was bright with reverent thoughts, his voice full of resonant vibrations. He no longer talked like a common and comparatively uneducated man, and not a vestige of the backwoodsman remained. She thought him very strange. Seeing her intent and wondering look, he laughed merrily. "You think I'm qualifying for a preacher," he said ; " but whenever I come into such places as this, and think of the mean souls that are to be found in the world, I feel I could almost rival Willie Macgillvray, and set up for prophet by pro- ." s THE HEIR OF LINNE. 197 i> he es as o be rival pro- fession. I'll prophesy one or two things right off, if you will let me.' She answered his smile, and he proceeded — ** You'll never find the rightful heir of Linne, unless I help you ! " " But you have promised." '• Of course I have. Well, that's prophecy num- ber one — see if it comes true. Prophc^cy number two is — you'll never marry a worldling like Mr. Edward Linne." '* How do you know that ? " she asked, bhishing. •' Why ? Because I won't let you —there ! " His bright eyes were fixed on hers, and her face grew quite hot beneath the gaze. ** How can you prevent me ?" she said, laughing. " I don't quite know, but I shall try my best. Do you care for this fellow ? " " I like him very much," she replied. ** He is my guardian's nephew." " Has he reminded you yet of the condition in his uncle's will ? " asked Roberts, eagerly. "We have spoken about it," said Marjorie, simply. " You'll never marry him, I prophesy again." " W^hy not?" "Why not.'* Because when you marry you'll marry for love, like the birds — and that reminds me, doves don't mate with daws, Miss Marjorie." "You talk very strangely," said Marjorie. " Sometimes you speak like a common man, un- educated and almost rude ; sometimes you speak as if you were a gentleman." tj^ 198 THfe HkiR OF LINNfi. •• Well, I'm not that," returned Roberts ; " I'm only a poor man. If I were rich now — ah, if I were rich ! " '• What would you do ? " He paused and looked her full in the face in fearless but respectful admiration. Despite her habitual composure, she blushed like a rose under his gaze, and turned away her eyes. ** Ask me rather what I would say ! " " W^ell, what would you. say ? " " This : I have wandered up and down the world for many years, but I have seen only one woman with the heart of an angel and the eyes of a dove ; and if that woman won't have me, I'll die a bachelor and give all my money to the poor." As he spoke, he took her hand. Agitated and a little afraid, she repulsed him, saying — '* I do not understand." " May I make myself clear ? Well, then, here before God, under the open sky, I swear that I loveyoUfSind will never love any other woman ! " And he swept off his hat, and stood with face uplifted, like one making a solemn asseveration. Marjorie was simply stupefied. Such a frank and sudden assault robbed her of all her self-possession. She could not even utter one word of rebuke. " Now I've offended you," cried Roberts, gently. " Well, I've spoken my mind, for the first time and the last. I know I'm only a poor, common fellow ; I know I might as well ask for the sun yonder, as for the love of a great lady like you." ** I am not a great lady," faltered Marjorie ; THE HEIR OF LINNE. 199 e 1 Iw ; as le ' but you should not talk to me as you have done." " I know I should not. Blame my rough breed- ing ; blame the solitude and the mountains, which drag a man's heart out in spite of himself. But I have spoken God's truth, Marjorie." " I scarcely know you, sir," said the girl ; '* you are almost a stranger." " Have you ever seen two ships from the same land, after voyaging for weeks asunder, meet sud- denly at sea ? No, you have not. Well, when first we met, our meeting was like that. We had both led lonely lives — you in yonder castle, with only the old man to watch over you ; I out in ihe west, with the rolling prairies on every side. I was like a rough trading craft, rudely put together ; you were like a white-sail'd pleasure-yacht, trim and bonnie and newly launch'd. Well, when you ran up your flag, I knew you were a friend ; but when we came nearer, and we exchanged greetings, I struck my flag for ever — to the queen I had been seeking since first I left the shore." If Roberts was not a duly qualified lover, he was certainly an audacious one ; yet his freedom was not offensive, and his candour was very far removed from disrespect. What woman does not appreciate the courage of a lover who, overleaping all barriers, att( mpts to win by one bold coup ? Marjorie was a little alarmed, but not offended. It was the first time that any living man had spoken to her in such a strain. How different, she thought, from the calm, almost cold-blooded profession of attachment r,vi H i % ■■-& m 500 THE HlilK OF LINNK. adv. liced by Edward Linne ? Yet she felt that she must put an end to the affair at once. The man's boldness warranted similar frankness on her part ; so she nerved herself to put an end to the interview. " I should be very foolish," she said, "if I thought you spoke in earnest. Maybe, I misjudge you, but in Scotland here we do not talk of such things at all. In Canada, maybe, it is different. But you must promise me that, if we meet, you will never talk so again." " I have promised already. Pardon my folly. I only wished you to know the truth. From this moment I am dumb — unless you bid me speak." " Love-making and such folly are not for me," said Marjorie. " If I marry, it will Le to fulfil the laird's wish ; but I have no time for foolishness or foolish talk." " You think love foolish ? " cried Rober*:s. "By heaven, it is the one wise thing in a foolish world — the one divine thing in a world of wickedness — the one spark that shall fly upwards when all the world is turned to dust and ashes ! " " Good-bye, sir," said Marjorie, holding out her hand. " Please do not stay." " Your wish is my law," he answered. "If you were to bid me take a leap from yon crag into the lake, and so end my life, I'd do it." " You would kill yourself ? " " For a wave of ^our little hand. When I swear allegiance, I swea' it body and soul. I see you think me mad. 1 never was saner in my live. But Tnfi HEIR OI^ LINNE. 201 remember my prophecy. Come weal, come woe, you'll never marry Edward Linne." He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips ; then he ran up the hillside and disappeared. Much perplexed and troubled, Marjorie turned back to the spot where Brawnet was awaiting her. On the way back home, she meditated so much that Brawnet had infinite leisure to linger and amuse himself as he pleased. " I ought to be very angry," she thought to her- self. But, curiously enough, despite all her sur- prise and agitation, she was not really angry at all. m CHAPTER XXIV. MARJORIES NEW FRIEND. After the calm came storm. When Marjorie awakened in the morning, she heard the wind whistling angrily in from the sea, and felt the old castle shake to its very foundations. She lay for a while listening to the sound, think- ing of the many occasions during her childhood when she had lain there quaking with fear while the storm raged angrily without. Then she slipped from her bed, drew aside the window-curtains, and looked out. The prospect was desolate, indeed ; a second winter seemed to have set in, for snow was falling heavily. i'i:iE 2o3 THE Heir ol? UnNe. But if the prospect without was dreary, the old castle could be made cosy enough within. When Marjorie descended to the dining-room, she found a fire blazing half up the chimney, a table holding the breakfast things standing close by, and near to the table, Donald respectfully awaiting her com- mands. " Breakfast is ready and piping hot in the kitchen, Miss Marjorie," said the old man, when the girl appeared. " All right ; bring it in, Donald," said Marjorie, smiling, as she went over to the fire, and extended her hands to the blaze. The old man opened his eyes as he looked at her. When he reached the kitchen, he said to his wife — '' Eh, woman ! Miss Marjorie is hersel' again, far her face is just shining like the summer sun ! " And the old man was right. When Marjorie had finished her breakfast and was comfortably seated in an easy-chair before the sUting-room fire, she caught the reflection of her face in the glass, and started with wonder at herself. Never before had she seen such a light in her eyes, such a smile about her lips. In a few short hours she had blos- somed into another being, because, forsooth, her spirit had been startled by the May-musir of love. Yes, the tune was begun, and the dance ot life was beginning, although she herself was not aware of the fact. When on the previous day she had listened to the young man's audacious confession, she had done so almost without a blush, certainly THE HEIR OF LINNE. 263 '1 ire, >3S, of had ion, inly without confusion. She had been stunned, as it were, by the novelty of the thing, and then before she had time to recover herself, he had left her. Yet those few words had awakened the spirit which had been slumbering within her, and now it sud- denly awoke. At first she wondered why the ydung man's bold words had not angered her ; now she ceased to think at all, but sat before the fire in a kind of trance, looking into his face. Yes ; for there it was, bright and bonnie, gazing at her from the flame of the brightly blazing fire. After a long study of it. Marjorie turned to the window, and looked out over the barren moor. " I am not sorry the storm has come," she said. *' I must bide in the house." For the whole day the storm continued, and during that time Marjorie never once left the Castle. There had been times — and not so very far back either — when during such weather she would have wn^pped herself in in ulster, buttoned on thick boots, and braved both, wind and snow ; but now she kept to the house, wandering like a restless spirit from room to room, or sat dreaitiing by the fire. Not that she feared the storm ; but she dreaded tc go forth, lest by some unlucky acci- dent she might be brought face to face with the stranger, whom she felt now quite ashamed to meet. But much as she might try to fly from her fate, it pursued her. On the third day, when the wind had died down and the snow had ceased to fall, the ■.it m'. m 1 n 264 TrtE HEIR OF LINNE. young man came boldly up, and knocked at the Castle door. Marjorie saw him coming ; for she was standing at the dining-room window. When he came up the snowclad avenue, he saw her, and took off his hat. At sight of him, a chilly, nervous feeling, which she belit;ved to be anger, took possession of her ; but she did not move, and the next moment the door of the dining-room opened and the young man was ushered in. He came forward with his old frank smile, and held forth his hand. When Marjorie gave him hers, it trembled, and was very cold. "My personality is effaced for the time being," he said ; *' I am Mr. Macgillvray's messenger." " Did he send you } " ** He did. At tlie same time, I was very glad to come. I wanted to see vou." She withdrew her hand coldly, and he con- tinued — • " Don't freeze up ; I am not going to tread on forbidden ground ; that is to say, I won't wander over it too much. When I left you the other day, I promised not to open up one subject of conversa- tion again. Well, I want to refer to it just once more, and then Tve done. May I ?" " What do you want to say ? " *' Only this. I want to ask you to forget what I said that eiay, or, if you can't do that, just think of it as the ravings of a madman. Guess I wasn't quite myself that day. I had been dreaming among the hills when you cair.e upon me, and I said things THE HEIR OF LINNE. 205 that I shouldn't have said if I had beei in my natural state of mind. Men are queer cattle, and sometimes, when nature takes hold of them, I guess they do queer things. Well, nature had taken hold of me that day, and made me a fool." Marjorie did not answer. True, if she had been asked to decide the kind of speech which the young fellow should have made to her, it would have been couched in much the same terms ; yet now that it came it did not bring her very much satisfaction. " I want you to look upon me just as you look upon our old friend the Hermit," continued the young fellow. '* To let me help you through with the work you've got to do, and carry your friend- ship with me right away back to the States " "Are you going away ?" said Marjorie. " Well, yes ; but I want you to be friends with me while I am here. Will you ?" ** Yes, of course,*' returned the girl. " I hope we are friends ! " '* Well, that's all settled ; and now for Mr. Mac- gill vray's message. He is very much concerned about you, and wants to know how you got on during the storm ? " " I got on very well," returned Marjorie, laugh- ing. " What did he think could happen to me .'* " *' Don't know ; perhaps he tnought the Castle might come down. It's old enough, isn't it ? " " It is very old, and it shakes a good deal when the wind blows ; but it's quite safe." " I suppose you have been shut up in it for the last few days ? " 206 THE HEIR OF LINNE. ** Yes." " And didn't you find it dull ? " " No ; I like to be alone." ** It seems to agree with you, at any rate. I can tell Mr. Macgillvray that'' But he did not seem in a great hurry to get back to the cave. He lingered for fully an hour, when, at last, he went away. This visit was only a prelude to many others. For some unaccountable reason, Willie the Hermit became strangely uneasy about Marjorie's health ; and as Roberts seemed to be the only messenger he could employ, the young man was seen to wend his way almost daily to Castle Linne. Indeed, so regular had his visits become, that Marjorie had grown to look for them, and spent a very restless day indeed when the Canadian failed to appear. Constant intercourse cemented their friendship ; and instead of bidding him sit sedately in the room like an ordinary visitor, Marjorie would show him over the Castle, or, taking him to the library, give him free access to the few books left by the laird. He seemed strangely interest- ed in all this, and at times, too, he would manifest no little emotion when Marjorie talked of the de- parted. When the girl spoke of her dead friend, there was such infinite tenderness in her voice that it almost made the young fellow feel sympa- thetic towards him too. At any rate it was plea- sant to listen to Marjorie, no matter of what she was talking ; and these daily visits to the Castle soon became the one thing that to the Canadian made life worth living. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 207 The forbidden subject had never again been broached, but Roberts thought of it night and day. Perhaps, too it was the memory of that walk by the lake side which made these visits so pleasant to Marjorie. So the time sped on, until one day Marjorie, who had taken no account of the flight of days, was startled from her new-found happiness. A letter came from Edward Linne, announcing his speedy return, and expressing a hope that Mar- jorie would be glad to see him. Startled and pained, Marjorie suddenly remembered the rela- tive positions of herself and Linne, and felt like a criminal. She was truly on the horns of a dilemma, and she was resolved to carry her troubles straight to the only man in whom she dared to confide. The moment breakfast was over, therefore, she ordered Brawnet to be saddled, and mounting on his back, she rode straight to Willie Macgillvray's cave. She found the old man at home, and he gave her a cordial welcome. He saw at once that some- thing was the matter. *' Is there anything wrong, Marjorie ? " She shook her head. " Nothing wrong ; but I had a letter this morn- ing saying that Mr. Edward is coming back.'* " Weel, don't fash your head about that, lassie. It's the limmer*s home." ** I'm not troubling about it, but about myself, Mr. Macgillvray." '* Yourself, my doo .»* " if,- m 208 THE HEIR OF LINNE. *' Yes ; for I know what he will do when he returns. He will want me to carry out my guar- dian's wish." "And marry him ? " " Yes," said Marjorie, with a sigh. " Weel, it's easy to do." *' It is not so easy," said Marjorie, trembling. " I don't think I can marry Mr. Edward." *' Then leave the carle alone ; that's easier still." But Marjorie shook her head. " That's not easy either," she said ; and Willie laughed, and replied that women seemed to be ever crying for the moon, though they didn't want it. Presently Marjorie went back to the Castle to think it over again, and to try if her own brain could not devise some means of getting out of the dilemma. Since Willie Macgillvray would not help her, she had no one; for it was utterly impossible for her to discuss this subject with the younger man. So she puzzled her brains day and night. At last she hit upon a plan which she believed would give general satisfaction. Delighted with her idea, she resolved to com- municate it at once to her friend the Hermit. It was wonderful what satisfaction the newly-discover- ed plan gave her. She hurriedly threw on her hat and cloak, and prepared to set out. As she open- ed the door, she found herself face to face with Roberts, who stood outside, and who was just about to knock. He seemed astonished to see her ; he was still THE ilElR OF LINNE. :»09 more astonished at the state of the hall. All the furniture was piled here and there about it, as if for a *• flitting." "Why, what is the matter?" he said. ** Mr. Edward is coming home." ** Oh, that's it, is it ? And when is his lordship expected ? " "On Saturday," was the reply. " On which date I suppose my* visits here must cease. Well, all pleasures must cease some time, Miss Marjorie ; but I shan't lose sight of you alto- gether, that is some comfort. Where are you going now ? " " To Mr. Macgillvray. I have something very important to say to him." " Shall I walk there with you, and leave you to the tender mercies of the old man, or would you rather go alone .•* " Marjorie smiled quite frankly, and replied — " No ; I do not wish to go alone." Having thus obtained permission to accompany her, he walked along by her side. just still (1*) ii3^ 210 TIIK IIKIR OF LINNE. CHAPTER XXV. WILLIE PLAYS SIR ORACLE. On arriving at the cave, they found Willie eat- ing his breakfast — a cup of oatmeal mixed with the clear water of the mountain burn. He nodded kindly as Marjorie entered the cave and the young man, after gaining permission to come back for her, strolled off along the shore. "You find the lad useful, Marjorie?" said the old man, who continued to eat his breakfast, and watched the girl slyly out of the corner of his eye. " He is very kind," returned the girl, quietly. *'And you like him weel, eh, Marjorie.'*" '* How could I be off that, Mr. Macgillvray, since he is so good to me ? But I do not under- stand him. He is very strange." " Strange ? How's that ? "' ** Sometimes he talks like a rough, common man, at others like a gentleman." " Weel, weel," returned Willie, laughing ; " the latter way is the true one, Marjorie; he is a gentle- man at heart ; but he has led a wild, devil-may- care kind o' life in the States, and it has roughen- ed him a wee. ' ** Then he talks so uncannily ! " " Weel, he has had an odd kind of education, and his ideas are a bit unsophisticated. Byt he's non^ 1 ( THE HEIR OF LINNE. 211 ay- en- thc warse for that. He*s a good kind of a lad, and he wouldna make a lassie a bad husband ! *' Marjorie bent low over the fire and pushed to- gether the peat sods with her little foot. When she lifted her head again, her cheeks were quite red. '* Mr. Macgillvray," she said, " I want to talk to you again about what I said the other day. I know now what I can do, and I have quite deter- mined to do it." *' Ay, and then .? " ** When the laird said in his will that he wished me to marry Mr. Edward he did not mean exactly that." " Then it was a pity he took the trouble to write it," returned the old man, with a smile. '* I mean," continued the girl, " he was not really anxious for me to marry Mr. Edward. He wanted to do two things, and yet he could not do them both. He wanted, most of all, to keep the propel ty together, and let it be owned by one of his name." " And if he had been a weel-loving and a God- fearing man he could have done it, Marjorie. It was his wicked pride and his vicious heart that caused all his trouble, and no one but himself was to blame." " Do not speak of that," said Marjorie. It was very sad and terrible ; but for all his misdeeds he was cruelly punished. But remember, Mr. Mac- gillvray, he could have kept his property in the hands of one of his own name if he had not thought of me. He could not bear to leave me \n iif 212 THE HEIR OF LINNE. penniless, so he thought, * I will make her a rich lady; then, if I wish it, she will marry my nephew. The property will be kept together, and they will both be satisfied.* Don't you think I am right ? *' " Maybe ; but you haven't married him ! " - No." " And yod mean to ? " She shook her head. ** The laird, if he had lived, would have been too kind to force me against my inclination. I cannot marry Mr. Edward, because I do not love him ; indeed, I do not wish to be married at all ; but I can carry out the laird's wishes just the same as if I did." The old man opened his eyes. *' Then you're a witch, Marjorie. How are you to do it?" *' By just giving all the property to Mr. Edward." *• By letting Mr. Edward, as you call him, make you a beggar ! " cried Willie. " Very well ; but you have forgotten one thing ; suppose you happen to be giving away other people's goods ! Suppose the rightful heir, the other poor de'il of a Camp- bell, should come forward ! " ** There's no chance of that," said Marjorie, with a sigh. *' I used to dream of it, Mr. Macgillvray ; but I know he is dead, and will never come for- ward to claim the land." " What makes you so certain ? " " Everybody knows it. Mr. Roberts says so too," "He says so, does he ? Then you may be sur^ *1 r *| THE HEIR OF LlNNE. 213 rith Ibr- so »ure if ^^ says so, he's right, Marjorie. But in case o' dirliculty ? '' " Of course," continued the girl, " I should make it a condition that if he came he would receive his own." The old man smiled. " Weel, Marjorie, and when do you mean to make this known to Mr. Edward as you call him ?" *' As soon as he comes back. And now I must return, Mr. Macgillvray. I am having the Castle cleaned out and made nice for him, that it may please him, and then I will give all to him and go away." From that moment until the much-looked-for Saturday arrived, Marjorie was in a state of much irepidation and delight — delight at the bright, cosy look of the Castle, the rooms of which grew wonder- fully pretty beneath her magic touch ; trepidation at the thought of what she had to communicate to Edward Linne. It was not a pleasant task which she had set herself — to tell him that the idea of marriage with him was so distasteful to her that she could not reconcile herself to it, much as she would have loved to carry out her guardian's wish ; yet since she had resolved to do this, she set about it in the pleasantest way possible. Her first task had been to make the Castle bright, her next to assume brightness for herself, and so happily did she succeed that when, on Linne's arrival he found her standing at the door to give him welcome, his heart leaped up with joy at the glowing look on her face. He himself looked jaded and weary. Dunned 214 THE HEIR OF LINNE. on every hand for claims which he could not yet meet, and oppressed by the remembrance of the coldness with which the girl had received his advances, he had looked forward to troublesome times. But now all his fears seemed groundless, for there was Marjorie evidently of another frame of mind since his departure, and ready and willing to extend to him a helping hand. His spirits revived considerably during dinner, and when it was over and he found himself alone with the girl, he took heart of grace to begin. " Do you know, Marjorie," he began, " I am very glad to get back again to Linne Castle and to you ? ** I am glad you like what I have done," said the girl nervously. ** Ay yes," he said, looking about him, " now I come to look around, I see you have been busy. Tell me, Marjorie," he added, taking her hand, ** have you been lonely } Have you missed me at all r Marjorie quietly withdrew her hand, and her heart began to beat with apprehension, for she felt the time had come. " I am sometimes sad, but never lonely at Linne Castle," she said. " Then I hope you have not been very dismal," said Linne, making no attempt to take her hand again. ** But, Marjorie, you know what I would say — you remember what I said to you before I went away ? Have you thought of it } " ** Yes " answered the girl. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 21 ine She tried to say more, but her mouth dried up and the words refused to come. " And you have decided ? Is not that so, Mar- jorie ? You have decided, Hke a sensible girl, to dispense with unnecessary delay, and get our mar- riage over ? There is no use of waiting. He would not have wished it ; and I am sure you are too good to oppose his dying wish.'* To his amazement, Marjorie covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. When her sobs had subsided she looked up at him. ** Indeed, I cannot do all that he wished. 1 cannot,*' she said ; " I have thought it over since; you have been away, and I know I can never marry you." She was horrified at the look of anger which crossed Linne's face. ** So ! " he said, between his teeth, ** you have thought it over and come to that decision, have you } And I suppose you expect me to accept that as final." ** I am sure," returned Marjorie, "you would rwt wish to marry one who did not ^ove you." He laughed outright. '* A fine excuse ! a nice way out of the difficulty ! You get possession of my property, and then you keep it with a paltry excuse like that. No, no, it won't do ; a condition was imposed upon you, nnd you will keep it." *' I will never marry you, if that is what yo i iliean," said Marjorie, firmly. ** I thought I wouUl not before, and now I am sure I will not ; but I ^i6 tHE HEIR OF LINNE. do not wish to keep you from the money. 1 do not want it ; it is yours." ** What do you mean ? " said Linne, aghast. " I mean what I say, Mr. Edward. I am sure the laird wished his nearest heir to have the money and the land ; and, since I cannot marry you, I will give up everything just the same." ** Do you mean to tell me," said Linne, " that you won't marry me, but will give me all your pro- perty ? " "It is your property not mine," said Marjorie. " He intended it for you." *' Marjorie," said Linne, " you don't talk tike a sensible woman. You must know I could not accept this, even if I would. The whole thing is preposterous." " I do not see that" " Then you are blind and foolish. Of course, theatrically speaking, you are right ; the property is mine. I have been taught to regard it as mine for years, and when it was taken from me I was tricked ; so you are right in one way. I have no right to suffer such a heavy loss simply because you don't know your own mind." " But I do," returned Marjorie. ** I have resolved to do this, and I will do it. The property is yours, as I said, and you shall have it." " And you — what will you do } " ** I do not know. I have not thought of that." " Of course not. You have wild flights of fancy, and you act like a child. It's all very well to play*, the romantic heroine in novels and plays, but in 1 Heir oP linne. 217 »e m real life it doesn't do. It*s easy to say * I will restore to you your own/ but it's not so easy to do it.'* *• It is very easily returned," said Marjorie. '* I shall be no worse off than I was before. I am not fit to be an heiress, and I do not wish to be." ** That's all very well, but you must live. Have you any relations ? " " No." '• That's awkward," he said, "because you might have gone to them. Oh, it's too ridiculous ! Why on earth can't you marry me ? It is the simplest way out of the difficulty, after all." But it did not seem so to Marjorie, who per- sisted in shaking her head, and Linne saw in her eyes a certain amount of determination which he would never be able to overcome. She would give him all her property, but she would not give him herself; if he would not accept one without the other, he must lose both. '* Very well," said Linne, at last. *' I am too tired to discuss this matter further to-night. I will think it over, and let you know in the morn- mg. So they parted. Left alone in his room, Linne cursed the name of the very girl who, he averred, had brought all this trouble upon him. Had she never come to Linne Castle, he felt sure that the property, to- gether with the tumble-down edifice, would have ♦been his ; but she had come between him and his uncle, and robbed him of all. 2l8 THE HEIR OF LINNE. "The girl may go to the devil as far as I am concerned, and the sooner she goes the better ; but one thing is certain — I must nave money, and I mean to have it. But how am I to arrange it so far as to make all right ? " To Linne's mind by far the easier way would have been marriage, for though he cared little more for the girl than she cared for him, he thought it would look better to take her over with the pro- perty. When he could stand well in the eyes of the world without personal loss or inconvenience, he liked to do so. By carrying out that arrange- ment he could not be accused even of mercenary motives, since he would be acting in strict accord- ance with his uncle's will. Besides, it would be so much safer. Once married to Marjorie, no one would dare to question his right to every penny of her fortune. With the other arrangements it was different. A hundred objections might be made when the thing became known, and in the mean- time his debts were closing round him like the waters of the ocean, and threatened to sink him unless he obtained timely aid. *' Well, if she won't do one thing she must the ether," he said, at last. ** I shall take the property, let the lawyers say what they will." When Marjorie saw him in the morning, he looked so pale and haggard that she pitied him. ** Are you not well, Mr. Edward ? " she said. ** I am decidedly out of sorts with all this worry," he answered. " Why need it be Marjorie }** The girl hung her head, but did not answer. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 219 ** Are you still of the same mind you were last night ? " he asked. ** Yes," returned Marjorie, softly. " You still absolutely refuse to marry me ? " " I cannot marry you." **Then I suppose it is no use to say more about it ? " "It would not be of any use," returned the girl. " Very well. I have thought it over, and I think I have hit upon a plan. You hand me over the property that has been left to you, and in return I give you Linne Castle, or * Castle Hunger,* as they call it here, I think, and a small income to keep it up." " Do you not wish to keep the Castle ? " ** No. What would be the use of it to me ? I would never live in it. I hate the hole ! But you don't hate it, do you ? " "Ah no, indeed!" " Then you are satisfied with that ? " "Quite satisfied." " That's all right. I will make out rough drafts of the papers to-day, and you can sign them. There is ao need for lawyers, you know, when we are both agreed." " There is one thing." said Marjorie, suddenly. " What is that .> " "If the laird's son should be living, and is ever found, you will give up all to him, just as I should have done ?" Linne laughed bitterly. 220 THE HEIR OF LINNE. "If he ever comes, I wll! ; but you know he is lying, or rather his bones are lying, at the bottom of the sea." If he took this view of the case, Marjorie was content to take it, since she believed, from all she could gather, that it was the true one. So, with- out waiting to discuss the matter further, she set off to tell the news to her friend the hermit. ** Mr. Macgillvray ! " she cried, bursting delight- edly into the cave, ** it's all over. I have done it ! " " Bless my soul ! " cried Willie ; " is the lassie daft ? What's over ? What have you done ? " ** I have told Mr. Edward that I cannot marry him ; but that he may have the property ! " ** Weel, and how has it ended ? What did Mr. Edward do ? Did he agree to take the money ? " ** Of course he did ! 1' " And do you think you have done wisely, my bairn ? " "Certainly I have. I could not have married him, because I did not love him." " Then, since you are certain o' that, ye ken weel what love is, Marjorie," said the old man, eyeing her fixedly. "Is there no other laddie that's taken your heart ? " Marjorie felt her cheeks grow crimson beneath the old man s steady gaze. " Don't talk foolishness, Mr. Macgillvray," said the girl, uneasily. But the old man suddenly leaped up like one demented, crying — THE HEIR OF LINNE. 221 ** Come out, you Hmmer, come out ! and take her in your arms, for she loves you, and is free ! " The next moment Marjorie found herself struggling in a strong man's embrace. 11^ CHAPTER XXVI. i' **SPIRAT ADHUC AMOR." ith lid >ne Frightened and almost fainting, Marjorie struggled in the arms of the Canadian who, with bright eyes and burning cheeks, looked at the old hermit as if for guidance. As for Macgillvray, he seemed like a man demented. Laughing and cry- ing, and waving his arms, he leaped up and down the cave, and then, smacking his palms together, cried — ** I'm a matchmaker, I'm a matchmaker! Man, I saw the cupids dancing in her een when I named your name. Hold her fast, ye limmer, for she's yours, she's yours ! " "This wild harangue called Marjorie to her senses. Flushed and angry, she shook herself free from the young man's embrace, and stood, panting, indignant, ready to burst into tears. " It is shameful ?" she cried. "You have no right to serve me so, Mr. Macgillvray ; and as for I 222 THE HEIR OF LINNE. you, sir," — here she flashed her eyes at Roberts — •* it was cowardly to listen ! " *' Forgive me," Roberts answered, gently and penitently. ** Toots, toots, laddie, speak up till her," chuckled the hermit. '* That's no' the way to win a lassie ! " "Mr. Macgillvray, for shame!" cried poor Marjorie. " I will never speak to you again.' " I see what is," said Willie, slyly. " I was wrong. Women are like cattle, and I see she still hungers after the flesh-pots of Eygpt. Let her go ! Edward Linne's waiting for her with a weddmg ring." " How unkind you are \ " returned Marjorie, almost sobbing. " Did I not tell you that I will never, never marry Mr. Edward ? But I will do my duty. I shall give back to him all the money that is not mine, and leave this place for ever ! " ** And who'll take care of ye ? Who'll shelter ye, my lamb, from the storm ? Be advised. Keep the siller, and take the heir into the bargain." ** I thought you a good man," said Marjorie, indignantly. "Now I see I was mistaken. I will take neither Mr. Edward nor the money. I would rather die ! " Willie, who seemed positively reckless, was about to speak to her again in the same irritating tone of exultation, when, with a wave of the hand, Roberts made him silent. " Leave us together," he said. '* No, no, you shall not," cried Marjorie, as Mac- gillvray moved towards |:he door. ' * I will not stay I " THE HEIR OF LINNE, 223 I IC- i» *' I will not keep you long," said Roberts, in a gravely gentle tone very unusual with him. "If you wish it, after I have said only a few words, I will shake hands with you for ever I " Startled by the tone as much as by the words, she hesitated. In a moment Macgillvray slipped out of the cave and disappeared. " Miss Marjorie," said the young man, in the same solemn tone, ** if I am compelled to break the promise I gave you, it is through no fault of mine. The ice has been broken by accident. May I go on ? " *' What do you wish to say ? ** murmured Mar- jorie, hiding her face and fairly crying. " I was not playing the spy ; but coming to the cave, and not knowing you were here, 1 heard some fragments of your conversation ; the rest of the truth I knew already. You have resolved to make a great sacrifice ? " "It is no sacrifice," said the girl, sobbing. " If you refuse to marry Edward Linne, you lose everything, or nearly everything, in the world ; is that no sacrifice ? Well, your own conscience is your best guide. But if you resign all this world's wealth, how will you live, and where will you go ? *' She did not answer, and he continued — ** You are a child, and do not know the world. You have never known what it is to be poor, if you make this sacrifice, the world will laugh at you as a simpleton; your very friends will forsake you." " I do not care ; I will dp as God bids m^.. Now, let me go J " 11 IN' 224 THE HKIR OF LINNE. » ** One moment yet," said Roberts gently, detain- ing her by the hand. ** Suppose 1 were to say to you, as I said before in my mad boldness — * Mar- jorie, I love you ; you are dearer to me a thousand- fold now you are poor than when you were rich ; leave this place — come with me to the west, where I can offer you a poor but loving home, — what would be your reply ? ** " I do not know," she faltered, looking at him through her t«jars. " Oh, do you not see how troubled I am ? I scarcely understand ; and you promised '* ** I will keep my promise henceforth, if you wish it. Say the word, and I will never trouble you again. Tell me you do not love me, that you can never love me, and I will go away for ever ! " He paused as if awaiting her reply. Their eyes met. He caught her in his arms again. ** Let me go," she cried, blushing through her tears. " You must not — I shall be angry." He released her in a moment. ** I know I am selfish. Fondly as I love you, I know I have nothing to recommend me. If you were wise — and it is not too late — you would keep the position in which the laird placed you, and ful- fil his dying wish." ** His only wish was to keep the lands together," she replied. '* Mr. Edward will have them all ; and that was all the laird's desire — that they should remain in the family." " Let me be frank with you," said Roberts. "In asking you to marry me, I ask you to join your T,iE HEIR OF LINNE. 225 lot with one who is little better than a peasant, and as poor as a shepherd on your lands." ** I should not care for that," said Marjorie ; add'ng, as she saw he was about to encroach again, " But I'm not thinking of marrying at all ! " ** I understand. You realize the wild life you- would have to lead out yonder, you who are a lady born ! " " I am no lady," returned Marjorie simply. ** The laird adopted me out of charity, my father and mother were poor and humble." *' I am glad of that ; but by heaven, there is no lady in the land worthy to tie your shoe-strings. Oh, my darling," he cried, passionately, ''are we to part ? Am I to go forth into the world a lonely man, without one word or look of love from her I have loved since we first met ? " " How can you love me so much," said Marjorie, " when we have known each other so short a time ? I am sure you do not mean what you say ! " ** I am a rough man. I know," he answered ; *' but I speak out of the fulness of my heart. The breath I breathe, the world I dwell in, the blue heaven up yonder, the very God I worship, are nothing to me without you ! You are more to me than life itself! " Marjorie looked into his face. Never had it seemed so beautiful as now, when the very sun of love shone there. She seemed caught as in a golden fire, and lost all self-command. *' Marjorie ! " he cried, holding out his arms. (ift| ill 226 THE HEIR OF LINNE. With a blush and a sigh, she sank into them, an) hid her face upon his hreast. " Hooly and fairly !" cried a voice. '* What's up now ? This lassie is wanted at the Castle ! " They looked round. There, on the threshold of the cave, stood that irritating hermit, grinning from ear to ear, and rubbing his hands together gleefully. Red as a rose, Marjorie disengaged herself, and gave him a glance of smiling indignation. ** You were so long talking," he said, ** that I weaned. Weel, have you said good-bye ? " '* No, old friend," answered Roberts ; **we have come to an amicable agreement ; " and, as he spoke, he took Marjorie round the waist and kissed her gently. " It*s sheer foolishness," chuckled Willie. "She's a pauper, and you're a beggar ! " '* Exactly," said Roberts ; " But we mean to make a fresh start together." "Ridiculous! It's against the first principles o' political economy — see Malthus passim. Bless me, ye'Il be for marrying next, and having a family ! " " Please don't talk such nonsense!" said Mar- jorie, with a blush. " The foolishness o' women I The selfishness o' men ! Marjorie, this saucy gallant — Mr. Ijnpu- dence, as I call him — has scarce a bawbee in his pouch, or a shirt till his back ! " " I like him all the better for that," said Mar- jorie '* Say ye so ? — then Til talk to kim. Young lim- THE HEIR OF LINNE. 227 O mer, I bid you release this young lady, and gang about your business. She's a beggar like yourself! ' "That's just why i want her," said Roberts. •• Was ever such a daft pair ! " cried Willie, re- garding them with delighted admiration. *' What are ye going to /we on, tell me that ? " '• W'j shall live on love, sir," returned Roberts, suiting the action to the word, and kissing Marjorie again. '• That's but a lean diet," retorted the hermit. " How do you know, sir?*' broke in Marjorie. " You are only an old bachelor, and have never tried it ! " Thereupon, from the happiness of their hearts, all three laughed outright. It was a pleasant end- ing to an eventful evc^ning. They sat down round the fire of the little hctrmitage, and talked long and earnestly together. lar- >s o CHAPTER XXVHI A thunderclap! Despite the quietness with which the amicable arrangements between Linne and Marjorie had been carried out, they somehow or other soon be- came known. At all events, in an incredibly short space of time the news of the changes reached the 228 THE HEIR OF LINNE. ears of Mr. Menzics, the family solicitor. One morning, Linne and Marjorie received letters from the old gentleman, announcing his intention to visit Linne Castle next day, and requesting them both to be ready to see him. The receipt of the letter had no effect on Mar- jorie, who had seemed to be wonderfully contented and happy since the day when the new arrange- ment was made ; but it made Edward Linne furious. He looked up savagely from the letter, and en- countered Marjorie's placid gaze. ** Is your letter from that old fool ? " he asked. •' It is from Mr. Menzies." " Then you know he is coming. Do you know what he is coming for ? " "I suppose," answered Marjorie, quietly, "he has heard about my giving you the money." ** Yes : and he is coming to question my right to it ; but it has nothing to do with him. You have signed the document which made it mine, and you will have to hold to your hand." *' I will hold to it." ** Then Mr. Menzies cant't have much to say. 1 )\dyou write and tell him of it .•* " " No." ** Then who on earth did ?" ** Perhaps Mr. Macgillvray." *' But how the deuce did he know ?" " I told him," said Marjorie, frankly. ** Oh, I see ! " he said, with a sneer, **you still cultivate the acquaintence of my uncle's ragged friend. A nice companion for a young lady, truly." / THE HEIR OF LINNE. 229 / ,-^- ** Don't talk about him ; and don't sneer at my guardian," said Marjorie hotly. " J don't like to hear it." So Linne was silent ; but a few hours later he reverted to the subject again. *' You seem to go pretty often to that hole," he said. ** I may go where I please," returned Marjorie, flushing angrily. " Look here," he continued, watching her very closely ; *' I want to ask you a question. You never gave me a proper reason for refusing to marry me." " I told you I did not love you, and I am sure, now, you did not love me. ' * Very frank of you to say that when I have told you I do. However, let it pa^. Since you find it so utterly impossible to care for me, there is some reason for it. You love another man. May I have the pleasure," he added, with mock courtesy," of learning the name of this most fortunate person ? " Stung by his sarcasm, Marjorie rose indignantly from her seat. " I have always tried to do what is right, and I will not let you insult me," she said. " It will be better for us not to meet again, Mr. Edward. I hope you will soon go away, and leave me here alone." Early next day Marjorie received a summons to go to the library to see Mr. Menzies, who had arrived. She went and found him closeted with Edward Linne. t' 230 THE HEIR OF LINNE. Since the moment when Marjorie and Linne had parted in anger the two had not met, and now she hardly looked at him, but she gave her hand to the lawyer and sat down near him. The old man put on his spectacles and looked at her curiously. ** You are a very peculiar young lady," he said. ** What do you mean by all this ? Marjorie laughed. " M^an by what, sir ? " she asked. ** Why, by throv/ing about your money in this way, and making over valuable estates as if they were farthing candles. Bless my soul! it's like turning the world topsy-turvy. Here is a will that it took my old friend the laird several months to think out, calmly cast aside like a straw upon the wind." •' But what could I do, Mr. Menzies ? " " What could you do ? Why, keep the will, of course. What do you suppose these things are made for, if not to be followed ? " ** I have carried out my guardian's wish," said Marjorie firmly. " Pardon me, my dear young lady, that is just what you have not done." "He wished," continued the girl, hurriedly and nervously, " to keep the estates all together, and to have them owned by one of his own kin." " Then why didn't he say so ? " "He did say so very often, to me, ** B'j*: he did not write it in his will. What he said there was this " He produced a copy of the will and seemed h THE HEIR OF LINNE. 231 about to read from it, when Linne interrupted him. ** This seems to be a ridiculous waste of time," he said. " I tell you, Mr. Menzies, everything is settled, and everything is mine. I was perfectly willing to carry out my uncle's wishes. I asked the young lady to marry me, and when she refused to do that she restored to me the property which was mine by right." " There you make a mistake," said Menzies, sharply ; " there is no right in the case. If you, a man of the world, choose to take advantage of an innocent girl, that is another matter." *' It is no use to bandy worus about it," cried Linne, "but to discuss common facts. Has this young lady a right, or has she no right, to disi)ose of her own property ? " '* I presume she has a right ; the will imposed no restrictions." " Very good. Then, now that she has signed the necessary documents, the property is legally mine." ** Certainly, if you are the man to take it." " I merely regard it as restitution of stolen goods," said Linne, assuming an air of insolence now that he knew the real extent of his power. ** But I don't wish to be ungenerous. If the lady likes to change her mind now without more delay, I am still willing to marry her." . ** Now, that's uncommon generous," chimed in a voice from the door. " Nothing could be more square I " Bi 232 THE HEIR OF LINNE. Looking up, they saw the young Canadian, standing in the doorway. *' Don*t put yourself out, governor," he said, in his old twang, nodding familiarly to Linne, whose face was white with anger. " But I heard you'd got a little family party here, and I thought Td jom. ** Curse your impudence ! " cried Linne. " Leave my house ! " " It is not your house, Mr. Edward ; it is mine, and he will stay," said Marjorie, quietly, who, how- ever, was as much amazed at this sudden and un expected apparition as Linne himself. Roberts gave a laugh and threw his hat on a chair. "It's as well to have the ladies on your side," he said. " But go on ; don't let me interrupt you." ** Really, my dear sir," said the lawyer, who found his voice at last, " I don't know who you are or what you are doing here." " Don't you ? Well, there's time enough for that, I guess. At present I'm not of much account, you see. But there's one thing I want to have a word in, and that is, the disposal of this young lady." *' What the deuce has it to do with you ? " cried Linne, aghast. ** Well, she hasn't had quite so many dealings with me Sisyou have, but she has told me about this little arrangement, and I think she has been hum- bugged and misled, and I want to know if you mean to give her her property back ? " THE HEIR OF LINNE. 233 " I do not — I cannot,' stammered Linne. " " You mean to stick to it, then ? '* " Of course I do.'' *' Come, governor, don't you be mean," said Roberts, slyly. " Say you split the difference, and give her half? " " I tell you the arrangement we have made will be kept. She has refused to marry me " " You would have married her ? you were ready to marry her .'* " *' I offered to do it. She cannot deny it." ** And you would have done it, I guess ? " *' Yes, I would ; certainly." " Then curse you for a scoundrel ! " said Roberts, quite suddenly. Walking to the window, he waved his hand. The next moment the library door opened again, and a young girl — no other, indeed, than Mary Fleming — stood upon the threshold. At sight of her, Linne uttered a cry of surprise and fear, and the Canadian, throwing aside his rough manners like an old glove, said, turning to the lawyer, " Now, sir, you shall see what this man is. Having ruined one life, he was ready to wreck another. This young lass is Edward Linne's wife!" " But you, sir, who are you ? " asked the lawyer, staring amazedly into the young man's face. Roberts smiled. " You shall hear all now," he said. " This young ^Wmmm w^m^^f^i^ 234 THE HEIR OF LINNE. lady," taking Marjorie's hand, ** has plighted her troth to me ; and I am Robert Mossknow, a/ias Campbell, alias Roberts ; and, unless I'm much mistaken, the lawful heir of Linne/' EPILOGUE. The revelation of the young man's identity, which my reader has, no doubt, guessed from the first, came like a thunderclap, even on Marjorie. As for Linne, he was stupefied. On that sudden tableau the curtain shall fall, for my little dramatic idyll of real life has ended and there is little more to tell, — save that Robert Campbell proved his Identity beyond all question ; that Edward Linne wandered away from Linne Castle like a beaten hound ; and that, within a month, Robert and Marjorie were married in the old castle, by no less a person than the Rev. William Macgillvray, B.D., of the University of Glasgow. r THE END. m