IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) <>.*^!^ 1.0 1.1 ^M2A |25 Ijo ^^" JIJJHB 2.0 lU lU u lAO |||l.25 ||J4 U4 ^ 6" - » Hiotographic Sciences Corporalion 23 WIST MAIN STRiiT WEBSTER, N.Y. MSM (716)t73-4S03 h. %>^ y errata ad to mt ine pelure. B9on A 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 Fronlisp\ c \rv. \V (\ ^ A A . ^ (^ _>'>.■?) v^^ / SlORMT roTAC^ER A \ \ 1 ]•: Mr<. B: ai';hor l<^ " K ■ I .> .-11 <, W \ N \i! rnn Y u- >\ KIOOS HI ( f > L 'M0^^k^ " MK. ANU MUb. UKOki.K [Page i6.<. I iW\ \n ../ SrORMT VOTAGER. ANNIE S. SWAN (4frs. Burnett-Smiih). AUTHOR OF "kinsfolk," "a BITTER IIEIIT," "A VICTORY WOW," "ELIZABETH GLEN,*' "HGMESI'UN," ETC. lyjTH ILLUSTRATIONS BY R. H. MATHER. ^*^fi^* I TORONTO, CANADA WILLIAM BRIGOS LONDON HarCHINSGN & CO. c PRbG^7. tA^.\3S0 EkTRRKD, accordintr to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-aix, by William Brioob, at the Department of Agripulture. CONTENTS. CHAPTBR !. SETTING HIS HOUSE IN ORDER II. DAY DREAMS III. DISILLUSION . . , IV. AN UNBIASSED OPINION V. A LITTLE UNDERSTANDING . VL CARXING CARE . , , VH. CONTRASTS . , , VIII. A woman's HEART . IX. EQUAL TO THE OCCASION . X. COQUETTE .... XI. GOOD-BYE .... XH. "where do I COME IN?" XIII. THE LITTLE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE PAor. I . II . 19 . 28 . 38 • 50 . 60 . 70 . 78 . 88 . 98 . 107 . 116 3157716 ir COMEXTS. cHArrgR XIV. "you ought to do just as VCU LlKt XV. THE FIRST QUARREL XVI. THE BEGINNING XVII. WILFUL WOMAN XVIII. BEGINNINGS . . XIX. A SOCIAL TRIUMPH XX. NOT WISELY, BUT TOO WELL XXI. A NEW DREAD XXn. TROUBLED IN MIND XXIII. AN UNEXPECTED BLOW XXIV. SECOND THOUGHTS XXV. ESTRANGED . , XXV!. BANISHED . . XXVH. CLEARER AIR XXVIII. AN AWAKENING XXIX. " I AM AWEARY " XXX. A CONFLICT OF OPINION XXXI. UNDERSTOOD . XXXII. A THUNDERBOLT . XXXIIL A FRIEND IN NEED XXXIV. ENIGMA . XXXV. GONE . . • X3i;XVI. A BITTER QUEST . pAcr . 124 . 142 . 155 . 163 . 171 . 179 . 186 . 194 . 202 . 209 . 218 . 226 . 242 . 250 . 258 . 266 • 273 . 281 . 289 . 297 OMAfTKR V.«XVII. CO\TEi\TS. SOME RELIEF .... . 305 X'lXVIII. THE IRONY OF FATE . , , . . 312 XXXIX. A PRETTY COMEDY . . , . 319 XL. MY HOME NO MORE . 327 XLI. IN THE sun's TRACK . . 336 opei sale gOO( A SrORMY VOYAGER. CHAPTER I. SETTING HIS HOUSE IN ORDER, [HE great windows of Messrs Keith & Co.'s drapery establishment were shuttered for the day and all the counters cleared. The goods which had been arranged with such lavish display to attract the eye and tempt the purse were shut up in boxes or covered with linen covers to protect them from the dust. One by one the employes departed, the work-rooms were deserted, and the whole place given up to unusual silence. In the counting- house, the head, indeed, the sole representative of the firm, was looking over the day-book, which showed a most satisfactory return. It was the month of July ; the tourist season had opened with great promise, and there had been many sales that day of Clan silks, travelling wraps, and fancy goods. He was an elderly man of pleasant face and I ! \ i A STORMY VOYAGER, good figure ; commonplace to look at, perhaps, and yet there was something about bim to command respect and este n everywhere. As a master he was much beloved, and to get into Keith's was considered a stroke of good lUck by those who had to earn their bread. He looked tired that night, and in the subdued light which fell through the shaded glass roof of the counting- house his face appeared a tr.fie haggard and worn. A furtive anxiety seemed to dwell in his deep seated grey eyes as they scanned with but a languid interest the page before him. He was thinking, indeed, of other things. Presently the door of the counting-house was opened, and a young man looked in. He was about six-and- twenty, and had a well-knit, well set-up figure, and a pleasant, honest, capable-looking face. His head was finely shaped, and the brow indicated intellectual gifts of a higher order than common. " Are you there yet, sir } " he asked, in some sur- prise, and his voice had a singularly pleasant and honest ring about it. " Everybody has gone, and I was just going to lock up. Nothing wrong, I hope ? " " Oh, no, nothing. Come in and sit down a mine, i ; I v/ant to speak to you." Still further surprised, the young man closed the door, and, instead of sitting down, leaned up against it and put his hands in his pockets. *' We have had a very good day," said Mr. Keith, indicating the ledger with his gold pencil. " I do not think we have ever had a better July in all my ex- perience. If the weather holds in August, the tourist .season will leave us a very substantial balance." " That is good news, tru;y," said the young man cheerfully, and wondering why his chief's f^.ce continued so grave and anxious-looking. SETTING HIS HOUSE IX 0...)ER. '* I have wanted to have a little talk with you for some time, George, and we may as well have it out to- night," said Mr. Keith presently. " As you know, we expect Margaret home to-morrow, and I think, as I feel rather run down, we shall probably go off either to North Berwick or St. Andrews at once, and there are one or two little things I should like put on a satisfactory basis before I go." '* Yes, sir," said the young man readily, and won- dering what was coming. " How many years have you been with me now } " asked Mr. Keith, fixing his eyes keenly on the young man's face. " Nine years, Uncle Edward," replied the young man quickly. " Nine of the happiest years of my life." " Ah, I am glad to hear you say so, glad to think that you have been happy and contented with your" position here. It is right that I should tell you what an unspeakable comfort you have been to me, especially during the last few years, when I have felt myself distinctly failing." " Oh, don't say that. Uncle Edward," said the young man, with a feeling too genuine to be hidden or mistaken. " It is true, my boy, nevertheless," Siiid the elder man, a trifle sadly. " You have been a comfort to me ; you have never uttered a complaint." " How could I, Uncle Edward, treated as I have been all these years > " put in George Keith quickly. But his uncle stopped him with a gentle wave of his hand. " That is nothing. There are many people in this world, George, you know as well as I, who are never grateful, no matter how they are treated. Not only A STORMY VOYAGER. have you done your duty without hinting at any future reward or recognition, but you have often done the work of others — in fact, you have stepped into ever)' breach and saved me anxiety and worry in every possible way." These were verj' pleasant and gratifying words, of course, for any one to hear. Coming as they did from a man of his uncle's calibre, who was not given to << multitude of words, nor to undue praise, George Keith felt the value of them, and his face flushed with ihr intensity of his feeling. " Oh, hush, Uncle Edward, you make me ashamed Remember what you did for me when I was left ar orphan lad without friends or prospects. You have filled life with every possibility for me, and I should be wicked and ungrateful if I did not do everything 1 x:ould to show that I appreciated it all." "Well, well, we will say no more on that head, my boy," said the elder man good-humouredly. " We understand each other, I think, and are mutually satisfied. I need not beat about the bush ; what I wanted to say is this, I should like you to become a partner at once, and we will change the title of the old firm from Keith & Co. to Edward Keith & Nephew." " A full partner, do you mean, Uncle Edward } " " Yes, of course ; I have no son, and you have filled a son's place and more to me. It is the only recogni- tion I have in my power to give ; besides, I should like the business to go on undei the old name. J suppose you have no objection if I see to it at once ? " George Keith drew himself up from the half-loung- ing attitude in which he stood, and his face, more flushed than usual, wore a curious expression, which indicated considerable conflict of feeling. He had I SETTING HfS HOUSE /A' ORDER. S been taken completely by surprise. His uncle, al- though gentle and amiable always, was of a quiet and reserved disposition, and had never even dropped the remotest hint that he had any such project in his mind. George Keith had therefore made his plans and shaped his ambitions independently, and without taking into consideration any complication such as this. It was now necessary for him to disclose for th.e first time the cherished ambition of his life, which was to give up all connection with business and give himself up to study, although he had' not yet finally decided to what particular branch of the intellectual life he should devote himself. He had had since his boyhood an intense thirst for know- ledge ; the student habit was natural to him, and though he had that fine and rare quality which makes a man do his duty conscientiously, even nobly, in any sphere, however uncongenial, his heart had never been in his work, and his leisure hours were devoted to books, and to all that could further and develop the intellectual life. Although his uncle knew that he was an earnest student, and intensely interested in such matters, he did not really know how strong a hold they had upon him. Devoted to business himself, attached with no ordinary affection to the great concern which his energy and enterprise had built out of very small beginnings, he could scarcely conceive of anything more desirable than to be a partner in Keith & Co, Al- though he observed the hesitation on the part of his nephew, he attributed it rather to the great surprise which had overwhelmed him, than to any reluctance on his part to agree at once to the handsome offer made to him. A STORMY I'OYAGER. I , " You have surprised me very much, uncle," the young man managed to say at last. " I thought you might be a little surprised, and yet there is nothing very wonderful in it after all," said Mr. Keith, with his pleasant smile. " It will be a great pleasure to me, and also to your aunt, who knows that I am speaking to you to-night, to feel that you are really a member of the firm. It will not only relieve me of all further anxiety, but it will make us feel that you are bound to us by another tie, and^ — who knows .' — it may not be the last." He spoke with so much significance that his nephew involuntarily glanced at him questioningly. " I see you do not understand. You are not very quick to jump at conclusions," said his uncle, smiling still. " I suppose I shall have to tell you that I am thinking of Margaret. She is our only one, and no- thing would give her mother and me greater happiness than to think that you and she .might yet become man and wife. Of course, she is very young, a mere school- girl, you will think, and there is no hurry, but in a year or two, if you should draw together, it will be the crowning satisfaction of my life." George Keith could find no words in which to reply to this extraordinary proof of his uncle's confidence in and affection for him. He was deeply moved, and he reproached himself that he could not feel that abound- ing satisfaction and exuberance which ought to have been uppermost in his mind. He was just about to make some sort of reply when his uncle again spoke. " I feel myself failing, George, as I told you ; in fact, to be quite honest with you, I am very far from well. No, nothing to be immediately alarmed about," he said, for a sudden look of apprehension leapt into ^ S£TT/.\cJ J//S HOUSE IN ORDER. his nephew's face, " I have known my heart to be weak for a considerable time, and now they have told me that the end may come any moment. Not that I need be on the outlook for immediate death, you know," he said, with a slight smile ; " but when the case stands like that, it is well to be prepared." George Keith looked inexpressibly shocked. There was no need for him to try and express the grief he felt ; it was written on his face, and the old man's heart warmed to him as if he had been his own son. " Nobody knows this, of course, except your aunt. We will keep it from Margaret, but you understand what a relief it will be to my mind to have everything arranged. It does not make a man die any quicker to set his house in order ; but there, I have said too much, perhaps, for one night. We will stop now ; you can let it simmer in your mind for a day or two, and when you are ready we can talk of it again." He got down from his stool, locked the books in his desk, and when he turned, held out his hand to his nephew. George Keith gripped it in silence, but the look on his face said much more than any words could have done. His uncle had no idea that in that close hand-clasp, and in that earnest look, he renounced the great ambition of his life, and resolved to act a son's part to the man who had befriended him in his hour of bitter need. " I rather think it is settled, my boy," said the old man a trifle huskily, and then, as if afraid of breaking down, he moved hurriedly into the shop, pretending to look that everything was secure for the n;ght. " You can take a walk, George, and come up and have a bit of supper v ith us about nine. No, I won't walk to-night ; I feel tired, and I'll just have a little , I 8 A STORAfV VOVAGE/i. !! talk with your aunt before you come back. You will see that all is right ? " and with a nod he went through the little door which gave entrance to a long passage ending in the stair mounting to his house ; for although Edward Keith was perhaps one of the most substantial business men in Edinburgh, he still elected to live in the comfortable and commodious flat above his business premises. Many wondered, and some remonstrated with him, but he paid no heed. In that house he had been born and reared, and to it he had brought his wife after the long years of waiting which had tried them somewhat sorely. In it their one child had been born, and it was thus endeared to him and to his wife by many sweet associations. They were entirely cigreed upon this point, and would not have exchanged their cosy and familiar home for the palace of a king; He had seen, in the long course of his business life, many who had started in the race with him come to grief by reason of domestic extrava- gances, and he and his wife had preferred to live quietly in their unpretentious abode, to be able to give of their substance to help others, and be entirely free, as they had been these many years, from the slightest approach to sordid care. It was a very pleasant house after all, and the view from it had no equal in all that fair city. The windows of the sitting-room, where their family life was spent, looked out upon the rugged Castle heights, and when the lights were gleaming all along the valley after dark it was like a glimpse of fairy land. Mrs. Keith was sitting by the open window when 3he heard her husband's key in the door, and her fair face wore that placid and pleasant smile which in all the years of their married life had never failed him. "^ SETTING H/S HOf/SE IN ORDER. She was a woman past middle life, best described, per- haps, as motherly. Her figure was ample, and her face placid and pleasant now rather than beautiful, although in her youth she had been considered very handsome. The room in which she sat was comfortable, well furnished, and substantial, and altogether devoid of any- thing pretentious or frivolous, a pleasant family room in which these two looked and felt at home. " Well, dear, you are a little late to-night, are you not } " she asked, as he opened the door. " Yes, I have been talking to George. I have been telling him all we ag ced upon the other night." " And what did he say ? " she asked, with interest. " Oh, he seemed rather upset. I think he is a good lad, Alice, and deserves it. If only he and Peggy would make a match of it, we might retire to our cottage in the country, eh, mother > " She shook her head, although the smile did not leave her face. '* I do not feel at all sure in my mind about Peggy," she answered. " It does not do to reckon with young folks, and I thought last year when she was at home that she was more than a little headstrong, but per- haps she will have got more sense by now. She was eighteen last month ; just think of that I " " I do think of it. I wish sometimes that we had kept her at home, Alice ; I am not particularly fond of boarding-schools for girls. I think it gives them a good many airs, and yet, of course, it was right that we should do our best by the child. It will make a wonderful difference to us having her at home again." " It will. It is very kind of Mr. Dalrymple to be willing to fetch her down from London : is it not. father ? " 16 A STORMY VOYAGER, W li 1 1 " Very. I must send a present to Mrs. Dalrymple ; I suppose that is the only way that we can mark our appreciation of it So she will be here in forty-eight hours, won't she ? " " I expect so. You won't tell her what you have it your mind about George just at first, will you } " " Oh, no ; I have told him, and that is enough. I think we had better leave them to themselves a bit. It doesn't do to force these sort of things," said Mr. Keith, rather absently. " There is a little place on the market just now, Alice, at the foot of the Pentland Hills. I think we will have a drive out to-morrow and have a look at it. It might suit the old people when they have to give up this house to the young ones." So they made their plans and dreamed their pleasant dreams, anxious out of the goodness and loving-kind- ness of ;heir hearts to make everything smooth and pleasant for others, forgetting thrt it is not given to us to be arbitrators of human destiny, and that while we may plan and work and hope, it is the common fate to be met with disappointment on every hand. i CHAPTER II. DAY DREAMS. WO school girls vowed ete/nal fidelity to each other on the deck of the Ostend ix)at, as it plunged its way through the choppy water to the English side. It was a wet day, and there was neither sunshine nor warmth to make the voyage pleasant. The two girls sat in the lee of the funnel, glad of the wrpps about their knees and of their waterproof hoods drawn over their heads to keep out the thick wet drizzle which blew in the stiff breeze. They were quite young, only eighteen, but both felt very old because their school days were over, and they were now on their way to their respective homes. As was natural, their talk was all of the future, of what they meant to do and to be in the golden days stretching before them so fairly. All their dreams were bright as dreams are and should be in youth's suntime. They presented a pleasant contrast to each other ; both were winsome and attractive, and carried the promise of fine womanhood in face and figure. Ella Dalrymple, the younger, was fair and ruddy, with a skin like lilies and roses, and innocent blue eyes, which carried in them always an anxious appeal for protection and tenderness. II 12 A STURM y roy^, ! m She was one of those sweet, childlike, and clingini; natures which art so largely dependent for their happi- ness on those around them. Her companion, Margaret Keith, was taller and more generously built, her face darker in hue, and her hair as black as the raven's wing. A pair of fine grey eyes, rather flashing and restless in their expression, gave a singular charm to a face by no means lacking in char- acter. There was a great deal of strength and decision in the features, and in so young a girl the mouth looked hard. Both were Scotch, and had been together for two years at a Swiss boarding-school finishing their education in the most approved and orthodox fashion. " I do hope we shall have a gay winter," said Ella, knitting her brows in a momentary anxiety. " Mamma promised that if I took the music prize she would give a dance at Christmas, and I do hope Maud won't be nasty and try to keep me in the background. She kept saying last year that I ought to be at school for another year. Don't you think eighteen quite old enough, Peggy?" " I should just think so," replied her companion ; "and if I were you, Ella, I would assert myself and not let Maud have it all her own way. I think she is horrid, if you ask me, and I like your brother much better." " Oh, Scott is a very decent fellow," said Ella patronisingly ; " of course he gives himself dreadful airs, like most Edinburgh youths, but don't you think he is divinely handsome, Peggy ? I could not help telling him last year that I had never seen a man abroad to compare with him." " Then I think you were a very stupid girl to tell him anything of the sort," said Margaret severely. " Believe JJAV DtitlAMS. •3 me, men are a great deal too conceited already. I would always carefully abstain from paying any com- pliments ; I think they require to be kept down as much as your sister Maud, for instance." " Oh, but Scott is so awfully good-natured. He does not want any putting down," said Ella, with a fond smile, which indicated that her thoughts of the absent brother were very tender ones. " Well, my cousin, George Keith, is rather good- looking, I consider, but I would no more think of telling him so than of flying," said Margaret. ** I think I am very glad, on the whole, that I have no brothers and sisters. You see I shall be able to have all my own way. The first thing I mean to do," she continued with her most determined air, " is to insist upon papa removing from that abominable flat above the shop. Oh, that .shop, it will be the death of me ! " "Why should it .^ " inquired Ella innocently. "I am sure shops are very nice. I should like nothing better than to be allowed to wander all through your father's place, and take just what I like. He does have some lovely things in the window, and it is so elegant inside. I don't believe I should mind a bit though I had to serve behind the counter." Margaret's lip curled a little at this ingenuous speech. *• It is all very fine talking like that, Ella ; you do it on purpose, I know, to comfort me. But you know nothing at all about it, and I wish I didn't. Two years ago, when I left home, I thought that papa's business was the very nicest in the whole world, and now I have learnt that to be in business at all is a very serious drawback. But I shall do my best to over- come it." M A STOKMY VOYAGER. I hi i Ella listened with great interest and respect. She was neither so ambitious nor so worldly wise as her friend, nor had she taken the trouble to study the class distinctions which were a constant source of vexation to the proud and sensitive heart of Margaret Keith. " You know nothing at all about it," Margaret re- peated emphatically. " Your father is an advocate, and I have heard people say that some day he will be a judge. I should not be at all astonished if you were not permitted to know me after we go back home." " Oh, Peggy, how dare you say such a thing I Do you think I would allow them to dictate to me in a matter like that } Besides, mamma knows perfectly well that we are intimate, and she has never made the slightest objection to it." " Oh, well, wait till you see," said Margaret signi- ficantly. " Yes, I shall make papa move from that horrid flat, but I do not think we will remain on the north side of the town. There are lovely houses away out by Grange and Newington. I know one that would just suit us ; it has grounds all round it, and a big entrance gate. I do not see any reason, really, why we should not move to a place like that, because, of course, papa is very rich ; everybody knows that." " I suppose he is," said Ella. " I think we are rather poor ; at least, my papa is always talking about expenses, and how difficult it is to meet them, and I have often heard him say that nothing pays like trade." " I suppose we are trade," said Margaret, to whom the innocent words carried a hidden sting. " I do not know precisely what papa meant by that, but I know I have often heard him say it. But if I were you, I should not go away so far from us. Just think how nice it would be if you lived quite near in DAY DREAMS, IS a house like ours, then we could see each other every day." " Well, I'll see," said Margaret, with the air of a woman whose word was law, and who had only to say and it would be done. " It all depends on things. One thing is certain, I shall have to nip George Keith in the bud ; he was getting just a liltle bit too atten- tive and familiar last summer, and I don't intend that he shall monopolise all my time like he did then." "If he is so nice and good won't you marry him, Peggy ? " inquired Ella, with interest. " No, thank you," replied Margaret frigidly. " I don't propose to throw myself away on George Keith, although he is very useful. Besides, he is just like my brother ; I have seen too much of him to feel the slightest interest in him." •' It would be \ ery nice if you would marry Scott," suggested Ella. " Then wc would be sisters in reality : don't you think that would be lovely } " " I do not know," Margaret replied guardedly, but looking by no means displeased at the prospect. "Well, we shall see," said Ella. "Anyhow, it is very jolly to be done with all the old lessons, and to have said good-bye to Madame and Mademoiselle and all the rest. No, there is Miss Hardwick, we have not said good-bye to her yet. I guess she must be very sick, poor thing. Oughtn't we to go down and see ? " " Oh, we can't do her any good ; it is very cosy here." " Isn't that water lovely, Peggy ? Did you ever see anything so green } Nobody would believe it if it were painted on canvas." " 1 mean to keep up my painting," said Margaret, to whom these words suggested a new train of thought. I M i t i i6 // STORMY VOYAGEK, " I really think it is very wrong the way girls let every- thing drop after they leave school. I mean to fit myself for any sphere." " I think you are dreadfully ambitious, Peggy," said Ella reprovingly, and yet looking with a certain ad- miration at her friend. " I should not be at all astonished if you married — oh, ever so high up." " I shouldn't myself," replied Margaret complacently. " One thing you may b- :iuite sure of, that I won't be in a hurry, and that I mean to make the best of every- thing. Aren't we getting near Dover } We are having a very bad passage." " I should think we shall get there in half an hour or so. I do hope papa will let us stay a day or two in London, and take us about. If mamma Is not there, I shall be able ♦'o persuade him. I wonder if any of them will be at Dover, or if we shall not see them till we get to Charing Cross." Their tulk presently reverted to the old school days which they had left behind them for ever, and the next half hoJr passed rapidly while they discussed the escapades, and trials, and pleasures of the past year. On these subjects they talked more like girls, and less like worldly-wise women whose minds were full of schemes and plans for the future. Shortly, through the blinding mist, they caught sight of the white cliffs of Dover, and the usual hurry and bustle began to prevail on board, and the passengers prepared to disembark. " I really think we had better go and see after poor Miss Hardwick," said Ella, as they sprang up ; but pre- sently there came up from the staircase from the ladies' cabin a rather woe-begone-looking figure, with white face peering out miserably from a grey woollen shawl II' DAY DREAMS. 17 wrapped about her head. As the boat was rolling a good deal, she held on to the banister for support, and Ella, with a kindly, helpful instinct natural to her, ran and offered the poor governess her arm. " Oh, there you are, my dear," said Miss Hard wick in rather a fiint voice, but with unmistakable relief. " I am afraid I have left you very much to yourselves, but I have really been dreadfully ill. Where is Mar- garet i Oh, there she is ; I am thankful that we are almost in port." " Do come and sit down. It is quite nice and shel- tered where we have been sitting, and you really do not feel nearly so bad on deck," said Ella ; and steadying poor Miss Hardwick's faltering steps, she guided her to her camp-chair, and set her down. " I hope you feel better," said Margaret, rather awk- wardly. A word of sympathy did not come very natural to her, although she was not altogether without kindly feelings. But between her and the strict, conscientious English governess, in whose charge they were being sent to England, there had always been a strange antagonism. Mary Hardwick was a thoroughly good woman, and a very accurate judge of human nature. During the seven years that she had been in the Swiss boarding school, many types of girls had passed through her hands, many characters she had helped to mould with her strong sound sense and high ideal of womanly duty, and she had never met one who had puzzled or interested liCi more than Margaret Keith. She had also repelled her to a certain degree, and although Miss Hardwick was much beloved by all her pupils, she had felt herself persistently shut out from this girl's confidence and love, and really felt, now she was about to part from her, that she knew very little of her inner nature. She was a Z i8 // STOKAfV I'oyAGER. 4 i i i tii keen enough student of human nature to observe in her a strong individuality, and to feel that she was a girl likely to make or mar her own destiny. She had done what she could t) impress upon her the value of the sweeter attributes of womanhood, and to show her the beauty of a meek and quiet spirit, and a gentle, upright life. Whether she had exercised the slightest influence in the moulding of her character she had no means of knowing, and she could only hope for the best. " Well, my dears," she said, trying to speak cheerfully, " I suppose it is not likely that we shall meet again, at least for a long time." " Oh, I hope we shall," said Ella impulsively. " Scot- land is not altogether inaccessible, is it, Peggy ? " " No, not quite," Margaret answered, but without en- thusiasm or cordiality. '* Well, dears, whether we meet or not, I do trust that you will both be happy, and that you will do your best to become good and useful women. Remember that God has given you certain gifts to be used for Him, and that to despise them, or to fold them in a napkin as the unworthy servant did with his one talent, is to wil- fully pass by the only opportunity which may be given." Ella listened sympathetically, touched by the gover- ness's earnest words, but Margaret kept her eyes out to sea, and her face was inscrutable. " Oh, there is papa, and Scott, too," cried Ella im- pulsively, as they came near to the pier. " How de- lightful I Look, Peggy 1 Oh, how nice it is to see them again I " ibserve in her he was a girl She had done value of the show her the [entle, upright itest influence 1 no means of ; best. eak cheerfully, meet again, at , 1 do trust that ill do your best lemcmber that d for Him, and in a napkin as :alent, is to wil- may be given." J by the gover- her eyes out to • cried Ella im- ier. " How de- it is to see them 'look, PEGGY ! OH, HOW NICE IT IS TO SEE THEM ACiAIN '. '" [I'age l3. CHAPTER III. London. DISILLUSION. I ELL, Peggy, you have grown. Why, you are quite a woman." So said Mr, Keith to his daughter, as they drove from the station on the evening of her arrival from He regarded her as he spoke with an affec- tionate and keenly solicitous glance, anxious — per- haps more anxious than he knew — to feel satisfied that their only daughter, the child of their later life, had really come home at last to be the comfort and the. help to them they had long hoped for. He could not but be proud of her ; he had thought, as he saw her step from the train, that she carried herself with a cer- tain pride and distinction which put the little daughter of the well-known advocate quite in the shade. He had exchanged a few pleasant words with Mr. Dai- ry mple, thanked him in his own sincere and straight- forward manner for his kindness in looking after his daughter, and now he was glad to have her to himself He was conscious of an odd desire on his own part to keep Margaret entirely within their own circle, to try and make her find her chief interest and happiness in their little home. And as he looked at her hand- "9 20 A STORMY VOVAGEK. some, striking face, which had in its expression all the decision and character of a woman of thirty, he began to fear that perhaps it might not be quite so easy as he had anticipated. Certainly this last year of Mar- garet's school life had wrought in her a very great change. " I do not think you are looking very well, papa," she said, presently, glancing up at him with real affec- tion in her eyes. She was very fond of her father, as indeed .she well might be. He had never been any- thing but the fondest and most indulgent parent to her. Any little conflict of temper had invariably been with her mother. " I am a little run down," he said, feeling his heart warmed by her glance. " We have had quite a busy season, and the heat has been a little unusual this month ; but we are going down to North Berwick the day after to-morrow, and we shall be there, I expect, till the end of August. That ought to do us all good." " To North Berwick ! " exclaimed Margaret, with sparkling eyes ; " oh, that will be delightful ! Why, the Dalrymples are going there ; they have a house near the beach. I am awfully glad we are going to North Berwick. What made you think of it, papa } " " Oh, well, we were really undecided between North Berwick and St. Andrews, and the difference in the speed of the trains really settled the matter ; for, of course, I may have to come up now and then. Then it will be very nice for your cousin George to come down from a Saturday till Monday, and there is a very good morning train from North Berwick." " Oh ! " said Margaret indifferently ; " but you haven't yet told me how mamma is." " She is very well, I am glad to say, and looking DISILLUSION. 'i\ forward to having you at home. It has been rather a trial to us to let you be away for two whole years, Peggy, seeing you are our one ewe lamb." •* Yes, I think it is rather nice to come home again, but I hope I shall not be dull. Do you think I shall be dull, papa } " She looked round at him with an innocent and questioning look which rather surprised him. " My dear, I hope not. There is no reason why you should be dull ; although your mother and I are getting on, we have still some sympathy with young people, and we do not mean to shut you up." " Oh, I am glad to hear that ; but you know, papa, I think it would be rather difficult to shut me up. Don't you think so ? " Her expression changed to one of archness, which seemed more natural to her than the guileless questioning. " And how is George ? Is the bald spot on his head getting any bigger ? " she asked presently, with a scarcely perceptible curl of her lip. " My dear, I was not aware he had a bald spot." " Oh, papa, how can you say that ! Why, last year when I was home, it was quite as big as half a crown. I think it is positively dreadful in a young man to have a bald spot at six-and-twenty. Why, think what he will be like in ten years. I think I see it, the shiny surface with an elegant little fringe all round." " Now, Peggy, I can't allow you to make game of George in that way ; he is a very good fellov/. I really do not know what I should do without him. But here we are, and there is mother at the window." Peggy looked up and threw a kiss, then jumped from the cab and entered the side door with what appeared to be a great deal of unnecessary haste. a A SToAWfi' lOVAGEk. '^ % t ii iii i* ■■\ I m She was very strong and lithe ; and although she ran up the two long flights of stairs without a pause, she had scarcely to stop to take a breath on the landing. Her mother met her at the door and folded her in her arms, in a very close, motherly embrace. " I did not come down, dearie," she said fondly, " because I had a little idea that I should like to meet you just at the door. Welcome home again. Thank God, there will be no more coming and going, I hope, for a very long time." "All right, mother. Too bad of me, wasn't it, to run up like this, and leave poor old dad to see to the luggage } But, mind you, I have not seen you for a whole year. How nice it is to see you again ! and you are not a bit changed ! Oh, isn't it close in this house } " " Close } I don't think so, dear. All the windows are open ; but we have had very hot weather lately. It has been almost impossible to keep cool anywhere." " Oh, I think it is close and stuffy and so small," said Margaret, with a little shrug of her shoulders. " But I must not b grumbling already. I am awfully hungry, and I hope you have got a substantial tea ready for me." " Indeed we have, and I am glad to hear you con- fessing to hunger. It makes me feel that you are only a school-girl after all, though I must say you are rather formidable to look at. Why didn't you tell us that you had grown so tall } " " Why, I did not know it myself, mother," said Margaret good-humouredly. " Well, it is nice to get back home," she said, as she went through the open door into the dining-room, and surveyed its homely and familiar surroundings. " Pleasant windows, anyhow, mother, although the house is stuffy. Oh, I DISILLUSION. «3 Am so awfully glad we arc goinjj down to North Ber- wick ; you can't think, I could positively dance a jig." " Don't do it, Margaret, my dear, but come and get your things off. I have a nice little surprise for you : your father has had your room all done up, papered and newly furnished throughout, and it is as pretty a nest as any girl could wish." She led the way with pleasure and pride to the pretty room which they had t !:en so much interest in preparing against her return. It was certainly a very dainty and harmonious nest, the cool blue of the colouring being most refreshing to the eye. " It really is very pretty, mother," Margaret agreed at once, " and I cannot think how papa and you ever thought of anything so exquisite. Why, I could not have done it better myself." At this gracious praise Mrs. Keith could not forbear a smile. She was rather amused at Margaret's little airs, at her assumption of superior knowledge and worldly wisdom, regarding it all indulgently as but the little excrescences of an undeveloped character, not dreaming how deep a hold they already had on the girl's nature. Once or twice as they sat at tea, listening to the girl's constant talk, she was conscious of a great and growing surprise, not unmingled with a slight apprehension and dismay ; for Margaret did not speak like a school-girl, but like a travelled and ex- perienced woman of the world, and it struck her mother — who, though she had lived all her life in quiet place", was both shrewd and correct in her judgments — that there might be occasion for some considerable anxiety before her future destiny should be decided. Her father was only amused by her clever and smart chatter of people and things. He was by nature un- 34 A STORMY I'OVAGER. suspicious and easy-going, and he had no doubt what- ever in his mind but that Margaret would be amenable to their authority and advice after she had been under home influences for some little time. It had been the girl's own desire to go to Switzerland with her great friend Ella Dalrymple, who was her most intimate school companion in Edinburgh ; and as the Keiths were people of means, there seemed no reason why she should not have her wish gratified, especially as it was desirable that they should give her every possible advantage in their power. After tea, Margaret and her mother left him to smoke his mild evening cigar, and enjoy the paper, while they went to unpack Margaret's boxes. " Sha'n't I want some new things for the seaside, mamma ? " she asked. "You know these old things are quite out of date, and shabby to the last degree. It is a very smr'-t place, and I expect we shall be seeing a lot of the Dalrymples." « Oh, are they at North Berwick ? " " Why, yes, don't you remember, mamma, they have a house there } " " Well, I daresay your father will get you what you want to-morrow. Mrs. Dalrymple was not in London, I suppose, meeting Ella ? " " No, only Mr. Dalrymple and Scott ; but he did not come down with us. He is having his holidays," re- plied Margaret carelessly. " I had a lovely time with them ; I was at the theatre last night, and then we stayed all night in the Charing Cross Hotel." " They have been very kind to you, dear," re^^lied her mother, " and we must try and repay them in some way. Perhaps we may have an opportunity at the seaside, or even after we return home. Are you really not sorry that your schooldays are over, Peggy .? " DIS/LLUSfON. >$ " No, glad. I hope I am going to have a good time now I am home, mamma." " Well, dear, it depends on what you mean by a good time. Suppose you give me a little definition of it ? " " Oh, well, you know what girls call a good time. You must remember what you liked yourself when you were young. I want to have pretty clothes, and go to dances, and have no end of fun," replied Margaret rather vaguely. " Aren't you tired of this pokey little house ? " *' Tired of this house, Peggy > No : I shall never tire of this house ; it is the dearest in the world to me. I do not think I could be happy out of it." " Oh ! but, mamma, nobody lives above a shop now- adays except quite common people," said Peggy, sitting down on the bed and folding her arms rather aggressively across her chest. " Don't you think that we might wheedle papa into moving into a larger house ? " " You will have to wheedle me first, my dear," replied Mrs. Keith good-naturedly, but with a degree of firmness which might have convinced Margaret that she enter- tained a forlorn hope. " Oh, I think I can manage that — at least, I will try. Just think, mother, if we want to be intimate with the Dalrymples and people like them, how can we expect them to come and see us hsre } " " But do we want to be intimate with the Dalrymples, Peggy } " " Well, I do. . Ella is my dearest friend, and I like them all very much. I think, perhaps, I am just a little afraid of Mrs. Dairy mple ; she is so ver>' haughty. She always makes you feel that she has aristocratic relations, and I am quite sure that she won't come and see us here." '* Well, if she won't, she can stay at home," replied Mrs. Keith placidly ; and her tone indicated that so far a6 A STOhWlv vny,\(iEh\ Vil as she was concerned that settled the matter. " EiU has been to see you in this house before now, and if her friendship is worth having, she will come again." *' Rut, mamma, just think how nice it would be to have a big house and a lovely garden, and no horrid stairs like we have here. It would be far better for papa, too. Everybody knows how unhealthy it is to live above shops," And her mother was amazed at the rapidity with which she brought forward her arguments — thus show- ing that she had long pondered the question, and studied every possible objection that could be made to it. " Well, we need not be arguing about that the first night you have come home, Peggy," replied her mother good-humouredly. " Get out your things till I see what state they are in. I think I am rather sorry that you have come back to us so very much grown-up and so altered in every respect." " But, mamma, don't you think I am improved ? Everybody says so," said Margaret, with a significant glance at the mirror, which certainly reflected a very pleasing and striking picture. " Mr. Dairy mple says he never saw anybody so much improved." " I have no fault to find with your looks, bairn," replied her mother, " but that is not everything ; mind that beauty is but skin deep." " It is very pleasant to have, all the same," replied Margaret quickly, " and I mean to make the most of it." These words occasioned the mother's heart a distinct pang. Simple-minded and womanly to the core herself, she could not bear to hear such a sentiment fall, even though it might be in jest, from her child's lips. " Hush, bairn, I do not like you to speak like that t)isn.t.ustoN. V Vour father vvuuld not br plrascd if he heard you. What we want Is a dear, helpful, womanly bairn to be a comfort to us in our age, though we shall not be against you marrying one day, when the right man comes along. George will be in to sec you to-night." Perhaps it was indiscreet of Mrs. Keith to connect these two thoughts so obviously. Peggy was quick enough to catch their significance, and she turned to her mother with a look which had more of defiance in it than anything else. "Now, mamma, just be honest with me," she said, a trifle imperiously. " Is that the little plan — yours and papa's, I mean — to marry me to George Keith, and settle me down here in deadly dulness for evermore ? For if it is, I may just as well tell you frankly to begin with that it won't work." " Dear me, child, what are you saying, and who are you talking to } " asked Mrs. Keith ; but rather faintly, for she felt convicted in her fault, and fault it certainly was in Margaret's eyes. " I did not mean to be rude, mamma dear," said Margaret more gently ; " but mind, I am not a baby, and am not going to have my life ordered for me in any such fashion. I can't stand George Keith except at a very respectable distance, and I am not going to have him, or any other man, thrown at my head." With which very pronounced expression of opinion Margaret proceeded to toss her garments out of her trunk to the floor, and her mother stood quite still, looking on dumbly, and feeling that in twelve months Peggy had developed strength of mind and decision of character to a very extraordinary degree. She felt rather helpless, contemplating the future, and wondered what its issues would be for one and all. : (4 • m I CHAPTER IV. AN UNBIASSED OPINION. EORGE KEITH had been in a much- disturbed state of mind since his conversa- tion with his uncle. He had, in a moment of impulse and emotion, given a promise, which, after some consideration, he felt almost inclined to regret. He had not that absolute distaste and hatred of business which one finds in so many of the heroes of fiction, nay, he even liked it up to a certain point. His mind was active and methodical, and there was a certain pleasure in being at the wheel of a great concern, and seeing it moving smoothly and successfully under his guiding hand. Then he was shrewd enough to appreciate the value of money, and he knew very well that, as a going concern, the house of Keith & Co. was worth thousands, and that many, even of his own ac- quaintances, would consider that he had met with an extraordinary stroke of good fortune in having had such an offer made to him. But it did not fill him with any great elation. He knew very well the exigencies of a business house ; the drain it makes upon the mental and physical powers of the man at its head ; the never-ending worry and sense of responsi- 28 AN UNBIASSED OPINION. 29 bility, for which the making of a large income scarcely compensates. He had watched its effect upon his uncle, especially in his later years, and he had often thought that the man who lived in a quieter way of life, who owed, perhaps, his modest salary to another, was more to be envied. The proposal which he had so lately accepted, his uncle being so reticent always concerning his future plans and hopes, came upon him at a time when he was even less prepared for it than usual. During the years he had been in the business he had saved a considerable sum out of his liberal salary, and he had come within very measurable distance of the ambition of his life, which was to begin a course of study at the University. What was to be the outcome of this study he had no very clear or fixed idea ; his bent of mind was literary, and he had written a good deal, although nothing as yet which he had considered good enough to pass the bar of his own critical judg- ment. He knew very well that, having accepted the offer made to him by his uncle, he had renounced the most cherished ambition of his life, and that henceforth his best energies of mind and body would undoubtedly be absorbed by the business of which he was about to become one of the heads. His uncle, of course, medi- tated retirement ; gradually, perhaps, and yet as speedily as possible. Nor could he blame him ; he was now approaching the limit of the allotted span. The immedi- ate sacrifice demanded by th's new condition of ihings entirely engrossed his thoughts that night and the whole of the next day, although the matter was not again mentioned between his uncle and himself. If he had not forgotten the few words spoken about his cousin Margaret, and the possibilities the future might hold 30 A STORMY VOYAGER. concerning hinn and her, they were, at least, not upper- most in his mind. The one absorbing gigantic thought before him was that in a moment his dear ambition had been quenched, and that he might consider himself bound for life to the treadmill of business. Before Mr. Keith left the shop to meet his daughter at the rtation, he invited him to come up in the evening and see her. This the young man did not forget ; but immediately the shop was closed he set off, walking rapidly westward, with the air of a man who has an object in view. The eight o'clock bells were pealing as he ascended the steps of a house in Manor Place, on the door of which a brass plate bore the name of the Rev. John Chisholm. He scarcely expected to find him at home ; but it was a Friday evening, and the clergyman was engaged in his study, although not too much en- grossed to be pleased to see George Keith. He was not only a useful and energetic member of his own Kirk-Session, but a young man in whom he took the liveliest possible interest, and for whom, indeed, he had a very deep and warm regard. The minister of St. Barnabas Parish Church v^as "x man considerably past middle age, and his appearance gave but small indication of the great intellect and the enormous spiritual power which made his name beloved in his native city and revered abroad. His figure was undersized and attenuated, which caused his head, with its leonine locks grown grey upon the temples, to look abnormally large. He had strong, even harsh features ; in its repose his face was scarcely one calculated to attract, but rather to repel. But in the depths of his liquid grey eyes a great tenderness dwelt, and his voice, in its softer tones, was as sweet as a woman's ; yet that voice could thunder through a great hall when Ai\' UA'BJAS6ED OPINION. 31 its possessor was moved by righteous indignation to smite some great wrong with his words of fire. He turned upon his study chair when Keith entered the room ; and his pleasant smile was not lacking, although he was interrupted now for the fifth time since he closed his study door. " I must apologise, Mr. Chisholm," the young man said quickly. " I know that you are very much engaged to-night, but you will believe that I would not intrude upon you in the ordinary way. I want somebody to talk to." Mr. Chisholm espied trouble in the young man's eye, and laying a sheet of blotting-paper above his manu- script, he leaned his elbow upon it, and looked at him keenly and kindly while he motioned him to a chair. " Sit down, my dear fellow. You know I am very glad to see you. I do not think that I have ever seen you look so worried in all the years of your life as you look now. What has happened V " Nothing ; at least nothing which a man could possibly call a worry or a trouble, and yet I think it is moie of a trouble to me than anything else. Last night my uncle offered me a partnership in the business, and I, not seeing my way out, accepted it." " Well, and what of that } It is not more than you deserve," said Mr. Chisholm heartily. " Well, but you don't understand, sir," said Keith. " It means that I shall have to devote my life to the thing. My uncle has very much failed of late ; it has vexed me more than I can tell to see it, and I rather think he contemplates a speedy retirement. A busi- ness like ours takes it out of a man, I can tell you — all the best of him, anyhow — and I may say good-bye to the other for ever." T $ 32 A STORMY VOYAGER. ■'i t ill " To the literary ambitions, eh ? " said Mr. Chisholm, with a kindly, genial smile. " Ah, well, better a bird in the hand than two in the bush ; and it is just possible that you may find time even still to further them. They can be the recreations of your leisure hours." Keith perceived that though the minister had all along sympathised with his dreams and ambitions, that he did not quite apprehend the vastness of his disap- pointment, and he could not find any words for a few minutes. In the brief silence Mr. Chisholm continued to look at him steadily, understanding him a great deal better than he thought. There was something in his honest, troubled face which moved him, and he felt his heart go out to him in a rush of sympathy which quite astonished himself. " I see that you are keenly disappointed, my dear lad," he began, and the tone of his voice vibrated with a new feeling which instantly communicated itself to George Keith, and commanded his attention. '* I am older than you, and I have seen a great deal. I am entirely in sympathy with the ambitions which have been and are still so dear to you. I know that you are interested in higher things, that you are a book lover, and a student of human nature, and that if the choice were left to you, you would probably elect to devote yourself to the literary and student life ; but as a man of the world, in its wider sense, I must point out to you the risks you run if you take up such a pre- carious profession. There are thousands in the field to-day who would gladly exchange their present anxieties for a position such as yours. The higher life is not incompatible with the business one, and, for my own part, I feci inclined to heartily rejoice over this »s AN UNBIASSED OPINION. 33 new development in your affairs, because after a time when you have the routine of the business entirely under your own command, I see nothing to hinder you from continuing your other career." George Keith's face considerably brightened. There was no man in the whole city on whose judgment he so absolutely relied as Mr. Chisholm's, because he knew him to possess such extensive knowledge and such wide experience that his opinion, even on the most trifling subject, carried instant wjight. Suddenly, as he sat listening to those grave, kindly, comforting words, the other matter which had come up in the course of his conversation with his uncle occurred to him, and he felt a sudden and strange desire to confide this also to the man before him. The same thought, however, caused him to redden and to look a trifle uncomfortable, which Mr. Chisholm was not slow to observe. " Well," he said quickly, " do you not approve of what I have said, or do you think my judgment at fault?" " Oh, no ; I am very grateful, and I take great com- fort from youi words," he said quickly. " I do not know what tempts me to tell you all this, unless it be your keen and never-failing sympathy with everybody who comes to you.. You know that my uncle has only one child — a daughter, i think it is part of his plan that I should marry her." The minister smiled, and watched for the next words. " She is very young, of course — a mere schoolgirl, in fact ; she only returns home this evening from school. I had not intended to marry," he said, " because I think that somehow a man who does not 34 A STORMY VOYAGER. !1 ■! marry can concentrate his attention more successfully on any object he has in view." The smile broadened on the clergyman's face. " I am a bachelor myself," he said, with a little quizzical note in his voice, " but all the same I do not agree with you, George. I will tell you what my opinion is. Although I shall n«ver myself marry now, I consider that without a wife a man's character and life are incomplete. It takes the two to make a per- fect whole, and the man whom circumstances compels to remain unmarried, suffers in innumerable ways from the deprivation, and can never — I am convinced of it — can never rise to the height to which he might have risen ; in fact, to the height the Creator intended." George Keith was astonished at the warmth and eloquence with which the minister spoke. He had never before heard him express any views on the marriage question, and these words were, of course, intensely interesting to him. " Then you think I might do worse than fall in with all my uncle's arrangements," he said, as he rose to his feet, feeling that he had taken up enough of the clergy- man's valuable time. " Ah, I would not say that, my boy. One thing I hope I need not impress upon you, and that is that a marriage of convenience or one entered upon from motives of self-interest or of prudence is about the most fatal step a man can make. The first and most absolute essential is love, and I would hope, my dear lad, that this love will only be awakened in your heart by a worthy woman, who will be the complement of your higher nature, and help you in the upward way." The solemnity with which these words were uttered sank deep into George Keith's mind, and long after, AN UNBIASSED OPINION. 35 when the deep and bitter waters of experience had rolled over him, they recurred to his mind with pain- ful vividness. " You will come here again one night and let us talk the matter over. I must not ask you to stay now, because I am very busy. And you know that I have your best interests at heart, and that 1 will not fail to ask guidance for you from the Source of all true help." With these words ringing in his ears, Keith walked back by way of the gardens to his uncle's house. It was a lovely evening, and he felt tempted to sit down for a few minutes and enjoy the sweet fragrance of the air, and the exquisite beauty of the scene. The sun had set, and its radiance still lingered on the rugged face of the Castle rock and on the green slopes ; the windows in the grey battlements shone like so many eyes of fire, and the sky above the beautiful city was clear as crystal, in which already could be discerned the faint glimmer of the stars. He did not know how long he sat there : the exquisite stillness of the air and the beauty of the scene seemed to lay a hush upon his spirit. He was conscious of a curious reluctance, such as he had never before felt, to enter his uncle's house, but when nine o'clock pealed from the church bells he roused himself and walked quietly the few steps to the familiar door. They were sitting by the open window in the dining-rcom, and they saw him ^ross the street. Margaret, who now displayed a very critical attitude towards most persons and things, confided to her mother that she did not think that George had at all improved in appearance, and that he did not walk like a gentleman, although in her secret heart she i \\i ! 36 A STORMY VOYAGER. rather admired him as he came across the road at a swinging, easy gait, holding himself squarely, like a man who knew his own worth. He was familiar enough in the house to require no announcement, and therefore walked straight into the room where the two ladies sat, Mr. Keith having had to go out to attend a committee meeting. Margaret had changed her travelling gown for a white skirt and a silk blouse of an exquisite yellow shade, which became her rarely. When she rose with rather an indifferent air upon her face to greet her cousin, he was at once struck by the great change in her appearance. Margaret was a woman now ; there was nothing of the girl either in her appearance or manner as she held out her hand with rather a languid smile to meet her cousin's warm, brotherly grip. Mrs. Keith watched their meeting with the most intense interest. She had had a good deal of talk with Margaret during the last two hours, and her mind was a strange chaos of surprise, not unmingled with dismay. " Well, George, I see you look much the same as ever," said Margaret banteringly ; " a little stouter, I think, and oh, do let me see whether the bald spot has grown any bigger ! " Now George Keith was by no means a sensitive man. A year ago he would have laughed at such words, and would probably have found something teasing to say in reply ; but he could not for the life of him help colouring a little, and wishing that she would be a little le=s personal in her remarks. He took the seat to wnich she rather condescendingly pointed him opposite her in the window,, and she, in no way disconcerted proceeded with her comments AN UNBIASSED OPINION. 37 on the passers-by. She had most of the talk to her- self, and her cousin's eyes seldom left her face. Her beauty bewildered him ; and before he had left luc house that night he was a man of one idea and one desire. The only thing which seemed of the slightest importance to him in connection with that momentous talk he had had with his uncle, was the possibility that he might one day have Margaret for his wife. .r" f n 1 i h T 1 !'' 1 r; tl '1; 1 ;; ^ t 1 ii ^ Lj CHAPTER V. A LITTLE UNDERSTANDING. ARGARET KEITH entered her mother's room about four o'clock on a dull October day, dressed for a walk. It was Mrs. Keith's custom to He down every afternoon with a favourite book or paper, but as she did not sleep, no orders were given that she was to be left undisturbed. Margaret looked well ; the keen northern climate admirably suited her health, and the east wind could work her no harm, but only brought a richer bloom than usual to her cheek. She was well and most becom- ingly dressed in a gown of bright crimson serge, with a braided coat and a black velvet hat with ostrich plumes ; a handsome girl, at whom most women and all men looked twice. " Well, dear, are you going for your walk > " her mother asked, raising herself on her elbow a little to get a better view of her. " I can't believe that such a woman grown is my little Peggy." Every day, indeed, Mrs. Keith was more and more struck by Margaret's maturity, not only in appearance, but in mind and thought. She spoke and acted more like a woman of thirty than a girl of eipiiteen. 38 A LITTLE UNDERSTANDING. 30 ** I am going down to the Dalrymplcs, mamma," she replied. " This is their At Home day." She sat down on the side of the bed and looked into her mother's face, quite expecting the remonstrance which came. " But, Peggy, we have been home six weeks and more, and it strikes me you have been a good many times to Heriot Row, but none of them have been here." " I know," said Margaret, giving her dainty boot a sullen little tap on the floor, " and I am really going down to-day just to see whether they want to cut me or not. I rather think, mamma, that they do." " Well, if you think that, and I must say I agree with you, I would rather you did not go, Peggy," said Mrs. Keith, who, although one of the gentlest and best of women, was not without her own proper pride. " We are not owing anything to the Dalrymples, nor needing anything of them, that I am aware of. It doesn't do to make yourself too cheap in this world, lassie." " It is not Ella's fault, mamma," said Margaret stoutly ; " if it is anybody's, I think it is Maud's ; she is simply an abominable girl." " Hush ! it is no use calling her names, Peggy. If you do not like a person leave him or her alone, and say nothing ; that is my creed, and I have found it answer very well. When you came home first I tried to explain to you some of our Edinburj,'h ways. You know that as things are at present, the Dalrymples cannot be expected to consider us good enough society for them, and the sooner 3 ju see it yourself the better." Margaret knit her brows, and looked rebellious. None knew better than she the truth of her mother's words ; nevertheless, they were as gall and wormwood to her, and she could not bear to admit their truth. 40 A STORMY yoVAGEK. 1-1 " I consider myself quite as [ 'X)d as any Dalrymple that ever lived," she said. " Hut, mamma, as long as we live in this horrid, pokey old flat, we shall never have any society worth cultivating, and I really think that, for my sake, papa ought to move." " He won't, my dear," replied her mother quietly, but firmly, " nor shall I. I am too fond of my old home to leave it for such a trifle. The people who won't come to see us because we live in a flat and keep one servant are very welcome to stop away ; I want none of them, nor does your father. Wc have plenty of friends who are willing to come and see us for our own sakes." " Old fogeys, mt st of them," said Margaret, as she sprang up, her lip curling a little, and feeling that in- ward irritation which was always the result of a talk with her mother on this and kindred topics. She was beginning to prove, indeed, that though she was very self-willed and determined, there was a quiet firmness in the depths of her parents' natures against which she might beat in vain. " Still I am sure they were very agreeable when we were at North Berwick," she said petulantly, as she shook out her skirt and smoothed the long fur boa round her neck ; " and I think it is simply abominable of them, the way. they have behaved since we came home ; but I will be at t!ie bottom of it this afternoon." So saying, she left the house, and walked quickly . down the steep incline to Heriot Row. Several carriages stood at the door of the advocate's house. Mrs. Dalrymple only received once a month, and, as a rule, had a large gathering of friends and acquaintances on that day. Margaret glanced with envy at the well-appointed equipages, with their wait- ing servants, and then at the tall, imposing mansion, A UTTI.E VShERSTAStttSCf. 4» with its pillared doorway, and drew an inward contrast between these outward signs and her own way of life, as she went upstairs to the drawing-room. Her friend Klia was not to be seen ; Mrs. Dairy mpie, a tall, dark, rather haughty-looking woman, gave her a distant bow and the tips of two very frigid fingers. Her manner and look said as plainly as words could have said that she was neither desirable nor welcome there. The eldest daughter, Maud, who was the exact, if more youthful, prototype of her mother, did not by any means take the edge off that chilly greeting. Between her and Margaret Keith there had always existed a certain antipathy, whi' h neither had taken the slightest trouble to overcome. Margaret, feeling herself distinctly an uninvited and unwelcome guest, sat down uncomfortably on the edge of a chair, bitterly disappointed because Ella was not in the room. No introductions were made. A servant brought her in due course a cup of tea, and during the ten minutes she remained, only two remarks were made to her by Mrs. Dalrymple, although a talkative old lady on the settee beside her somewhat relieved the iciness of the atmosphere. She went downstairs in a furious rage with everybody and everything, feeling that she had been most shamefully snubbed and insulted, and long- ing for some opportunity to take her revenge. It was now about five o'clocl: ; and the day being dull and cloudy, the early twilight was already be- ginning to darken over the city. A few steps from the door she saw a familiar figure in the distance, which caused her heart to beat a little faster, and the sweet, bright colour to flood her cheeks. It wa? a young man of good figure and well-featured, if rather empty face, the only son of the house of Dalrymple. '»/« 44 A STORMY VOYAGER. He was immaculately dressed in a frock coat and silk hat, his tie was the latest colour and pattern, and his breast-pin the liewest thing out. He carried a dainty cane in his well-^^loved hand, and was altogether a very fine-looking fellow in his own estimation and in the eyes of Margaret Keith. He was very fair, with a ruddy complexion, and thick, closely-cropped yellow hair, but there was nothing either striking or parti- cularly winning in bis face ; indeed, it vas rather weak in exprei?ston, and his blue eyes had a shifty expression in them which indicated a somewhat un- reliable character and disposition. It must be admitted that he looked as genuinely pleased to see Margaret as she was to see him, and their meeting was rather warmer than is common between mere acquaintances. " Hallo ! " he said familiarly, " have you been at my mother's crush } I wish I had known, I would have sacrificed myself, although I hate the blessed thing, and take care not to let them know if I happen to be in before it is over." " Yes, I have been," she said quickly, unable to hide the humiliation from which she was still smarting, " and I have been terribly sat on. I want to know what it means, Scott. If Ella had been in, I should certainly have asked her, but your mother and Maud simply froze me. Have I done anything to offend them ? " Scott tugged at the ends of his yellow moustache rather ruefully for a moment. " Oh, no, you would just imagine that. Mother is always rather tall at her monthly blow out, and Maud is nothing if not an exact copy of the mater. I should not mind them, and I daresay it was half imagination, anyhow. But where is Ella } " fe A LITTLE UXDERSTANDISG. ^^ " They never told me, and I did not dare to ask. I think they treated me shamefully," said Margaret still hotly ; and Scott looked at her with increased admira- tion, thinking how well the bright warm colour in her cheek became her, and what a remarkably handsome girl she was. " You don't mind me walking a bit with you, I suppose.^" he said with a pleading air, which some- what made up to Margaret for what she had just undergone. " Oh, no, I don't mind it at all," she said readily, " but if your mother or Maud happened to look out of the window, you may wish when you go home that you hadn't done it." " Oh, go on," said the young man, giving the pave- ment an impatient tap with the end of his cane. " Do you know you are looking awfully well to-day ? I really never saw anybody so handsome as you are ; you beat Princes Street all to sticks." *' Nonsense," retorted Margaret, but greatly pleased. " It is extremely rude to make such personal remarks, and if you continue them, I don't think I shall allow you to walk another step with me. But if wc go up here we shall certainly meet your father. Isn't it about his time for coming home } " " He is driving to-day ; he has got a cold. Anyhow, it doesn't matter. I am my own master, I hope, and can talk to whom I like ; besides, I am sure the governor would only compliment me on my good taste." Now, had Margaret been a little older, or had more knowledge of men and things, it is probable that she would have resented the tone of this young man's remarks ; but she was in that sore and smarting mood r ' <; ! 1^^ I 1 , 44 A STORMY yoVAGEli. which made pleasant and complimentary remarks fall with particularly soothing effect upon her ears. So she only blushed a little and smiled, well pleased. " I have seen awfully little of Ella since we came back from North Berwick," she began presently, as they turned their faces towards Princes Street, " and I am nearly sure that I am right, that it is your mother who is trying to put a stop to it." " Oh, come now, I can't have you saying that," said Scott quickly, although he knew very well that her suspicions were absolutely correct, his mother having strictly laid down the law concerning all comings and goings between them and the Keith household. " I do wish those North Berwick days could have lasted for ever, they were so jolly," said Margaret. " I positively hate Edinburgh. I don't think there is a worse place to live in, and the people are simply abominable, so stuck up, and so— oh, everything that is horrid." Margaret was much addicted to the use of forcible language, and the young man walking by her side rather liked to listen to it. It was his opinion that Margaret Keith never looked better than when in an angry or irritable mood, which she very often was. " Surely there are some decent people left in it," he said indulgently ; " but I must say I agree with you, it is a beastly slow place. I have just had an awful row with the governor this afternoon." " Have you ? " asked Margaret, with interest. " What about ? " " Oh, several things. He does not think I am walk- ing in the way I should go ; but, as I told him, he can't expect a young fellow to keep his nose to the grind- stone for ever, like an old fogey. And he can't expect A LITTLE UNDERSTANDING. 4S my beastly screw to keep me ; why, it hardly pays for a fellow's gloves and ties." " You have a good many, I should think," said Mar- garet, with a glance at these immaculate articles of his attire. " I do not think I have ever seen you twice wearing the same tie." " I never should wear the same tie twice, if I could help," he admitted with an air of pride. " I must say I like to be well dressed. A fellow owes it to himself. Don't you like good clothes yourself.' " " Indeed I do ; I don't get half so many as I should like." " Why don't you walk into the place and bag what you want } " he asked. " I have my father and my cousin George to reckon with. He is a partner now, you know, and gives him- self airs." " Oh, but I should not think he would be difficult to put down," said Scott with a gentle sarcasm. " Rather a common little cad, isn't he } " Now, though Margaret never lost an opportunity of snubbing her cousin, and of speaking slightingly of him in her own home, she very much resented the tone of Scott Daliymple's remark. " No, indeed, he is nothing of the sort ; he is very gentlemanly," she said quickly, " and awfully clever ; far cleverer than you, for instance." " He might easily be that, and have nothing to boast of," replied the young man carelessly. " I make no pretensions to intellect. As 1 told the governor this afternoon, I can't help it although I have only a middle-class intellect ; I am not responsible for it. But don't let us waste our time, Peggy ; suppose we take a little stroll in the gardens," 46 A STORMY VOYAGER. " Oh, I don't think I ought. We might meet any- body," said Margaret quickly, and yet with a certain hesitation which showed that a little persuasion w. . all that she required. " And what about it, supposing we should meet anybody ? I don't suppose it is one of the seven deadly sins to walk in Princes Street Gardens, is it } " " Well, some people might think it was for y ■ and me," said Margaret, with a shy little laugh. " Let them think what they jolly well please. We don't see so much of each other that we can afford to let an opportunity slip. I have ever so many things I want to say to you, Peggy ; things I have been dying to say since we were at North Berwick. I am rather in low water at present, anyhow, and 1 want somebody to sympathise with me." " I think you very well off, if you ask me," said Margaret, a trifle gloomily. " I have a pretty hard time of it, and unless existence brightens a little for me through the winter, I shall be saying that life is hardly worth living." " Oh, I manage to extract a good bit of fun out of existence, but I never have any funds, and I am always being jumped on by the governor ; that is the beastly bore. He got a bill this morning which put his back up, and I doubt he will have a few more before he has done with them. But a fellow must have his fling." " But all old people are like that," said Margaret ; " they forget all about their own youth, and expect us to fall in with their prosy old ways. My father and mother are very kind and all that, but they are just the same ; and sometimes I get awfully sick of my life.'* •' I will tell you what, Peggy, if you and I had the A UTTLE UNDERSTANDING. 47 funds, we would go the pace together," observed Scott cheerfully, as he helped her across the busy street, and held open a little gate which gave entrance to the gardens. Margaret coloured, and in the semi-darkness her eyes shont To hear him thus couple their names and interests made hc«" foolish heart beat, and in a moment all <-he future scenvv I gilded with new and lovely promise. Soon the young man by her side turned and looked at her curiously, struck by her most unusual silence. He had made such speeches to a dozen girls in his time ; it was one of his amusements to make love to every pretty face he met — that .s, when he re- ceived any encouragement to do so. Margaret Keith had interested him a good deal more and a good deal longer than any girl he had yet met, but his shallow nature was incapable of anything more than a fleeting attachment, in which was to be found no guarantee for any solid happiness whatsoever. " There is an awfully jolly little seat down here in a nook I discovered one day," he said presently, in his most coaxing voice, not, however, confiding to her that it had been the scene of sundry tender passages between him and other girls; and Margaret, her heart beating fast and sweet with happiness, allowed him to take her hand on his arm, and to lead her to a quiet seat under a spreading tree, where they were entirely secure from observation. " I am really awfully glad to see you to-day, Peggy. It seems ages since we had a little talk," he began, turning to her with his most impressive look and tone ; and really he fancied himself as he spoke very much in love indeed, and every word he uttered was for the time being sincere. 48 A STORMY VOYAGER. ;^'i " I should not have thought you had felt it long," said Margaret nervously, beginning to trace a pattern on the gravel with her smart umbrella. " Now that is too bad of you," said Scott, with quick reproach. " You know I should not dare to come and call at your place. I am not exactly a coward, but I do not think I would be very welcome." It was not very clear to himself why he should not be welcome, and Margaret was not shrewd enough at the moment to put the question to him. " Of course you know, you must have seen long ago how awfully fond I am of you, but of course it would be quit*^ ridiculous for us to think or hope for any proper recogtiition of this fact from our stern parents, in the meantime at least. But you do like me a little, don't you, Peggy > " She gave him no reply in words, but her face was eloquent enough, and he was not slow to read its meaning. " Suppose we just have a little understanding, and be engared on the quiet for a little while. I will tell you all my troubles, and you will tell me all yours, and after a while, when we feel our way a bit, and see the course clear, we can be properly engaged, and then get married. Oh, I wish the governor could hear me speaking about getting married ! " This all sounded very romantic and perfectly feasible to Margaret. There was something specially entranc- ing to her in the thought of a secret understanding with Scott Dalrymple, and she imagined herself so deeply in love with him, that any sacrifice for his sake seemed possible. So she allowed him to talk on, listening to his fond and foolish words as if they had been a new gospel ; and when they parted, they had plighted their troth in a very fervent fashion. As A LITTLE UNDERSTAiSDlNG. 49 Margaret walked home she scarcely felt the earth beneath her feet. In one hour the whole aspect of life had changed for her. As for the young man, the situation rather amused him, nor did it cause him that day, or any other day, one serious thought. I: ill il ' f ! ■t- 1' CHAPTER VI. CARKINC; CARE. It happened that Mr. Grahame Dalrymple, driving home from Parliament House that afternoon, caught an unexpected glimpse of his son and Margaret Keith walking on the terrace of Princes Street Gardens. The spectacle interested, but did not please him. He leaned out of the brougham window, and watched them with a strange, grim smile on his lips. He was a fine-looking man, with a massive head, a square, strong-featured face, and a clean-shaven mouth, which was distinctly stern in repose. He was a man of considerable ability, who had been expected to make his mark at the Scottish Bar ; but he was now within measurable distance of old age, and neither distinction nor honour, nor even freedom from sordid care, had come to him. Although a moderate degree of success had attended him in his practice, his career had been a disappointment to himself and to others ; his life had, indeed, been one long struggle. He belonged to an old Edinburgh family, whose pride had always exceeded their possessions. They had sent a representative to the Scottish Bar for several generations, had been 30 CAKKLWi (ARE. 5« careful never to marry out of their class, and had strictly observed all the conventionalities of a verv conventional circle and period. In a word, they had kept up the traditions of their house for pride and poverty, hiding their great sorrows and anxieties under a mask which the world was never allowed to penetrate. Besides the large house in Heriot Row, they owned a small estate in Midlothian, which was entailed, and mortgaged to the last possible farthing. Grahamc Dalrymple had entered upon a burdened heritage, which his own exertions or good fortune had been powerless to diminish ; and he now found himself past his prime, with an expensive wife and family who did not appear to realise the constant and harassing nature of his many anxieties, and who certainly did nothing at all to lighten them. This somewhat bitter expe- rience had done much to sadden and subdue a naturally bright, pleasant, and cheerful disposition. The wit which had distinguished him in his youth, and made those who enjoyed its brilliant sallies predict for him an exceptional future, was now sadly blunted, and his cases were conducted with sober ability rather than with distinction. He was a devoted husband, and an indulgent father. Nevertheless, his only son had been, and was still, a severe trial to him ; he had always been an idle, fun-loving boy, and although he had received a most expensive education, had turned it to very little account, and was still at four-and- twenty occupying a very subordinate place in the office of a well-known firm of lawyers. Such abilities as he possessed were of the mediocre type, and he had neither industry nor application sufficient to cultivate them. Of late years, also, he had increased the anxiety of his father by taking up with questionable associates $« A STORXfV VOYAGER. iMj 1 outside, and getting himself into various scrapes, from which money was always required to extract him. He was foolishly and wickedly indulged by his mother, who adored him, and saw in her idol no fnult, so that the position and attitude of the father, who deplored his son's conduct, and understood its nature and its consequences so well, was rendered doubly difficult in the house. Therefore when he saw his son idling his time with a young girl to whom he could not possibly offer, even were she a suitable parti, anything more substantial than a small weekly salary and no prospects, the look of anxiety deepened on the advocate's furrowed face, and he passed his hand across his brow with a troubled sigh. The fleet horses, who were among the items Grahame Dalrymple would have dispensed with had he consulted his own simple taste, speedily conveyed him to his own 'door, from which the last carriage had just rolled away. He hung up his hat and coat in the cloak-room, and was about to ring to inquire whether any callers still remained in the drawing-room, when his younger daughter Ella, his pet and darling, indeed, the greatest comfort of his life, entered the house. She flew to him at once, giving him a close embrace and affectionate kiss, without which, whatever the domestic atmosphere, Ella never allowed him to depart. " Oh, daddy, you do looked tired. I wish you would get those dreadful lines smoothed out of your forehead," she said, passing her daintily-gloved hand across his brow. " Why, we shall have an old, old man for our daddy directly. Don't worry." " Sometimes it is not easy, my dear," he said, some- what sadly, and yet his face brightened at the love beaming upon him from the sweet, girlish face of his CARK/NO CARE $3 best beloved. " I should not mind a cup of tea ; just run up and see if all the people have left, and if they have not, you fetch me a cup of tea in the library, will you ? " " Yes, daddy," she said willingly, and ran off upstairs, two steps at a time. Two ladies still remained of the throng which had filled the rooms an hour earlier, and after considerable manoeuvring — because she knew very well that if her mother suspected her father's return home his appear- ance upstairs would be instantly demanded — she secured the cup of tea, and carried it down to the library, remaining beside him while he drank it, sootu.*ng and diverting him with her gay, girlish chatter. " When these ladies have gone, Ella, just tell your mother I want to see her down here," said Mr. Dalrymplc, taking out a cigar and preparing to enjoy, if possible, half an hour's leisure. Ella nodded and ran off, meeting the departing guests in the hall. A few minutes later Mrs. Dalrymple joined her husband in his own sanctum. She looked very handsome and stately in her rich reception gowii, and the advocate glanced at her with an involuntary gleam of admiration in his eyes, thinking how well she wore, and how youthful she looked still after six-and- twenty years of married life. " Well, have you had a crush, Maud > " he asked, knowing that some such question would be expected of him. " Yes, a good many. Ella said you wanted to speak to me. I hope you are not going to worry me, Grahame, because I am worried enough already. Cook gave warning this morning, and I have just discovered that that wretched Jane, whom we have trusted so implicitly, has been pilfering from me wholesale." S4 /t STOhWfV VOYAGE R. ! I' I ; ,! i; W: .(!' " I am sf)rry, dear, especially as I fear I must proceed to worry you further. Sit down ; there is something we have ^ot to talk over, Maud, whether we like it or not." Mrs. Dalrymple looked resigned but nut alarmed She was accustomed to say that her husoand was fond of making mountains out of mole-hills. She had not his fine sense of honour, neither did she regard life from his point of view. So long as she was warmly clothed and fed, and could keep up the prestige of her position without any special effort of discomfort, she could be tolerably content and happ)'. She saw no good in constantly worrying because things did not turn out just exactly as one would like them. It was a very comfortable doctrine, which accounted for her youthful appearance, and her clear, fair, smooth, and unruffled face. Such an attitude of mind, however, was impossible to her husband. " I want to talk to you about Scott," said Mr. Dal- rymple, after he had puffed at his cigar a moment in silence. " He is an idle, good-for-nothing lad, Maud, and we had better be thinking what we are going to do with him, because if we keep him loafing about much longer, he is certain to get us into some undesirable scrape.** Mrs. Dalrymple looked much annoyed. " Really, Grahame, I think you are most unjust to poor Scott ; you are always so hard upon him. I don't see any fault in the boy ; he is a little idle, perhaps, and full of fun, like other lads of his age." •* Lads ! " repeated Mr. Dalrymple drily ; ** he is four-and-twenty. It is time, I think, he was beginning to show a little stability of character." " There is time enough surely," she observed, a little CARKJNG CARE. SI , »» he is stiffly. •* But what is it you accuse him of now, and what do you propose to do with him ? " He took out his pocket-book, and extracted from it two bills, which he passed to her in silence. One was a tailor^ account, rendered for the third time, and the other a bill for a case of champagne and several boxes of cigars sent to an address in town which ?*Ir. Dal- rymple did not know, and had not yet had time to investigate. " Thirty-three pounds in all," he said, in the same dry voice. " It is a little too sweet, Maud, and I am going to put a stop to it." " What are you going to do.'" she asked in alarm, although in the face of those tell-tale bills she could not say very much in defence. " Well, I propose, if he does not mend his ways, to get him out of the country," he said decidedly. " I think I will send him out to my cousin, Hamish Dal- rymple, in Manitoba, and let him work for his living there among the sheep or at the plough." •' You will never do that, Grahame, I hope," said his wife severely. " I should never give my consent to any such arrangement." " Perhaps it will have to be made without your con- sent then, my dear," replied Mr. Dalrymple, with a placid air, which had a peculiarly aggravating quality in it. His wife knew this mood of yore, and that it was hopeless, or, to speak more correctly, so determined, that anything she might say would make absolutely no impression upon it. '* You have spoiled him all along, Maud ; I have always said so. You have taken his part many a time when your better judgment must have told you that he i^ I i 56 A sroA'A/y yoVAGEK. % i' was entirely in the wrong. The consequence is the boy does not really feel that he is in any way to blame. He seems to have been born without any sense of moral responsibility." Mrs. Dalrymple bit her lip. These were hard words to hear in silence, and yet she knew her husband well enough to be certain that it was a moment for silence on her part. " I saw him just now, as I drove down," he said, with a recurrence of his dry, grim smile, " walking as large as life in the gardens. Whom with, do you think } Ella's school friend, Margaret Keith." This announcement seemed to have more power to annoy Mrs. Dalrymple than anything that had as yet been said. Her handsome face flushed deeply, and in her eyes gleamed no very pleasant light. " You do not mean to say that he was walking publicly in Prinres Street with Margaret Keith } " she asked quickly. " I do, and he might walk with many a worse girl. He has done many a thing that vexed me much more than that. If he would take up seriously with a decent and suitable girl who would make him a prudent wife, I should have more hope of him." " She was here this afternoon," said Mrs. Dalrymple, too indignant to take any notice of the last remark. " Fortunately, Ella was out, and I think that I was able to give her a lesson." The cigar was soothing the advocate into a plea- santer frame cf mind, and he uplifted his eyes to his wife's face with a kind of whimsical gleam in them. . " What do you call a lesson, Maud ? and for what object was it administered } " " Well, you know I have never approved of the CARk'/AG CAKE. 57 intimacy between Ella and her, and I told Ella so when she came home ; I forbade her to visit Miss Keith or to ask her here, and I was very angry when she called to-day. That she should have deliberately chosen my afternoon at home, which, of course, she knows of from Ella, shows that she is very presumptu- ous. It is quite possible, nay, more than likely, that she has designs upon Scott. I saw it quite plainly when we were at North Berwick, though I did not seriously interfere, because at the seaside boys must have somebody to amuse themselves with. I really cannot understand Ella ; she is never happier than when taking up with undesirable acquaintances. I have never had the slightest trouble with Maud in that respect." " No, Maud is your own child, my dear," said the advocate, with a slight, inexplicable smile. " But don't you think you are talking rather tall } The Keiths are very decent people ; they have a large and lucrative business. I could bet a sovereign, if I ever did bet, that his income is double or treble mine." " That has nothing to do with it," his wife replied in her stiffe'Jt manner. " People who keep a shop, and live in a flat above it, are impossible ; you know that as well as I, Grahame, and you are just teasing me. I must talk very seriously to Scott to-night." " But, Maud, listen. Suppose that Scott had any serious attachment for this girl, he might do a great deal worse. She is an only child, and is bound to have a very fair fortune ; and as to the family being impossible, you know as well as I that these dis- . tinctions are not what they were, and a good thing too. We want some of the honest blood and substantial money to be found in trade infused into the narrow circles to which we have the misfortune to belong." 58 A STORMY VOYAGER. '■■\ \. Mrs. Dalrymple knew that her husband hac! 'onp entertained odd and impossible opinions, but she had never heard him express himself quite so plainly and brutally, and she was for the moment taken aback. It seemed impossible to argue with or convince a man who could sit calmly and give forth such utterances in cold blood. " Do you mean to say, Grahame, that you would actually be pleased to see your only son, a Dalrymple of the Howe, marry a daughter of a common shopkeeper ? " " I should not mind at all, provided she were a respectable girl ; and I must say that I do not think it at all improbable that Scott may one day present us with a daughter-in-law who would be a good deal more objectionable than Peggy Keith. I am sure that you will grant that the girl has the appearance and manners of a duchess. I really think she is one of the most beautiful girls we have in Edinburgh to-day." " I could forgive Scott much, but that I could not overlook. If he should ever, encouraged and abetted by you, make such a marriage, he would have to choose between his wife and his mother. I should absolutely decline to countenance it." Mr. Dalrymple took the burnt end of the cigar from his mouth, threw it in the fire, and turned to his wife with a more serious expression on his face than it had yet worn. " You talk a lot of silly stuff, Maud ; excuse me telling you so plainly. I wish that I could get you to look at this question from a commonsense point of view. The boy is being ruined, if ever boy was, by indulgence at home and bad companions outside. I should not be at all surprised if Margaret Keith's father declined the honour of an alliance with him, even CARKING CARE. S9 though it came in his way, and upon my word I should not blame him. I know that if a fellow like Scott were to come here after any of our girls I would make pretty short work of him, and I am going to write to Hamish Dalrymple by the next mail." " Then you have quite made up your mind to turn your only son out of doors } " asked his wife as she rose, her eyes gleaming more brightly than before, and with no trace of tears near them, although she was inwardly much distressed. " It is not turning him out of doors, Maud ; but I have had more anxiety with him during the last five years than it is possible for me to tell you. You do not know the half, and I warned him the last time I got him out of a scrape that he had very nearly reached the limit of my endurance. So off he goes, unless some very extraordinary and totally unlooked- for change in his character should speedily appear." " I think you are a most cruel and unnatural father," his wife said in a voice of suppressed passion. " I will never give my consent, and I will never forgive you if you send the boy away." CHAPTER VII. iwr CONTRASTS. OUR father's cashier is coming up to supper to-night, Margaret," said Mrs. Keith to her daughter one evening about a month later. " Is he ? " inquired Margaret, without much show of interest. She was lying on the sofa with one arm above her head, and a book in the other hand, the picture of indolent ease. It was no small distress to the active and energetic Mrs. Keith that Margaret was so incorrigibly lazy, taking no interest whatever in the domestic concerns of the house, and only condescend- ing to occupy herself for a hour at a time with her painting, in which it had been arranged she should con- tinue to have further lessons from a well-known artist. " You cannot have forgotten, Peggy, that the cashier is a lady. Don't you remember you saw her last year — M'ss Heriot .!•" " Oh, yes, I daresay I do. Why on earth do you mvite her to supper, mamma } Is it necessary }" " I ask her, my dear, because she is a girl for whom I have the greatest respect and liking." " Yes ; but, mother, it is impossible to ask to one's 60 ti "bllE WAS LYING ON THE SOFA ... A BOOK IN HAND OF INDOLENT EASE." . . THE HICTUKE [ Page 60. Did he say where he was goincj .'' " " No, he did not say before he went out." " Well, I don't approve of Tom staying out as late as this without a just cause,'' said Isabel, with assumed severity. " Oh, I daresay he has a just cause. We must not be too hard on the boy. I do not approve of being too strict with young men ; they invariably kick over the traces whenever they get a chance." " You are very good, mother, but don't you think that it was a greater misfortune for Tom than for any of us when father was taken ? " " Well, of course it was, since it became impossible for him to continue at College. The thought of his fearful disappointment always makes me feel very lenient to Tom, and I could forgive him a good deal." " I hope he will never need to be forgiven anything, mother, and I think he is a good boy," said Isabel quickly. " Well, I think I shall go and take off my boots." " But you bad a pleasant evening, hadn't you } " reiterated Mrs. Hcriot, rather disappointedly, and think- ing Isabel much more reticent than usual. " Oh, yes, we had music, and a good deal of talk. Miss Keith has a great deal to fsay for herself. You would not think she was a school-girl fresh from school, mother — she has all the assurance of a woman of the world. Perhaps minus the knowledge." It was seldom \r m H > J i 1 1 : 1 ■' f i 1 1 I i ! 1 I 74 ^ STORMY VOYAGEk. that Isabel Heriot permitted herself such a sharp remark at the expense of another. It sounded oddly in her mother's ears. " I think you are tired, too, dear. It has been a long day for you," said the mother gently. " I think you ought to go to bed. I shall hear Tom, and, anyhow, he won't be long." " Oh, I should not think of going to bed till Tom came in. You go to slfeep, mother, like a dear, and I will see after everything." She came round to the front of the bed, kissed her mother fondly, also the little sister, whose golden head and sweet, chubby face lay so unconsciously on the pillow. Mrs. Heriot was distinctly conscious of something odd in Isabel's manner, an abruptness and reticence she had never before seen in her. Usually when she came in from enjoying such a little variation of her daily toil, she was brimming over with happy talk, making the most of each pleasant trifle, and .i-'ni-- her utmost to make others share in her enjoymen Isabel closed the door, and crossed the narrow lobby to her own room, which she shared with Dorothy, her younger sister, a tail girl of seventeen, whose duty it was to assist her mother in housekeeping for the little ; mily. She, also, was sound asleep — they being, as a ', le, an early household, to whom late hours were un- Known. Isabel looked with a kind of affectionate envy on the placid, untroubled face of her sister, thinking how pleasant it was to be young and to have no care or anxiety ior others. She was in that overstrung mood when a word of sympathy or a look even would have broken her down ; and she felt thankful for the quiet house, and that she rould go into the little kitchen and sit down there in the old nursing-chair, which was one of the l^iVV/J' *' ^*^tA A llOA/AA'S HEAKT. IS relics saved from the wreck of their liome, and there give herself up for a moment to the strange and hitherto undrcamed-of pain which made her heart so sore. As she sat there, tired in body and mind with the toil of the day, her face seemed to take on an old and wearied look, and it was as if she had left her youth behind for ever. She had bravely and uncomplainingly taken up the burden of life, giving herself ungrudgingly and cheerfully for others, making the utmost of the gifts she possessed, feeling glad and thankful alvvays that the way had been opened up for her to help those she loved. She knew very well that she was the mainstay of the house, that without her their state would be pitiable indeed, and yet this consciousness brought no sense of self-satisfaction to her, but only a great thank- fulness that she was able and willing. She had very little pleasure in life ; each day brought its monotonous round of duty, and her leisure hours were filled with thought and work for others. Hitherto this had sufficed. She had thought herself even one of the happiest girls in the world, certainly privileged because she had found a place for herself and appreciative recognition of her work. For the first time she belteld herself face to face with the nakedness of her life. It seemed to have been revealed to her in a flash, and her heart passion- ately cried out for the joys which so many other women had in plenty, and which some so lightly esteemed. It was characteristic of her that in this second crisis of her life she should face the situation squarely and honestly ; so she did not hide from herself that her friendship with George Keith, which had been during the pa.t few years such a satisfying and pleasant part of her life, had all along been a mockery and a snare. It camt upon her with a shock to admit that rfi 74 A STORMY Vn YAGER. m the interest she felt in him was far removed from that mere friendly interest with which she had deceived herself. She knew now that she felt towards him as a woman feels to the man to whom she could give herself without a question or a doubt. The truth had come home to her when he, in a moment of unguarded confidence, iiad alluded to the possibility which might change the whole tenor of his life. She knew that she was hard hit by the intolerable ache at her heart, and by the dreary sense of desolation which seemed to surround her on every hand. In a moment all the bright, happy, busy interests of her life seemed quenched, and, like Hamlet, she could have exclaimed, " How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world." She allowed herself, in that brief half-hour, to indulge in complete self-abandonment. She was not a woman to whom tears came readily as a relief. The casual observer, seeing her sitting there so .still and quiet, might have thought she was in a brown study, but would scarce! have dreamed that she was in reality passing through one of the darkest hours of her life. Yet so it was ; and that hour set some lines upon Isabel Heriot's br^w, and round her brave, sweet mouth, which were never afterwards quite smoothed away. But sht wa.' too healthy-minded a woman to allow this thmg to master her. She had sufficient pride and self-respect to feel the desire and to have the po, /er to crush it down, and as she sat there in the stilliKiss — no sound disturbing her save the falling of the ashes from the grate, and the distant jingle of car bells — she made a little vow that this thing, though bitter indeed to her, should not be allowed to shadow t A WOMAN'S HEART. 75 her own life too much, nor, above all, to cast the slightest cloud upon the lives of others. Perhaps there was no special heroism required to make this little vow, and yet it cost her more than she knew. She was not very conscious of the flight of time, and was much astonished by-and-by, whc; her eye suddenly fell upon the round honest face ot the kitchen clock, to see that it was nearing midnight. Then, suddenly, all her interest in her surroundings leapt back to her, and she sprang up with a very genuine look of alarm on her face when she remembered that Tom had not yet come home. Where could the boy be so late } Never before had he taken so much license, and all sorts of vague alarms began to fill her motherly, anxious heart. She crept softly along the passage, and, after listening a moment at her mother's door, peeped in, much relieved to see that she had fallen into a sound sleep. Then she went into the little sitting- room, where the fire had gone out, and drawing up the blind at the oriel window which commanded a view of the street, she looked anxiously up and down. It was usually a busy and thronged thoroughfare, but the last car had gone both up and down, and now pedestrians were few and far between. She was thus standing, her heart full of misgiving and apprehension, when she heard a foot on the stair, and presently the noise of some one trying the handle of the door. Anxious that her mother should not be disturbed, she flew to open it, and held up a warning finger to her brother, who came in with a somewhat guilty, and yet a half-defiant look on his face. He put his hat down on the table, and followed her into the kitchen. "Where on earth have you been, boy?" she asked. ■ :, i'\ h • 76 A SroKMV VOYAGER. in a much sharper voice than usual. " Do you know it is almost midnight ? " Yes, all right ; I have not been up to any mischief, Belle, so you need not look so desperately cross at a fellow." " I am not cross, only I do want to know where you have been, and you must tell me, Tom," she said firmly. " Well, I have just been out with some fellows. We were at the Gaiety for an hour, and then turned in to one man's rooms to have a little game of whist, and I can tell you we have had a very jolly evening." She heard these words with dismay, which was not lessened by her steady look at his flushed face and excited eyes Tom had always been a good boy, but she knew him to be weak and easily led, and in her present mood she was inclined naturally to exaggerate every circumstance of the case. Her face became absolutely anguished in its expression as she took him by the shoulder. " Oh, Tom, how could you .'' You will kill mother," she said quickly. " Oh, nonsense, that is all girls* rot. What harm is there in a fellow turning in for a quiet hand at whi.st with a chum .'' It was only sixpenny corners, anyhow." " But yoli have no right to play sixpenny or any other kind of corners," she said sternly. " You know you haven't any moi.ey for cards, and oh, Tom, how could you .-* " she repeated. " It will break mother's heart when she knows." " Well, she need not krow, unless you split on me," he said hoarsely, and pushing his hand through his tumbled hair. " I tell you we had an awfully jolly evening, and they were fine fellows, too. One of them A PVOA/AA'S HEART. 77 was Scott Dalrymple, the advocate's son. I don't know when I met a nicer chap." •' Well, I don't want to hear any more about it, and the sooner you get to bed the better, Tom," said his sister shortly. " You will have a wretched head- ache in the morning, and not be fit for anything. I am quite ashamed of you." " Well, you needn't bother. 1 am sick of being mewed up here with a lot of women, and I am not going to stand so much petticoat government any longer, I can tell you." With which admirable senti- ment the delinquent Tom took himself off to bed, leaving his sister in a very disturbed frame of mind. How changed everything seemed in the few short hours which had elapsed since she left her home that morning ! Then everything was bright and hopeful, and care sat lightly upon her heart ; now all was dark, and the future seemed to stretch before her a vista of ill-omen, where there awaited her only sorrow, dis- appointment, and care of the most harassing and heartbreaking kind. T i I ( i \' i 1 f 1 A s^'-J CHAPTER IX. EQUAL TO THE OCCASION. HE Dalrymple carriage, drawn by its match- less pair of greys, stopped at the door of Messrs. Keith & Co.'s warehouse one afternoon the following week. Mrs. Dal- rymple sat in it alone, richly attired as usual, her dark, handsome face wearing a look of determination which seemed to say that she had some mission in view which she intended to fulfil at all hazards. The shop-walker who came forward to attend her knew her very well by sight, although she seldom patronised the shop. When he courteously inquired what he could do for her, she simply asked whether she could see Mr. Keith. " Mr. Keith, madam, or Mr. George ? " " Mr. Keith, the old gentleman, the head of the firm, I mean. Take my card to him, and say I beg the favour of a few minutes' private conversation." The man, inwardly surprised, and placing her a chair, went in search of Mr. Keith, who, as it happened, had gone upstairs for the cup of tea he drank with his v/ife every afternoon at four o'clock. He came down at once and i^rceted Mrs. Dalrymple 78 EQf'AL TO THE OCCASIG >•/ 79 in the courteous and kindly manner which was shown to gentle and simple alike. She was very favourably impressed, and hoped that the interview about to take- place would have a satisfactory issue. "Will you step this way, madam?" he said, and ushered her through the counting-house to his comfort- able private room, where they were quite secure from observation or disturbance. " I hope you are all very well ? " he said, as he wheeled round the most comfortable chair for her. " We seem to have seen very little of Miss Ella lately." " Of course this is a season of the year at which most young people are very much engaged," she said, at a loss for some reply to make to his inconsequential and matter-of-fact speech. " I trust your family are well .' " " Yes, thank you, we are all well," he replied. Then there was a moment's slightly awkward pause, while he waited to hear the nature of the business she wished to discuss with him. She was a very clever woman, and there were few situations, however awkward, of which she could not make the best ; but as she looked at the honest, kindly, good face of the man before her, she almost wished that she had not come, and yet she was actuated by a motive which she considered did her every credit, since she desired the furtherance of her family's best interests. " I have come, Mr. Keith," she began in her most bland and conciliatory manner, " to have a little talk with you upon a private and rather delicate matter," she said, looking at him with a slightly deprecating smile. " I trust that you will not resent what I am about to say, but that you will give me credit for the best of motives." " I hope I shall do so," he replied quietly, and waited her further words. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^ 1.0 I.I 11.25 ■tt|2£ 115 |U 11.6 HiolQgraphic Sdences Carporation 23 WIST MAIN STMIT WIUTM.N.Y. USM (71«)t72-4S03 8o A STORMY VOYAGER. ! Y J l! Hi j Mi' ' *• I suppose you are quite aware that there has been a little intimacy — greater than is prudent, perhaps, between two such very young people — between your daughter and my son ? " Mr. Keith visibly started, and the expression of his face slightly changed. " I was not aware that there was any special intimacy between them, Mrs. Dalrymple," he answered. " Of course, I saw that the young people were very friendly when we were at North Berwick, but I thought, and my wife also, that it was all at an end." She felt inclined to disbelieve him, and yet it was impossible. His sincerity and truthfulness were unim- peachable, and she was compelled to admit that he was not a man who would prevaricate or depart from the truth in the very smallest degree. " Then you are not aware that they have been walk- ing out together, and meeting each other at various places in the city during the last few weeks } " " No, I am not aware of it. Is that the case, Mrs. Dalrymple .? " " Undoubtedly it is. Mr. Dalrymple saw them himself in Princes Street Gardens one day when he was driving home from Parliament House ; and I know of at least two occasions when they have met since. Does Scott not visit at your house .^ " " No, he has never been in my house that I am aware of," he replied. And although she continued to look at him keenly, she could not fathom what effect this revelation had upon him. " I am very glad that you do not know, for some reasons," she began ; then, " because I was afraid that perhaps you had encouraged what, of course, must bq regarded as a foolish and impossible entanglement," EQUAL TO THE OCCASION. 8i at various " Certainly," he assented, but very coldly, and his face reddened slightly. " We have only one son, Mr. Keith, and although he is a fairly good boy, he has occasioned his father and iiic a good deal of anxiety. Of course I know very well that you cannot expect an old head on young shoulders, and his father, perhaps, has been just a trifle hard on him, but hitherto he has kept free of any serious entanglement. He is absolutely without prospects and without any means, except what his father may see fit to bestow upon him ; and, of course, in these circumstances, for him to think seriously of any girl is out of the question." " Absolutely," replied Mr. Keith, briefly as before. " I admire your daughter, very much ; we all know how handsome and attractive she is, but I hope you will not misunderstand me, Mr. Keith, when I say that there is nothing in the world would so distress his father and me than for him to marry out of his own station in life." " It would undoubtedly be a terrible blow," said Mr. Keith ; but whether he spoke in good faith or in sarcasm she could not tell, yet somehow his manner and the quietness of his voice, instead of reassuring her, filled her with a curious nervousness. " Of course, your daughter and mine, as girls, were very intimate at school, and I was very pleased to think that they should be so ; but it is different now. You are a man of the world, and have had a long experience of Edinburgh ways, therefore it is scarcely necessary for me to explain further, I hope." " It is quite unnecessary, Mrs. Dalrymple," he repHeb, and still waited with that calm, cold look on his face, listening for her final word. " I thought I would take the liberty of calling this S2 A STORMY VOYAGER. vM m.:\i afternoon just to ask you to co-operate with us in breaking off this boy and girl affair, which, of course, can never come to anything. I don't suppose that Scott would be able to contemplate marriage seriously for the next ten years at least, and even now his father is threatening to pack him off to his uncle in Canada." " I should think that would be an excellent arrange- ment," said Mr. Keith drily. " Well, madam, what do you wish me to say ^ " She looked for the first time distinctly disconcerted. The dignity and even hauteur of Edward Keith's bearing were rather a shock to her. He held himself proudly and nobly, and very evidently, in spite of his coldly cour- teous demeanour, strongly resented what she ha«i said. "I trust I have not hurt or offended you, Mr. Keith," she said, in her most conciliatory manner ; " but surely you must agree with me that for these two young people, mere children in years as both are, to get themselves engaged, or any nonsense of that sort, is quite out of the question." " Quite, madam," he said, promptly and firmly ; " besides, I have other views for my daughter." She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. The tone of his voice said, as plainly as words could have done, that even if he had it in his power, he would decline the honour of an alliance with the house of Dalrymple. "Yes, I have other views for my daughter," he repeated, "and I am sorry that you had the incon- venience of coming here this afternoon on such an errand. You need not have feared that I should be de- sirous of encouraging an intimacy which would be quite as undesirable to us as it could possibly be to you." Mrs. Dalrymple bit her lip and rose, feeling that she had decidedly got the worst of it. She had come pre- EQUAL TO THE OCCASION. «i krith us in of course, e that Scott lusly for the is father is Canada." ent arrange- am, what do disconcerted, eith's bearing jself proudly s coldly cour- ihe had said, led you, Mr. :ory manner ; for these two 5 both are, to ; of that sort, [hter." :he tone of his ave done, that d decline the )alrymple. daughter," he lad the incon- on such an I should be de- would be quite )ly be to you." feeling that she had come pre- pared with a long string of arguments with which to sweep the presuming shopkeeper off his feet, and lo ! he had met her on totally unexpected ground, and made her feel small, and mean, and contemptible, even in her own eye — a very unpleasant experience this for Mrs, Grahame Dalrymple, yet one which perhaps might prove wholesome. Without uttering another word, Mr. Keith opened the door and followed her through the counting-house to the front shop, where, with a slight bow, he left her, and turned upon his heel. His face was paler than usual as he re-entered his own room and sat down for a moment at h>s desk. He was very angry. Not once during the last twenty years indeed had such a pas- sion of indignation stirred the soul of Edward Keith. He felt glad to have the absolute solitude and privacy of his own room, and he sat quietly there until the heat of his passion was cooled ; then, having attended to one or two small matters waiting for him in the counting-house, he went upotairs. Margaret had not yet returned from her painting lesson ; and Mrs. Keith, with whom the afternoon was always an idle time, v as still sitting in the basket-chair where her husband had left her little more than an hour before. She was surprised to see him, and some- thing in his face warned her that he felt either ill in body or troubled in mind. " What is it, dear } " she asked, in a voice of very real concern. " Don't you feel well ? " " Yes, well enough, Alice, in body, but not in mind. I did not think there was so much of the old Adam left in me, and I have not been so angry these last twenty years as I am at this moment." "You do not speak as if you were particularly 84 A STORMY VOYAGER. :t ! f' % angry, dear," she said, with a relieved smile. " But what has happened downstairs ? Everything was right when you were up at four o'clock." " Oh, it is nothing to do with the business, dear. I have had a call from the most impertinent woman in Edinburgh — Mrs. Grahame Dalrymple — and what do you think she wanted ? She came to say that our lassie is not good enough for that ne'er-do-weel son of hers. Did you know that there was any carry-on between them } " " No ; and there is no such thing," replied Mrs. Keith indignantly. " She says there is ; that they walk out together, and all sorts of things. She told me in words as plain as pike-staffs that they would not have it, and that we must nip it in the bud." " Did she, indeed } " asked Mrs. Keith, a little flush of indignation rising in her smooth cheeks, " and a bonnie stock of impudence she had to say any such thing. Who wants her son ? Not our Peggy, I am sure. She is far too good for him. I hope you told her that, father." " I said she could keep her mind easy, as we would not have such a marriage at any price, and I told her that I had other views for her." " And how did she look } and did your face wear that expression when you said it, father ? because, if it did, I should think it sent her out of the shop double quick." " I think she did go out rather quickly at the end, and it strikes me that she won't come back in a hurry, and that she will think twice before she tries to patronise me or mine. Yes, I was very angry, wife, and I am angry yet, and yet a silly woman's words EQUAL TO THE OCCASION 85 ie. "But tiing was 5, dear. I woman in d what do yr that our veel son of ly carry-on eplied Mrs. ut together, )rds as plain and that we a little flush eks, "and a ;ay any such Peggy, I am ope you told ds we would 1 told her our face wear ? because, if of the shop y at the end, k in a hurry, she tries to y angry, wife, Oman's words arc less cause for trouble than the bairn's conduct, if it is true as she says, that she has been walking out with young Dalrymple. I think, Alice, we are just a little disappointed in our only bairn." There was very real anguish in the father's voice as he said these words, and two great tears welled in Mrs. Keith's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. It was a moment before she could find any words in which to answer him. " I am whiles anxious about her, Edward ; but she is only a bairn, she will gather sense as she grows older. It was an awful mis'^ike sending her to that •fine school. I see it now when it is too late. It never does for anybody to take up with folks ouside their own station, either above or below it." " A Keith is as good as a Dalrymple all the world over,'' said her husband, with an extraordinary touchi- ness which she had never seen in him before. " Oh, the coolness of the woman ! I cannot think yet how I listened to her with the patience I did." " If she had come up to me, Edward, I would not have let her depart without a bit of my mind," said Mrs. Keith. " I'll see what Peggy says to it when she comes in. It will be a terrible disappointment to me if I find that it is true she has been walking out with young Dalrymple, or been making herself cheap in any way to them. It is the only thing we have had a word about. She seems infatuated with the folk, and I am sure, with the exception of Ella, they have been any- thing but civil to her." " I think the sooner we get her married to George the better it will be for us all," said Mr. Keith, rather gloomily. " I doubt she is the kind of girl that will cause us a good deal of anxiety. I would feel easy in p 86 J STOKMY roVACJ-.l^. Ill ii! 1^ rv my mind, Alice, if George had her in his care. He is a fine chap, and will make any woman h ippy." *' Yes, but, Edward, I don't think I'cj^gy cares about him, and though I agree with you that it would relieve us of every care about it both now and in future, I dT not sec thai we would be doing our duty by her to force her to marry a man unless she really loves him. I have been too happy in my married life myself to wish to see my bairn otherwise." She cast upon him a tender glance as she uttered these words, but they provoked no response. She saw that he was consumed with anxiety about Peggy, and knowing that it was his nature to exaggerate troubles • rather than make light of them, she tried to reassure him by turning it into a joke. " It seems no time since we had the bairn on our knees, Edward, laughing at her baby ways, and now here she is a woman grown, turning men's heads, and setting the very mothers by the ears. If I had got my wish and had a boy, you would have had an easier mind to-day." " I am not finding fault with the bairn, Alice," he said quickly, " only I wish I saw in her a little more of her mother. She is a bit flighty and high-flown in her ideas ; but, as you say, she is very young, and she may mend. I have got a kind of shock this afternoon, Alice, and I don't feel the better for it. I think if you don't mind I'll take just a nip of vv^hisky ; there is a kind of faint feeling here I do not like." He put his hand to his heart as he spoke and sat down rather heavily on a chair. She ."^orang up and opened the sideboard door to get him the stimu- lant he asked for, but before she had filled the glass a strange sound between a deep sigh and a groan caused ff-i-'^af-ittr "SHE SAW THIN THAT SOMETHING HAD GONE SERIOUSLY WRONG. " [Pogt 87. IMIi 1 ">' 1' >h i i f ! 1 i ^ if"'.f EQUAL TO THE OCCASION. 87 her to fly to the window. She saw then that some- thing had gone seriously wrong with her husband. His head had fallen on on? side, his face was strangely contorted, and the hand which hung over the arm of the chair seemed to have lost its power. It was the beginning of the end for Edward Keith. fT"" It [■■ j I. In ' I' K h 8 'I ll l,li: . li 1 ■ I - CHAPTER X. COQUETTE. I ROM that day the place that had so long known Edward Keith knew him no more for ever. His business and public life was over. Others took his place in the count- ing-house, the church, and the world ; the few months of life that remained to him were spent in the seclusion of his home, where he was ministered unto by a devoted and unselfish wife, and a willing, helpful daughter. The shock of the whole affair seemed to sober Margaret effectually, and she took her share in the nursing — waiting upon the invalid as gently and tenderly and carefully as her mother. Although she has not hitherto appeared in a particularly lovable light, there were capabilities for affection and devotee service in Margaret Keith's nature undreamed of even by her father and mother. This phase of her character, now exhibited for the first time, was a complete revelation to them, and they sometimes, talking it over together, could almost have blessed the misfortune which had shown them their daughter's heart. Her mother had not spared her in the anguish of her own grief — not hesitating to lay much of the blame 88 LaQrETTi-:. «9 upon her ; but vcr>' shortly gentler and more tolerant thoughts came to her, especially as she was assured by the medical men in attendance on her husband that although it was possible that the excitement and vexa- tion of his interview with Mrs. Dalrymple might have accelerated this shock, it could not possibly have been long averted. Me was suddenly and completely laid aside from active life. They held out some hope, how- ever, of a partial recovery, but there was no doubt in the mind of the sufTcrer himself that the issue, though a little deferred, would be fatal. He did recover, how- ever, in some slight degree from the first shock, and was able in the first days of a particularly early and genial spring to be taken to a little cottage on the sea front on the pleasant links of Musselburgh ; and there might have been seen on the wide, open highway when the pale spring sunshine was at its brightest, a picture of an invalid man, wrapped up in his bath-chair, wheeled by a servant, but his beautiful daughter in attendance always. She seemed to have but one desire — to atone for the grief and anxiety which she now knew she had cost them by her thoughtlessness during the autumn. She was sincerely attached to her father ; she loved him indeed at that time above anything on earth, and when Scott Dalrymple, presuming upon their former correspondence, wrote a letter of condolence and endear- ment to her in their country quarters, she simply sent him a few brief, cold lines, saying that it would be better that they should not write to each other. Her pride also still smarted under the humiliation of Mrs. Dalrymplc's interference ; for her mother had thought it wisest not to spare her, but had given her the minute details of the conversation which had passed that after- noon. A STORMY VOYAGER. K i^ In th pleasant window of their little sitting-room one mild, sunny morning, Margaret was reading aloud to her father, but soon became aware that he was not listening to her, though his eyes were fixed intently on her face. " Papa, I don't believe you have heard a single word for the last ten minutes," she said, as she shut the book. " Shall we go out now ? It is a lovely morning. Mother is going to Edinburgh, and we could walk a little way with her towards the station." "Very well, my dear. No, I was not listening, though the sound of your voice was very pleasant," he replied, speaking slowly and with difficulty still, al- though the power of speech had partly returned to him. " Tell me what you were thinking, papa," said Margaret coaxingly, folding her hands on his knee. She look ;d lovely in that attitude, her beautiful face softened with all a woman's anxious tenderness. She seemed as if she had no thought in the world but only for her father. " Well, I was just wondering, bairn, about your future. Sitting here a useless hulk as I am, it con- cerns me a good deal.'' Margaret winced slightly. " You must not worry about me, papa. Am I not a little better than I v»'as } I mean, do I not cause you less anxiety than I did ? " Her face was a little flushed as she asked the question, and there was a kind of shamed consciousness in her eyes which touched him inexpressibly. " Yes, yes," he said quickly, and stretched out his poor, frail hand to touch her dark head. " Your mother and I often say that we could almost bless God for what appeared so dark a calamity, because it has COQUETTE. 9« shown us the heart of our bairn ; but still I cannot help an anxious thought at times about the future. This is but a rift fn the clouds, Peggy ; I know very well just how this disease travels. By-and-by, perhaps, cer- tainly before very long, there will be another little shock. I may get over that, although I shall not be so well even as I am now ; then there will be another, and that will be the end. They have told me how i»^ will be, and I do not know that it has filled me with any dismay. I should not care to be wheeled about in a chair for many years, my dear." The girl's lip quivered, and she was unable to speak, but she laid her hot cheek down on his thin, transparent hand, and for a minute or two there was nothing said. •• Peggy, there is something I want to say to you, my lassie, and if I am wrong, then we won't think any more about it. Have I not noticed that you and George have been more friendly-like since we came down here, and that you find a good deal to say to each other .^" " I like George very much, papa, and always did. Of course we are quite friendly, and down here there is more time, you see. When he comes on Sunday there is nothing to do much except walk out with him." " You do like him a little, then ? " " I like him very much," she repeated, " and I think he is greatly improved, too. He does not worry and nag the way he used to do." *■ Worrj' and nag ! " repeated Mr. Keith, in tones of mild surprise. " I cannot imagine these two attributes in connection with George. I have always found him one of the most placid-tempered men in the world — too easy-going, perhaps, to manage a lot of workpeople, and yet there is a kind of firmness about him which asserts 9» A STORMY VOYAGEK. I 1 his authority in a quiet kind of way. The more I see of him, the more highly I think of him. I could not like him any better, Peggy, I think, if he were my own son." Peggy made no immediate response. From the arm of her father's chair she could see through the window to the blue expanse of the sea, which had little white crests on its tiny waves, and a shimmer of light and loveliness, as if it rejoiced in the fact that the winter w as over and gone. The brown sails of the fishing boats, which had sailed out from the haven in the morning, dotted the expanse like so many dark-winged sea-birds ; nor was there wanting other craft — steamers and merchantmen and sloops — plying to and fro on that highway between the markets of the world. " Papa," she said presently, with a strange, soft, far- away note in her voice, " would it make you very happy if you thought that I was going to marry George } " " It would just be this to me, bairn," he said, unable to restrain his eager desire, " that I would be able to say with Simeon, * Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.'" " I am not worthy of your care and anxiety, dear daddy," she said presently. " I shall never forgive my- self, never as long as I live, for being so ungrateful and so undutiful as I have been since I came from school. There is nothing I would not do to prove it, and if it would make you very happy, if it vould bring a smile and a look of peace to your dear face even for a day, I could marry George to-morrow, and think it no sacrifice." " But, lassie, listen," said the old man, beginning to tremble a little in his excitement ; " unless you think you could be happy with him, and make him happy, I would not wish it ; it would be wrong. There is no curse in this world so ^rcat as the curse of a loveless COQUETTE. 93 marriage, just as there is no blessedness like it where love is. I know the world, bairn, and you do not ; it is full of pitfalls for the like of you that are young and bonnie, and have some gear. With George I would know you to be safe, and he is a man who would make any woman happy." " I know that, and I think I could get to like him in time ; you may tell him if you like, papa, when he comes on Saturday that I am willing to marry him, and I hope it will be soon." She rose up from her kneeling posture as she said these words, and moved over to the window, so that her father could not see her face. His eyes followed her and rested on the lithe young figure, the embodi- ment of attractive grace, with unspeakable yearning in their depths. He felt as his wife had often felt, that somehow they had not been able to find the key to the heart of their only child. She was either above or beyond them, and a kind of helpless feeling came over him that, though he was willing to lay down his life almost for the child, he could not fathom her nature, nor even warn her against the special pitfalls which would lie in wait for a temperament such as hers. " I suppose he will be of the same mind still," she said, with a curious, cold, little whimsical smile ; and her voice had a distant ring in it, which sounded even to herself strangely unfamiliar. " Oh, yes, there is no doubt about that," her father replied at once. " George is not a man who changes his mind everj' time he puts on another coat. It is once and for aye with him. I am sure he will never care for another but yourself." ' Well, I am quite sincere in what I am saying, 94 A STORM y VOyAGEK. papa, and if you like to speak to George when he comes down, I am quite willing." " Come here, Peggy," he said, with an unusual im- perativeness in his voice. But she seemed reluctant to obey the summons, or to turn her face to him. When she did so the smile was still on her lips, and it struck him even then as being unreal and forced. " Well, what is it, papa > " " I want to get to the bottom of this, bairn. Mind, there is nobody wanting to sacrifice you, or to make you marry a man you do not care for." " I know that, papa ; and .surely you know me well enough to feel sure I am the very last person who would go so terribly against my own inclination." " Well, then, tell me your reasons for this change of mind." " Well, daddy, of course the first and greatest reason of all is that I want to make you and mother happy, and another reason is that I want to feel myself safe." It was an odd word for her to use, and she said it with a certain wistful and wondering air, as if she was even then questioning whether the end would justify the means. " And where does George come in, poor fellow } " her father asked. " We must take care that we do not sacrifice him among us." " Oh, well, of course I don't want to marry him against his will," she said, glad of Ihe ex u e to laugh, which, however, did not sound very natural, or particu- larly pleasant. " But don't let us say anything more about it just now. I am sure we ought to be out this lovely morning. I shall just go and see whether mamma is nearly ready." Edward Keith pondered much that day upon their talk. He was not much skilled in the nature or ways » COQUETTE. 9S 5t reason of women, his own wife being of the placid and reliable sort, who had no tormenting or inexplicable moods. But at the end of the day he was no nearer a solution of the mystery which puzzled him, and he could not accept Margaret's assurance that her chief reason for suddenly deciding her future was to give peace and satisfaction to his mind. Next day by the evening train George Keith came down. Margaret, without saying anything to her father and mother, walked through the quaint, old- fashioned town to the station to meet him. This little attention paid to him for the first time caused a quick flush of gratification and surprise to rise in his face. He could not understand it, and almost feared that perhaps she had come up in haste to acquaint him of some serious change in his uncle's condition, and yet her beautiful, striking face was perfectly serene, and she smiled to him reassuringly, where she stood waiting for him under the trees of the Mall. " It is all right, George ; don't worry," she cried to him gaily the moment he came within ear-shot. " Nothing has happened, only I wanted a walk, and as we expected you down by this train, I thought I might as well come up and meet you." He did not say anything in reply, simply because he was unable to find adequate words. His love for the beautiful girl by his side had become the dominant passion of his life, haunting his waking hours and dis- turbing his dreams, coming between him and every- thing he undertook, though he had sufficient strength of mind to hide his disappointment and his heartache from the world. But the apparent hopelessness of his love (since Margaret had never given him by word or look the slightest encouragement) had taken all the n 96 A STUKMV VUY4GKR, zest and pleasure from his life. He could not under- stand this sudden graciousness on her part, for though he had noticed, and had been grateful for the great change in Margaret's attitude towirds her parents, she had thrown him but very few crumbs of comfort during the last two rnonths, but to-night her manner was bewilderingly frank and gracious ; she even sug- gested, as they left the town behind, that they should make a detour across the links, and take a longer way home. The sweet, spring dusk was beginning to fall, and the tide being far out, they crossed to the beach, which gave them firm, if rather stony, footing along to their own garden gate. More than once, as they walked, Margaret glanced with a kind of critical questioning at the well-built, manly figure walking by her side. How little did George dream that she was asking herself how she could suffer this figure to walk by her side all through life, how it would feel to see him every day, to face with him the troubles of common life, and whether she had in her heart towards him any feeling strong enough and genuine enough to stand such test ! Their talk did not flag as they walked, nor did Mar- garet's manner change. She w^as generally so capri- cious in her moods that he had seldom enjoyed the sunshine of her favour so long, and he puzzled himself as to what it could mean. Her manner said as plainly as words could say that she found his company pleasant, and sh^i told him quite frankly, with a curious, shy, fleet glance into his honest face, upon which adoration was writ so large, that she had never enjoyed a walk so much, and that she was very much obliged to him for making it so pleasant. " I have not done anything, Peggy ; the gratitude COQUETTE. 9r ought all to be on my side. Do you know, you have never been so civil to me since you came home as to- night, and I don't think I can quite make it out." •' Suppose you ask papa," she said, with eyes full of laughter, as she darted past him into the house. ll' ; CHAPTER XI. GOOD-BYE. ELL, I have come, Peggy, a.jd I did think it about time you began to be a little kind to me," said Scott Dalrymple, with a distinct note of reproach in his voice. They had met by appointment on the high road between Joppa and Musselburgh about six o'clock on the evening of a mild, bright March day. The brisk walk to keep her tryst had brought the loveliest colour to Margaret's cheeks, and her lover could scarcely keep his eyes from her radiant face. " Well, I thought I would like to see you just once," she replied, and her face wore an expression he was altogether puzzled to understand. " Were you surprised to receive my letter ? " " I was rather, after the scorcher you sent me before. Don't you think it was rather rough on me, Peggy, to write calmly and say that you declined to have any- thing further to do with me ? 1 oo much like visiting the sins of the parents on the children sort of thing. Of course you must have known that I wa;> awfully wild with my mater, but I thought you would have a 98 GOODBYE. 99 I did be a rymple. 1 in his gh road lock on he brisk colour ely keep it once, he was surprised le before, 'eggy, to lave a-y- e visiting of thing, awfully d have a little more faith in me than to beh'evc that I had anything to do with it." •* It doesn't matter much now," said Peggy soberly. " I ought to have known that there never could be anything serious between r , and now as it happens it is entirely impossible." *• But why ? " he persisted, putting his hand familiarly through her arm, a little action which she did not resent, the road being almost deserted ; and, as she told herself, it was for the last time. " You don't suppose for a moment, do you, that I am going to let them ride rough-shod over me in any such fashion } " he asked loftily. " I didn't think you would be so easily sat upon, Peggy. If we only show ourselves firm and determined, they'll be obliged to give in ; they cannot help themselves." " As it happens," saic' Peggy, in the same quiet, sober voice, " my people have decided objections also. I think my father told your mother that he declined the honour of an alliance with your family, and I am glad he did." " Oh, but he will relent, poor old chap. How is he, by the bye .? " "Oh, just the same," replied Peggy shortly, and evidently reluctant to dwell upon the subject. ** Shall we go down on the beach for a little ? The tide is out, and we can be quieter." " All right ; it is mild enough to let us sit down, perhaps, if we can find a decent rock." " There is nothing conspicuously beautiful about this coast, is there, Peggy } I can't conceive how anybody can come down here and imagine themselves at the seaside." " It is the sea, though," answered Margaret presently, "and along where we live it is quite beautiful always," p -- ' If 1, I I I f loo // STOA'.Wy VOVAGhN. They turned round by the end of a little white- washed cottage, and descended the stony slope to the beacli. which certainly did not look particularly inviting, being strewn with great boulders unrelieved by any gleam of yellow sand ; and yet the waves which beat upon them had the same eternal and heart-satisfying music in their tones, and the wind sweeping in from the open Firth touched their lips with the salt sea breath. They walked a few yards in silence, the younj; man wondering somewhat at the quiet, cold, constrained demec^nour of the girl whom he had only known in her livelier moods. He thought her changed somehow, and that her face wore a more grave and womanly expression. It was a change he did not like. *' Let us sit down here just for a moment," she said presently. " There is something I want to tell you. That is why I sent for you to-day, in reality to say good-bye to you." " But why, Peggy "i " he pleaded, standing in front of her with a very eager, lover-like expression on his face. He still imagined himself deeply and passionately in love with Margaret Keith ; the very obstacles which had been thrown in their way giving zest to a meeting such as this. " I didn't think that you were so easily frightened. You are not going to throw me over on such feeble grounds, when I am so awfully fond of you ^ " She winced slightly, moved more than she cared to admit by the words. " I cannot help mysf^lf," she said, in a low voice. •'It must be good-bye. I am going to be married next week, on Tuesday." He stared at her helplessly. "You are trying to frighten me, Peggy. Married! Oh, nonsense, you can't expect a fellow to take that in." c white- )c to the inviting, by any ich beat atisfying in from salt sea c young istraincd 1 in her jmchow, vomanly she said tell you. r to say in front on his ionately s which meeting o easily on such ou ? " ared to V voice, ed next arried ! hat in." 'VOL' AKK TKVINCi TO FKIGIITtN MK, I'ttiGV. [I'afie loo. I) i; t I GOOt>.ttVK. lOI " It is quite true," she repeated quietly. " It is all settled. I dnn't suppose you go to St. Barnabas' Church, or you would have heard us proclaimed, as they call it. last .Sunday." "And who in Heaven's name arc you jjoing to marry } " he asked, compelled to believe the quiet earnestness with which she spoke. " You mi^ht easily i;uess, I am sure," she said. " There is only one person who would be likely to want to marry me in such a hurry ; my cousin, George Keith." "What, that beastly little cad!" he cried, with indignation, which with him was very genuine. " You don't mean to say, Peggy, you arc going to throw yourself away on him ? " " I told you before not to call him a cad," she said quickly. " Whatever he is, he is not that. He is a very good fellow, and I daresay if I had never seen you I should manage to be very happy with him." " But what in Heaven's name are you going to marry the fellow for } " cried Scott ; " that is what I want to get at. Are they forcing you into this ? For if they are, by Jove, I'll step in. I'll run away with you before I allow you to be made miserable in this fashion." " No, I am marrying him of my own free will. Now I come to think of it, I believe I proposed to him ; at least, I certainly told him that I should have no ob- jections," she said calmly ; and the young man stared at her, wondering still whether she were in jest or earnest. *' Well, I suppose if you expect me to believe what you are saying, you will at least give me some reason for it. What are you going to marry him for ? " " Well, for two reasons — to please my father " " Ah, that is it," he interrupted. " I knew the)' 3 ; 102 A STORMY VOYAGER. i i, S!! \ I ^1' H' were forcing you into it. Don't do it, Peggy ; you will never rue it but once, and that will be all your life. Have patience, trust me a little, and we will have it all our own way. Haven't you sufficient faith in me to be able to wait till the tide of fortune turns } " She shook her head, f > \ watched the graceful sweep of the seagulls as tliey dipped on the crests of the gentle waves. " And there is another reason, though I don't sup- pose you would understand it even if I tried to explain it to you," she went on. " I think perhaps it would be better for me to be settled down soon. I am the sort of woman whc gets into all kinds of scrapes and troubles, and who is perpetually making herself and everybody about her miserable. Now, as George's wife, I shall be an eminently respectable person, with duties to attend to, and all that sort of thing. Don't you thii.y- it will be very good for me ^ " Scott Dalrymple stared at her helplessly, amazed and perplexed by what she was saying, and scarcely giving credit to the fact that she was in earnest. " If you want me to say what I think, then I will," he said quickly. *' I think you are mad, and that if you throw yourself away in this fashion you will be miserable, and you deserve it." " But I won't be miserable ; I expect to be perfectly happy," she said persistently. " Peggy) is it really true what you are telling me ? Didn't you say you were going to be married next Tuesday to your cousin, George Keith ? " " Yes, I did — at three o'clock in the afternoon, in the drawing-room of the cottage we are staying in now ; Isabel Heriot is to be my bridesmaid, and Mr, Chisholm is coming down to marry us. Then I sup- GOOD-BYE. 103 pose we shall depart on a honeymoon, and after that, what ? " She looked up at him with a strange mirthless smile ; and with one hasty glance round to sec that they were unobserved, he caught her quickly and passionately in his arms. " You won't do it, Peggy ; you daren't," he cried hotly. " You belong to me, you know yourself you do, or you would never have sent for me today. I won't give you up — I swear I won't, even if you were twenty times married to George Keith. You belong to me. He had never been more passionately in earnest in his life, and .. thrill went through the girl's slender figure at his words. They sounded like music in her ears, and for one brief moment she forgot her vows to the other man who believed so implicitly in her. " I can't help it," she faltered ; " we must say good- bye, Scott. Everything is against us, and I question if even we could have been happy together. You would always have it in your power to reproach me with having injured your standing with your family and your prospects in life. I liave too much pride myself to enter a family where I am not welcome. I don't suppose I shall ever quite forget you, but I dare- say I shall be very happy and comfortable as Mrs. George Keith." A dreary little smile flitted across her face, and a lialf-sob broke from her lips. '* But what I cannot understand, Peggy, is, that you should have entered on this of your own free will. If they had been making you miserable, and forcing you to it, I should have understood it better." " There are different kinds of forcing," said Peggy, |i:i 104 A STORMY lOYAGhK. in a dry, calm voice. " Don't you see that I have vexed my father so awfully since I c.ime home that I feel nothing would be too great a sacrifice for me if I could only atone to him for it ? I know that if I marry George Keith it will make him really happy, and it docs not matter very much to me." " That is not very pleasant hearing for me," said Scott gloomily, " and I don't think you are treating me very well. You promised to be my wife before >'ou ever saw him." " Not quite," said the girl, with a faint smile, " seeing I have known him since I was a child. Well, now, that is all I wanted to say to you, and I am going home. I thought it would be better for us to meet like this once, and for me to tell you with my own lips what is going to happen, because I suppose it would be perhaps a little shock to you if you had only seen it in the newspapers." " And you actually mean that on Tuesday, that is four days from now, you are going to marry another man after all your promises to me } " said Scott, feel- ing now, when the girl was slipping out of his reach, that she was dearer to him than he had imagined. " Yes, on Tuesday at three o'clock you can think of me, and ne.xt time you see me you must not forget to address me as Mrs. Keith." " And all this without one word or even a look of regret," he said, with passionate reproach. " Did you ever care for me at all, Peggy, or were you just amusing yourself at my expense ? " " Perhaps ; I don't know ; I would rather not ask myself any such questions, and you have certainly no business to put them to me after what I have told you. Don't you think we had much better say good-bye (iOOt)-liVl:. 105 )ok of you lusing )t ask ily no you. |)d-byc now ? 1 must be getting home, for they don't know where I am." " No, you can't go yet ; there are a thousand things I must say to you. Uo you mean to say, I'cggy, that this is good-bye for ever ? Shall we never meet even if " " Oh, yes, we may meet ; the probability is that we will," she replied lightly. " But then, of course, it will be different, and perhaps it will be better if we pass each other as mere acquaintances." " How calmly you speak of it ! I had no idea you could be such a cold, hard-hearted creature. I could have taken my oath on your honour and truth," said the young man, growing very eloquent and indignant as he saw the injury done to him grow larger before his mental vision. " You do not know what a blow this is to me, Peggy ; I don't suppose I shall ever get over it. I have never really cared for a girl as I care for you ; there is nothing left for me to do but to go to the dogs as fast as possible." " Oh, I daresay you have felt like that about other girls before now," she said, trying to speak lightly, al- though her heart was full. " You will get over it, and we will be able to meet by-and-by and to smile over this folly. Well, I am going. Good-bye." She held out her hand to him, but he did not offer to take it. He was in reality for the time being stunned by the suddenness and unexpectedness of the blow which had fallen upon him. Certainly, he had had many love affairs, and until now Margaret Keith had not occasioned him many anxious hours ; but as it is with many things in this world, what was slipping out of his reach, nay, already beyond it, now seemed the most desirable thing on earth in his eyes. .I \i to6 A STORMY VOYAGER. " I am going," she said, quickly and decidedly. " Good-bye. I daresay you will soon have another girl to take my place." " I am goi.ig to walk back with you. I will go to your father, and show him the iniquity of this thing. He has no right to accept such a sacrifice from you," he said furiously. " I will tell him it is only a question of time, and that my people are sure to relent sooner or later. I always have what I want in the end." " But you forget there is me to be considered," she said calmly. " I have made up my mind deliberately to marry my cousin, and I am going to do it. So good-bye." Before he could detain her she turned away, sped from the beach with a fleet foot, never once looking back ; and somehow he did not dare to follow her. She shed a few bitter tears as she walked rapidly along the quiet, deserted road, and yet the ache at her heart was not so intolerable as she had expected it to be. She was a curious girl, and this meeting she had arranged with Scott Dalrymple had really been a little test for herself in order to satisfy herself as to her feelings for him. Before she reached the door of her own home she was able to smile somewhat at his extravagant speeches — a smile which proclaimed her heart whole. As she entered the house she was conscious of a dis- turbed atmosphere within, and on the stairs she met a maid with a scared face^ hurrying as if something serious had happened. " The master. Miss Margaret ; he is taken much worse — another shock, the mistress thinks, and I am going for the doctor." CHAPTER XII. Sir 'i "fT' "WHF.RK DO I COME IN?" E rallied a little in the night, and seemed better the next day, but none of them were deceived, himself least of all. He was unable to move, but speech was left to him, for which he was grateful. His house had long been set in order, and death had no terrors for a good man whose ideal of duty had been very high through a long life ; and yet there seemed a certain restlessness and uneasiness, a wistful questioning in his eyes, as if something yet remained to trouble him. To his wife he spoke but little ; the bitterness of their parting was over ; they had faced it together at the first warning shock, and sharing the same simple and unassailable faith, they looked forward to a more blessed reunion where partings are unknown. S. ve to take a needful rest, Margaret seldom left her father's bedside. She was keenly conscious of the watchfulness of his look, and understood full well the meaning, restless questioning in his eyes. " Papa, you are worrying about me," she said to him at last, as she sat by his bed in the waning light of the 107 io8 A STOKMV VOYAGKR. dull, threatening afternoon. " Tell me what you are thinking." *' I believe you can guess, lassie," he said, in his low, difficult voice. " Of what should I be thinking but the day that I v.ill never see } " " Do you mean my wedding-day, papa ? " she asked, laying her cheek fondly down on his white, frail hand, which even already had lost the warm touch of iife. " Yes, Peggy. If it had been the Lord's will that I should sec you and George man and wife, I would have no wish unfulfilled ; but I must not grumble or complain, for I have many mercies." She was silent a moment, with her young cheek still resting on his cold, pale hand. " Do you think, daddy," she said, in a low, almost inaudible voice, " that you will not be here on Tuesday } Has the doctor said so ? " " That I do not know, my lassie, but I think not my- self, nor would I wish it, .save to see that desire fulfilled." She said no more on the subject, and presently her mother entered the room. "George has just come down," she said. "They have been very busy all day in the shop, and he could not get away ; he will be up to see you in a minute, father, but I made him take his tea first." " If you are going to stay here, mamma, I'll go down and attend to George," said Margaret, rising to her feet. •• All right ; yes, I shall be here." She went softly from the room, closing the door behind her ; and the husband and wife who had walked together so many years in perfect harmony and love were left to one of their quiet moments of communion, which would soon be at an end for ever. When Margaret entered the little sitting-room whose ''WHERE UU 1 COME IN?" ICQ 3U are is low, ig but asked, 1 hand, "life. I that 1 Id have )mplain, eek still , almost uesday ? not my- ulfilled." intly her « They Ihe could minute, igo down her feet. the door Id walked land love imunion, )m whose window so pleasantly faced the sea, her cousin turned round to greet her silently, though his face expressed the genuine sympathy which surged in his heart. He could share their sorrow, because the love he bore to his uncle was that of a son to a father. " I am glad you have come, George," she said as she gave him her hand and lifted her sad eyes to his face. " I think papa was worrying for you. Have you been so busy that you could not come down earlier }" " I could not possibly get away, Peggy. I had a number of business appointments this morning, which no one could undertake for me, and which could not be put ofif. Is he really so bad } " " He is dying," she answered ; and though she spoke quietly, he saw that her heart was full of intolerable anguish. " I came down to attend to you, George. Sit down, and let me pour out your tea. I want to talk to you anyhow." He set a chair for her and sat down at the side of the table as near to her as he dared. Although it had been arranged that he and Margaret were to be married in three days, he was far from realising it, and often felt that she was more distant from him than she had yet been ; and yet her manner to him was in- variably kind and gentle. She never avoided any courtesy or any of the little attentions which she thought it her duty to pay him ; in that respect she was greatly changed , yet he sometimes thought that the old Margaret, full of whims and caprices and haughty ways, was preferable — certainly she was more natural. *' Papa does not think that he will live till Tuesday. What are we to do ? " She had passed him his teacup ; and leaning her elbows on the tray, supported her chin in her hand, no A STORMY VOYAGE K. ;) ffi /'i and asked that puzzling question in the most matter-of- fact manner, as if it concerned her not at all. He was sensitive enough to feel it, and his face flushed slightly. " I do not think I know what you mean," he said frankly ; " though I hope you are wrong about Uncle Kdwaid." " Oh, no, I am not. I should not be at all surprised if he were to die any moment. Oh, it is awful, awful, to see him as he is. I cannot think how God, if there is a God, can be so cruel." There was enough passion in her voice now to con- vince him of the intensity of her feeling. He would have liked to clasp her hand to express his sympathy, the yearning protective tenderness which surged in his soul by some close personal touch, and yet he did not dare. " He lies there so very patiently and uncomplainingly. I wish I could change places with him ; he is so good, and so many will miss him. I am nothing ; the world would be a better place if I were out of it." *' Hush, Peggy, I cannot allow you to speak like that," he said quickly. " But he is not suffering much, I hope." " No, I don't think so ; at least, he makes no com- plaint, but I do not think he is quite happy in his mind. Of course, it is about me ; it is always about me. I cannot think why I was ever born." " What does he say about Tuesday ? " asked George, trying to speak as if the matter were of small moment to him, although as he asked the question he felt his heart beat almost to suffocation. " He does not say anything, except that it is a day he will never see. That is what is vexing him. Don't you think we might — could we be married before then ; to-morrow, for instance } " M WHERE DO I COME /A/" III .tter-of- He was ilightly. he said t Uncle urprised I, awful, if there to con- e would athy, the I his soul not dare, lainingly. so good, the world jeak like suffering no cotn- •y in his lays about Id George, moment le felt his IS a day Don't fore then ; " We could, of course, if you arc willing," he replied, trying to imitate the calm, matter-of-fact way in which she spoke, and yet failing miserably, it bein^ a matter of life and death to him. " If on Tuesday why not to-morrow ? " she said, with a sudden heartrending note in her voice. " If you can arrange it, I wish you would. I think it would make him happier." George Keith rose from the table, and walking over to the window, stood there in silence for a moment, looking out upon the great expanse of troubled sea, which seemed to remind him of the sea of life. Although he passionately loved his cousin, his man- hood rebelled at her attitude towards the event which would be their making or undoing. He was by nature unselfish, and renunciation was easier to him than to most ; but he felt tempted even at this supreme moment to turn round and throw back her consent in her face, because she had never shown him more plainly her motive for having given it. His silence did not trouble her ; it was a matter of so little personal interest to her that she could not separate it from the thoughts of her father. She was very young — a mere child in experience of life — and had no idea of the great and grave issues which might arise out of a serious step in life so lightly taken. She rose from the table by-and-by, and moved nearer to him, so that she could see his face. " Why don't you speak, George ? " she said, with a sudden, quick, imperious note in her voice. " I think I have said as much as can possibly be expected of me. *' A good deal more, Margaret," he replied quietly, and she was struck by something in his voice — a cold 112 A STUNAtV yoYAGKH. and restrained tone which seemed to indicate either disapproval or hesitation. " Of course I cannot marry you against your will," she said shortly ; " but you seemed willing and anxious enough for Tuesday, and this is only Saturday. I fail to see what difference a few hours can make." He turned round then and regarded her with a steadfast and somewhat sad look. Never had she seen him appear to better advantage. lie looked manly and decided, and like a person who would no longer be trifled with. " Peggy, I don't believe that you realise for a moment what you are speaking about," he said, almost as one might have spoken to a child. " Do you know what it is to marry ? It is to be always together, to face everything that life has in store, the good and the bad alike, and there is no escape." " Oh, yes, there is if one wanted to escape," she said lightly, though inwardly troubled and impressed both by his words and manner. " But why speak about it as if it meant going to prison } I daresay we shall get on well enough ; but, of course, if you would rather draw back, I don't mind. It is a matter of supreme indifference to me." " Do you mean that, Peggy } Because if it is as you say, a matter of supreme indifference to you, then I am afraid to go on." " Oh, well, you understand me," she said. " I mean that a day or two, more or less, can make no difference ; only I thought, as we were hurrying it up anyhow to please papa, he might as well have the satisfaction of being present." " I understand and appreciate that part of it very well indeed," he said, " and you know as well as I that no WHERK no I COME IX f ••3 either II," she nxious I fail with a ad she looked ould no moment : as one J what it to face the bad she said sed both about it shall get d rather supreme is as you then I am 1 " I mean iifference ; inyhow to ^faction of very well I that no one would do more for Uncle Edward than I. But, great heavens ! Peggy, I am a man, and I shall want in my wife a little more than filial duty. Where do I come in?" " I thought we went over hII that before," she said, a trifle wearily. *' You know I like you very well, better than most people, or I should never have pro- mised to be your wife. I daresay we shall rub on well enough ; there is nobody deliriously happy in this world, anyhow, and the sooner one ceases to expect anything out of the common in the way of happiness the better it is for them." He stood looking at her, tugging the ends of his moustache in perplexity, which was almost maddening. Never did man feel himself in a more serious dilemma. He was mad with love for her, and she was calmly suggesting that he should marry her next day instead of the following week, and yet the hesitation and reluct- ance which filled his soul was stronger than his passion ; for he was not a child, and looking ahead he was forced to admit with that calm honesty which characterised him in all his dealings with himself and his fellow-men, that the future seemed to hold but little of assured peace or happiness for him should he make the beautiful and wayward creature before him his wife. " I daresay if you telegraphed to Mr. Chisholm he will come down in the morning," she said calmly. " That is all tliat is necessary, isn't it ^ " These words seemed to him to settle the matter. He gave up the struggle, and accepted the situation, trying to dwell only on its brighter side. " There are some other little arrangements necessary, but if it is to take place I can easily run up to town to-night and have them all settled. I suppose I may go up now and see your father > " 8 ' I 1 I 114 W STORMY yOYAGER. " Yes, and just tell him, will you, that it is all settled ? " Before he left the room he laid his hand on her shoulder, and forced her to look at him. " I wish 1 could see into that heart of y-uirs, Peggy," he said in a low, hoarse voice, " and I would to God I knew whether I am taking a wise and righteous step. Hut you don't care for me now, I can read that in these eyes of yours ; but 1 shall win you yet if it is possible for man to win you." His honest passion stirred her for a moment, and her eyes became suddenly dim. " Oh, George, I think it is very ^^ood of you to take me ; I am such a wicked, selfish, ungrateful creature. But I will do the best I can." It was the first bit of genuine feeling he had seen in her exhibited towards himself for many a day, and it comforted him strangely. " I hope I shall be able to make you happy, Peggy, and that one day you will let me hold you in my arms and tell me that you would rather be there than any- where else in the world." Long afterwards these words recurred to the sad heart of Margaret Keith, when the waters of bitter experience had rolled over her, and when her eyes, now holden, were opened to the realities of life. When her mother came down, by-and-by, she found her standing looking out upon the tossing sea, which was rising to an angrier mood, and it was a minute before she turned to speak to her. " Has George told you, mother, that I think we had better be married to-morrow for papa's sake ? " " Oh, bairn," said her mother, and stopped short, a sob choking her utterance. " Well, but, mother, don't you think it will make H//£A'£ UO I LOME ISr H! tied ? '• )n her 'eggy." God I IS stci). n these possible and her 1 to take creature. 1 seen in ly, and it him happier ? I am sure that is what he is fretting about." *• I grant it might make him happier for the minute, Peggy," her mother replied, shaking her head, " but he will soon be in the Kingdom where sorrow cannot come. We shall be here, and will not escape the consequences." " Why, mother, you speak as if something dreadful was going to happen } What do you think I am going to do or to be } " " That it is in the power of no man or woman to tell, Peggy Keith," said her mother, with a strange ring in her voice, " lor though you are my bairn, I seem to know but little of you, and it is George that I am wae for, for I think, as your father says, that we are like to sacrifice him among us." y, Peggy, my arms han any- sad heart [xperience w holden, Ishe found iea, which lute before ik we had kd short, a will make ill ^ 'i U- I, ■■ 'm 1 ■; ■ ' ! ( t ; , 1 ' ' I h' \ ■1 ii m ; CHAPTER XIII. THE LITTLE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE. ^^^Sl \^M;7yj| s ARGARET KEITH sat at one of the front windows of the Schweizerhof at Lucerne on a glorious June evening, looking idly out of the window, with a listless and somewhat dreary look on her face. Her deep mourn- ing proclaimed her recent bereavement, and it might be that the sombre black was less becoming to her than lighter raiment, for she certainly looked less brilliant than of yore. The loveliness of Lucerne never palls. See it when you will ; in winter with its mighty monarchs eternally snow-crowned ; in early spring, when all the birds are twittering in the budding boughs ; in the fulness of summer, when the green on the trees and on the lower slopes of the hills is a thing to dream of; or in the rich autumn, when Nature wears her mantle of purple and gold, it satisfies, and is incomparable always. And yet, perhaps, its choicest loveliness is to be found in June, when everything is radiant, before the dust of the tourist traffic has dimmed its freshness. Margaret Keith was not altogether insensible to the beauty which surrounded her. The hush which 11$ THE LITTLE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE. M7 the front Lucerne :ing idly less and 3 mourn- it might to her Iked less it when leternally [birds are ilness of [he lower Ir in the if purple always. >e found dust of to the which brooded on the still bosom of the lake soothed her in what had been an hour ago an irritable mood. Yet there was nothing of that keen interest and enjoyment in her face which one would expect to see in a young wife on her wedding journey. Presently she saw coming up the white dusty road two gentlemen in tourist garb, one the husband to whom she had of her own free will bound herself for life. He was no un- attractive figure, being, if not so tall as his friend, well built and of manly appearance, and his face was always a pleasant one to behold by reason of its frank, fearless, honest look. He had been for an afternoon stroll with a casual acquaintance picked up in the hotel, his wife having preferred to rest quietly till the evening. His companion, a young English barrister, paying his first visit to the Continent, and full of enthusiastic interest in his travels, had proved a very interesting companion, and Keith looked in the best of spirits. When he saw his wife at the window, he took off his straw hat and waved it to her gaily, but she only gave him a stiff little nod in respon.se. She heard him singing as he came along the corridor to their sitting- room, and somehow, in her rather depressed and uninterested mood, his high spirits caused her a distinct sense of irritation. " I hope I have not been too long, Margaret ; but really I have enjoyed m> walk. Temple is very enter- taining. Do you feel rested } " "Oh, yes, I am all right but don't let us stop long here, George. Don't you think it an awfully slow place .-' " "I was just thinking the very opposite," he replied, rather blankly. " Temple and I are agreed that it is one of the jollies"t places we have ever stayed at. It was too bad of me to leave you to mope all the after- Ii8 A STOKMV l/OVAGER. i \ noon ; never mind, there is a concert on at the Kursaal, and we will go after dinner." " Oh, I don't think I want to go. These kind of concerts are never up to much ; people only go to stare and be stared at. I don't care for it. How long do you want to stop here } " " It depends entirely upon you, dear," replied George readily. " We can leave to-morrow if you like ; I should not mind." " Do let us begin going home." " Already ? " he exclaimed. " Why, I thought you wanted a month on the Continent. You certainly said so." " Yes, but I have changed my mind. I did not think it would be quite so slow." It was not particularly pleasant hearing, this, for the six weeks* husband, but he hid his disappointment as well as he could. "All right, just as you like, Peggy. I daresay Aunt Alice will only be too delighted to have us back sooner than she expected. Shall we abandon the rest of ihc tour, then ? " " Oh, no, we need not abandon it now we have taken the tickets : we can go through with it. But we need not stay so long at each place. I like arriving at a place at night and leaving in the morning." " But, dear me, Peggy, nobody can see anything in that fash 'on ; one's whole time is spent in trains and steamers and diligences. It is a very curious idea of enjoyment." " Oh, it is not enjoyment at all," she said quickly. " But I don't suppose anybody really enjoys travelling on the Continent. They say they do, but if they were honest they would admit that the best part of it all is the getting home again." THE LITTLE RIFT VVITHLX THE LUTE. II.; Cursaal, kind of ' go to ow long George like; I ght you certainly did not s, for the tment as say Aunt /k sooner St of chc vse have But we rriving at ig in that steamers joyment." quickly, travelling hey were f it all is George laughed, and threw off his coat to make ready for table-cThStc. " You are very severe, Peggy. Well, are you really in earnest about leaving to-morrow } " " Yes, I do want to get home. I'd like to come to the Riviera in spring when Edinburgh is insupportable. Just now it will be quite pleasant, and I am longing to get back." " Well, you shall go back," he said readily ; but even that did not please her. She was in an irritable and contradictory mood, when it would have been a relief to her to have some one to argue with. Her husband's imperturbable good nature and forbearance with her, instead of rousing her gratitude and respect, only made her feel the more inclined to worry him. " Look here, George, there is something I want to say to you ; I have been thinking of it all the afternoon," she said suddenly. " It is about what we are going to do when we get back to Edinburgh. I hope you understand that I expect to have a home of my own.'' He looked at her rather blankly for a moment, her tone was so obviously aggressive. "I don't think I know what you mean, dear," he said, gently enough, and yet with a troubled air. " Well, I suppose you intend, as you have not said anything about it, that we shall go back to mamma's house, but I hope you understand that I do not pro- pose to carry on my housekeeping under mamma's eye." Her tone and manner were disagreeable in the ex- treme, and caused her husband to wince. " Of course, I am quite willing that you should have a house of your own ; more than willing, indeed, Peggy/' he said ; " but is there any hurry ? We have Aunt Alice to consider, and it would be much kinder to lio A STORMY VOYAGE K. i i I ! her to go back and share her lonehness for a little while at least ; besides, it is a very bad season of the year to get a house, and we must take time and look about us." " Oh, well, of course, I am not in such a desperate hurry ; only I was afraid that you thought perhaps we should all live together." " Perhaps I did think so, and I am sure it is Aunt Alice's opinion still," he said frankly. " Mamma and I could never agree, George, and you will be miserable between us. It was different with papa ; he understood me, I think." It is a common cry with many self-centred and shallow natures that they are not understood, and they make their isolated and misunderstood condition the excuse when they want to make themselves particularly objectionable. George Keith had the highest possible admiration as well as love for his widowed aunt ; she had been like a mother to him through his motherless boyhood, and in all the years he had known her in the privacy and close intimacy of her home he had never seen her temper ruffled, or heard one ungentle or bitter word fall from her lips. He felt much inclined to re- prove Margaret sharply for her mode of speech, and yet something told him that he had better refrain. " Well, what part of the town would you like to live in ? " he asked, thinking it better to confine the con- versation strictly to practical details. He was learning already that their opinions on matters of conduct were very much inclined to clash. " Oh, it is not where I would like to live but where I shall be allowed to live," she said lightly. ** Of course, if I had my choice, I should say the west end ; but I suppose you would think that preposterous." " Well, it depends entirely on what part of the west THE LITTLE KIFT \VlTHh\ THE LUTE. 121 live con- rning were vhere "Of end ; west end, and also on what kind of a house would satisfy you, Peggy," h*^ said guod-naiuredly. " Well, I want a big house. I shall stay where we are until I can get one to my mind. The sooner we understand each other on some of these points the better, George ; it will be more satisfactory, I think, to have them all settled before we go home, so that there may not be any recrimination or unpleasantness there." " Oh, I hope there is not going to be anything of that sort, either here or there," he said lightly. " I give you credit for some commonsense, and you are agreed with me that it is much better to begin moder- ately ; it is easier to step up th to step down, and much more pleasant. Of course the business is very good, but then your mother's jointure has to come out of it, and your father had a good many pensioners both among his relatives and amongst outsider^>, and these he left in charge to me." " Well, I can buy a house," said Margaret defiantly, "with the ;^5000 papa left me." "Certainly you could, but I don't think I should agree to that," he said firmly, his prudent business instincts coming to the front. " We could not possibly afford to keep up a house which cost ;^5ooc ; it would be utter folly ; hut I hope you are only jesting." " Well, folly or not folly, I can tell you, George, I have had enough of life in a flat, and I mean to have a nice house, and to cultivate society worth cultivating." He smiled involuntarily, and she resented it because she did not understand it. " You need not sneer at me," she said hotly. " I have never had a chance, and I mean to show some of the Edinburgh people what I can do. Perhaps I shall give you a surprise one of these days among the rest." 1 r^ tsa A STOhWfV lOVACEK. )i !1 '!■■ d4 " You have given me one already, Peggy," he said, with an indulgent air, such as one might have adopted towards a wayward child. He was very young in matrimonial experience as yet, and h.id scarcely done more than grasp the bliss- ful, and yet tormenting, fact that Peggy belonged to him. It sent a curious thrill of pride through his sober veins when he saw the admiration bestowed upon her everywhere, and as yet jealousy was a word without meaning to him. He was so absolutely true and faithful himself, that it was impossible for him to attri- bute lightness of conduct or of thought to others, unless proof was before his very eyes. " But what we have got to settle now," he con- tinued, " is where we arc going to-morrow, I had promised Temple to do Pilatus with him ; we thought we would get up at four o'clock, and that you would come up by the train and meet us at the hotel, where we could have lunch." " Oh, well, I am (juite willing to stay another day," she said, more pleasantly. " I don't want to spoil your excursion ; besides, I suppose it would be considered too awful to leave Lucerne without doing Pilatus," ana a little scornful curl curved her short upper lip. ** I want to do everything," he said, with a pleasant, joyous ring in his voice. " I have never been to the Continent before, and I am not ashamed of my delight in everything. " You, of course, having lived at Lau- sanne for two years, feel differently about it, but I want to see as much as I can." " But don't you think it is tather vulgar to be so anxious to do all the sights } My creed is to leave something always unseen and untried wherever one goes ; it gives a zest to any possible visit in future." y e said, jopted nee as : bliss- ^ed to s sober )on her .vithout jc and o attri- , unless \e con- I had thought would where yy/A UTTLE Rirr \vithl\ the lute. 123 " Why, Pcj^'f^y, you speak like some hardened old veteran who had drained the cup of life to the dregs," he said teasingly. " What I want to know now is, are you coming down to table-iV hate in that blouse ? I am not finding fault with it, my lady, but I think, to please me, you might put on something else." " Oh, I thought I was all right," she replied care- lessly. " What is the use of dressing up ? Anyhow, the best people never do. Just you look at those Knglish people who sit at our table at the lower end ; they are the real sort, and you could not match them for dowdiness. It is only snobs who dress up for tabk- a'hote dinners." " All right, madam, I bow to your superior wisdom," he said gaily. " Well, I must go and make myself decent after a four miles' tramp in the dust and heat." :r day," oil your isidered Mlatus," lip. )leasant, to the delight at Lau- :, but I be so to leave ver one ture." CHAPTER XIV. " YOU OUGHT TO DO JUST AS YOU I.IKE." HEY left Lucerne a day or two later, and journeyed by rather quicker stages than they originally intended back to London ; and there Margaret seemed inclined to spend the remainder of the month. The season was at its height, and the weather exquisitely fine. They took rooms at the Metropole, for George Keith, who now enjoyed the first real holiday of his life, had laid aside a considerable sum to be spent on it, and had determined that nothing should be stinted to make it a success. Occasionally he was conscious of a pang of disappointment at Margaret's lukewarm appreciation of everything he tried to do for her comfort and pleasure ; but when he reflected that she was not a de- monstrative or particularly warm-hearted person, and that she had married him entirely of her own free will, and, therefore, could not possibly regard him as entirely objectionable, he took heart of grace. The second night after their arrival in London he went out to dine with his new friend Temple at his chambers in Lincoln's Inn. Margaret had professed herself entirely willing to be left for the evening, saying 124 yoi/ OUGHT TO DO JUST AS YOU UKE." 125 hey who laid had ke it ig of ition and de- and will, irely he his Issed Mng she was tired after going shopping, and had an interest- ing book which she could enjoy quietly in her own sitting-room. He gave orders that dinner was to be served to her upstairs, a dainty little meal t'^ which she did every justice ; but about eight o'clock s.ic began to yawn over her book, and suddenly bethought herself that she might take a little stroll along the Embankment, which certainly looked very inviting in the clear evening light, with the radiance of the setting sun shedding a transfiguring halo on the river and its crowded banks. Margaret Keith was a person who yielded to her im- pulses generally without a moment's hesitation or consideration, deeming it her duty in most things to please herself. She still wore her walking dress, which was sober enough to attract no attention ; and yet when she put on her large picture hat, with its graceful plumes, she saw herself in the mirror a most striking figure. She was given to a good deal of frank admira- tion of her own beauty, and had no hesitation in admitting to herself that she was one of the handsomest women she had ever seen. Yet she was able to retain in her manner and bearing a singular unconsciousness, which made her beauty all the more striking. She went leisurely down the wide staircase buttoning her dainty gloves, and when she reached the hall, paused to inquire at the bureau whether any letters had come in by the evening mail. There were a good many loungers about, as usual, some in evening dress who had just come out from the dining-rooms ; more than one looked at her with keen interest and admiration. Having had her question answered, she was about to step out of the door, when a gentleman came hastily forward and addressed her by her name. She started, flushing hotly, and angry with herself for betraying the 126 A STOKMV yOY^}GE/i. I'! I V Ml' . i « I .1 slightest confusion at her first ^Tieeting with Scott Dalrymplc. As for him he lo(jkcd unfeigncdly deh'ghted " What arc you doing here, Peggy ? " he cried in astonishment, the old name slipping out quite naturally and unaffectedly. Margaret had not for the moment self-possession sufficient to check this familiar use of her name. " I thought you were on the Continent doing the regular round." " We are on our way home now," she replied, a trifle stiffly, and the colour began to abate in her cheeks. '• And where, may I ask, is your husband ? " " He has gone to dine with a friend." •' And left you all alone, by Jove ! " said the young fc5 ow, with a very expressive glance. " I call that rather haid lines. But where are )ou going now, may I ask } " " Only for a little stroll ; I have been in all the evening," she replied, having now thoroughly regained her composure, and even feeling that it was very pleasant to meet an old friend in a place where she felt herself so completely a stranger. " Do let nte accompany you. There cannot possibly be the slightest harm in that when you are such an old friend of Ella's," he said in his most winning way. Margaret hesitated only a moment. " Well, I don't mind ; there cannot possibly be any harm in that," she said at length. So they went down the hotel steps together, and turned their faces towards the Embankment. " You look splendid," he said, seemingly unable to forget that there was any particular barrier between them which ought to have kept such personal remark^. "rOi: OLGHT TO DO J CUT AS vor L,::i: 127 from his tongue. *' I suppose you have hjid no end of a time ? " " It has been pretty slow," was Margaret's unex- pected answer. " When one has lived as much abroad as I have, things arc apt to seem a little stale, but Mr. Keith enjoyed himself immensely." " I don't see how he cou d help it," observed Scott, rather significantly. " And how long are you likely to be in London .■* " " I don't know ; AJr. Keith talks of going home the day after to-morrow, but I should not mind staying u week longer. London is very gay just now, and there is a good deal to see." " I think it a positive shame to lose a whole evening, if you ask me," said Scott, without the slightest hesita- tion. " And I don't think, if you will excuse me making the remark, that a man has any business to leave his wife like this, and go dining with another fellow." " He accepted the invitation because I made him do it," observed Margaret calmly, though not resenting, as she ought, this very personal remark. " The gentle- man he is dining with is an acquaintance we made at Lucerne, a very pleasant man, a bairister who has chambers in Lincoln's Inn." " I don't care where he has chambers, or what sort of a fellow he is," said Scott, biting the end of his cane savagely ; " I say it is a beastly shame." " If you make any more remarks of that sort, I must go back to the hotel," said Margaret quickly. " Please to remember that v ju have no business to concern yourself at all with my aflfairs.'' The young man flushed a little at this very decided snub. "You are very hard upon me, Mrs. Keith," he said, 138 A STOA'A/y yUYAGEK. taking care to address her by her proper name, " I don't mean any offence, and 1 think you mi^ht find just a little excuse for me ! " The humility of his tone was such that Margaret could no lon^a^r keep up her assumed resentment. ** Let us dismiss the subject," she said with a touch of hauteur. " Suppose you tell me now what you are doing in London ; it is rather early for holidays." "My mother and the girls have gone to Carlsbad, and I came up like a dutiful son to sec them off," he said lightly. '' I was supposed to have gone home to- night, but I really stayed to see the new opera at the Savoy. It be^'Mis at nine ; would not you come ^ " " Don't be silly ! " she answered back rather sharply. But he saw a quick passing gleam of interest on her face, which indicated that it was a little diversion she would have very much enjoyed. •' I suppose Mr. Keith will take you himself ; perhaps you already have your seats booked } " he said sug- gestively. " My husband has never been in a theatre that I know of in his life, and would no more think of taking me there than of flying in the air," observed Margaret calmly. " Do you mean to say that even in London he would not take you, especially to such a harmless entertain- ment as a Savoy opera ? " " He does not approve of the theatre any more than my father did," answered Margaret, " and I don't know that I particularly want to go." " You enjoyed it very much on that never-to-be-lor- gotten jolly evening when you and Ella came from Lausanne ; uo you remember .-' " A scarcely perceptible sigh involuntarily escaped "iUC ULU/ZT To DO JLST A6 YOU LIKE." 139 «• 1 c. » ind just largarct »t. a touch you arc /s. 'arlsbatl. 1 off," \-^^ home to- ra at the me ? ;r sharply- :st on her jrsion she ^ ; perhaps said sug- Ixtre that 1 of taking Margaret he would entertain - more than I don't know ;r-to-be-lor- came from ily escaped Margarets lips. Did she remember ? \V«>uId she ever forget ? ** That was my fiist antl last cx|>criencc of theatre going, I am afraid, " she said, with a distinct shade of rcgrtt in her voice. *' Hut would you not like to go again ? " he said suggestively. " What one likes and what one may ilo in this world arc two difT'-Mcnt things," said Margaret drily. "Not with )ou, I should say," he answered quickly. " Vou ought to do just as you like, and it should be the pleasure of everybody who has the hap[)iness to be near you to carry out your plea^ re." The words were daring, but his manner was so entirely respectful that Margaret did not resent them as she ought. This open adulation, so ardently expressed, was somewhat pleasing to her, for although her hus- band loved her passionately, and well she knew it, he was not lavishly demonstrative, nor was he the master of such complimentary and sweet-sounding phrases as women are supposed to like. " But, seriously, you might come, Mrs. Keith ; I am sure your husband could not possibly make any objection to an old friend of the family giving you this little pleasure. We should probably be home before him, anyhow — if bachelor dinners in London are any- thing like the same functions in Edinburgh. Do you think he would be very angry } " " I am sure I don't know. I am not afraid of that," she said quickly, " but I do not know that I particularly want to go." " But to please me I think you might. We have just time to go comfortably in a hansom, and they say it is really splendid. You know you are awfully fond of music." 130 A STORMY VOYAGER. Ml \n I ? • f 1 " Am I ? " said Margaret coolly. " This was the first t:"ne I knew it. I cannot appreciate classical music, and the money would be simply thrown away on me," she said perversely. " But this is not classical music, it is a comic opera, and you would like it immciisely," he said persistently. " I am going to call this hansom." He gave a nod to a passing hansom, and before Margaret realised what she was doing she was inside, and the order given to drive to the Savoy. Although she jlaimed for herself at all times perfect freedom of action, she was conscious of a certain un- easiness when she thought of her husband, to whom she had distinctly said that she preferred a quiet evening in the hotel. Otherwise nothing would have induced him to leave her ; but she had that convenient faculty which enabled her to banish unpleasant thoughts ; and having taken the step, or rather been made to take it, since it was all done without pre- meditation, and before she could protest or demur, she was determined to make the best of it, and extract as much enjoyment as possible from the evening's enter- tainment. It was one of the brightest and most amusing of the Gilbert and Sullivan operas, and Margaret's enjoyment of it was unalloyed. Indeed, her escort could have wished her attention less strictly concentrated on the play. She could talk of nothing between the acts even but the bright music and the amusing situations, while he felt more disposed to talk of other and more personal matters. It was half-past eleven when they left the theatre, and though Margaret was too proud and too inde- pendent to betray the slightest concern to her com- Pan.on, she fe. ,ec..„ a „„. ,„„,,, ,, ^^^ i^hall we walL- ? " only a step.' '^ ^' '"^ "«=atre door. " It jj "''^''^ro^iritrfd'^'"'^""^'-- -■nute.,,a„dwe'™r;;„:,,tTr;' ^''-' "•rec lamb, as they say wUh us ' ^^ '^' * ^''^'^P ^s a ''oL^"ici:'rdrd:„^".'^- ^^- •^-■"> -■" be will say to me." ^°" ' ''"°'>' »'«' on earth he " Vou can refer him tn r„. -r -•'h a great show o/^brr^l'; '°" rf '^■" ^^'^ ^cott, apJogy required I can make7t anH T .^ "'"^ '^ ""r 5Tt:t':.'° - ' -' - ^- r^L'en':;^^^^^^^^ ■n the bitter after days she t. n ?\ """^ » «-"« '«ken that night, whiclfsotVl s! - r"""^" ^'^P -vh.ch made shipwreck of C ,ife ''' °^ ""= '"^"^d She talked incessantly a' tt „ =^hort distance from the theatrr/™'u''' ^"'^^y "><= companion was shrewd enough /° ^ ''°"='- "" loquacousness hid a certain amo ! ". '^ "'=" '^is g-mg his imagination he reTn h ""'''^'■"^^^- ^"^ "nder the control of I V ^^ P'«"^<=d Margaret 'y^nnical husband, "L^ZZ'T"''- "'fi^h.^and Pi-ecating or of prLeX IT , "^ '"^^pMe of ap. """• He felt as'^ hf Wh ?, ""= '""^""^ "e h!d '■nctly troubled face that hi m" ""^''^'^ •''"d dis- '"--<= plain truths to h t flee" . ''" ''^"^^^ ^eith d'fferent matter when theclmo • ' " *'*'' » -''^y • '"'"'' P'-^^<''«ly to the hotel ^i'T « 132 A STORMY VOYAGER. wi^ door, and saw him standing there with a very set and ominous expressi( n on his face. It even struck Scott Dalrymple in that uncomfortable and trying moment that he had rather underrated Keith's appearance, for he certainly looked both handsome and manly as he came forward and drew his wife's hand through his arm. " I have been very anxious about you, Margaret," he said quietly, but without allowing his eyes to rest for one moment on the somewhat defiant face of the young man by her side. " I think you might at least have left a note telling me where you had gone." Margaret had no time to make any reply, because Scott chimed in with his explanation. " It was my fault, Mr. Keith. I happened to meet Mrs. Keith quite accidentally in the hall here just as I was going out to the Savoy to hear the new opera, you know, and as we were such old friends, I took the liberty of asking, in fact, of pressing, her to accompany me. So I hope that if you are at all displeased or put out, you will visit your wrath ri\ the proper delinquent." George Keith turned slightly, and regarded the young man with a steady and rather disconcerting glance. *' Sir, I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, nor do I desire it," he said haughtily. " Come, Margaret." She was so taken aback that she made not the slightest demur, and they passed into the hotel, leaving the young man in a very angry and revengeful mood at the door. Margaret could not withhold from her husband an inward thrill of admiration for the effectual way in which he had set Scott Dalrymple down into his proper place, but at the same time she was quite prepared to resent being treated herself in any such off-hand fashion. They went up the wide staircase in perfect silence, which neither seemed inclined to break, " VOL' OUGHT TO DO JUST AS YOU LIKE." 133 it and Scott loment , for he e came m. rgaret," to rest 2 of the at least even after they had entered their own sitting-room. George turned up the electric h'ght, closed the door, and slipped in the bolt. " You need not do that," she said coldly. " I want some coffee or tea sent up. I feel rather hungry." He paid no attention to this remark, but, standing with his back against the wall, surveyed her steadily. " Now, I hope you will have the goodness to explain to me what is the meaning of this extraordinary con- duct " he said, his voice quite as cold as her own. because to meet just as 1 ,pera, you he liberty ipany me. put out, ^uent.' irded the ing glance, [uaintance, Margaret" not the [el, leaving |eful mood from her e effectual [down into was quite any such ptaircase in [d to break, f, I I-. . < ^ ?. ■■'■ «: ^^1 ' '1 rid ?^' :-. ^^^-^"mfcjggim* A <^^ ..T~1^5SS ■- ^ ^^j-^ni-';'-*-** ^-.--...J- - V. v-is;;5jj, CHAPTER XV. TlIK FIRST QUARREL. ARGARET took the pins out of her hat and tossed it down on the table with a distinctly defiant air. She felt herself in the wrong, and had her husband adopted a different tone towards her, would have admitted it. But his peremptory and suspicious manner seemed to rouse all that was worst in her. " It has been explained to you," she said, with quick irritation. "What Mr. Dalrymple said was quite true Of course, if you do not choose to believe it, it does not matter to me." " Even if it were true," he said quickly, " I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself to have accepted an invitation from Scott Dalrymple. Did it never occur to you what a very poor tribute of respect you arc paying to me .■' I suppose you posed before him as a neglected wife, although you assured me when you were urging me to go and see Temple that you would prefer to be left alone. I think you will grant that it is very natural that I should have my suspicions." " If you choose to think that I had an appointment with him, then you may," she said coldly, as before, and 134 fHE FIRST QUA/ifiEL t35 of her hat ible with a t herself in md adopted admitted it. r seemed to , with quick [s quite true : it does not L, '• I think lave accepted bid it never [f respect you before him as ne when you it you would grant that it [picions. 1 appoii^^"^^"* as before, and put her hand on the bell to ring for her coffee. '* I shall not take the trouble to explain any further, or to try to clear myself," So sayinj^, the pushed open the bedroom door, and having entered, shut it with no gentle hand. Her husband stood with a perplexed look on his face until the waiter came upstairs. When he had given him his order liC entered the adjoining room. " We need not quarrel over this, Peggy," he said, in a more conciliatory tone, although he was scarcely less angry than before, " You must admit that I had grounds for my anger, and I hope that you will promise me to have nothing further to say to that presuming puppy downstairs. He has no reputation in Edinburgh ; no girl who values her fair name will be seen with him, and I hope that my wife has some respect both for her own name and mine." " There is no use saying any more about it," she answered, quite coldly still. *' I am not going to be bullied and insulted as if I were a child or a fool, and the sooner you understand that the better it will be for us both." " If you had only said that you wished to go to the theatre or to any other place of entertainment, do you think I would have refused you, Peggy ,•• " he said reproachfully. " It shows how very little you know me, and what a poor opinion you have of my love. Do you think that if I had loved you less I would have felt so furious when I saw you with that fellow downstairs ,? " But Margaret refused to be conciliated. *' It is idiotic to be so jealous," she said, with a curl of her lip ; " idiotic and vulgar." This was rather trying. George Keith was not r. hot-tempered person, but there were limits to his endur- 136 A sroA'.ui I'ovAaKk. i h if I ance. Mavinj; vainly endeavoured to make peace with his wife, and finding her so very disinclined to meet his advances, he simply turned on his heel and left the room, nor did he come upstairs until Margaret was asleep. It was with some surprise he observed her sleeping sweetly and soundly as a child who does not know the meaning of care. She lay with one hand under her cheek, and an expression of child-like unconsciousness upon her beautiful face. He felt distinctly conscious of a sharp pang of remorse as he looked. Perhaps he had been too harsh with her ; after all, she was so very, very young, she could scarcely be expected to consider all those fine discriminations between right and wrong which are acquired through wisdom and experience. He determined on the morrow he would make ample amends ; but when the morrow came Margaret was distinctly aggressive and resentful. She rose very early, and when he awoke himself he was surprised to find her already dressed and busy at her portmanteau, as if packing. " I want to go home to-day," she said curtly, and without the slightest greeting of any kind. " You had better get up ; it is a quarter-past eight, and it will take us all our time to get to King's Cross by ten." " There is no need for all this hurry, Peggy," he said quickly. " Perhaps this is how you mean to punish me for being so cross last night, although I think I had sufficient cause." " You are quite mistaken," she said coldly. " I have been tired of gadding about for some time. You know I told you at Lucerne I wished we were going home. I shall go down and order breakfast." It did not occur to her, evidently, that he would demur to fall in with her wishes, and she accordingly \ i ,."! THE I'IRST (^UAKKI:!., •i/ with :t his oom, ?• eping w the :r her iisness iscious aps he o very, onsider wrong erience. i ample ret was ^.self he busy at rtly, and ^ou had will take ggy/' ^^ o punish nk 1 had " I have )U know I home. I he would :cordingly went off downstairs, leaving him to dress, and to the companionship of his own thoughts, whatever they might be. It was not to be expected that they were particularly pleasant ones. He was finding out with rather startling rapidity the strength of his wife's mind, and her self-will was a somewhat unpleasant quality to deal with. If she was going to be sulky, he considered as he proceeded with his dressing, the outlook for the future was not particularly bright. When he went into the sitting-room he found her waiting for him, sitting with her chin in her hand at the open window, which commanded a full view of the busy Embankment and the river, upon which the June sunshine was flashing royally. Matrimonial quarrels are amusing to everybody as a rule, except those en- gaged in them. George Keith, a peaceable man by nature, had seldom felt more uncomfortable than he did when he looked upon his wife's averted head and her sober face. He crossed to the window and stood by her, looking down in silence upon her. Then Margaret was seized by an insane desire to laugh, although she made no sound. " What are you staring at } " she said presently. "If you are ready we had better get down to breakfast, I think." " Are you serious in wishing to go home to-day, Peggy > " he began then. " Nothing will be ready for us. I question if your mother even may be at home." " I don't see that that would matter," she said curtly. " What . is the good of stopping here .? We shall do nothing but quarrel ; it will be far better to get home and get to work." " I don't agree with you ; I think you might remain here till Monday, at least. It will then be only three weeks since we left home. We were supposed to have 138 A STORMY VOYAGEfi. * i I ^i' gone for a month, and people do not generally curtail their holiday, but are more inclined to prolong it" Margaret gave her shoulders an expressive shrug. " I had rather go home ! " she said persistently, although in her inmost heart she was relenting, and only waited some further pressure to be persuaded. " Very well," George said unexpectedly, and with a curt coldness which showed that he was far from pleased. " Then we had better make haste downstairs. It will take us all our time, as you say, to get to King's Cross by ten o'clock." They made a poor and hurried breakfast, and got bundled out of the hotel with uncomfortable haste, always a trying experience even for those in the best of tempers. By the time they had taken their seats in the train their attitude towards each other had gained considerably in bitterness. Peggy was really furious at having been taken so absolutely at her word, and though George Keith was more unfeignedly miserable than he ever remembered to have felt himself before, he was not disposed to further conciliate his rebellious wife, who had certainly been to blame from the beginning. At York the necessary telegram was despatched to Mrs. Keith, and the uncomfortable journey was con- tinued under very slightly improved auspices to Edin- burgh. It rained when they got there, and the whole city, after the briiiiant sunshine they had left, wore a chill, depressing look. " How hateful it is to come back ! " was all the re- mark Peggy made as she stepped discontentedly into the cab. " I suppose we may take this as emble- matical of our lives henceforth." " I hope not," her husband answered, as he closed the door. He was particularly anxious that Mrs. THE FIRST QUAKKEL. »30 urtail rug. stently, ig. ^"^^ led. id with "ar from wnstairs. o King's and got lie haste, the best neir seats ad gained ly furious word, and miserable elf before, rebellious beginning. latched to was con- is to Edin- the whole left, wore all the re- ntedly into as emble- he closed that Mrs. Keith should not observe an> thlnjj (nld or suspicious in their demeanour towards each other, and he therefore made a second endeavour to swallow his pride and make it up. lie sat down opposite his wife, and looked at her steadily for a full minute. " Why do you stare in such an idiotic manner ? " she asked crossly. " I object to being stared at." " Is there anything on this earth in connection with mo you do not object to, Peggy ? " he asked, and a faint gleam of a smile, the first which bad touched her lips all day, was visible on her face, " I am very sorry that I have the misfortune to offend you at every turn," he said in the same grave, passionless voice ; " but all the same I do not see that anything is to be gained by our proclaiming our disagreements to the whole world. I would therefore suggest that we assume a semblance of cheerfulness whether we feel it or not ; though we are miserable ourselves, there is no need to make everybody else so." '* There, you need not have been such a bear ; and to insist on dragging me away from London, just when I was beginning to enjoy it," said Peggy with the utmost coolness. " I think it is simply abominable of you, but there is no use saying any more about it." George was fortunately able to take the same view, although this new view of the case considerably exer- cised him. He was being taught a number of lessons in woman's caprice. The telegram received by Mrs. Keith, about three o'clock in the afternoon, had filled her with considerable alarm, and she was anxiously expecting the travellers, feeling sure that something must have gone wrong with the health of one or other. But when they appeared at the door looking radiant, and, as far as vision ii:.i f> !'•! mm 1 ' I 140 // s'lohw/y lovAdK/i. served her, entirely pleased with each other, she felt considerably relieved. Her greeting was warm and motherly, as usual ; but there was visible in the eyes which rested so keenly and questioningly on her daughter's face a certain grave anxiety which George Keith now understood a good deal better than he would have done three weeks before. His aunt had never professed any great satisfaction over the wedding ; and she had talked to him very seriously the night before it took place, speaking to him with more frankness than a mother usually does of her daughter's faults and failings, and that anxious, questioning look which was writ large upon her face as she met them at the door was pregnant with meaning. Peggy had evidently taken the hint offered by her husband in the cab, and seemed quite to have recovered her spirits, and talked incessantly all through the meal which had been prepared for them. She had nothing to give her mother in the way of daughterly con- fidence, and Mrs. Keith was made to feel that it was George to whom she must look for any satisfaction regarding their relations towards each other. Tired of the journey, Margaret went early to bed, and George remained half an hour smoking his last pipe beside his aunt. There had always been the utmost confidence and affection between them, and she had no hesitation whatever in giving voice to the anxiety which con- sumed her. " Now, I want to hear why you have come home in such a hurry," she said quickly. " Have you had a pleasant holiday } Have things gone smoothly with you > " " Fairly so," he said, with a slight reluctance, hesi- THE FIRST QUARK KL. 141 ; felt I and ; eyes 1 her Icorge m he faction n very cing to \y does mxious, ler face nt with I by her ecovered the meal nothing rly con- ait it was tisfaction Tired d George jeside his onfidence hesitation hich con- tating for the moment whether to give her his full confidence or not. " P<^KSy looks well, but I don't think you look much the better for your holiday, George," she said affection- ately. " I hope she has not worried you too much 'i " " Oh, no, we have rubbed along pretty well. I am a little slow-going, perhaps, for one so young and bright ; it is just possible that perhaps it has been a mistake." " Oh, you must not say that," she cried, in distress. •' I cannot bear to hear you say that so soon. Be gentle with her, gentle and patient, George ; she is so very young, and she will gain sense by-and-by." " I don't need you to plead for her. Aunt Alice," he said quickly. " I fear the danger is that I shall give in to her too much ; she is so unspeakably dear to me I cannot bear to see a frown upon her face, and I am afraid the end of it will be that she will make me do exactly as she likes in everything." ; home in ou had a thly with ince, hesi- i^ .- h ;|', m I 'tf i ^:: CHAPTER XVI. TIIK liEGINNINCi. RS. KEITH was silent a moment, the sweet motherly face, under the soft border of her widow's cap, lookin<^ more troubled than it had looked for many a day. The sorrow which death had brought, and which was so recent with her that it might well have occupied all her thoughts, seemed a very gentle and tolerable care when compared with her consuming anxiety about her only child. She did not know what it was she feared, but she had known but little peace of mind since that sad wedding-day ; and her prayers had been many that the union which had been so hastened might turn out better than she feared. " I don't like to hear you say that, George ; you must be a man, and firm with her. She will respect rtnd like you all the better for it ; besides, she is a mere girl, without experience of life, and must be guided by those older than herself." " She has got plenty of strength of mind. Aunt Alice, I can tell you that," he said gravely, " and she is not one who will brook much meddling with. I think that she could be led by love very easily, and that is just where I fear that I shall fail." 142 c THE BEGISMSG \\\ 2 sweet r of her than it sorrow pnt with noughts, mpared She known ng-day ; hich had e feared. respect she is a must be int Alice, he is not hink that ■at is just " Hut you love her, don't you, George ? " asked the mother tremblingly, although she knew very well what he meant. *• God knows I do — not wisely, perhaps, but too well. It was of her I was thinking ; her heart is quite cold to me as yet, although I don't despair of winning it." The tears welled in Mrs. Keith's eyes as she listened to these words, spoken with all the passion and sin- cerity of the man's nature. Never had he looked more manly and more lovable, and her heart went out to him even as it uplifted itself in a passionate prayer to Heaven that he might be given his heart's desire. " It was done for the best, George, and I hope you will not think hardly of us if you are suffering now through it. It was to please him ; he would not be set past this marriage. He seemed to think it was a thing that ought to be." *' Don't imagine that I am regretting it, Aunt Alice," said the young man cjuickly. " Kven with Peggy cold to me as she is now, I would not change places with anybody on earth, and I shall win her yet." " You must ; even if it is true, as you say, that her heart is cold to you, it must turn to you in time, and, that speedily. No one could know you, George, with- out loving you." " Peggy has known mc a good while," he said gloomily ; " but, there, I am not going to worry you with that ; it is my own affair, and the less said about it the better. There is something else I w-ant to speak about. l*eggy won't live here, Aunt Alice." " Won't she } " replied Mrs. Keith, sitting up and looking distinctly surprised. " She used to harp for ever on getting to another house, but I thought she would regard things differently now," 144 A STORMY VOVAGEK. 'i 11 \. fi " She does not," he said quietly ; " she has got her mind made up that she and 1 arc to set up house- keeping on our own account," Mrs. Keith could not help a hard expression stealing over her face. " But there is no need," she said quickly. " If I am the bugbear, J can very quickly be got rid of. I should not care now to live in this house by myself ; a smaller one will suit me very well. I'll tell Peggy to-morrow that I am quite willing to move as soon as I can get a smaller biggin for myself." " That is not what she wants," replied George. " It is not you she objects to so much as the house ; I think she is rather ambitious, she even spoke of buying a house with the money Uncle Edward left to her, a west-end house costing ;^5000. " Ridiculous ! " said Mrs, Keith, in a tone which seemed to settle the matter. " That is quite out of the question, of course, and I hope you told her so, I must impress upon you, George, that it will be your duty to be very firm with Peggy. She is out of my hands now, you know ; but if you let her ride rough- shod over you now you are laying up for yourself no end of trouble, and if I were you I would hold out against this mad desire to get into an extravagant way of living. No good ever comes of it ; I am sure you have heard your uncle many a time bemoan the number of good men who have been swept off their feet by this very same thing. Why, half the bankruptcies in Edinburgh have been brought about by folks not having the courage to live within their means." George made no reply. She expressed his views to the letter ; but, unfortunately, it was easier to talk about being fiim with Peggy than to put it into 1 c| fli THE liEGINMSG •45 ot her house- tealing [f I am of. 1 ,rself; a Peggy oon as 1 \ouse ; I ,f buying to her, a ne which out of the ,er so. 1 I be your )ut of my de rough- self no end ut against y of living, nave heard ler of good J this very Edinburgh laving the lis views to sier to talk 3ut it into execution. She had a very singular way of ignoring any advice or remarks which ditl not particularly commend themselves to her, and if her mind was firmly made up on the subject of the house, her husband had very little hope that anything he might say would make her abandon it. Next day she appeared more contented and amiable, and entertained her mother with some amusing accounts of their e.xperiences abroad ; but all the while there was no real confidence between them, and Mrs. Keith had that curious uncomfortable feeling which sometimes visits us when we are approaching some of our most unpleasant experiences. " George has been telling me, Peggy," she ventured to say as they sat together over their afternoon cup of tea, " that you would like to have a house of your own, and I think you are quite right ; but will you let your mother give you a little bit of advice, my dear } " " Oh yes," said Peggy cheerfully, but without com- mitting herself in the least. " It is this, don't begin too high. There is no reason why. if the business prospers as it has done during the past five years — and I am sure it will do so under George's competent management — there is no reason, I say, why you should not get a big house and as many servants as you think you could manage ; but, in the meantime, 1 think it would be more fitting your circumstances to be content as you are." " In this house, do you mean, mamma } " "Yes, I mean in this house. I am quite willing to flit ; indeed, I never intended to inflict myself upon >ou, although George was good enough to .say that he would like me to remain an inmate in your home. Hut 1 have more sense than that, lassie. Young folk are lO tg.^ yi i TTii 146 A STORMY VOYAGER. li |t Pi ,1 i lii 1 '^f It l! ■ ,J % ':i i| best left alone, especially at the bcj^inninfr of their married life ; but what I would propose that I should seek another house. I have been serioisly thinking of buying the cottage down at Levcn Hall ; it is a nice little place, and I could make myself very happy and comfortable there, with you and George coming down, perhaps, from a Saturday to Monday to see me." " I think it would be a good idea to buy the cottage, mamma," assented Margaret, " but I don't see why you should leave this house. You could not live down at that dreary place in winter, and I am not going to stay here in spite of all that you and George may say." There was no manner of hesitation in her speech. She spoke like one whose mind was fixed and unchange- able. " I have always hated to live in a flat, and that was one of the things I looked forward to if I married. I should never have married George if I had thought he could give me nothing better than a flat, and very well he knows it." Mrs. Keith looked pained and for the moment said nothing. The same helpless, hopeless feeling which had more than once taken possession of George Keith during the last three weeks crept into her heart. She felt that her own child, who had been the object of many hopes and many prayers, was indeed a stranger to her ; nor could she understand where that wild, wayward, undisciplined nature had come from, unless it was the product of some far-back ancestry, which they could not trace. She thought of the unosten- tatious simplicity of her own married life ; how she had come a happy, grateful, middle-aged bride to that dear home, which had appeared in her eyes a very paradise from first to last. It was a very real and bitter pain THE BEGLXMXG. 147 to her to have that sacred place thus flouted and scorned by the bairn who had been born under its roof tree, and whose advent had been so rejoiced over as the last drop in a cup overflowing^ with happiness, " And where would you like to live, may I ask ? " " I don't much care so long as the house is biij enough. Of course, we shall have to live very quietly for some time, and I have no objection to remaining here for a month or two ; but there cculd be no harm in looking about for a house, and I intend to begin immediately." Mrs. Keith made no further remark, feeling indeed that it was useless. Peggy seemed to possess, not only the faculty of making up her mind, but of quietly ignoring and setting aside the expressed opinion of everybody else. After all, it was now George's busi- ness to control her, and with this somewhat comforting thought Mrs. Keith allowed the subject to drop. About closing time that evening Peggy took it into her head to go down to the shop, which was a most unusual proceeding on her part. As it happened, her husband was not in ; but not in the least disconcerted, she walked across the spacious floor and entered the counting-house, where Isabel Heriot was making the last entry for the day. " How do you do > " she said pleasantly, extending her hand with a frankness which considerably aston- ished Isabel. " Mr. Keith is not in." " No, I think he is gone to the post-ofiice, but I daresay he will be back presently," replied Isabel, rather confusedly. " Won't you sit down } Excuse me say- ing how very well you look." *' Why should not I look well ? I have just had a msam 148 // STOKMV VUYAGER. r^\- i N; i ,' ! !^ li' j; long holiday, and I have nothing to worry me. How are you? I don't think you look particularly well." In point of fact she did not. More than one had noticed of late a considerable change both in the ap- pearance and demeanour of Isabel Heriot. Not a living soul guessed what had caused that change, but all the same it had done its work silently and surely, and she looked at least ten years older than when Margaret last saw her. " I am a bit down, perhaps," she admitted with the slightest flush in her cheek, " but the holidays will remedy all that. I am looking forward to mine next month." " Oh, are you } How long do you get } " "A fortnight only ; but there are lots of women in Edinburgh, Mrs. Keith, who work a great deal harder than I, and who never have even a day off. So I ought to be grateful, and I hope I am." Margaret was conscious of a distinctly uncomfortable and remorseful feeling as she listened to these quiet words, and she even darted a suspicious glance at the woman who had uttered them, to see whether they had any hidden meaning. But Isabel's face was serenely unconscious. She was simply making a state- ment which she knew could not be challenged, and without any particular desire either to reproach Mrs. Keith or to draw any contrast between their positions." " A fortnight in the year ! I consider it most dis- graceful," said Margaret hotly. "You ought to have a month, at least. I shall certainly speak to Mr. Keith about it." " Oh, you need not," said Isabel quickly ; " it is the usual thing. I should not get more anywhere else, and it would be an impossibility to give every- THE liEGlNNlNG. 140 e. How well." one had 1 the ap- Not a iange, but nd surely, han when d with the lidays will mine next f women in deal harder off. So I icomfortable these quiet lance at the hether they s face was ing a state- [llenged, and jproach Mrs. ;ir positions." it most dis- ight to have ,er.k to Mr. body employed here a month's holiday ; and, of course, you understand that there must be no distinction made between one employe and another." " You look awfully worried and out of sorts, any- how," said Margaret, with an odd touch of sympathy which astonished herself. She really liked Isabel Heriot, and felt she was a friend to 'hom she could be true. Her outspoken frankness commended her to Margaret more than anything else. " I am just wondering what I am going to do with myself now I have come home," she said, perching her- self on a high stool at the desk. " I am a woman of no occupation, and I suppose the only alternative will be for me to get into mischief of some kind. ' Satan finds,' you know." " But you have got your home to attend to, haven't you ? " " Not in the meantime. You see we are to remain upstairs until we can find a suitable house." " Then you are not going to live upstairs per- manently } " said Isabel, with interest. " Oh, no, thank you," replied Margaret, with a little shrug. *' I don't propose to end my days in a flat, although I had the misfortune to begin them there. I am going house-hunting as soon as I can." " Oh ! " said Isabel, and with that Mr. Keith entered the counting-house, very evidently surprised to behold his wife sitting on a stool and conversing amiably with Isabel Heriot, of whom he had frequently heard her speak in rather slightinfj terms. tckly ; " it »s ^re anywhere give every- ^lyfermn III - -TS ■.-3^iPi^;^^ '^ -- ■»-*^ •j»*» c'fr ^^9 '1 SSi^iP!^ I ) :'i^ i i' ! CHAPTER XVII. A WILFUL WONLVN. T seems hardly necessary to say that in the matter of the house Margaret had her way. It is astonishing what it is possible for one woman to achieve if she keeps her mind steadily fixed upon one subject. Although she knew very well that in absolutely refusing to live in the old home she was wounding her mother in the tenderest part, and likewise going against her husband's express desire that they should not incur too much expense at the very outset of their married life, she began immedi- ately to look about for an abode likely to suit her fastidious taste. At first she was accompanied on most of these expeditions by her mother ; but as they never could agree on the question of expenditure, Margaret speedily found herself left to her own devices, and this was exactly what she desired She came in one day at their early dinner-hour, and her face expressed her inward satisfaction. " I have found the very place I have been looking for, and I have quite made up my mind to take it. I hope you will be able to go out with me this afternoon, George, and see the house. It Is simply perfection." 150 A WILFUL UVAfAA\ tst " Where is it ? " he asked, thoufjh not with the interest which inijjht have been expected of him. " In Blacket Place. I heard of it through the Dal- rymples,'* she said, with a slight flush — " in fact, it belongs to Mr. Dalrymple, and he is willing to make ever so many improvements for us, which I think is awfully good of him." " They will be tremendous rents in Blacket Place," said Mrs. Keith, disapproval sounding through every note of her voice. "This one is not ; it is quite cheap, only £120, and you should see the reception-rooms ; they are simply magiiiiicent. One could entertain a whole host of people without the slightest inconvenience or crowding.' Mrs. Keith lifted her head rather suddenly from her plate, and looked meaningly at her son-in-law, but he made no remark. " It has been empty for about six months, and they are willing to put it in first-rate order for us. You will go out and see it, won't you ? " she said, leaning a little way across the table, and looking coaxingly at her husband. " It requires consideration, Margaret," he answered gravely. " I do not know that I am prepared to pay so high a rent, and it is not rent alone ; you know, or perhaps you don't know, that it takes a good deal to keep up a house of that size." " But I am not asking you to pay the rent. I am quite willing to pay the rent myself," she retorted. " I have got my mind made up to take this house ; and if you don't like to come and see it, why, then, I will take it on my own responsibility." She said this with her most disagreeable manner. She was like a child in her dislike of being crossed or thwarted, and she had r 152 /I sroNMv iovA(;/:h\ % 4 ii j got it into her head that both her mother and her husband were united in their desire to thwart and cross her even in the rr'-^st crl\ial details. The subject of the house was not \.yx \s they continued their meal, and George retired ."'wn i.> +hc shop, slipping out rather guiltily, it must be conftsscJ, in order to escape further importunity ; but Margaret was not to be daunted. Directly her mother went to lie down, she dressed h'^fself most carefully and becomingly, and followed her husband downstairs. " Are you ready, George } " she asked, with a sunny and innocent smile, when he came to meet her at the door. " Because, if not, I can wait. There is no hurry. I told the caretaker I thought we would probably be back about four o'clock." Her husband looked for the moment a trifle confused. He was not used to the diplomacy of womankind, and he had not expected to be caught like this. " I was not thinking of going, Peggy. Arc you serious about this house .-' I would like to talk it over first." " All the talking over in the world won't make any difference to me," «he said, keeping the smile on her lips, but speaking with an air of determination. " Can't you see it will be far better just to give in to me in this ? We can quite well afford a house in Blacket Place, and you know we can. I think it is perfectly abomin- able of both you and mamma the way you want to keep me down ; but I won't be kept down, I'll have this house, and if you don't like to come and live in it, why, then, I'll live in it myself." What could he do with such a creature — so wilful, 5:0 determined, and yet so lovable } Her beauty still held him in thrall ; she had the power with one tourh of her little finger to send the blood coursing madly through A Wlt.FC/. iroAMX. •53 his veins, and he felt that to win a smile from her he would almost peril his soul. So had love, somewhat delayed, taken his reven<;e on the quiet soul of George Keith. He went quietly into his private room, put on his hat, brushed the dust from his coat, and put his handsome wife into the nearest cab. When they came back Peggy sat beside him radiant, smiling upon him as if her brow had never known a frown, and the next day the lease was signed. The house required a great many repairs, and the workmen were busy in it throughout the summer and right into the autuirn. They went as a family for two months to the West Coast, and on their return young Mrs. Keith plunged herself heart and soul into the adorning and furnishing of her new abode. Her mother, although disapproving on almost every hand, was learning to hold her peace, because Peggy simply ignored her advice and remon- strances, and seemed bent upon pleasing herself. In George's treatment of his wife Mrs. Keith was bitterly disappointed, and she felt almost glad to think that her husband had not lived to see the failure of his fondly-cherished dream. They had both imagined, al- though she in a lesser degree, that a man of George Keith's steady, unambitious and prudent nature would have been able to control a young and inexperienced girl like Peggy, and she certainly had expected him to be more completely master of his own house ; but lo ! the reverse was the case, Peggy simply twisted him round her little finger, even when his better judgment warned him again and again, as it did, while the battle regarding the house furnishing was going on, that he was laying up a store of trouble for himself by his own weakness and lack of firmness. He could no more refuse his wife, especially when she elected to meet him r '54 A STOAWrV VnVAGF.ff. IP i m; $ :fi in a coaxing mood, than he could make a journey to the moon. This is no impossible case licensed by fiction ; vvc see it around us every day ; examples of strong men made weak when held in a woman's thrall. About the middle of October the young couple took up their abode in their new house, which was certainly a dream of beauty, and a fitting setting for a jewel so beautiful to look at as its mistress. Her own taste, wherever acquired or fostered, was excellent, and she had shown both in the purchase and arrangement of her household gods a discrimination and fine judgment which astonished many. Two smart and highly-paid domestics were engaged, and Mr. and Mrs. George Keith settled down to housekeeping under new auspices, and with everything about them which could please the eye. Whether or not it could satisfy the heart, or bring any real and abiding happiness in its train, was a secret still hidden in the womb of the future. \ I CITAITER XVIII. BEGINNINGS. MOUT eight o'clock on a stormy March morning Mr. and Mrs. George Keith were breakfasting together in their cosy and comfortable morning-room. Nowhere could a more pleasing picture of domestic happiness have been found so far as outward appearances were concerned. The room was small enough to be very cosy, without seeming to be crowded or inconvenient ; the furniture had been carefully chosen to make the most of the space, and was on a less imposing scale than the larger reception-rooms, which, it must be confessed, they had not as yet greatly used. A very cheerful fire blazed merrily in the shining grate, shedding its cheerful glow on the warm crimson of the walls, which were relieved by several choice etchings in oak frames. The ruddy light also showed up the dainty arrangements of the breakfast -table, the spotless damask, and glittering silver, all of which spoke of the careful and competent housewife. In every matter connected with her new role of house mistress, Margaret had proved herself amazingly clever and adaptive. She constantly developed and exhibited housewifely «55 •?^' // sTohWfv roy.if;/:^: qualities which were a source of j^re.it and unbuunded amaxemcnt to her husband first and then to her mother. She had taken absolutely no interest in the details of her mother's simpler niiiins^e, and Mrs. Keith had secretly felt inclined to pity George when he should be left to the tender mercies of an inexperienced and careless wife. These desirable qualities were either inherent or had been acquired with a rapidity and thoroughness which did her the greatest credit. Any- how, her house was perfect in arrangement and in management, and so far as the creature comforts of his home were concerned, George Keith might very well have considered himself one of the luckiest of men. She came into the breakfast-room first that morning — fresh, dainty, and beautiful to look upon — wearing a warm, bright crimson gown simply but exquisitely made, the high neck band fastened at her dainty throat by a huge yellow cairngorm set in dull gold, her white hand only adorned by the plain band of her wedding-ring. She rubbed her hands together as she entered the room, and, standing at the fireplace with her dainty slippered toe on the fender, spread them out to the cheerful blaze. Her face in its repose had nothing sad or discontented or suggestive in its ex- pression. She looked like a woman singularly con- tented with her lot, and indeed she felt so at that moment. During the last nine months things had gone pretty much with Margaret Keith as she willed them, and her husband had proved a great deal more amenable than she had expected. He came into the room presently, a neat, well- groomed, and manly figure, and it would have been hard to have found a better-matched or more com- fortable-looking pair. The housemaid followed him ifHU/W/MiS. i$7 immediately with the breakfast, and they sat down punctually as the clock struck eight. Margaret was a very diplomatic woman ; she had done her utmost during the winter to make her home attractive and herself indispensable to her husband. She was very young to have learnt the true secret of how to manage a husband. As yet, she had not sought to burst out into any startling forms of ex- travagance ; she had insisted at first that the house furnishings should be of the very best ; and though the bills for the same had rather startled George Keith, he had been compelled to admit that the result was very satisfactory, and he took a greater pride in his beautiful wife and home than he would have admitted even to himself. Their mourning had, of course, necessitated a very quiet winter, which Margaret had borne in the most exemplary manner — apparently content with such mild pleasures as were within her reach ; but her ambition was by no means asleep, and as she poured out her husband's coffee she made a remark which considerably startled him. " Don't you think, George, that we might give a house-warming now ? The season will soon be at an end, and I do want badly to show ofif my pretty house to such a lot of people.'' He looked ac oss at her in rather a surprised way. " What kind of a house-warming do you mean, Peggy .? " " Oh, well, nothing very alarming in magnitude," she responded lightly. " I don't feel that I have sufficient experience yet to attempt dinners : I must see a little more first, but I think we might give an evening party, with music, )OU know, and the usual things that people have at such entertainments." I5S A STORMY VUVAUEK, V W. " But isn't it a bit soon, Peggy ? " he asked. " I mean it is barely twelve months since your father died." " Oh, I don't think it is too soon : it would not niean any disrespect to his memory," said Margaret quickly, although she winced slightly. " I really think that here in Scotland we carry mourning to rather absurd lengths, and you see it is a very long time to wait till next season to return people's civilities." " What civilities } " he asked, as he cut the top off his egg. " Oh, well, all the people who have called on us." " But haven't you returned their calls ? " " Yes ; but if we want to get into a nice set, we must entertain them. I have always told you that, dear." George looked mildly surprised. " Oh, well, I have no objection to your having a party, if you have set your mind or it," he said good- naturedly. " That is just as well as it happens," answered Margaret, with an odd little smile, " because I am afraid I should have it just the same, whether you had any objection or not." He glanced across the table at her, and seeing the smile on her lips, concluded that she spoke in jest, although she meant every word she was saying. " And who would you have ? I mean what sort of people would you invite ? " " I shall make it very select," she replied. " I have got a list made out, but I don't think we shall have time to go over it this morning. Wait till you come home in the evening, and I'll tell you all about it.'' " You might just mention a few names now, go that 1 may be prepared," he said, with a distinct note of curiosity in his voice. BEGINNLXGS. »59 " Well, I mean to have the Rutherfords, and the Marshalls, and people like that," she added vaguely. " But we don't know them very well, Peggy. Don't you think it would be rather presumptuous of us to invite them here ? " '* No, I don't think so. You are one of those who make the mistake of thinking too little of yourself, George. As far as I can see, the best way to get on in society, or anywhere else, is to assume as much as you can. I mean to make my house the centre of a hospitality which is not equalled in Edinburgh." " That is rather a large order, isn't it ^ " he said blankly. " I think I'd like to hear something more explicit about it. You haven't the slightest idea of vvhat it costs to entertain on the scale you evidently have in your mind." " Oh, I am not going to give people great feeds, if that is what you are thinking of. I mean to make my parties so select, and so different from other people's parties, that every one will be dying to be asked ; and I think I could do it, too." He could not help admiring her as he saw the way in which she raised her head with a little proud, haughty gesture, which seemed to carry conviction with it to her mind at least. " Then you are going to turn your back on all the old chums, I presume .'' " was his next remark. " What chums .-' I never had any, only the Dal- rymples, and of course I shall ask them," she said adroitly. " They won't come, and I don't think that you ought to ask them. They haven't shown you any particular courtesy or even common civility, I consider, since your return from Lausanne." " Oh, that is all your imagination, and because you i6c> // STOKMY yoVAChh'. i A '■ ?i t! li don't know them. People of that sort don't gush," she said quickly. " Anyhow, they shall be asked. I am bound to pay Mrs. Dalrymple out. I want to show her what I can do. She was rather astonishe:! I could see that day she came to call with Ella." " Well, about this party," said Gcorj^e, who appeared to dislike the subject of the Dalryinples, " I suppose I may be allowed to mention a few names on my own account ^ " " You may mention them if you like, dear, but I tell you quite frankly I am not going to spoil my party by mixing up all sorts and conditions. The first one is the most crucial ; everybody will be looking and asking who is here. That is the mistake most people make in entertaining. They try to wipe off everybody in the most comprehensive and cheapest way possible, and they invariably give offence to the best people. I am not going to make any such mistake." " Then you would not think of askinf^ — v';;il, Isabel and Tom Heriot, for instance .? " " I certainly should not ; it would be most insulting to the Dalrymplcs and people like them. I am quite willing to make a party if you like to include all these, but I don't intend to have them on this occasion." Her manner was, perhaps, a trifle more offensive than she intended, and she saw a look of disapproval cross her husband's face ; but she did noi seek to remove it, because she felt that the time had come when he must be made to understand exactly what her intentions and ambitions were. " I like Isabel Heriot very much. I think she is a most superior girl, and I am quite sure nobody could wish for a truer friend," she said, frankly and sincerely enough, because she really believed what she was saying. 1 1 \ ll B/iGIXXI.XGS. i6i t gush," sked. 1 want to )nishe;\ I appeared suppose 1 I my own ear, but 1 spoil my ons. The be looking stake most o wipe off jeapest way to the best mistake." \"-il, Isabel St insultin^^ I am quite le all these, ision." Tensive than troval cross remove it, [en he must tentions and Ink she is a Vbody could id sincerely was saying. " But it would never do, Geor<;c ; you must see for your- self if vou take the trouble to consider for a moment. It would never do to ask a young woman, or a young lady, if you would like it better, employed in our counting-house, to meet people like the Marshalls and the Rutherfords. They would be indignant, they would never forgive mc." " I suppose not," said George drily. " Shall I be invited ? " She could not repress a smile at this abrupt question. " Perhaps if they know that my father was only a bank clerk, they would rather be excused from meeting the master of the house. I am quite willing to go out, or shut myself up in the Tower, if I would mar the glory of this wonderful entertainment." She bit her lip in vexation' at the very evident and contemptuous displeasure with which he spoke. " Really, George, you are too idiotic, and absolutely without reason, as most men are. We needn't talk about it any more just now." " I don't think you are particularly reasonable your- self, my dear," he observed mildly ; " and I warn you if you are going to begin this sort of thing you arc laying up for yourself ^ lot of heartburning and worry of mind. These people you speak of may accept your invitation for their own amusement or out of curiosity ; but I know very well what I am talking about when I say that they don't think that we are their social equals, nor will they ask us to their houses on the .same footing." " We will .see," replied Peggy significantly. " I wish you would let me see that list, if you have it at hand, before I go out," he said presently. " Mind, 1 don't grudge you having the party if it will give you the slightest pleasure, and \ will do my very utmost to II l63 // SrOAW/y VU YAGER. help you to make it a success. I am so proud of my wife and my home tliat I should not mind an oppor- tunity of letting the world see them ; but at the same time I am not going to make myself or my house cheap to a lot of people who think that I am not half good enough for them. You undcrstiind that, dear ? " She admired him for the firmness with which he spoke, but her mouth took a rather determined and rebellious curve as she rose from the table, and, opening a drawer in the little writing-table which stood in the window, took out a slip of paper, which she handed to him in silence. There were about thirty names on the page. He ran his eye across it with a decidedly sur- prised look on his face, then he laid it on the table, took his gold penc'1-case from his pocket, and deliberate!},' drew it through one of the names. Margaret knew very weli which name had suffered this dishonour at his hands, though she did not look at the paper, and pre- tended to ignore his act. She accompanied him to the hall as usual, helped him on W' h lis coat, and kissed him at the door. " We will talk it over when you come home," she said, with a nod and a smile, and then went back to the breakfast-room, not surprised at all when she lifted her list of guests to find that he had drawn his pencil ihickly through the name of Scott Dalrymple, of my oppor- le same se cheap a\f good ,'hich be incd and , opening d in the sanded to les on the dedly sur- :able, took elibcrately aret knew nour at his •, and pre- him to the and kissed lome," she )ack to the |e Ufted her his pencil lie. CHAPTER XIX. A SOCIAL T R I U M P H. NK night about three weeks later, a long string of carriages might have been seen blocking the quiet thoroughfare where the Keiths' house was situated, and the win- dows all ablaze with light indicated what was going on within. An awning had been erected from the door to the extreme edge of the pavement, a protection against any possible discomfort from the weather to the arriving and departing guests. The beautiful rooms were all thrown open, and Mr. and Mrs. George Keith received their guests on the landing just at the door of the large drawing-room. She was looking so radiantly beautiful that there was not one in all the gay throng to compare with her. Her gown was of white rich soft satin, falling in straight, exquisite folds about the figure which in her year of married life had gained something in womanly dignity, although it had lost nothing of its girlish grace. The bodice was certainly cut rather low, but then there were few who could show neck and shoulders so white and so exquisitely moulded as hers. Looking at her more than mkc, Gv'orge Keith felt a pang of something i6; .** : fm 1 64 A STOAMV VOYAGEK. II li 1 '( 1 .' -1 ! i It ■] like apprehension mingling with his natural pride, for although that matchless creature wai his, he felt her to be but a precarious possession, and that he had in himself but small equivalent to offer for such youth and glorious beauty. He was essentially a humble- minded man, honest and sincere in his dealings with his fell<^w-men and with himself, and as a great and absorbing love purifies the highest and the noblest natures from every alloy of self, so George Keith felt himself that night totally unworthy of the wife he had so strangely won. And yet there were many present that night who, while not withholding from that radiant )'Oung wife her due meed of admiration and praise, felt it something of a relief to turn to the grave and pleasant face of their host, and who were quick to appreciate the quiet unostentatious and true courtesy which sought to make every guest feel at home in his house ; and though they said to each other that the successful merchant had been extraordinarily fortunate in marrying a woman who looked fit to sit upon a throne, they were quick to add that she, also, might count herself a woman singularly blessed. The invitations had been accepted with a prompt- ness which had flattered Margaret very highly, and the excitement of feeling herself prett}- far up the social ladder, wlicsc suMim.it was the goal of her ambition, brought a bright .snarkle to her eyes and a vivacity to her whole deme.in >nr which considerably enhanced her charms. She had bestowed a great deal of thought and planning upon the evening's entertainment. Every- thing was done in the best of st>le, quietl\' and yet thoroughly well ; the music was the very best that could be procured in that musical city, nor was it made too prominent or unduly prolonged, She had the // SOC/Al. TKH'MrH. \^>'. ide, for elt her had in 1 youth lumble- gs with eat and noblest :eith felt : he had / present it radiant raise, felt I pleasant eciate the sought to id though merchant a woman ere quick a woman prompt- 7, and the [the social ambition, vivacity to lianced her fought and It. Every- ly and yet 'best that Iras it made had the wisdom alrcc'iil\- to know that the maji)rit>' of pcoph prefer the sound of their own voices to the sweetest harmony which can be produced by others, and she had no reason to feel anxious about the success of her evening, which never flagged even for a single moment. As the evening wore on there crept into her manner a strange restlessness and cagcrrjss, which by-and-b\ gave place to a duller expression, seeming to indicate some inward disappointment. About ten o'clock, however, her sharp ears heard the sound of wheels without, and the stoppage of a carriage at the gate. She left the drawing-room, and waited on the landing until the newly-arrived guests should be brought to her presence. They were Mrs. Grahame Dalrymplc with her son and her younger daughter. Now that Margaret Keith was an obstacle safel\- removed from her son's path Mrs. Dalrymple had no objection to countenance her socially, especially as she had set up such a handsome establishment, and appeared likely to sustain a good position in society. Her object in having accepted the present invitation was one of pure curiosity. She had c?n3idered it somewhat presumptuous indeed for the young wife to invite her at all, and the very magnitude of this pre- sumption had created the desire to see whether there was any justi.lcation for it. She had, in company with Ella, made the ordinary marriage call on the young wife, and then been very much astonished both at the house and its mistress. She was still more astonished that night, and when as she ascended the stairs and caught sight of the elegant and striking figure waiting for them on the landing, she felt a distinct thrill of gratitude that she was safely removed out of Scott's impressionable path. "fr . 166 yl STOAW/y I'OVAC.F.R. " I hope you will excuse u^ beinj; so late," she said with unusual affability. " Wc have been dining out, and I am afraid wc can only look in now for a few minutes. I expect Mr. Dalrymple home from the south bv the eleven o'clock train, and am afraid he would think it most inattentive if he found us all out." " It is a great pleasure to see you even for a few minutes," replied Margaret ; and she looked really pleased, both by the extreme cordiality of Mrs. Dal- rymple's manner and by the undisguised and eloquent admiration expressed in the eyes of her son. As for Ella, she was prepared to admire everything. She was really very fond of Margaret, although she had felt of late that her school-girl friend had soared away into regions of experience where she could not possibly follow. Ella Dalrymple was one of those young natures which keep their girlishness and their youth for a ver> long time, and have no desire to pry into the wider experience of life. " I expect Mr. Keith is downstairs in the refreshment- room ; I saw him go down with a lady a ^q\v minutes ago," said Margaret, when she had shaken hands with the three. "Will you come this way, Mrs. Dalrymple, and I will fmd you a comfortable seat .-' I am glad that you are in time to hear Herr Gliicksmann play. He is waiting, I think, till I return to the drawing-room." " Is he here ? " said Mrs. Dalrymple, with slightly uplifted brow, for Herr Gliicksmann was the first star of the musical season. He was very fastidions about accepting private engagements, and was only to be met with, indeed, at the very best houses. In the middle of his vio'in solo, so exquisitely played that it hushed the busy hum of talk, George Keith came up from the refreshment-room, and stood within A SOCIAl. TKK MPH. 167 the curtained doorway of the drawing-room, and while there standing he saw leaning up against a cabinet, almost opposite to him, the tall, wcli-built figure of Scott Dairy mple. His face paled slightly and then reddened, and he bit his lip until it bled. Hitherto he had been enjoying the evening after a mild fashion of his own, but the .sight of the man whom he had abso- lutely refused to meet in his house, and who could not possibly be there except by his wife's invitation, raised in him a passion of anger which made him afraid. Love for Margaret had taught George Keith many things about himself he had not previously known, and as he stood there with his arms folded and his gloomy eyes fixed on the floor, he realised how much of bitter pain can be caused by the love which is also one of the sweetest experiences of life. When the musician ceased, Margaret, whose quick eyes had discerned her husband's coming, and also the meaning of the sudden change upon his face, with a few graceful words of compliments and thanks crossed rapidly to the curtained doorway. " 1 see you are angry, George," she whispered, " but for Heaven's sake don't make a scene. I'll explain after- wards. Come and let me introduce you to Mrs. Dal- rymple." For a moment he felt inclined to decline flatly ; but he had ali a Scotchman's hatred of scenes and demon- strations of any kind, and though he was more angry than he had ever been in his life, he managed to choke the feeling down, and with a somewhat rigid and un- bending face indicated that he would follow her across the room. Mrs. Dalrymple's manner upon her introduction to the rich merchant was a study oi a very interesting kind i^.K A 5 7 VMM/ 1 IVVAdEh'. '1 ■ I- V •II % Ifl ^ li HI I I I to such as could understand it. It was a nice mixture of afTability and condescension, which carefully adjusted the difference in their social posif.ions, and enabled her to be entirely civil to her host without committing her- self too far. At another time George would have been able, perhaps, to notice the fine shading in the manner of this accomplished woman of the world ; but his mind was full of the other matter, and so he paid no particular heed. She introduced him immediately to her dauj^hter, whose frank, pleasant, and always winning manner was not without its impression upon him. He then simply acknowledged Scott by a slight cold nod, and immedi- ately turning to the elder lady, asked her if he might take her down to the supper-room. He felt it an im- possibility to remain in near proximity to Scott Dai- ry mple and to preserve any semblance of civility or courtesy. While he blamed Margaret very much for having sent the invitation in express defiance of his unmistak- ably expressed wish, he felt more hot and bitter against the young man for his presumption in entering his house after the little scene which had occurred outside the door of the London Metropole. Margaret breathed freely when she beheld her hus- band disappear with Mrs. Dalrymple on his arm. She speedily found an interesting partner for Ella, and then was able to have a few minutes' talk with her sometime lover. She felt very proud and glad that he should see her under such favourable auspices, and she was quite ready to listen to the words of flattery and praise which fell so glibly from his lips. " By Jove ! " he .said admiringly, looking first at her and then at the exquisitely furnished room, " you are a perfect genius, and are going to revolutionise A SOCIAL TKJLMPti \(yt) mixture idjusted aled her ing her- uc been manner his mind )articular daui^hter, nner was jn simply I immedi- he might it an im- ,cott Dal- civility or L , • or havmg nmistak- cr against cring his ed outside her hus- irm. She and then sometime should see was quite aise which irst at her )m, "you ^olutionise our dry old society here. How did you mana^^e it all ? " " I had no assistance, I assure you," she said. " Hut, really, do you think that it is a success } Has your mother said anything.'" It was rather an injudicious question ; no one except an extremely young woman would have betrayed in her manner and words her anxiety to stand well in certain quarters. If the wisdom of the world teaches us any- thing successfully, it is to veil our feelings. " She is stunned. I know the mater's face, could read it like an open book, don't you know. I say ! how did you manage to get Gliicksmann } We tried him for an after-dinner reception last month, and he would not come." Margaret's eyes sparkled. This was one of the sweet- est drops in the night's cup of triumph. " He came quite easily. I simply asked him. Of course I have been taking some lessons from him this winter, and he says I am getting on very well." " Well, your husband is a lucky man. Say, I never heard what he said to you that night at the Mctropole. Had you a jolly good row over it 1 " " No, there was no row," said Margaret quickly ; wounded, she could not tell why, by hi'- tone. " It seems awful to think that I have never seen you to speaK to for five consecutive months alone since that night nine good months ago, and more," he said, with a judicious mixture of regard and passion in his voice. " Mayn't I come out one afternoon and see you } I can bring Ella with me to play propriety." " If you like, of course you can come. There is no reason why you should not," she answered quickly. " What have you been doing with yourself all summer, \N. .S?' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 2.5 2.2 US ^ HA •UMb li& |.25 , u \^ < 6" - ► Hiotograjiiic Sciences Corporation 23 WBT MAIN STMET WIKTIR.N.Y. I4SM (716) •72-4903 \ ^\ i\ li . Ill 170 A STORMY VOYAGER. and is there no further talk of scndiAg you to Canada ? " " Oh, the governor is always harping on that old string," he said easily and carelessly, " but I don't suppose it will ever come off. Life's an awful grind, don't you think? and we never can get just what we like. Few of us are as lucky as a certain narrow- minded gentlenrian who shall be nameless." Margaret felt that she ought to resent the tone and manner in which the young man referred to her husband, but that night she seemed weak where she ought to have been strong. "Well, I will come out one afternoon after office hours ; you said I might," he remarked presently, seeing that she was about to move away to some other guests. " You will give me a cup of tea, won't you, if I turn up about five } When do you dine f " " Not till eight. Mr. Keith is rather late getting home always." " All right, I will come one afternoon about five. I will get Ella to come and meet me when I leave the office." " Come and let me introduce you to this pretty girl over here," said Margaret lightly, and that was the last word they had together, until half an hour later, when their good-nights had to be said. CHAPTER XX. NOT WISELY, BUT TOO WELL. T was nearly midnight when the last car- riage rolled away from the Keiths' door. Then the men took down tlie awning, and set to work to remove the tables from the supper-room. When she had said good-bye to her last guest, Margaret busied herself, with the train of her white gown swung over her arm, in giving directions to the work-people and servants, seemingly nervously disin- clined for a moment's quiet talk with her husband. In ordinary circumstances, host and hostess arc glad to have a few minutes to themselves after the wheels of the last carriage have rolled away, in order to dis- cuss the success or the drawbacks of the entertainment they have just given. Margaret felt no doubt whatever about its success. So far as that was concerned, she felt that she had made a distinct hit, and that her party would be talked about for a considerable time to come. Remembering the e:;ceeding bitterness of the words which had passed between George and her- self that night in London, she shrank from a repetition of them, and yet she. felt that it would be impossible 171 :•' i r 172 // STORMY VOYAGEK. to avoid some explanation of Scott Dalrymple's appear- ance in the house that night. As she flitted about from one room to the other giving directions to the servants, she wondered whether it would be worth her while to deviate a little from the truth, and say that Scott Dalrymple had only accom- panied his mother and sister because his father, being absent in London, could not accept the invitation. But, with her many faults, she was a singularly straight- forward and plain-spoken person, and she felt herself unequal to the task of telling a successful lie. Her husband had disappeared, and appeared to take no interest whatever in the final restoration of his abode to its normal state. When at last the work was done so far as possible for the night, and Margaret had locked the door with her own hands, she went into the little breakfast-room, and there found him sitting in his own chair, looking straight before him — his face wearing its most ominous expression. " Well, dear, don't you think the thing went oflT well > " she asked, as she passed into the room, seem- ing to bring with her a glow of radiant light. She was very tired, but no trace of her fatigue was visible on her face, which still wore the flush which the excitement of the evening had brought to it. •* It was well enough," he answeiod, " except for one thing. It is intolerable that I should have to speak of it, Margaret," he said quietly, but with more passion than she had ever heard him speak before. " What on earth can you mean by going so directly against my express desire ? I have shown you in every possible way that I decline to know Scott Dalrymple! What am I to think when my wife persists in inviting him to the house ? " NOT WISELY, BUT TOO HELL. 173 " Dear me, George, are you keeping up spite all this time about that wretched theatre-going in London ? " she said, with well-assumed surprise. " I thought you were a very good and charitable person." The playful raillery of her tone and manner instead of softening only made him angrier. It was a matter of such real moment to him, and gave him such keen and intolerable anguish of soul that he may be forgiven for expecting in his wife a somewhat different attitude. " I wish you would be a little reasonable, dear," she said, when her teasing words brought no answer. " Just consider for a moment, Mrs. Dalrymple and Ella could not possibly come without an escort." He raised his eyebrows slightly. " There were a good many other ladies here to-night without male escort of any kind," he said significantly. " Well, but don't you see, dear, they were dining out together, and what more natural than that they should all come on to us } " " He could not ' we come without an invitation. You sent him a card, I suppose, in spite of my distinct protest } I thought that with what I had done, it would be unnecessary for me to say anything." " Yes, I did send him a card," she said, in a flippant and defiant tone. " And why not ? If you cannot trust me any farthe. than that, George, why, then, I think it is a great pity you ever married me." " It is him I distrust ; and you are young," and, he was going to say, •' beautiful enough to turn any man's head ; " but he restrained himself. And yet it was the case. He scarcely dared let his eyes rest upon her lest her exceeding loveliness should cause him to flinch from his purpose, for he felt it his duty to be very firm with her, and to show her beyond all question that "74 A STORMY VOYAGEK. l! i his wishes must be respected and obeyed. His aunt's warning words often occurred to him, and he felt a heavy sense of responsibility towards this young creature who, with all her charm and wonderful capabilities, had so little knowledge of the world and its many evils, that she could not guard herself against them. He did not seriously distrust or suspect her ; he believed that her apparent desire to meet her old lover occasionally arose out of a natural vanity to show him what she had gained in her new estate rather than anything else ; at least so he had tried to comfort himself in his darker moments. He was learning that to be harsh and imperative with her was absolutely without effect, but rather seemed to render her more hard and defiant ; and yet it was difficult for him, in his present mood, to adopt a gentle and persuasive tone towards her. " I did not expect to see any of the Dalrymples heie to-night, Margaret ; you did not tell me that they were coming," he said slowly, " and it knocks a man on his beam ends, rather, to be called upon without the slightest preparation to be civil to unexpected and not particularly welcome guests. What is the in- fatuation which makes you run afte.* these people } They don't care a fig for you except, perhaps, that little girl, who, I must say, struck me as being rather sweet and amiable ; but the old lady managed to convey to me in the few short minutes I had the honour of her society that she had done us an immense favour in looking in on our homely soiree for half an hour. I really cannot stand that sort of thing, Peggy, and, what is more, I am not going to." " It is all pure imagination," she replied quickly, although her better judgment told her that every word NOT WISELY, BUT TOO WELL. 17$ he uttered was true. " They were delighted with everything, and Mrs. Dalrymple was more civil to me than she has ever been in all the years I have known her. I tell you it did her good to come here to-night. I knew it would ; and wasn't she mad about Herr Glucksmann ? She asked him to one of her receptions last month, and he declined to go." But even this little tit-bit of diplomacy failed to lighten the gloom on George Keith's face. What he felt was that he had no real influence with his wife, and that she would take her own way in everything, no matter how that wa^' might pain and perplex him ; and how to deal with her, that was the question he asked himself again and again almost hopelessly. " I am not very fond of society, but I am quite willing that you should have what you want of it in moderation, so long as we keep within our means. But I think it is only right that I should demand a certain amount of consideration in return. These Dalrymples, and one or two others who were here to- night, look upon me as a shopkeeper and nothing more, and 1 consider myself quite as good as they are. I don't see why I should ask them to my house to feel or to be snubbed by them. We've got to show them that we are as good as they are." " That is what I am striving after all the time," said Margaret quickly, " and I flatter myself I have done a very good stroke of business to-night. Why will you be so cross and disagreeable, George ? I thought you were so nice, too, the first part of the evening ; I was quite proud of you." His face flushed at the praise so seldom and so grudgingly given. He despised himself because it sent such a thrill to his he^rt, but crushing down his 176 A sroA\i/y yOVAGLk '»,: I desire to say no more upon the vexed question, but to allow the sunshine of reconciliation to enfold him, he raised his head and looked at her very steadily. " Then you won't give up these people^ Peggy, for my sake ? " " The Dal r>'m pies, do you mean ? Really, George, I can't Ella is my dearest friend, and has been for years ; it is really too much to ask." " I would give up a great deal more than that for you," he said quickly, and could almost have added that he had given up the most cherished ambition of his life. She stood close by the mantelpiece, with her dainty satin slipper resting on the polished bar of the fender, her white arm bare to the shoulder, showing in exquisite relief against the dark marble of the mantelpiece. " I wish you would not be such a foolish boy ; we should be so happy and get along so comfortably if you would leave me alone. You may trust me, George, really you may. I would never do anything in the least objectionable or unladylike. If you had taken a different wsiy with mc that night at the Metropole, I would have confessed to you that I was in the wrong. I knew that I was, but I really could not help myself. It all happened so suddenly, and it was perfectly innocent. I thought you made a great deal more of it than you need have done, and then I got mad, of course, and would not own up." She looked bewitching as she made this little con- fession, and he felt his anger melting away under the eloquence of her eyes. How easy it is to forgive when one loves ! " I don't want to develop exactly into a selfish, jealous bear," he said, and she knew from the tone of NOT WISELY, BUT TOO WELL. 177 stion, but to fold him, he idily. e, Peggy, for lly, George, I has been for than that for t have added d ambition of ith her dainty of the fender, ing in exquisite ntelpiece. Kjlish boy ; we comfortably if tiay trust me, er do anything If you had night at the you that I was I really could uddenly, and it made a great ane. and then 1 •I up. this little con- away under the [to forgive when into a selfish, rom the tone of his voice that he was relenting. " Can't you see, Peggy, it is b.cause you are so awfully dear to me that I feel such things so keenly ? I don't like that young fellow Dalrymple ; and, what is more, I d(>n't think his manner is so respectful to you as it ought to be. Upon my word I could have kicked him downstairs to-night and out of the house with the greatest pleasure. There is nothing I would not do for you, my darhng, if only you will do this one little thing for me, and that is, cut his acquaintance, or hc least keep him at such arms' length that he won't find it par- ticularly comfortable or pleasant to come near you." " It is awfully hard to do things like that, George ; but when you put it like that, I suppose I shall have to try ; but it is not at all likely that we shall see much of the Dairy mples. We live so far from each other, and we meet so seldom outside ; but, to please you, I will try to be as stiff as possible to him next time we meet." As che ceased speaking, she knelt down on the floor beside him, and folded her hands on his knee. She knew right well the power of her own beauty to sub- d le and conquer this man, who loved her with the pure and honest strength of a great love. He took her face in his hands and held it up, look- ing into her eyes with a hungry, passionate gaze in his own. " I have sworn to win you, Peggy," he said, with that strange ring of passion in his voice which had as yet, alas ! no power to stir her heart, " and I will. Some day you will look into my face and tell me of your own free will that you love me better than any- body on earth." " Oh, I hope I shall be able to do that some day," 12 • irt A STORMY VOYAGER. \* '■' I she said, with the ingenuous frankness of a child. " How delightful to be able to say that to one's husband I But don't you think, dear, that we are getting on ? " He smiled a little drearily, feeling like the child who asks for bread and is given a stone. He had a strange, uncertain feeling about the future. Such happiness as his marriage had brought him was of a fleeting and precarious kind. He did not feel sure of the treasure he had won ; he called her wife, but he knew that her heart had not awakened to what true wifehood means, and that at times the bond between them was even irksome to her. There were moments unconfessed when he longed for the quiet years that had gone now for ever. Grey and uneventful they might have been, but they had held more peace than these. That night he could not sleep, being haunted by some vague consciousness of coming trouble. He hoped, however, that, after what had passed that night, there would be an end at least to that particular worry of which Scott Dalrymple was the cause. But the end was not yet. CHAPTER XXI. A NEW DREAD. T would be impossible to imagine a greater contrast than that existing between George Keith's life before marriage and after. For the greater part of the first year Margaret had apparently been content with a com- paratively quiet existence. The reason for this was twofold ; that she wished to pay the utmost respect to the memory of the father whom she had never forgotten, although she seldom spoke his name, and the other that she wished to become a little familiar with her position as a married woman and the mistress of a house before she should take any wider flight. But after the evening of their first party it seemed to the placid, peace-loving George Keith that life had sud- denly become for them a whirl of gaiety and excite- ment which was far from being congenial to him. It was as if Margaret could not endure a single quiet da}-. She accepted every invitation, and as she calmly said that she would go herself if he did not choose to accom- pany her, he felt it his duty to do so ; and yet these never-ending social engagements, which brought him into contact with people in whom he had not the slight- est interest, he felt to be irksome in the extreme. It 179 \i 180 A STORMY yuYAGtK. 14 II i •; fv i 4 I % was impossible but that he should feel proud of the admiration his beautiful wife created wherever they went ; she was the brilliant centre of every gathering graced by her presence, and yet, as he watched her sometimes, he was conscious of a vague uneasiness, lest in giving in so much to his wife he was but paving the way for his future dispeacc. She was very high- handed with him, treating his gentle and very reason- able remonstrances if not exactly with contempt, with indifferent carelessness. " You are an old fogey, Gecrge," she would say laughingly ; " or, rather, you would be if I would let you. Confess now that you never knew what it was to live until you had me." In a sense this was true ; but there were times, though unconfessed, when George Keith sighed for those quiet days and studious evenings, which already be- longed to the irrevocable past. As the summer wore on, George Keith's face began to wear a kind of anxious and troubled look. The business was prosperous, but the strain upon it was very heavy. Well did he know that they were not justified in living in such style, and well did he know also that many — his aunt among the number — looked on with disapproving eyes. Of Mr. Chisholm, his old friend and attached minister, he had seen but little since his marriage ; the distance b( tween their house and the church of St. Barnabas was certainly considerable, and Margaret had some shadow of excuse for declining the long walk every Sunday. They made a compromise in church matters — Margaret agreeing to accompany her husband once a month to St. Barnabas, if he would take her on the intervening Sundays to \ neighbouring fashionable church, attended by a number of the people // X/ilt' DREAn, i8i whose acquainta.ice she was particularly anxious to cultivate. This arrangement, though still holding good in the spirit, had been but poorly fulfilled in the letter, and gradually the gulf had widened between George Keith and his old associations. Nor was he a happier man on account of this aliena< tion. Margaret and he were not particularly happy, and while he still loved her as dearly, his eyes had be- come clearer to see the many faults in her character. Of this, perhaps, selBshiiess was the chief ; she pleased herself at any cost, and without the slightest considera- tion for the feelings or the welfare of others. She con- sidered that she had done her cousin an honour and a favour by becoming his wife, which was a false point of view to begin with, and which must prove fatal to any real or solid happiness. Then she cared nothing for him,, at least she had not yet given him that devoted love which makes all service and self-denial sweet. In the little flat above the shop Margaret's mother dwelt alone, not desolate or unhappy, because memory and hope were with her always, and though George saw her every day, and there was no diminution in their affectionate regard for each other, they never discussed Margaret. It seemed to be a tacit understanding be- tween them that they should say nothing about her, but Mrs. Keith did not scruple to talk very plainly to her daughter about their way of life. This candour it had pleased Margaret to resent, and so there had grown up a considerable coolness between her mother and her- self which was a serious grief to George. The widow did not visit much at her daughter's house. She sel- dom went, indeed, except by invitation, and Margaret came very little to her old home. The thought of her mother's solitude and loneliness did not at all trouble t 182 A SICRMY VOYAGER. 1 1 ■■' • 1 ■ ^ 1 ' » ler as it might have done ; she was conscious always that her mother disapproved of her in a large and general sense, and this being the case, it pleased Mar- garet that they should see as little of each other as possible. It was part of her creed to avoid unpleasant things, if possible. Mrs. Keith was by no means happy about her children, as she called them to herself. She was not an imaginative or suspicious person, but there were many times in her solitary musings when she felt conscious of a strong prevision of some coming trouble which concerned them. She could not have put this vague alarm into shape, bot it was often present with hei. Nor was it removed by the change which she observed in her son-in law. It seemed to her that he became an old man in the course of a few months. So strongly was this sense of evil present to her mind one day, that she rose up suddenly, dressed herself, and took the car out to her daughter's house, being resolved as she rode the familiar way that if she should find Mar- garet at home and alone she would tr^ and have a serious talk with her, and point out what were the dangers and the perils of their present mode of life. Young Mrs. Keith's maids, of whom she had now three, were all young and very smartly attired. The one whose duty it was to attend to the door was a singularly pv-etty girl, with a pleasant manner, which, however, was a little inclined to pertness. With Margaret's housekeeping her mother could find no fault whatever, even had she felt inclined. The house was immaculately kepi;, and the work so cleverly planned and arranged that it was never visible in its perform- ance, only the results were present. " Is your mistress at home ? " she inquired, after giving the girl a pleasant good-afternoon. A NEW DREAD. 183 " Yes, ma'am, but she is engaged," said the girl, and Mrs. Keith, who was a very shrewd observer, was im- mediately struck by the expression on the girl's face. " Engaged, is she ; in what way, my dear ? " she asked, as she stepped within the door. *' She has a visitor upstairs, and she told me that she would not see anybody until he had left." " I can wait in the dining-room, then," said Mrs. Keith, rather drily. " Perhaps you will be good enough to go up and tell her that I am here } " Mrs. Keith was a gentle and unobtrusive person, but there were times when she could look dignified, and when those to whom she spoke felt it expedient to do her bidding at once. She laid her sunshade on the table, opened the dining-room door, and went in. After a moment's hesitation the maid went upstairs and knocked at the drawing-room door. The house was very still ; it was old and well built, the walls and floors substantially constructed, and so well deafened that the sounds so lightly carried in modern houses could not be heard. It was a warm, sunshiny afternoon, and the widow feeling her silk cloak with the heavy crape trimmings hot and oppressive, unfastened it and laid it on the table. Then she walked to the window to admire the plants which stood so exquisitely green and fresh on the quaint oak table. The window looked to the street, and any one passing out by the front door could of course be distinctly seen. She heard no sound from the upper room, nor any footfall on the stairs, but the hall door closed presently, and then, to her amazement and dismay, she beheld going down the steps the tall figure of a young man whom she had no difficulty in recognising as Scott Dalrymple, the advocate's son. I <• i ! 1 4 'i i- ,• !i I ■ t; 184 A STORMY VOYAGE K. Her sweet, motherly face flushed a deep crimson, an J involuntarily she clenched her gloved hands together. She had not liked the expression on the housemaid's face when she spoke of her mistress being engaged up- stairs, and although she was not a suspicious or morbid person, a great and awful fear seemed to lay hold of her heart. She feared herself lest her daughter, the bairn who had lain at her breast and who had been a child of so many hopes and fervent prayers, should be not only wilful but wicked. Presently she heard Margaret's voice humming a snatch of song, then stopped and spoke, apparently giving some message to the maid. Then she opened the door with a careless hand and came into the room, looking as unconcerned as it was possible for any one to look ; and yet she was feeling uncomfortable and slightly apprehensive, hoping, however, that her mother had not seen her visitor leave. " Hallo ! mamma, what has brought you out to-day ? This is an unexpected pleasure. You do not often pay me a surprise visit. I am so glad I am in." She came forward, and laying her two hands on her mother's shoulders lightly, kissed her cheek. She was looking lovely in a light summer costume of pale helio- trope, which was scarcely suggestive even of slight mourning. She knew at once from the expression on her mother's face that some explanation would be immediately demanded of her, as indeed it was. " I think it is about time I came a deal oftener than I have been doing, Peggy," she said solemnly, almost sternly, " for it strikes me you are needing somebody badly to look after you. I want to know what that young Dslrymple is doing here at this hour of the day, seeing you when you are alone > " // NEW DREAD. 185 " Dear me, mamma, don't look so tragic, as if you were suspecting me of some fearful wickedness. He was out this way on business, and only brought me a message from Ella, to say that she could not come to practise to-morrow. Is there anything deadly in that ? " She uttered the lie as glibly as if it had been truth, nor did her eyes falter before her mother's earnest, questioning gl ince. " I don't like it, my dear, and I am very sure that George would not either." " Oh, George, he is an old fogey, but not a bad sort, mamma, so don't look so shocked. He lets me do exactly as I like." *' More's the pity ! " put in her mother, shaking her head. " But, really, it is rather slow for me all day by myself, and George away at business. I have been telling him ever so many times lately that he ought to get a partner, so as to have a little more time to spend with me. If I did get into mischief, I don't think I should be much to blame. But don't look so horrified, mother. I don't believe that you feel easy in your mind even yet." " Indeed, and I do not," replied her mother quickly, " and I would give a good deal to know how many times that young ne'er-do-weel has come in and out of this house, because it struck me as he went out that it was neither the first nor the last time. Oh, Peggy, my lassie, take care, take care ! Remember that a woman cannot be too careful of her good name, and that even a little innocent fun may lead to a lot of misery. I did not like the smirk on the face of that lass of yours at the door when she told me he was upstairs. If you make yourself cheap to your servants, Peggy, you will rue it* u si CIT APTKR X XII. iRt>lMU,KI> IN MINI). jlI.L you come upstairs aiul have some tea ? " said l*ct;yy, apparently changing the subject. ** I don't mind a cup of tea," replied Mrs. Keith, " but 1 should very much like if you would relieve my mind a little bit before I go." " Oh, mother, ilon't worry me," cried Peggy, with a little impatient gesture. " You always will make mountains out of molehills. Haven't I told you that Mr. Dalrymple only brought me a message from Ella ? It was the most natural thing in the world that he, being in the neighbourhood on some business, should bring it to save Ella a journey out ; and as for what you say about Sarah's expression, that »s all nonsense, and pure imagination on your part. Come up to the drawing-room, I want to show you two paintings I have just had framed, and I really think they look very well." Mrs. Keith perceived that nothing was to be gained by further speech on the matter. If Margaret did not choose to pursue the subject, then nothing on earth would make her pursue it, and that her mother had already proved. They went upstairs together and had 186 THOUBLLU IN MtNU. Il7 \ chat over their ten, but there was nothing con- fulential or particularly friendly about it. The pictureN were duly exhibited and admired, and when the talk bc(;an to (la^ a little Mrs. Keith went downntairH, put on her cloak a^ain and took her departure. Although the explanation her daughter had i^'iven her Hcemed very fair, she was by no means Hatisfied in her mind, and she was occupied durinj^ the whole of her car-driv<* home in wonderintj whether it would be wise of her to mention the matter to George. He usually ran up at closing time to say fjood-ni^jht to her, and sometimes lingered to have a little talk over things in general, but as a rule they seldom mentioned I'eggy's name. lie came up early that evening, rather before seven, and when she saw him enter the room she thought what a strong, capable, manly-looking person he was, and how eminently fitted, so far as outward seeming went, to be the guide and counsellor of his young wife. " I have been to Blackct Place this afternoon," she began at once. " Oh, have you } " he said interestedly. " Did you sec Peggy ? " " Yes, and had tea with her." " Oh, I am glad she was in. It is not her afternoon at home, and she goes out a good deal : I daresay the day is rather long for her." "She had another visitor besides me, though, George," said Mrs. Keith, impelled to tell the whole story, al- though she doubted her own wisdom in so doing. " Who was it ? " he asked, without any great show of interest. •' Young Dalrymple ; he was in the drawing-room when I went, though he left immediately. I don't like it, George, and I think it right that you should know." i88 A STORMY VOYAGER. Mis face clouded over, and a dull red flush mounted his cheek. " Did you see him ? " he asked, trying to speak indifferently, and feeling that he must be loyal to Peggy even to her mother. " No, except as he went out by the door," she answered. " I spoke to Peggy rather sharply about it, and she was very high-handed with me. I hope, laddie, that you are taking the right way with your wife, for she seems to me to be riding her high horse pretty much out there." " It is very easy for you to speak about controlling Peggy, Aunt Alice," he said, rather shortly. "You know whether you succeeded when you had her. She has been my wife now for sixteen months, and I am proving every day that the best thing for me is to hold . my tongue, and let her do as she thinks fit. It is the only way, in fact, to live peaceably with her." " That is a very dreich account of your married life, my man," said Mrs. Keith drily, and with a look of pain on her face, " and not what I expected. But surely there are some things that you can put your foot down on, and this is one. You must not have that empty-headed young man loafing about your house when you are not in it yourself. It is not safe nor seemly, and that is my last word on it, George Keith." He bit his lip, and, turning away from her, looked silently out of the window. He loved his aunt very dearly, and there were few things upon which he could not talk to her freely, but somehow on this special theme he had not a single word to say. It was really a matter of too serious moment to him to allow of speech. Mrs. Keith did not know how he had taken it, for he left her very shortly without having committed himself 1*^- TROUBLED IN M/ND. 189 ush mounted to any further remark, but she gathered very well from the expression on his face that his mind was troubled. Instead of going directly home as was his wont, and forgetful of the dinner which might be waiting and spoiling for him, George Keith turned his face westward and sought the abode of his old triend, Mr. Chisholm, whom he had not seen or spoken confidentially with for many months. The ciergyman was at home, and unfeignedly glad to see him. It had been a matter of genuine regret to him that George Keith, one of his most respected and useful oflfice-bearers, should have found it necessary to sever his connection with St. Barnabas ; but he was too generous-minded a man to suffer that disappointment to show itself in his manner, or to feel the slightest inclination to reproach him for his secession. He received him with the same cordial hand-clasp, the same true, pleasant glance of his deep- seeing eye, and it needed no special vision for him to observe that in some respects George Keith was not the man he was. " I am glad to see you," he said heartily. " Where have you been this long time ? Surely you might have looked me up one evening before now. Like the man in Scripture, you have married a wife and cannot come." " That is it," said Keith as he sat down ; and draw- ing his chair nearer to the minister's desk, he leaned his elbow on his knee and looked up at him with a certain appealing and even wistful glance which some- what prepared Mr. Chisholm for what was coming. " I never seem to come to you unless I am worried about something. I don't think I have had a con- fidential talk with you since the night I came to tell you about my uncle's offer of the partnership. A good deal has happened since then." I90 A STORMY VOYAGER. " A good deal," assented the minister ; " but nothing, I hope, which you have had occasion to regret." " Well, no, I should not like to say I regret it, but there are some thir.gs which I fear have fallen out otherwise than I could have wished, and i — in fact, I need your advice." " Well, if anything I can say or do would be of the slightest service to you, it is at your disposal," replied the minister sincerely, as of yore. " I trust that Mrs. Keith is very well, and that your marriage, although entered upon in such sad and exc ptional circumstances, has turned out happily for you both." '* I think we are not unhappy, perhaps," said Keith, a trifle hesitatingly ; " but I don't think somehov/ t^iat we have started out on the right track. It WEi a mistake to begin witti going out to that big house." " I thought so at the time," said the minister, leaning back in his chair. " Not that any question of means troubled me, because I bdieved that you were too sensible and shrewd a business man to enter upon any way of life which your means did not justify." " The mere taking of the house and the paying of the rental would not have harassed me in the least," George saidr "although I do think that it is too big for us. But you see it was like this. My wife v/as a little headstrong about it, and said that if I did i\ot take the house she would pay for it with her own money. I had a vague idea, of course, that the expc ises of such an establishment were very heavy, but I had no idea really how heavy until the last six months. You see, the required time of mourning for her father having expired, my wife no longer feels that she cares to live a quiet life. I need not worry you with details ; but what with the entertaining and the going out which TROUBLED IN MIND. 191 she insists upon, I find that our expenditure is a very serious drain upon our means ; in fact, we ought not to go on as we are doing." " Then do not," . ,'plied the minister, curtly and without the least hesitation. " My dear fellow, take my advice, and put on the brake in time. I have seen lots of shipwrecks in th's very city from the very same cause. You are considerably older than your young wife, and it is therefore to be expected that you should be her guide and counsellor." A faint smile, which was not lost upon the minister, crossed George Keith's lips, but he made no remark. " It is your duty as a professing Christian, as well as a clear-headed business man, to live absolutely within your income," he continued. " There is no excuse for anything else. Take my advice, my dear boy, and make the firm stand before it is too late. I am sure that if you explain your financial position exactly to Mrs. Keith, she would not only comprehend it at once, but be anxious to co-operate in making your income control your expenses." George Keith was silent a moment, shifting uneasily on his seat. " You spoke a moment ago, Mr. Chisholm, about my acting as guide and counsellor to my wife. It is hateful and horrible to me to complain, or to draw the veil, even thus slightly, from my married life, but I am at my wits' end, and there is no one more competent to advise or to whom it is so easy to give confidence as yourself." *• Tell me what you will, as much or as little as will relieve your mind, my dear boy," said the elder man kindly. " It is safe and sacred with me, as you may very well believe. Many a sad story have I heard in this very 193 A STORMY VOYAGER. room, but I trust for your sake and for your wife's that there is nothing except a little misunderstanding which can be very easily removed ; and yet I would caution you, for, though I have never been married myself, my observation has taught me this, that it is far better, if possible at all, to keep your lips scaled concerning your matrimonial differences." " I don't know that there ever has been much difference in the ordinary sense of the word," said Keith, feeling that he must speak out what was in his soul even when thus warned to be reticent. " I have found in my brief married life that the easiest way to secure peace and comfort is to hold my tongue and let my wife have her own way." " Ah, but that is not always right. I thought that George Keith would stand to his guns better than that," said the clergyman quickly. " You must remem- ber your wife's extreme youth — she is not yet twenty, and has had no experience whatever of life. I repeat that it is your absolute duty to be firm .with her in every- thing." " It is easy to speak about being firm, but what is a fellow to do when the most of the firmness is on the other side ? " observed Keith, with a fleeting, somewhat dismal smile. " When she has had a little more experience of life," said the minister, " she v/ill be the very first to acknowledge that you were right and she was wrong. My advice to you, my boy, is to go home this very night and have a good, thorough, out-and-out talk with your wife, explain your financial position to her to begin with, and say that while you are anxious, of course, as she must believe, to give her everything that lies in your power, that for a year or two you must TROUBLED IN MIND. 195 live more quietly than you have been doing during the last few months. Why, I see myself that you are worrying yourself into your grave, George. You look ten years older than you did before your marriage. I suppose you clon't write much poetry, or build up many ethical essays nowadays ? " he added, with a whimsical smile. George Keith shook his head. " No, my marriage has been the grave of my am- bitions," he said. " I sometimes think that it is as well for some men to shun matrimonial responsibilities ; they seem to absorb all one's energies, and t' increase the burden of life.' *' Which ought not to be," said the minister. ** Marriage was intended by God to lighten the burden of life. Everything that is shared becomes easier ta bear, and I do trust, my friend, that this momentary cloud will pass, and that when you and your dear young wife have got more accustomed to each other's ways, happiness and peace will take up their abode in your heart and home." 13 r.. CHAPTER XXIir. AN UNEXrECTF.I) BLOW. |T was almost closing time one night a few months later, and George Keith was in the counting-house beside Isabel Heriot dis- cussing the returns for the day. She was still the most trusted and valuable servant in the esta- blishment, and its head, almost unconsciously to himself, had learnt to rely upon her in other matters besides those connected with business. She never went to the house in Blacket Place, although on the rare occasions when Margaret came to the shop she was always very affable and cordial to her. But the element of con- descension, which was quite perceptible in her manner, was more than Isabel could stand. She was a very gentle and amiable woman, but her own pride and dignity were by no means unobtrusive elements in her character. She considered herself, although she was in the paid employment of George Keith, every whit as good as he or his wife, and conducted herself accord- ingly. .She, as well as some others, during the last few months, had detected a gradual and growing change in George Keith ; her keener woman's vision told her that he was a harassed and disappointed man. She could 194 AN US EXPECTED BLOW. •9$ not, of course, tell the exact nature of the care which so evidently dwelt with him always, but she had no hesitation in her own mind, in laying the blame entirely upon his wife's shoulders. She had not suffered the one great disappointment of her life to make much impression upon hnr outward personality at least ; she had had many sad and lonely hours since the night when she had first faced the truth and had had her heart so ruthlessly revealed to herself, but they were undreamed of, not only by the world, but even by those with whom she lived from day to day. She was greatly beloved by all her fellow- workers, from the head of the firm down to the tiniest errand-boy, and on the whole had much fo make life pleasant and desirable. They had finished the work for the day, and she was putting her ledgers in their appointed place when the porter at the door brought in a note for Mr. Keith. She saw him glance curiously at the envelope, and then turn aside from her and tear it open. She was busy for a minute or two with her back turned to him, and when she did look round his face was so very white and rigid, and wore such a desperate expression, that she made an involuntary exclamation. " Dear me, Mr. Keith, what has happened ? Nothing seriously wrong, I hope ? " " Oh, nothing," he said, with a strange, sickly smile and, crushing up the letter in his pocket, left the count- ing-house and entered his private room, from whence he emerged almost immediately, and without bidding her the usual good-night, or waiting in his customary man- ner to see the premises safe-guarded and left in the charge of the care-taker, he strode out to the street and jumped into an empty cab which happened to be passing at the moment. These things were sufficient % 1 i , il li M 1 3 196 ^ STORMY VOYAGER. to trouble the soul of Isabel Heriot beyond what was common, and that whole evening she could not get her employer out of her mind. But she was too prudent and too loyal to his interests to utter a word of what she had seen, or to breathe a hint of suspicion to a living soul. It was now the month of October, and the weather was mild and beautiful for the season. It seemed in- deed as if the Indian summer, which we are soinetimes permitted to enjoy, though with a trembling uncertainty which perhaps makes it all the sweeter, was inclined to linger longer than usual over the earth. The days were soft and still, and sunshiny ; the evenings, lit by their wonderful white moonlight, dreams of indescribable love- liness. The sky, as Keith drove rapidly out towards his home, was veiled in a slight silvery mist, through which the stars shone steadily, and the moon, coming up red, and round, and wonderful, was hanging low on the horizon. There was not a breath of wind stirring, though the evening air had that peculiar cooling touch which indicated that the year was on the wane. When he arrived at his own door, it was no surprise to him to see the windows all dark. He paid and dis- missed the cabman, and opened the door with his latch- key, immediately summoning the housemaid by the dining-room bell. She came up in great haste, and looking visibly surprised, her master not having been expected to dine at home that evening. " Is your mistress in, Sarah ? " he asked, without preliminary or explanation of any kind. " No, sir, she is not, and I don't «hink she expected you," she added. " Have you dined ? " " No, and I don't want to. Did she say where she was going ? " AN UNEXf ^CTED BLOIV. '97 what was lot get her (O prudent rd of what licion to a he weather seemed in- soiiietimes uncertainty inclined to e days were lit by their ribable love- out towards list, through oon, coming iging low on ind stirring, Doling touch ane. } no surprise »aid and dis- th his latch- »aid by the : haste, and laving been ced, without Ihe expected ly where she ** Yes, sir, only for a turn in the Park ; she has uecn gone about half an hour." " Was any one with her ? " he asked then, trying to speak in an indifferent manner, although the damsel to whom the words were adoressed was not in the least deceived. " Yes, sir, Mr. Dalrymple. They had tea about six, and went out, I think, about half an hour ago. My mistress said she would not be long." "Ah, that is all right. I think I shall just stroll as far as the Park with my cigar. It is possible I may meet them." " But if you have not dined, sir, can I get you nothing to eat ? " asked the girl. " No, I t«:^li you, I don't want anything." She departed then with almost as much haste as she had come, knowing perfectly well that something had happened to ruffle him beyond his wont. He was a very good master, placid and easy to get on with, and was much respected by his house servants as well as by those who were employed at the shop. He waited until the girl was downstairs. He did not go to the morning-room for the cigar which might have soothed his evening stroll, but clapped his hat tightly on his head and left the house. It was a night of exceptional beauty ; though it was not until he left the shady solitudes of Blacket Place, and emerged into the wide open space of the Park, that its full loveliness was revealed to him. But it had no power to soothe or to comfort him. Heart and brain alike seemed on fire with that most fatal of all passions, the jealousy which is cruel as the grave. Against the cloudless blue of the sky the hills stood out in startling relief, the rugged and dangerous clifT which faced him 198 A STORMY VOYAGER. looked specially weird and awe-inspiring. He did not hesitate at all when he once found himself within the precincts of the Park ; some instinct seemed to tell him how to go. There were not many stragglers now in that lonely and somewhat unsafe spot, certainly no one to pay the slightest attention to him. He long remembered that sharp, solitary walk, and often marvelled at the instinct which seemed to guide his footsteps toM^ards those whom he sought. He turned up the hilly road which winds round the face of the cliffs towards Duddingston, a walk Margaret and he had often taken during the year that had gone. He passed one or two lovers on the way, walking in that affectionate and blissfully unconscious manner which distinguishes them. A strange, grim smile touched his lips, and he wondered whether he should find the two he sought in much the same attitude. He walked on steadily, not swerving to the right or to the left, nor having the slightest doubt but that he was in the right direction. As he left the town behind, stragglers became fewer, and for the last few hundred yards he met no one. At last he came within sight of a seat much affected by those who liked solitude. It stood back from the roadway in the deep shelter of the cliff, which frowned upon it from above, and in front commanded an exquisite view, the loch in the foreground lying placidly at the bottom of the sheer slope, and the sweet old-world village beyond, with its fertile back- ground of field and meadow stretching to the sea. On this seat sat two people, the man and woman he had come to confront. He heard their voices before he saw them, and the sound of his wife's laughter rang out low and clear upon the soft, cool air. They heard AN UNEXPECTED BLOW. «99 his sharp, steady foot-tread on the gravel, and hushed their voices sh*ghtly until he should have passed. •* I think we had better be going back now," he heard Margaret distinctly say as he drew near. Then she gave a little cry of terror, for instead of passing on, the approaching pedestrian swerved aside and stood straight in front of them, the bright moonlight falling so clearly on his face and figure that there was no mistaking him. There was a moment's strained silence, then the two rose. Margaret was the first to recover herself. " Dear me, George, how you startled us I " she said, trying to speak lightly and indifferently ; but her voice betrayed the magnitude of her effort. " I suppose you have been home, and Sarah has told you where we had gone. Mr. Dalrymple called in about six o'clock, and as I had not been out all day and longed for a breath of fresh air, he kindly offered to take me out for a stroll. Isn't it a lovely evening "i " She feared to look at her husband as she spoke, and yet his face seemed to have a fascination for her eyes. She saw his lips curl in a terrible scorn, such as she had never before beheld upon his face. He was very pale, but so quiet that she tried to take courage. She had never seen him really roused, and had no idea of the passion and power of the man's nature. Dal- rymple presented a sorry enough figure, standing with a weak, meaningless grin on his face, acquiescing in what Margaret had said, and without sufficient manli- ness evidently to take a stand for himself. Margaret, who in this as in most other of the foolish acts of her life, had acted on the impulse of the moment and without giving an instant's thought to the con- sequences, now saw how terrible they might be. She ! r.- n i f f 200 A SrOkMV VOYAGER. I % ;:: B 1 11 4 ■■!: H tl 1 R ^^ I ^- p 1 1 I; ! i '■ 4 u \ '. \ •^iL. was foolish, thoughtless if you like, but there was no real evil in her, nor much perhaps in the feeble specimen of manhood who had thus implicated her in a serious trouble. They had drifted idly into an empty flirtation, which had commended itself to them by reason of the v^ / element of risk attached to it. But Margaret, at leist, was entirely innocent of one dishonourable thoug it. Keith stood a moment regarding the pair with those steady, piercing eyes of his, and then turned to Margaret. *• Do you wish to come home ? " he asked curtly. *' You can choose now between him and me." She made a slight hysterical sound, half between a sob and a laugh. " Oh, George, don't be so absurd. There is no harm in what we have done, and I am sure I am very sorry if I have offended you. I won't do it again." She spoke very much as a pretty petulant child might have done, but the time had gone when such words and looks could have any effect upon the man to whom they were addressed. ** Hush 1 " he said sternly, " don't make the matter worse by your weak and wicked excuses. You have played with me long enough, and I have borne with you, God knows, too long, b'^t I would save you yet. Are you ready } " He held out his arm, and she, beginning to tremble, for this was a mood she had never seen, put her hand meekly upon it. Keith, who never suffered his eyes to light upon the face of Scott Dalrymple, took a step back towards the middle of the road, when the young man broke in rather quickly, — " I hope you will accept my apologies, Mr. Keith," AN UNEXPECTED BUOW. 20 1 he said, rather lamely. *^ I grant you it was indis- creet of me to take Mrs. Keith out like this, but really I did not mean any harm ; upon my honour, I did not." " Your honour ! " repeated George Keith with a little laugh which lingered long in Margaret's ears Then he lifted his disengaged arm and with all his strength hit Dalrymple full upon the mouth. t f' CHAPTER XXIV. 1 SECOND THOUGHTS. HE next moment they were in grips.. Although Scott Dalrymple was not con- spicuous for many manly qualities, he had a passionate and most ungovernable temper, and to be thus insulted as he imagined in the presence of the woman whom he professed to love, and before whom he posed as a hero, was more than he could stand. For a moment Margaret stood rooted to the spot, the horror of the situation holding her in thrall. She could neither remonstrate nor scream, but stood absolutely still while they fought as men fight who have a long score to settle. Dalrymple was a trained athlete, but George Keith had the advantage of him in physical strength. They were, on the whole, however, pretty equally matched. In their struggling they moved gradually across the road to the edge of the sheer incline which sloped down to the loch. Margaret saw their immediate danger, and yet she felt paralysed and unable to v;arn them by gesture or sound, and presently she closed her eyes in horror as they rolled 202 Wsm in grips. J not con- alities, he £[overnable lied in the ) love, and e than he I the spot, irall. She DUt stood fight who a trained of him in , however, ling they ge of the Margaret paralysed ound, and they rolled ' FOR A MOMENT MAKGAKET STOOO ROOTliU TO THE SHOT. " l/'u^r 2oa. SECOND THOUGHTS. ao3 over the slope. The sight of the actual catastrophe brought her to her senses, and she sprang forward to the edge of the incline, an awful horror clutching at her heart with a hand of ice. She thought that nothing could save them, but that they would roll together into the waters of the loch, which, though shallow at the edge, would be sufficient to drown them if they were stunned in any way by the fall. These few minutes seemed an eternity to Margaret Keith, but presently her strained eyes detected one figure clambering up the slope, and very shortly her husband reached her side, apparently unhurt, although dishevelled and mud- stained by his mishap. " Oh, George, how dreadful ! " she cried. " I thought you were both killed. Where is he } " " He is lying down at the bottom among the reeds , it will be a nice damp bed for him till morning, and perhaps he will wake from it a wiser man. Come home ! " She hung back, concerned only for a fellow-creature's life. She was for the moment lifted beyond mere personal thought ; but her action, of course, was mis- understood by her husband. He was in that bitter and highly-strung condition which made it impossible foi him to judge between the false and the true. " Oh, 3'ou won't leave him there all night, George ; he may be drowned I " " And what if he is ? A good riddance. Edinburgh will be a cleaner and a better place without the scoundrel," he retorted. " But, pray, do not think that I want you to leave him. You can go back if you like, and wat :h by him till morning. There is a spice of romance in it which might please you. I am going." He began to stride off, and Margaret, torn between IB I 304 A ^TOA'Afy VOYAGER, \ :. i'. ,• ■ r^ two conflicting desires, hesitated a moment longer, but in the end the instinct of preservation and self-interest prevailed. She saw perfectly well that it would tax all her powers to make matters smooth with her hus- band, and she was also worldly-wise enough to know what was the best course for her to pursue. " Don't walk so fast, George," she called out, " I am coming." He did not slacken his pace in the least, and she had to run to come up with him. Even then he did not turn his head to look at her. *' George, you are very cruel to me," she cried, with a sob, " and you always will believe the very worst." But he walked on silent, as if he had never heard her. " It is all your fault, anyhow," she continued, '* leaving me so much alone. You are married to your business instead of to me. Did it never occur to you that I might be lonely > or want some other company than that of servants when you are away the whole day } Put yourself in my place." '* For God's sake hold your tongue I " he said then, turning upon her so fiercely that she cowered involun- tarily ; yet so strangely are we made that never in all the years she had known him had she liked him so well as at that moment when he glared upon her with eyes which might have slain her. So they came in silence to their own door. He opened it with his key and stood back to let her enter, afraid apparently lest her skirt should touch him. She, more afraid of the conventionali»^Ies than he, ran upstairs at once, feeling that she could not at that moment face any of her servants without betrayinfr that somethin^T had gone seriously wrong. She was trembling all o^'er, and her face was white and drawn- "1 SECOND THOUGHTS, ao$ looking, like the face of one who has seen a ^host Her limbs refused to support her, and she sank into the first chair and leaned back among its cushions, dreading for the moment that she was going to faint. Gradually, however, some measure of composure re- turned to her, and she was able to look the events of the night squarely in the face. Although she was more concerned personally with the state of affairs between her husband and herself, she could not refrain from casting some thoughts towards the man who had led her into all this mischief. The picture of him lying unconscious among the reeds and rushes at the edge of Duddingston Loch filled her with an inde- scribable horror. Her imagination was not slow to fill up all the details ; she could picture the finding of his body in the morning, perhaps by one of the Park rangers, the hue and cry there would be to unravel the mystery, and the scandal with which so many honour- able names would be mixed up. She put her hands before her face and groaned in spirit over the terrible consequences of her own folly and wicked thoughtless- ness. She was afraid to go down and make another appeal to her husband, actually afraid of the man whom hitherto she had held in a species of mild con- tempt, as a weak, complacent fellow, whom it was easy to hoodwink and set aside. For half an hour the most absolute stillness reigned in the house, then Margaret was startled in the solitude of her own room by the banging of the outer door, and her husband's rapid foot going down the steps and dying away in the distance. For a moment the impulse was upon her to follow him ; but considering how useless such a step would be, she refrained, and went into the dining-room, where she took one glass of wine I 206 i ■: ( i . ill m \ t I A STORMY yuVAGEK. )f which she stood sadly in need, feeling still weak and unstrunf?. George Keith walked out to the end of Blacket Place, and hailed the nearest cab. With a rapid glance at the man's face, as if scekin<; to know how far he might be trusted, he said to him, in a low, quick voice, — " I want you to drive me into the Park, round by the Radical Road, near to Duddingston Loch. A gentleman has fallen over the hill, and I want to get him home." The man looked at him with a distinct air of suspicion. It was a curious request, and he hesitated a moment to mix himself up with anything of such a doubtful nature. " That is a queer business," he said doubtfully, scratching his head. " The Radical Road — I'm not caring about it, mister, and that's the truth." " You need not come unless you like," observed Keith quickly. " But I assure you there is nothing wrong, and I'll make it worth your while." " But even when we get there, how are we going to get him up } said the man cautiously. *' You don't expect that I am going to leave my horse standing there : but perhaps you could carry him up yourself ? " " No, I don't think I could. Perhaps we had better get a policeman." The mention of a policeman reassured the cautious cabby. " Unless you want a lot of noise made about it," he said, more cordially, " I should not have the bobby. I saw a mate of mine standing at the corner of Queen's Crescent as I came round just now. If you jump in, we can drive back, and see if he is there yet." Keith nodded and got into the cab. The man SECOND THOUGHTS. 207 in question, a respectable-looking tradesman, who was still smoking under the lamp, at the corner of Queen's Crescent, when the matter was explained to him got on the box beside his mate without any hesitation whatever. The thing savoured of adventure, and was therefore interesting to him. A few minutes' rapid driving brought them to the place where the scufRc had so lately occurred. It was now about nine o'clock and the road was quite deserted. When they neared the seat under the overhanging cliff, Keith put his head out of the window and bade them stop. Then he jumped out and motioned to the young man to get off the box. " It is all fair and square, governor, I hope ? " he observed as he leaped to the ground, and at the same time casting another dubious glance in the direction of the sheet of water shimmering peacefully under the exquisite light of the moon. George Keith smiled slightly, and drew his card- case from his pocket. " If you want to know my name, there it is. I am Mr. Keith of Keith's in Princes Street. I suppose you know the name ? " The man nodded, touched his hat, and indicated that he was ready to follow. It did not take them many seconds to clamber down the steep incline, and there they found Scott Dalrymple as he had been left, lying unconscious among the reeds and rushes, his pallid face upturned to the clear evening sky. It was the work of a second to raise him in their arms, and then Keith saw that there was a wound on the side of the head, evidently made by contact with some sharp stone. He was a tall, well-built young fellow, and, though slender, lay no light weight in their arms as they com- i I 208 A STORMY VOYAGER. menced the steep climb. Keith was not conscious of any remorse or even of pity as he looked at the prostrate form and deathlike face of the man who had occasioned him so much dispeace of mind. Yet he was by no means a hard-hearted nor unforgiving man. They managed to place him in the cab, and then Keith gave the order to drive to the house of the advocate, Mr. Grahame Dalrymple, in Heriot Row. i m 'm ,i'H scious of prostrate :casioned IS by no and then je of the Row. CHAPTER XXV. ESTRANGED. ALF-PAST nine pealed from the town clocks as the cab with its burden drevtr up at the door of the Dalrymples' house. " Will you just stop here," said Keith to the young man who was in the vehicle with him, '* until I explain to them what has happened, and prepare them for it ? I won't be a minute." So saying he vaulted from the cab, and gave a loud peal at the bell. Dinner was not long over in the Dalrymple house- hold, and the advocate, tired as usual, was soothing himself with his after-dinner cigar and the evening paper in the library. The message Keith gave to the servant who answered his summons was urgent. " Tell Mr. Dalrymple I must see him at once, and that the matter cannot stand," he said, at the same time giving her a card. She came back almost immediately, and asked him to step into the library. He knew Mr. Dalrymple very v/ell by sight, although he was himself unknown to the advocate. He was a handsome, aristo- cratic-looking gentleman, and the velvet smoking jacket he wore was singularly becoming to his fresh, clear-cut face, framed by his plentiful grey hair. 20Q 14 • u i >U '\ M 2IO A STORMY VOYAGE R. " Well, sir," he said affably, for the cares which some- times lay heavy on his soul seemed lighter at this hour of the day than any other, " what can I do for you ? I have the pleasure of knowing your young wife, I think, althouj;h this is my first meeting with you." He offered his hand as he spoke with the greatest cordiality of manner and look, but Keith did not offer to take it. " Sir, I am the bearer of rather bad news for you to-night," he said, plunging into the matter at once. " Your son is not in the house, I think .' " " No, he is not ; he did not dine at home to-night, and no one seemed to know where he had gone. I hope nothing has happened to him," he said, with quick apprehension in his tone. " Something has happened, but I trust not serious," said Keith quickly. " I am in a very awkward position to-night, and I hardly know how to explain the matter to you, but explain it somehow I must. Perhaps you are aware that there has been some considerable acquaintance between my wife and your son of late ? " It cost him no small effort to say even so much. His face flushed, and he involuntarily clenched his hands. " No, I did not know. I was aware, of course, that there was some love-making, or whatever you may call it, between them before marriage, but I have heard nothing of it since. I hope sincerely for your sake that it is not true." •• Unfortunately it is. To-night at my place of business I received an anonymous letter warning me of the many visits paid by your son to my house in my absence, and telling me that he was there this very evening. A very pleasant announcement for any hus- ESTRA^GED. 211 \ some- lis hour Dr you ? I think, greatest lot offer for you at once. to-night, gone. I ith quick serious," I position le matter haps you isiderable )f late > " so much, iched his urse, that may call ive heard ^our sake place of irning me use in my this very any hus- band to receive, Mr. Dairy m pie. I went out to my house at once, but found that they had gone for a stroll in the Park. I followed them there, and found them sitting on a seat on the higher part of the Radical Road, just above Duddingston Loch. I had no words whatever with your son, I simply requested my wife to come home with me. I never spoke to him until he made a remark to me. I cannot recall it now, but it exasperated me so much that I struck him." " And I do not wonder at it," said the advocate with flushing cheek, and eyes in which apprehension and anger dwelt side by side. " It made him angry, of course, and we began to struggle together. The end of it was that we rolled over the incline, and while I escaped unhurt, I am afraid your son has sustained some slight injury. I have brought him home." " And where is he } " "In the cab at the door. I thought I had better come in and explain matters to you, in case of any undue shock to you or to his mother." " His mother and sisters, fortunately, have gone to an evening meeting," said the advocate. " Well, I suppose we had better get him in and send for the doctor. I am very sorry, Mr. Keith, that my graceless son should have been the cause of so much annoyance and trouble to you. I assure you it is not the first time that he has given me a bad half-hour." " Then you believe that I would not have wilfully hurt him ? " said Keith eagerly. " I assure you my story is absolutely true in every detail" " My dear sir, I do not doubt it. I only wish that I could be as sure of everything in this world as I am of your blamelessness in the whole matter and if the i \ i! ; I: I ^iia 212 A STORMY VOYAGER. rascal is seriously hurt, well, perhaps, it will be a lesson to him which he will never forget." He extended his hand again as he spoke, and Keith gripped it hard. There was something pathetic in the look and bearing of the old man, who, though he sat in high places, was so little exempt from the common cares and troubles of life ; nay, it would almost seem that he had a greater share than most. So they brought Scott Dalrymple into his home, and carried him up to his own room. By the time they laid him on the bed, consciousness returned to him, and he opened his eyes. Keith did not wait to hear the doctor's vefdict. He left the house, feeling that he had done all that was required of him. With slow and rather reluctant feet he climbed the steep ascent to Princes Street, feeling a strong and natural shrinking from returning to his home. He felt, indeed, that it was no home for him now, still less did he feel inclined to carry the story of his broken hopes to the woman who had been a mother to him all his motherless years. The instinct was strong within him to bury his pain deep in his own breast. Had it been possible, he would have liked to leave the city that very night, and with- out looking again on the face of his wife ; and yet a great and growing anxiety about her gnawed at his heart. He had undertaken to love and cherish and care for her, and he had done so according to his light, however poorly she had repaid him. The sense of responsibility did not leave him, nay, it grew upon him, until he felt that he must get home, even though it was but a mockery of the name. He got on the top of a car almost at the door of his own place of business, and sitting there among the throng, who found an open-air drive pleasant that mild and beautiful evening, he tried ESTRANGED. 313 a lesson d Keith ic in the ie sat in :ommon ost seem Dme, and me they him, and hear the at he had slow and ascent to shrinking d, that it !l inclined le woman ess years, his pain he would and with- md yet a ed at his lerish and his light, sense of upon him, ugh it was top of a iness, and open-air he tried to think the matter out, to pierce the uncertain future which seemed to have but little prospect of hope or brightness for him or his. When he came within sight of his owii door he saw that it was open, and that his wife stood in the hall dressed in walking garb. He closed the gate and also the door behind him, and, turning the key in the lock, put it in his pocket. " Where are you go?ng, may I ask ? " he said, in quiet, cold tones. He saw that she was in a highly nervous and over- strung state. " I — I don't know whei I am going. Oh, George, we cannot leave him there all night ; he will die before . morning." " He is not there ; I have taken him home. So you can keep an easy mind on that scote," he answered, as he hung his hat on the stand. " Taken him home, have you ? Yourself ? And did you tell them what had happened } " " I saw his father, to whom I explained the whole circumstances of the case," he replied still coldly. " Some explanation was necessary, of course.'" " And is he seriously hurt ? " " That T don't know, but I should not think so. He was conscious before I left the house." He detected in these inquiries the keenest possible anxiety, and he wondered bitterly whether she would have felt equally concerned had he been the sufferer. He turned from her and walked into the breakfast-room, where she followed him, hesitating, and yet with an eager, questioning bok in her eyes, which, however, he did not see. He found it best not to look at her. His only wish was that she would go away and leave him 214 A STORMY VOYAGER. in peace, until he should create some order out of the chaos of his thoughts. " Don't you want anything to eat ? " she asked humbly. " Sarah says you have had no dinner." •' No, I want nothing to eat," he answered. " And I suppose you have nothing to say to me," she pursued, coming a step furthur into the room, and standing v/ith her hand on the table. " No, nothing at present. I think you had better go to bed," he said, with a cold gentleness. " You look as if you need rest." •' Bed is out of the question," she retorted, with a strange catch in her voice ; then suddenly, as if afraid of breaking down, she fled from the room and hurried upstairs. He heard her moving about her room for some little time, and then all was quiet. He drew off his boots, broke up the piece of coal in the grate until it sent out a cheerful little glow, over which he spread his hands gratefully, as if he felt the cold. He was suffering from his long fast, having tasted nothing since his light lunch in the middle of the day ; and now that the fever of excitement was off him, Nature cried out for something to sustain the inner man. But it did not occur to him to satisfy that vague craving. It was now eleven o'clock, and the servants had gone to bed. He sat still with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, the picture of dejection and despair ; for, indeed, the man was well-nigh despairing. He had lived an uneventful and placid life for seven- and-twenty years, a life which had held no preparation for such scenes as these. He wondered vaguely as he sat there why he should have been called upon to bear this special cross, which seemed so heavy and so intoler- able. These sad, bitter thoughts were disturbed by- ESTRANGED. ai5 and-by by the soft opening and shutting of the door. He looked up and saw his wife enter. She wore a dressing-gown of soft white flannel, which matched the hue of her cheek. As he looked at her, her beauty and her youth seemed to sink into his soul, and he felt a great wave of pity for the young creature who so recklessly played with fire and had no pity either for herself or for others. " I wish you would speak to me, George ; anything would be better than this awful deadly silence," she said» with a weary, impatient ring in her voice. " I cannot bear it. There is no use for me to say I am sorry, I suppose, because you would not believe it any more than you believed me when I said there was no harm in the affair from the beginning. All the same, I am sorry, and I want you to forgive me." He made no response for some minutes. He had heard very much the same thing several times before, and it had but little power to move him. The man's heart seemed as stone within him, and he could not find the comforting word he would willingly have spoken. " Of course, I know you think I am wicked and everything that I should not be," she began quickly, " but I am not, George, indeed I am not. It is only thoughtlessness, and I was far too young to be married. I ought not to have been allowed ; I have never had any girlhood, or any ^un like other girls, and it was awfully hard lines on me, expecting me to settle down into a respectable, staid, married woman all at once." '• Nobody forced you into the marriage, Margaret," he said then, without looking at her. " If you cast your memory back, you must remember that you came to me of your own free will." ai6 A STORMY VOYAGER. *' Oh, yes, in a sense," she said, with a little impatient shake of her head. " Yet, all the same, I was egged on to it by everybody ; but there is no use recriminating now. What I want to know is what you are going to do. Do you want me to leave you and go back to mamma ? Because I am quite willing, though I do not suppose I should stop there very long." " You speak entirely without thought," he answered harshly, for her tone and manner were not calculated to soothe him very much. She spoke exactly like a spoilt child who, while convicted in a fault, saw no error in it. She came over to the fireplace and stood in her favourite attitude, with her foot on the fender and her arm on the mantel. She was really very uneasy in her mind, but her pride would not allow her to say all that her heart dictated. Her husband's quiet and very reserved demeanour troubled her greatly ; she would rather have taken part, indeed, in a stormy scene than look upon his rigid face, and listen to his quiet, cold tone. . "What I want to know is what you are going to do ? " she said again. " I am awfully sorry, George. I cannot say any more than that, and really this will be an end of it. Won't you kiss and be friends .' " A dreary smile dawned for one fleeting moment on his lips. How like a child she was in her attitude to- wards life ! Kiss and be friends, when the breach had widened almost to the grave ! " I think you had better go to bed," he said, in the same still, cold, but gentle voice. " Perhaps it will bear talking of another day." " Oh well, if you won't talk to me, I suppose I must just go," she said rather pettishly ; but as she tui^ped towards the door she laid her hand with a caressing but ESTRANGED. aty inpatient as egged minating going to ) back to igh I do answered :ulated to :e a spoilt irror in it. d in her ir and her uneasy in to say all : and very ihe would cene than }uiet, cold hesitating touch on his head. He shook it ofT, and his face flushed. " Don't ! " he said harshly. " You have played with me long enough. Don't pretend any more." She could not stay after that, and when she left the room he walked quietly to the door and turned tlie key in the lock. Morning found him by the dead fire, still in company with his own miserable thoughts. going to ieorge. I lis will be • ioment on titude to- reach had id, in the will bear Dse I must he tuiyed essing but CHAPTER XXVI. BANISHED. COTT DALRYMPLE was not seriously in- jured. In a few days he was able to be out of bed, and began to talk of returning to business. His father came into his room one morning before he was up and sat down by the bed. It was the first time that he had appeared desirous of having the slightest talk with him, having hitherto contented himself by inquiring after his welfare downstairs. The advocate was, indeed, too utterly dis- gusted with his son's behaviour to think of him, much less speak to him with patience. " Good-morning," he said rather grimly, as he took his seat on the chair by the bed. " I hear from your mother that you are nearly well again, and I have just come to tell you my plans for your future." Scott made no reply. He was greatly ashamed of himself, and had dreaded having the matter spoken of by his father. It was a considerable relief, indeed, to find that he was taking it so quietly ; at the same time he surmised that underneath this quiet demeanour there lay a stern purpose. " I wrote last night to my cousin, Hamish Dal- 218 iously in- t)le to be returning into his down by appeared n, having is welfare terly dis- lim, much s he took [rom your lave just tamed of [poken of ideed, to ime time lour there iish DaU BANISHED, 319 rymple, telling him that you would shortly be on your way to Manitoba ; as soon as the doctor thinks you are able for the journey you shall go." In 'time past, Scott had invariably resented every allusion to this scheme for getting rid of him, and had flatly declined, more than once, to entertain i: for a moment. But this time it came to him with something of relief. It would be a good thin„', he felt, to get away from Edinburgh for a time, at least; so he made no protest or remark except to say very meekly for him, " Very well, sir." "You have made an idiot of yourself a good many times during the last three or four years, my boy," s:aid his father in the same grave, stern tones, '* but hithe.-to your scrapes have been such as money could hush up This last one is intolerable, and but for the forbearance of that decent fellow and true gentleman, whose happi- ness you have done your best to ruin, it might have turned out a great deal more serious." Scott felt that it would be wise to listen to this severe but merited rebuke in silence. " Your mother thinks that I ought to let you wait until spring on account of the severity of the weather ; but in the very last letter I hat' from Hamish, he says that their winters in the Qu'Appelle Valley are quite tolerable, and that they enjoy them immensely. You will have time to get acquainted with your new rela- tives, and also to get some knowledge of the country and the working of a large farm, before the actual hard work of the year begins." " I don't mind, I am sure," said Scott ; " the sooner the better." " Very well ; I am glad to hear that you look at it from that point of view, and I hope that this will be a 11 iil f i' I, It) ill N I : I i5 •■ i ■ 1 1 f » ; 1 ' ■ i 1 i t aao A '^TOKMY VOYAGER. lesson to you, and that you will try and pull yourself up a bit and become a man." There was a good deal of significant emphasis on the last word, which caused a slight flush to rise fo the young man's pale face. It told him more plainly than any further words could have done how very heartily his father despised him. " Has Wilson said anything about when I shall be able to travel ? " he asked, anxious to change the subject. " No, but I shall see him to-night after I come home," said the advocate. As he rose from his chair he paused just a moment with his hand on the back of it, and looked down into his son's face with something of sadness in his eyes. " I was very proud when you were born, Scott, and I have built great hopes upon you. These are all dashed to the ground, and I have learnt to be thankful if you keep clear of actual crime." " Oh, father, that is rather rough, isn't it ? " said the young man, stung by these bitter words. " I will try to do better — upon my soul I will — and I believe it will be easier when I am away from this beastly town." " There is not anything the matter with the town, my lad," said the advocate mildly. " A man's sur- roundings are what he makes them ; don't imagine that the place has anything to do with it ; but I do hope that when you are cut adrift from your old associa- tions and your bad companions you may really be able to turn over a new leaf." So saying, he left the room, and went about his day's business with a slightly relieved feeling at his heart. Mrs. Dalrymple, for the first time in her life, had been unable to find any excuse for her son, though she had spoken one or two bitter words about Margaret, for which her husband had very sharply rebuked her. BANISHED. Ml yourself \ on the J fo the ily than heartily shall be subject. I come lis chair back of mething len you ►on you. learnt , »' said the will try elieve it y town." le town, in's sur- imagine >ut I do associa- be able le room, relieved life, had )ugh she largaret, ked her. She saw that it was useless for her to make the slightest remonstrance, or try and set aside her husband's resolve to send the boy away. He was a gentle, long-suffering, and patient man in most of the affairs of life, but, like many quiet natures, when a certain point was reached he could be as stubborn as a rock. Though a clever and clear-sighted woman, Mrs. Dalrymple was very weak and blind where her son was concerned. Until now she had never been able to see in him a single fault, and even yet, in the few weeks he remained at home, she treato 1 him like an innocent and injured child who had been foolishly led astray. The letter sent by Mr. Dalrymple to his distant kinsman in Manitoba, and which had stated the whole facts of the case, glossing nothing over, brought a cable- gram in reply : and within a week after its receipt the ne'er-do-weel was on his way to that distant land — to which so many ne'er-do-weels are sent. The two cousins had been like brothers in their school and College days, and though now their paths lay so widely apart, the warm glow of early affection was not yet dead. Old memories had surged in the heart of Hamish Dalrymple when he read his cousin's pathetic letter, and he felt that he could make any sacrifice and grudge no effort if he could but help in any way the friend of his youth. Meanwhile life was flowing but drearily with the Keiths in Blacket Place. After that terrible night George made not the slightest allusion to its events. To outward seeming there was but little change in him, but his wife was not deceived. She had tried him apparently too far, and though he was uniformly ge'":lle and courteous to her as he had ever been, his manner was distant, and she felt that he had put her f. 11 m £ I? I I ^1 M|:l^ 22/1! A STORM y VOYAGER. on thk? outside. He was not himself conscious of any vdifiference in his demeanour towards her, and yet it showed itself in a thousand little ways. He came home one evening a little later than usual, and after they had dined he said abruptly, " I have been talking to your mother to-night, and she has agreed to come here and spend the winter with us." Margaret felt inwardly rebellious. It was, of course, proof, if she required any, that his confidence in her was lost, and though she had been in her better moments sincerely sorry for her foolish waywardness, and had tried, so far as lay in her power, to show that she regretted it, she felt the quick anger rise in her heart at this unmistakable proof that her husband thought she required some one to look after her. " I think you might have spoken to me first," she said pettishly. " After all, this is my house, and I am entitled to some consideration about those who come under its roof." " I have said the same thing in my time, Marga\";t, and you know how it was received," he said, rather drily. " It is my turn now." " I suppose you gave mamma a highly-coloured ac- count of recent events, and presented to her the appalling possibilities of my future," she said sarcastically. " In fact, you must have exaggerated everything fearfully to her. Nothing else would have induced her to make any such promise, and I am quite sure that if she leaves her own house she will break her heart." " You are of more importance in her eyes than the house," he answered, in a voice whose tone was difficult to read. " Anyhow, she is coming, and I am extremely grateful to her." Margaret shrugged her shoulders. BANISHED 32 lis of any nd yet it )an usual, "I have she has :h us." of course, n her was moments and had that she her heart i thought first," she and I am ivho come Margav^t, id, rather loured ac- appalling illy. " In fearfully r to make lat if she than the IS difBcult extremely " So I am to be treated like a naughty little girl who wants discipline and reproof," she said sourly. " I warn you, George, you are not taking the right way with me." " I have tried every way with you, God knows," he retorted, with unusual passion, " and I have come to my wits' end." She felt momentarily touched by his manner and words, but crushed it down, as she did so many of her better impulses. "And when is this arrangement, so excellent in your eyes, to come into operation } " she asked. " Immediately. Your mother is making arrange- ments to come next week." " Oh, indeed I And is the Princes Street house to be shut up ? " " No, the Heriots will live in it all the winter months. They are leaving their own, anyhow, at the November term, and your mother will offer them her furnished house on very moderate terms." " r see ; it all fits in very nicely. Well, I cannot pretend that I am pleased, George, because I am not. I admit that mamma is one of the best of women, but it must be because she is so good that I cannot get on with her. She disapproves of everything I do, and I always feel inclined — I know it is very dreadful of me to make such a confession, but it is true all the same — I always feel inclined to show her my very worst side. You must have told her a dreadful story, George, to make her come, because I have often heard her say that nothing would induce her to give up her own home, and that for married people, especially for young married people, to have a third person living with them, is the most frightful of all mistakes." 'I' v \ ! I 224 A STORMY VOYAGER. "I never told her any story," he reph'ed curtly. " So far as I am concerned, she is totally in ignorance of anything that happened. I simply asked her as a great favour to me to come and pass the winter with us. It struck me that she rather welcomed the idea of the change ; you know, or perhaps you don't know, that last winter she had many a lonely hour." Margaret felt a secret pang of remorse as she listened to these words ; but the idea that her husband had completely lost his trust in her and believed that she required some one to watch over her, dwarfed and dis- torted everything else before her mental vision. There was no more said on the subject between them ; and next day, when Margaret happened to be walking in Princes Street, she met Ella Dalrymple. It was the first time she had seen any of the family since the affair in the Queen's Park, and her face flushed all over, and she looked confused and uncertain how to act. Ella, however, came forward and extended her hand without any diminution of cordiality or affection. The truth was, the whole story had never been revealed to her, and she did not know the part that Margaret had taken in it. " How do you do, Peggy } It is ages, positively ages, since I saw you, and I don't think that you are looking well at all. What have you been about > " •* Nothing ; moping at home. Isn't life sickening ? I am so tired of it," she said passionately. " Well, not sickening, perhaps," said Ella, " but rather sad, I grant. You have heard, of course, that Scott has gone away. Mother is very doleful about it, and it makes a good deal of difference to all of us." " Where has he gone ? " asked Margaret, unable to hide her fevered interest. BAMSHED. 225 curtly. ;norance ler as a iter with the idea I't know, ! listened land had - that she and dis- 1. There lem ; and alking in t was the since the lushed all |n how to ;nded her affection, n revealed Margaret positively you are but?" iickening ? but rather that Scott )Ut it, and " Out to Uncle Hamish, in Manitoba. He went away only on Wednesday, and I don't suppose we shall ever see him again — at least not for years and years. Papa will get him a farm there after he has learnt farming with Uncle Hamish. I should rather have liked to go out with him, and papa says that perhaps one day, if Scott gets on, he will take me." " Manitoba," repeated Margaret vaguely. " That is a long distance, isn't it ? " " Oh, yes, uncle's farm is in the Qu'Appelle Valley, away beyond Winnipeg. You go on the Canadian Pacific Railway, and I believe it is near the Pacific Coast, but I am not quite sure. It is a lovely place, anyhow, because we have ever so many photographs of it which Uncle Hamish has sent us, and we have ever so many cousins out there — not real cousins, you know, because Uncle Hamish is only papa's cousin, not his brother, but they call themselves our cousins, and they are a very jolly family, I think, from what we have heard about them." Margaret said nothing, but life seemed for the moment greyer and more desolate than ever. " I hope you will come and see me one day soon, Ella, and tell me more about it," she said with difficulty. " I must go up now and see mamma ; she is expecting me." She shook hands and departed rather hurriedly, and to her own astonishment some burning tears forced them- selves from under her eyelids, and fell on her muff. She did not know why she wept, only at that moment life seemed scarcely worth living to Margaret Keith. unable to 15 CHAPTER XXVII. CLEARER AIR. LONG, low wooden house stood upon a little plateau far down the lovely Qu'Appellc Valley. It had a comfortable homely look, nor was it without a certain picturesque- ness and individuality of its own. The wide verandah which ran all round it was still ablaze with the fiery glow of the Virginian creeper, which hung about it in graceful festoons. They had had a glorious Indian summer, prolonged beyond all recollection in the far North-West. It was nearly the end of November, and still that lovely and mysterious haze hung like a bridal veil over the earth, and was scarcely dispelled by the mid-day glow of the sun, which did no shame to summer. Still the nights were hushed and soft and lovely, and the people congratulated each other, saying how it shortened the winter when they had so little snow this side of Christmas. There was a comfortable plenteous look about that pleasant homestead which indicated prosperity of the most substantial kind. The great barns which stood a little apart from the house were filled to overflowing, and the meadows which sloped down to the ever-flowing river were dotted with the sleek forms of the cattle, not 226 CLEARER AIR. 23/ \ lon a little lu'Appelle melylook, cturesque- : verandah I the fiery tbout it in >us Indian in the far itnber, and e a bridal led by the shame to Id soft and :her, saying little snow about that Irity of the |ich stood a overflowing, Lver-flowing cattle, not yet shut up for the winter, but allowed to roam at their own sweet wlil, finding a bite of autumn grass still pleasant to the taste. The interior of the house did not differ much from the ordinary Canadian homestead, ex- cept .at it was, perhaps, rather more spacious than most. The rooms all opened from each other, and had also doors to the verandah ; but there was no hall or entrance passage, to which we are accustomed here. The living room of the family was brge enough t^ accommodate a goodly number, and it was very substantially furnished, the floor being of polished pine, beeswaxed till it shone again, bright coloured rugs dotting it here and there, and one especially warm and comfortable-looking lay before the great stove which warmed the room in winter. A large dining-table was in the middle of the floor, a sub- stantial sideboard stood against the wall, and a big, comfortable-looking sofa opposite to it upholstered in tapestry of a sober hue. The ceiling was low, and the v/ood panelling of the walls gave a warm and quaint look to the apartment which would at once strike a stranger who saw it for the first time. In this pleasant family room, about four o'clock in the afternoon, when the shadows were beginning to lengthen towards sundown, there sat a sweet-faced middle-aged woman and her two daughters, enjoying their afternoon tea with as much zest, or perhaps more, than if it had been partaken of in an English drawing- room. It needed no second glance at them to see that they were ladies by birth, and that whatever hardships or deprivations had been theirs in their home in the far North-West, it had failed to rob them of those char- acte-istics which mark the well-born all the world over. Mistress Hamish Dalrymple, now a woman nearly sixty, had been an Edinburgh belle towards the close of th^ 228 A STORMY VOYAGER, fi> I I early half of the century, and great had been the dismay and disapproval expressed by all who knew her when she elected to accompany her penniless lover to that remote region, which offered a hard life and a few com- pensations to those who sought acquaintance with it. In the land of her adoption she became the member of six children, all of whom were spared under her own roof tree. They had commenced the earlier part of their married life in the province of Ontario, much nearer the centres of civilisation, but had gradually moved out West, until they had chosen their final habi- tation with the earliest settlers in the Qu'Appelle Valley ; and there things had prospered with them greatly, and they were very happy, and almost without care, save the ordinary anxieties from which no life, however prosperous or sheltered, can possibly be freed. It was the delight of the two grown-up daughters, Linda and Marjory — or Maisie, as she was affectionately called — to wait upon their mother, and to see that she who had toiled so hard for them should now taste the sweets of rest. I know of no more beautiful picture than this, no one more full of compensations, than to see the house mother, who has borne the burden and heat of the day, resting from her labours at eventide ; and, while not entirely laid aside, being made to feel that it is the privilege and the joy of the young ones about uer to use hands and feet in her service. Athough she had had a fair share of anxiety and of physical labour during her married life, she still looked astonishingly young and fresh. In all these years, which were some- times hard, her husband's love and devotion had never failed her, nor had anything ever touched the sure foundations of their family life ; and when that is so, the other ills of life are powerless to harm, Her elder CLEARER AIR. 229 daughter resembled her closely ; she had the same still quiet dignity of manner, the same sweet, grave face, with the undeniable touch of determination about her mouth which betrayed her Scotch descent. Her sister was cast in a lighter mould, being slight and slender of figure, with a round, almost babyish face, and a pair of roguish blue eyes. It was evident, from a little air of suppressed excite- ment about them, that something a little unusual had transpired, or was about to transpire in their abode. " Four o'clock, mother," said Maisie, looking out of the window for the hundredth time. " Do you think they can possibly be here before five ? " " No, dear, it is impossible. You know that even if the train were punctual, it is nearly thrfee hours' drive to Regina." " Well, it will soon be five," she said resignedly. " Do you think he will be nice } I hope we are not building ourselves too much upon him ; don't you, Linda } " Linda slightly smiled, and turned to re- fill her mother's cup. " That is just what I am afraid you are doing, Maisie," said her mother, with an indulgent smile. " But aH your doubts will be set at rest in an hour's time." " Don't you think it was rather odd of father to go that lon;;^ drive all by himself, and not even let Jimmie go with him ? " was Maisie's next question. Mrs. Dalrymple knew very well what had been the reason for this step ; her husband had wished to meet the boy himself, and to take the opportunity which the long drive afforded of having a serious talk with him before he should introduce him to his cousins. It had been agreed between the husband and wife that nothing should be said about the reason for their ajo /f STOffAfy I'OVAGF.R. cousin's sudden descent upon them, as they wisely con- sidered that he would thus have a better chance of making the most of every opportunity for reform. They were not without a good deal of anxiety about the pos- sible issue of the introduction of this new element into their home life, and yet it had filled their hearts with real satisfaction to be able to stretch out a helping hand across the sea, as it were, to the kinsman from whom, though they had been long separated, they still so dearly loved. Mrs. Dalrymple looked at both her daughters that afternoon as she leaned back in her comfortable chair leisurely sipping her tea — at Linda's calm, placid face, on which strength and sweetness were so unmistakably set, and a prevision came to her that it would be through Linda that the boy would be restored to a sense of the higher responsibilities of his manhood. They had lived a simple. God-fearing life in their quiet country home, and evil had never been permitted to touch them. In its grosser form it was, indeed, undreamed of by those pure-hearted and healthy-minded young people, and Scott Dalrymple could have been sent to no better place for his own uplifting to a higher life. From the window an uninterrupted view of the valley could be had for many miles, the white road winding in and out, with the river in picturesque curves, and at length from a perch in the window-seat Maisie clapped her hands, and cried that the buggy was in sight. The pair of light, fleet-limbed young horses, in which the prosperous farmer took such pride, speedily covered the distance to the house, and they trooped out to the verandah to welcome them. By this time the two boys had come in from their occupation — Grahame, the eldest, a tall, handsome, capable-lookinij young man, who was his father'sright CLEARER AIR. 23" hand, and the apple of his mother's eye ; and Jimmy, the youngest of the brood, who had not yet left the fun and frolic of boyhootl behind. The other son, the student of the family, was absent at College in Montreal. Scott Dalrymple never forgot the picture he saw that afternoon, as they drove rapidly through the paddock and orchard to the white gate of the house. He had left Scotland with a very ill grace, and cherished no expectations regarding his arrival at his uncle's home ; and when he saw his aunt, who compared very favour- ably with his own mother so far as appearance went, and his pretty girl-cousins standing side by side with their stalwart brothers, he felt that perhaps, after all, the lines might chance to fall in pleasant places for him. The voyage had done him good ; all traces of his recent illness had vanished from his face, and Mrs. Dalrymple, eyeing him with all the keenness of a mother's anxious eye, was favourably impressed by his outward appearance. He looked boyish for his years, and had a frank, pleasant, winning smile, which it was difficult to resist. " Here we are then, mother," said her husband heartily, and she knew from the tone of his voice that he came back better pleased than he went away. " And here is the boy from bonny Scotland. The years have seemed to roll back as I listened to his talk. Do you think he favours the Dalrymple side of the house } " " Indeed I do," she answered, and she gave the lad both her hands, and kissed him as tenderly as if he had been her own. Then he was introduced to his cousins in order, and bidden a very hearty welcome to Fontainbleau, which was the high-sounding, historical name of the Dalrymple homestead. They were ready after their long drive for a hearty u 1 2,^2 A sTohWtv roy'/n;/:A\ meal, which Scott most lhorou{»hly enjoyed. The pleasant surprise his arrival had given him seemed to loosen his tongue, and he talked with all the liveliness and entertaining power possible to him. " I do not see how you will ever be able to settle down here, Scott," said the saucy Maisie, "after coming straight from Edinburgh. Just think of it, straight from Edin- burgh, which we have never seen except in our dreams." " And you need not care if you never do," he replied promptly. " It is a poor, narrow, miserable place, if you ask me." " Nay, lad," said his uncle quickly, and there was a light in his eye which betrayed the hunger of the exile's heart, " never say that in my hearing again. I am content with my lot and my home, as well I may be, but it is the desire of my heart to look upon Auld Reekie again before I die. There is not her marrow in the wide world for those who have once loved her." " Oh, well, that depends, I suppose, on circumstances. If a fellow has plenty of money, and is pretty indepen- dent, he can find life very pleasant there," said Scott more mildly. " But I think you are jolly well ofif here, and I had no idea that it was such a glorious country." " Then you think you will be able to stay contentedly with us for a time. Cousin Scott ? " said Linda, speak- ing for the first time. He turned and looked at her, being struck by the singularly clear and sweet notes of her voice, which was one of her most exquisite attributes. " I hope so. I should be an ungrateful and a poor fellow, I think, if I could not content myself here for a whole winter, or a great deal longer," he replied, with a sudden fervour, for which the occasion scarcely seemed to call. The mcd to vcliness le down straight n Edin- ireams." do," he userable lere was r of the gain. I 11 I may ion Auld larrow in her." nstances. indepen- lid Scott off here, country." tcntedly a, speak- by the e, which d a poor ere for a ied, with scarcely i f:' i "THE LIFE WAS A GREAT REVELATION." [P« • AN AWAKENING. HE life to which Scott Dalrymple was now |] introduced was a great revelation to him. It was simple, healthful, and happy, filled with occupation from morning to night. The pleasant leisure which all shared together was earned before it was enjo"ed. The duties of house and farm were apportioned to each member of the family, so that all had occupation without being burdened. The Dalrymples had the common experience of most settlers in the Far West — great difficulty in obtaining suitable help, especially for the domestic part of the establishment — and Mrs. Dalrymple had begun her career as a settler's wife by learning to perform with her own hands every item of household work, such as she had been totally ignorant of, except in theory, in her old Edinburgh life. In addition to this she had been obliged to educate her daughters, partially at least — teaching them such accomplishments as she herself possessed. Then they had been taught almost from childhood to be helpful and useful In the house. Now grown to womanhood, there was no branch of women's special work which they could not do, and do 233 !.U A STORAfV VnVAGEk. ■1 A well, and were thus independent of the inefficient and oftentimes troublesome help afforded by raw Irish girls, who came out thinking to make great fortunes without giving any honest equivalent in return. The first thing Scott Dalrymple saw next morning as he looked out of his bedroom window was his cousin Linda, in a pink cotton gown and sun bonnet, crossing the orchard with a milking pail in each hand. For the moment he did not give her a second look, thinking she was one of his aunt's maids, having not yet learned that the only maid was a middle-aged Scotch woman and widow, who had once been in prosperous circum- stances, but being left destitute, was glad to find a home such as was offered to her by Mrs. Dalrymple. There was no pretence of affectation about the life led by these simple and happy folk, and it never occurred to these two healthy-minded girls to be ashamed of their work, or to try to hide its performance from the eyes of their Edinburgh cousin, coming straight, ?,s he had done, from a city where there is too much pre- tension and too much false shame over honest work — in which there is pride high enough to reach the heavens, but not high enough to be honestly poor and think no shame. There was much in his new sur- roundings to awaken a good deal of thought in the mind of the young man who had hitherto thought so little. He was young enough to enter with extreme zest into all the joys and pleasures of that healthful, open-air life. In common with various other accom- plishments, !ie had been taught to ride a sober hack, which would canter judiciously along the smooth wide Edinburgh roads ; but it v/as a new sensation and a new delight to i^et upon a fresh young colt, as he did after breakfast that morning, and fl>- like the wind over the Kl |l AN AH'AKEXfXG. d.V wide fields, which, havinfj yielded their rich harvest, were now waiting for the mellowing touch of frost and snow. At the end of a week he had forgotten the regrets with which he had left the city of his birth, ant! even Margaret Keith — the woman who had been the immediate cause of his exile — became a very shadowy memory. In that healthy atmosphere, where every natural and pleasant emotion had free vent, there was revealed the better side of Scott Dairy m pie's nature, which had hitherto been kept too much in the back- ground. He became more boyish and natural in his manner, and speedily won the regard of all at Fontain- bleau. He did not know how much or how little his father had told concerning him ; but when he thought of the warmth of his welcome, and the delightful way in which they had made him one of the family, he felt that if anything had been told against him, it had been done so judiciously and 30 kindly as to make it seem of little account ; and for this he felt passionately grateful to his father, for before he had been many days in that happy and blessed home the desire to stand well with one and all became almost a passion with him. He was not aware, so cleverly was it dis- guised, that his uncle and aunt all the time watched him with the keenness born of anxiety concerning their own. They had agreed, having talked the matter over, to give the young man the best of all chances, by taking it for granted that if he had swerved a little from the right way he was now anxious to keep in it ; and, as it happened, it was the very way to win the young man, and to awaken in him an honest desire to be what they seemed to think him. As was to be expected, he regarded his two girl-cousins with great and growing interest. They also were a revelation to 236 A STORAfV VOYAGER. ,i '■ I !f f; him, and when he saw the deligl ' Tul comradeship which existed between them and tlicir brothers, and the freedom of their demeanour towards such young men as visited the house, and thought of the conditions of life at home which made such pleasant comradeship between young men and maidens almost impossible, he began to be enthusiastic with all the enthusiasm of youth over his new life. Of the two girls, although Maisie had a bright, attractive, and even coquettish way with her, he was the more interested in Linda, the gentle, womanly, elder daughter, who was the mainstay of the house. He admired her appearance, but he was more attracted by her manner and by her nature, which unfolded to him gradually, showing more fragrance and sweetness, it seemed to him, every day. One Sunday about a month after he came first to Fontainbleau they were walking home together from a little kirk in the valley where they were privileged to attend service only once a month, the clergyman who officiated having a large district, and many little stations which he could only visit occasionally. There was now visible on the face of Nature a gradual change, and the first sharp frost of winter was in the air, and made walking through the crisp fields a rare delight. The sky was clear as crystal, and the sun hung low and red on the horizon, with a misty halo round it which we r>ee only in the shortening winter afternoons. In the far distance they could see the cosy homestead, standing on its plateau with its shelter- ing background of maple-trees, the shumacs in the front garden all ablaze still with the flame of autumn, although the creepers had now died on the verandah walls. A great peace seemed to brood upon the land, and it laid a hush upon the young man's spirit, and AN AH'AA'UNLXa. 137 seemed to lift him to regions of thought and aspiration which in all his six-and-twenty years of careless life had never yet visited him. " Upon my word," he exclaimed impulsively, with a quick look at the clear, fresh sweet face at his side, " this is a glorious country. How easy it is to be all that one ought to be here ; everything is so pure and large and fine. There seems room for one to breathe." A flush of pleasure rose to the girl's cheek at these words. " I am glad you feel like that, Scott," she answered quickly. " We were afraid you would not be able to support our quiet existence here after Edinburgh. But you do not feel that you could spend your life here, do you ? " " I have no hesitation about it, just now," he an- swered frankly. " There is nothing on earth I should like more than to settle down here for life. I wonder, when there are such pleasures as these, and such possibilities, that men will be content to herd together as they do in cities, struggling for the living which they do not get. I can never be grateful enough to my father for sending ine out here, although I thought it pretty hard lines at first." " Then you didn't want to come ? " she said, looking up at him with a little amused smile. " Not much. You see I was never consulted ; my father simply said to me one fine day, ' You sail on such and such a day,' and I had no choice in the matter." A kind of questioning look came on her face, and he knew very well what was the thought in her mind. " I can tell what you arc thinking, Cousin Linda," he said quickly. " That I must have done something I ought not to have done before my father would treat 23^ // STURM \ VOYAGER. \M li me so much like a child. Well, you are quite right ; it seems to me since I came here, when I look back upon it, that my whole life has been spent in doing things I ought not to have done. When a fellow comes to a place like this, and among people like you, it sets him thinking of a lot of things he never thought of before, and life begins to wear a differ.^nt aspect." *' Are we, then, so different from others } " she asked, and in her eyes there was an intensely interested look. " Well, you are very different from the people I have been accustomed to," he replied. " We are con- sidered at home a fairly happy family, and get on better than most ; but life is so different — a constant struggle with appearances, trying to make a big show and nothing to pay with. If my father had come out here when Uncle Hamish did, it would have been very different with us all." " But Uncle Grahame is a great man in Edinburgh, is he not ? " she asked, with interest. " Father is always telling us what a distinguished man he is, and how much respected and looked up to by everybody." " Oh, so he is ; he is a splendid man," said Scott, with a warmth of look and tone which would have considerably astonished his father could he have heard him. " But he has been kept down all his days by his family — by me most of all. Heavens, what a fool I have been ! " She looked at him sympathetically, and her face wore that soft and lovely look which we see only on the face of a woman whose heart interest is awakened never to sleep again. " I do not think you could have done anything very bad," she said gently. " I have never seen many wicked people, of course, because we live so quietly AX AUAKKXIXG. 239 here, and all those who come to Fontainbleau are our dear friends. But I think one knows intuitively." " You don't know anything about it," he said, with something like a groan. " Some day, perhaps, I may tell you ; and yet I should be afraid, because you have all been so awfully kind to me, and perhaps if you knew you would change." " Oh, no, we should not," she answered cheerfully ; " we are not like that. If I really liked a person I do not think I should ever change, no matter what he might do." ** Oh, but you have never been tried," he said rather dcspondingly. " If you found out that somebody you have trusted implicitly all your life had done a good many things you could not possibK* approve of, would not you feel differently to him then } " " I do not think so. Real friendship is not like that ; it stands every test ; it may be wounded and hurt, but it never renounces, e.xcept, perhaps, for betrayal." She spoke earnestly, and the little flush upon her cheek remained. Reticent and self-contained by nature, she was amazed at herself for thus laying bare some of her inmost thoughts. " We are very sober and wise in our talk, are we not ? " she began presently, in a lighter tone. " No- body would believe, seeing you carrying on as you do with Jimmy and Maisie, that you have such a serious side. I feel highly privileged to have seen it." Her gentle banter scarcely provoked a smile on his lips. He also was amazed at himself, at his desire, which seemed to grow more quick and passionate every day, to stand well in the eyes of this sweet woman, who entertained and personified in her own hfe only the highest ideals. 1 240 A STORMY VOYAGER. i .',*i' " Then you think you will remain with us all winter ? " she said inquiringly, when they came to the foot of the little hill sloping upward to the house. " I shall consider myself a jolly lucky person, I can tell you, if I am allowed to." " Oh, but you will be ; it rests entirely with you. Father and mother and everybody want you to stay. It »s delightful to have a new person like you breaking in upon our quiet life, especially at this season of the year. But wait till winter sets in upon us in earnest, then we will show you what we consider the chief delights of cur life. In winter we have more time than at any other season, and we spend it in skating and sleighing, and visiting at each others' houses, and all sorts of fun and frolic. In spring and summer, you see, there is nothing but hard work ; the seasons stay so shortly with us that we are hard put to it to get everything done in time." " I wish my father were a richer man, so that I could see some prospect of getting a homestead of my own here," he said presently. *' There is nothing I should like better in the world." " Oh, I think you are rather premature," she answered archly ; " you must have a fair trial of our country and climate before you begin to talk about settling : and if you ever should think of it, why take Uncle Grahame into consideration at all } Settlement is made easy for young men out here, and I am sure that my father would help. It would be so pleasant to have you always in our neighbourhood." He wished somehow that she would not express herself quite so frankly, although her words sent a pleasant glow to his heart. It certainly was very sweet to come out from what had been through his AM AWAKEN I hG. 341 Iter ? " of the , 1 can th you. :o stay, leaking of the earnest, le chief ,re time ting and , and all mer, you ons stay it to get Lt I could my own 1 should answered ,r country t settling : aike Uncle tlement is 1 sure that Dleasant to own folly a house of bondage to him, where he was blamed and suspected, and even watched, lest a worse thing might befall him. Yes, it was pleasant to come out into this goodly land, where no evil seemed to be, and where it was easier to do good than ill. lot express rds sent a was very through his 16 |r:t' CHAPTER XXIX. **I AM AWKAKY." EORGE KEITH'S wife sat by the draw- ing-room fire in her own house on the afternoon of a grey January day. It was ^ particularly dreary outside, dusk beginning to fall already, although it was scarcely three o'clock ; while from a lowering sky a few stray snowflakes floated through the still air, and lay undisturbed on the bare boughs which stood motionless against the sky. She had a book on her knee, which apparently did not interest her. She was the picture of weariness, and looked as if nothing on earth could rouse her. In a chair on the opposite side of the hearth sat her mother, knitting busily — finding a very substantial pleasure in seeing her charitable work growing beneath her hands. Her placid face wore its most placid look ; she was entirely content with her lot, happy in her son-in-law's house, and more at peace about Peggy than she had been for a long time. The arrangement decided upon by George Keith had now been in effect for about two mo-^ths, and both he and his aunt had congratulated each other several times upon its success. Peggy appeared quite pleased, and even seemed willing 242 •'/ A.\/ AUiCAKV:' 243 that her mother should take some active management of the household. This, however, Mrs. Keith by no means approved, and the only drawback to their complete happiness was the marvellously little interest which Peggy seemed to take in anything ; but this had been characteristic of her for such a long time that she did not permit it to vex her unduly, ar had even convinced herself that it was a part of the g.rl'. laturc. How far they were from knowing her ! \ ^ th.y could but have seen beneath the surface the tumult of revolt, the passionate resentment against restraint, he longing for something, she could not tell what, it would have caused them to stand aghast. At tha, very moment, whilst sitting there with her feet on the fender, the picture of luxurious ease, she was sick almost to death of her life. Her husband had asserted his authority as he had not yet done, especially in the matter of social engagements, telling his wife quite plainly that they must live quietly and spend less than they had done during the first year of their married life. In all this there would have been no hardship to a woman who loved her husband, and whose home was dear to her ; but Margaret, whose ideas seemed to have become strangely perverted, saw in it nothing but a selfish and cruel desire to keep her down, and though her husband and her mother were gentleness itself in their treatment of her, she imagined ail sorts of slights and suspicions which never entered their heads, and was in a constant state of angry revolt. *' It is going to snow, .1 think, dear," said her mother, turning her head presently, and glancing to- wards the darkening window. " I should not wonder if we had a big storm now, it has been so mild all winter." " Anything to relieve the monotony," quoth Margaret 344 A STORMY I'UY/lCiKK. flinging her book on the floor with a distinct bang, " I should rather welcome an earthquake if one would be so civil as to come this way." " You are too idle, Peggy. I often look at you and wonder how you can sit there for hours doing nothing. That is what is the matter with you. Why can't you rouse yourself, and do something for other folk if you don't want to be doing anything for yourself.? Such idleness is a positive sin ; there was nothing your father had less patience with on this earth than idle- ness. He could forgive almost anything but that." " I could not sit and knit for hours the way you do ; it would drive me mad," replied Margaret coolly, as she folded her arms behind her head with a huge yawn. " Oh, if something would only happen ! I don't believe that there is anybody in this whole city lives such a miserable, unsatisfying life as mine." Mrs. Keith's lips took rather a sterner curve than usual as she listened to these rebellious words, and a rebuke rose quite naturally to them. " You'll maybe not have your sorrows to seek yet, lass," she said sharply, " and the time will maybe come when you will wish for the peace you despise now. You have been born without the thankful heart which makes easy the thorniest path, and you have had too few thorns in yours ; that is what has been the matter with you all along." " It depends entirely on what you call thorns, mamma," said Peggy calmly. " I think I have a good few jagging into me all the time, if you ask me." " What are they } " inquired her mother drily. But Peggy made no reply. " I think I must go down town," she said suddenly, ' and see if I can worm some new clothes out of "/ /lAf AWEARY. US net bang, jne would ; you and g nothing. ■ can't you blk if you ;lf ? Such thing your 1 than idle- t that." ray you do ; t coolly, as ^ith a huge happen 1 I is whole city mine." r curve than words, and a to seek yet, maybe come despise now. il heart which have had too en the matter call thorns, I have a good ask me." mother drily. said suddenly, clothes out of George. That is the only consolalion I have, and I think he is rather scrubby in the matter of clothes. I have a good mind just to go in and take what I want." " Me grudges you nothing in reason, and is just too good to you," said Mrs. Keith in the same reproving voice. " Oh, I am so sick of hearing of George's goodness. I wish he would do something deperately bad just for a change. I am quite sure I should like him a great deal better for it. I am not a paragon, and am not fit for the company of paragons, mother, that is the truth. Well, I am going, and perhaps I will stay down and come back with George, so don't worry if I should not come in till dinner-time." She looked into the drawing-room again wh.n she had dressed for her outing ; the handsome sealskin coat, which almost entirely covered her, and the dainty red velvet toque with its black wings set so coquettishly on her dark hair were very becoming to her, and she looked, her mother thought, more beautiful than ever. Yet she watched her go with a sigh, thinking that she would cheerfully see her less attractive to the eye if she could have in exchange more depth of character, more tenderness of heart. She walked a good part of the way towards Princes Street, and it was only when the snowflakes began to fall in a heavier shower that she sought the refuge of the car. It had cleared a little, however, by the time she reached Princes Street, and, feeling in that mood when active exercise was necessary to her, she got out and began to walk rapidly along the street. She had not gone many paces when she met Ella Dalrymple, whom she had not seen for many weeks. When they had met of late there had been a distinct restraint in Ella's manner which Margaret was quick to understand H'! lilt 4 pi I ii' ■Ilk i: J /f'f! 346 // Srnh'MV yOYAGER. than once she had passed hrr of recognition, but today htr and l<» resent, .iiul niur( by with a .sli^jht nod lonjiinj^f to hear soniclhing fresh, something from atiother world than that in which she dwelt, caused her to forget past slights, and she stopped directly in front of her old friend, and offered her hand. " Won't you speak to me, Klla ? I don't think I have done anything to you," she said quickly and reproachfully, " and I do want so badly to have a talk with you. It is ages since I saw you." Now, although Klla had been strictly forbidden to hold any communication whatever with young Mrs. Keith, she had by no means forgotten her school-friend, and her heart was touched by these words, and also by something in Margaret's face — a restless, unsatisfied expression which haunted her from that day forward. " I would have come to see you long ago, Peggy," she said truthfully, " only mamma would not let me." " I guessed as much, but she did not say anything about what you were to do if you met me in the street. Where are you going now ? " " Nowhere in particular ; I only came out really to look for something for papa's birthday, which is the day after to-morrow." •* Well, let us walk back together, and have tea at the cafe for old auld lang syne," said Peggy eagerly, and put her hand through Ella's arm with a coaxing look and gesture it was difficult to resist. " Oh, I would like to awfully, and I don't think mamnia could possibly be very angry," she said, with a slight note of misgiving in her voice. " It is not particularly imperative that she should know, is it } " said Margaret, with a slight uplifting of hei eyebrows. " And if she does find out and is very ••/ A.W AllF.AKY W fisscil hrr (liiy htr ng from aused her y in front •t think I ickiy and have a bidden to )ung Mrs. lool-friend, id also by unsatisfied Ly forward. ?o, Peggy," : let me." ly anything 1 the street. jt really to hich is the have tea at eagerly, and Daxing look don't think le said, with she should uplifting of and is very angry, you can just tell her that it was entirely my fault. Now tell me what you have been doing with yourself all winter. Have you had a gay season V " Yes, very ; wc have been out a great deal, ami Maud has got engaged. Just think of it." " Oh, has she } To whom, may I ask .* " " Do you remember Captain Fanjuhar, whom you saw at our house one afternoon } I think you called when I was out." " Oh, yes, I remember him, a very handsome man, I thought him. Maud is a lucky girl." " Papa is very pleased about it, because he is very well off, and we all like him ever so much. But it is quite possible that he may be ordered to India immedi- ately, and if he is, Maud will probably go with him. Of course there is generally some drawback." " I should not call that a drawback," said Peggy, with a sigh. " I only wish I was going to be married to a man whose regiment might be ordered to India. Take my advice, Ella, and don't marry as young as I did ; it is a fearful mistake. It puts an end to everything." This style of speech sorely troubled Ella Dalrymple, whose views on most questions were very sound and womanly. " I don't like to hear you speak like that, Peggy. I tliink you ought to be very happy. You have a lovely home, and everything you can desire, and everybody likes Mr. Keith. Anybody could be happy with him, I am sure of that." " Except me," said Peggy dismally. " He is so awfully good ; if he would only be wicked for one little minute, I think I should like him better." Ella's face showed that she was rather shocked by this speech. She thought that it was disloyal for any ^1 !48 // SrOhMV I'OVAiiEK. woman to speak thus lightly and disparagingly of her husband, even if she did not particularly care for him ; but she had not sufficient strength of nJnd to reprove Peggy as she ought, but felt the old fascination of the girl's strong will stealing over her. In their school- days she had done very much as Margaret Keith had desired her. Just then they came to the door of the caft^ and entered together, finding, although it was rather busy at that hour of the afternoon, a quiet table in a far corner where they could talk undisturbed. " You will be very dull, won't you, when your sister goes away } only you will have everything your own way," said Peggy, as she drew off her gloves and admired the sparkle of her handsome rings. " When is the wedding to take piace } " " Oh, not till June. Yes, I shall be rather dull, but I think it is nice, too, to have people abroad ; the letters are always so interesting. Scott writes every week ; he is getting on splendidly out in Manitoba, and would not come back to this country for anything you could offer him. It has pleased papa, so much. I am sure if you have seen him lately you must think that he has grown ten years younger." Margaret preserved an admirable indifference of manner and look, although she was more intensely interested than she cared to own even to herself. " I don't think I have seen Mr. Dalrymple lately ; I really go very little down town," she said carelessly. •' What is he doing out there > I don't think I have ever heard explicitly." " He is not doing anything just now, only living at Uncle Hamish's and learning farming, I suppose ; but he and Grahame — that is Uncle Hamish's eldest boy — / ./J/ AUKANVr 24') r of her )r him ; reprove I of the school - ;ith had :aft' and ler busy in a far ur sister our own )ves and " When dull, but bad ; the es every Manitoba, anything so much, ust think rence of intensely lersclf. lately; I carelessly, k I have living at 30se ; but est boy — are talking of goincj out even further than where they are just now, and taking a big farm between them." " What they call a ranch ? " said Peggy inquiringly. " No, I think it is in Australia they are called ranches. You see they don't have thousands and thou- sands of cattle like they do in Australia. It is wheat and things they grow," said Klla rather vaguely. " But it must be a delightful life ; it makes me quite envious when I read Scott's letters. Papa says if I am a good girl, and Scott does settle down out there, he will per- haps take me out to see him next year, or the year after." " That will be very jolly," said Peggy, and sipped her tea with her eyes bent down upon the cup. " Is there a large family at your uncle's ^ " " There arc five ; two boys and two girls at home, and one boy who is at College in Montreal. I think they must be awfully nice, at least Scott makes them appear so in his letters, and we have had some photo- graphs, too. The girls arc awfully pretty, especially Linda ; she has such a sweet, serene face, like pictures of the Madonna." " How old are they .' " inquired Peggy, with keen interest. " I really don't know. Of cou se they are all quite grown up, because Jim is the youngest, and he is seventeen," said Ella, delighted to expatiate upon the relatives across the sea, whom Scott had made appear so real and dear in his letters. " Papa is quite sure that it has been the making of Scott to go to Manitoba, and we are all so glad." She said this quite innocentlyj and without the slightest intent to reproach, but it caused the colour to rise slightly in Margaret's cheeks ; but beyond smiling a little inscrutable smile, she made no sign. r r r !i » i'.i . ; J I 11 i ■■\ CHAPTER XXX. A CONFLICT OF OPINION. HEY parted at the door of the ai/c- after their little chat, Ella feeling a trifle guilty, knowing that her mother would highly disapprove of her afternoon's occupation. Margaret walked listlessly along 'tlie street towards the shop which bore her husband's name. The Christmas season was now over, and the windows were more sombre and uninteresting than usual, the weather not being propitious enough to warrant the early display of spring goods. Margaret glanced at them with but slight interest, and then remembering that she wanted some clothes, entered the shop, giving but a scanty salutation to the shop-walker as shs crossed towards the door of the private room. She opened the door of the counting-house without knocking, and there found her husband sitting at the desk beside Isabel Heriot, to whom he was talking earnestly. They were merely discussing busmess matters, and there was not the slightest consciousness upon the face of either as they looked round at the opening of the door. But the sight somehow stirred a slow anger in Margaret's heart, 250 A COM'I.ICT OF Or/XION. as I and her lip curled, for she knew thai her mother and husband thought th.it Isabel was all she was not, and that they sometimes drew comparisons between them. " You seem to be very confidential," she said, almost rudely, and really speaking without thinking, out of her irritation and disgust with her own surroundings and everything connected with her life. Isabel slightly flushed, and turned to her books, George looked distinctly displeased, and, coming off his stool, held open the door of the private room for his wife to enter. She did so, and threw herself somewhat wearily into a chair. " You look tired," he said, briefly and coldly. " Can I send downstairs for a cup of tea for you ? " '* No, thanks, I have just been at the cafv having tea with Ella Dalrymple," she said carelessly. " I have not enjoyed anything so much for a long time. Anything for a change, life is so deadly dull." He looked at her perplexedly, and with less kindli- ness than usual. Her perpetual grumbling, her abso- lute and never-concealed lack of interest in everything hid begun to weary him, and though he still loved her dearly, he had less patience with her than of yore. " Perhaps that is why you made such an extra- ordinary .speech when you came in just now," he said presently, " Miss Heriot will expect you to apologise to her." " Then she will expect what she won't get," replied Margaret serenely. " I only said what I thought ; you did look very confidential. But don't imagine that I care in the least, because I don't." He bit his lip, and his cheek reddened. The mere suggestion that he could have anything to .say to 'i\ tfr*--'— •• ::*i.^*i^. 25i A STORMY lOVAGEfi. W . 1. 1 ■ Isabel beyond the mere business and friendK' relations between them was sufficient to anger him, but he felt it more keenly for the girl's sake than his own. " You are absurd and unreasonable, Margaret," he said quickly. It was seldom now that he called her by the more caressing name of Peggy. " I begin to think that you have allowed your thoughts to dwell so long on the morbid and baser side of human nature that you imagine wrong where none exists." " I did not say that there was anything wrong," she answered, with a slightly mocking uplifting of her eyes. ' I merely expressed an opinion on what I saw. But do not let us quarrel. Where is the good } " She began to take off her g'oves restlessly, and without being conscious that she did so. " What brought yo! ■ n here this afternoon ?" he asked presently. " Nothing particular. I got tired sitting looking at mamma making her old women's jackets," she replied flippantly. " Oh, George," she added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, " won't you take me away somewhere to see something .-• I really feel that if you don't I shall die." She put up her two white hands, and pushed her hat back from her brow with a quick, impatient gesture, as if she felt herself in prison. " If you can wait a month or two, Peggy, I will," he said, more kindly, moved to pity by her evident wearinefs of mind. " I can't possibly go away just now, with all the spring goods coming in." " But are there not other people to look after the spring goods .'' " she asked. " It is always so when I i^^ , ,,, ,-yy 47'" ■>■■>-.■ A COAFUCT OF OPINION. a53 relations t he felt aret," he he more /ed your .nd baser n' could take the slightest exception, and the\- were even inclined to think sometimes that perhaps hi--- own people had been rather hard upon him. He h.ul never taken kindly to the dry routmc of desk work in an Kdinburgh law office : it was absolutcK without interest for him ; but he threw himself heart and soul into the life of the farm, comprehending all its details, and taking a grasp of its possibilities with an intclhgence which amazcu his uncle more than he could sr.y. He was a general favourite wherever he went, and had become so com- pletely one of the family that they sometimes wondered what life had been like without him. Perhaps one great reason of his absolute content with his lot was the attraction he found in Linda ; it grew upon him so gradually that he was bound fast to her by an affection which was pure, and deep, and representative of all that was best in him, before he had ever admitted to himself that he felt more than an ordinary cousinly interest in her. Her sweet, unselfish life, consecrated by thought and service fc others, v.as a constant source of wonder to him, and yet, although she was so good — the embodiment, indeed, of all that was noblest in womanhood — there was nothing of the prude or the estimable person about her ; she was entirely natural, and full of quiet fun and happy nonsense, which over- flowed in that sweet home circle, where everything that was free, and happy, and harmless was allowed fullest scope. He wrote home with exemplary regularity, and received numerous letters in return. Klki, perhaps, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) f/ ^ A* V^ f.^^^ 1.0 v^\& lit 1^ ly u I.I lU 14.0 IIIGii llilii l,!4 %' / '/ Hiotographic Sdences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STMIT WnSTn,N.Y. USM (716)t72-4S03 ^ 260 A STORMY VOYAGER. ill! :l ! was his most voluminous correspondent, and she did not forget to tell him of the rare occasions upon which she happened to see young Mrs. Keith. Not only did he take no interest whatever in these items of informa- tion, but he was conscious of a distinct sense of irritation that she should deem it incumbent upon her to com- municate them to him at all, which was, perhaps, more complete proof than anything that he was entirely done with the old life, and did not cast back to it even one single regret. At the end of March the winter gave signs of coming to an end ; the ice broke up on the rivers and great lakes, and under the genial influence of the spring sun- shine, the snow began to disappear. By the middle of April there was not a white patch left, even on the remoter uplands, and then began a period of extra- ordinary activity in the farming world. Accustomed to a somewhat easy and indolent life, and having been inclined also to think that Canadian farmers had a very jolly time of it in the winter, the working capacity of all at Fontainbleau was a new revelation to Scott. The work of preparing the great wheat prairies for the seed was begun at once, and carried on with the zest and energy which knew no cessation ; everybody was eager, anxious, and interested, and when all were so busy, it was impossible for Scott to be idle, nor did he desire it. He had never felt so fit in his life, and his interest in agricultural matters was of the keenest. So the long days were spent in the rich brown fields learn- ing the mysteries of sowing, and the time seemed to pass not less quickly than in the winter, when amusement and recreation had seemed to be the chief concern of all. One evening after tea Mr. Dalrymple and his wife sat on the verandah in front of their house enjoying a UNDERSTOOD. a6i d she did pon which •t only did )f informa- ►f irritation ;r to com- haps, more itirely done it even one s of coming J and great spring sun- le middle of ;ven on the >d of extra- Accustomed having been mers had a ing capacity ion to Scott, liries for the ith the zest irybody was all were so , nor did he life, and his :eenest. So . fields learn- temed to pass n amusement [oncer n of all. and his wife ie enjoying a little quiet talk. The work of the day was over, and the setting sun shed its rich yellow radiance o'er the pleasant and prosperous scene. Mr. Dalrymple was enjoying his evening pipe, and though his wife had some knitting on her knee, she did not seem to be in any particular hurry to pursue it. " Linda has gone over to the Reids, did you say ? " her husband asked, breaking the silence which had lasted for some Httle time. " Yes, and Scott has gone to fetch her. He asked me if he might so imploringly, that I could not refuse him." Mr. Dalrymple took a longer draw than usual at his pipe, and then turned and looked at his wife with a grave seriousness which indicated some thought of moment to him. " Does the wind blow that way, mother, do you think } " he asked, with a significance which she at once understood. She gave a little laugh, and slightly inclined her head. " I am very much afraid of it, Hamish. What would you think of it ? " " I like the lad," said Mr. Dalrymple, " and I must say that in all the months he has been with us I have never seen anything which would cause me the slightest concern about him ; indeed, I have wondered more than once whether Grahame had not exaggerated his shortcomings when he sent him out to us." " Oh, I don't think he led us to understand that he had been anything but foolish, and, of course, he has had every chance to improve here," she replied, with a pardonable pride. " Our children would do anybody good, Hamish, they are so good themselves." The father smiled in a quietly amused way, but did not contradict her. 262 A STORMY VOYAGER. i\ m $. \ " There is not much doubt about Scott's liking fur Linda, I think," he said slowly ; " but what about her ? " ** I do not know, dear ; she is a very reserved girl, as you know, and has a wonderful control over herself. But I can't help thinking that, at any rate, she does not dislike him. What would you say to it, dear ? Because if it is not to be allowed to come to anything, why, then, we must begin now to discourage it." " There are few girls like Linda," said the father with a somewhat troubled air. " She deserves the very best that can be got, and she can have her pick, too, as you and I well know. Still, if she loved the lad, and he was willing to serve a certain probation, I do not know that I should have very much to say against it." " He has good abilities, don't you think > " she asked then. " And I am sure he is not lazy." " No, I will say that for him, he will stick at nothing. I think from his father's last letter, Grahame imagines that I am putting it on rather thick when I write about his ne'er-do-weel. But I must say I have been most agreeably disappointed." " But it could not be for a very long time, father ; you see he has nothing, and I dou't suppose that Grahame could give him anything ? " " Oh, there will be something for him, I should think. You sec he is the only son, and there is the Howe, which is his by right. But riches don't bring happiness, as you and I well know, and we have brought up our bairns to fear neither poverty nor wealth." "And you have taught them to be ashamed of nothing but wrong-doing," she said softly, and with a glow of loving pride in her face, and she stretched out her hand and gave him a little pat on the arm, which UNDERSTOOD. >«3 said a good deal more. These two, who had faced many a hard and bitter day together, had been able to keep through it all the love of their youth fresh and green in their hearts, and were lovers still. An hour or two later Scott and his cousin walked together by the edge of the dewy fields, under the light of a moon which flooded the whole earth with its radiant and mystic light. They had talked without restraint after they had left their neighbour's house, but as they came within sight of their own home an odd silence fell upon them which neither felt inclined tu break. There was no doubt whatever in the mind of Scott Dalrymple as to his feelings re- garding the sweet girl by his side. He had now been five months under the same roof-tree with her, and that is sufficient time surely for a man to learn to know his own mind. He knew that the one desire of his life, the ambition of the nob'^** and better manhood which had awakened m him, was to have her for his wife, and to build up fok hiiTiself a home of which she should be the centre and the queen. Looking back through the past to the foolish days of his youth, when he had imagined himself a connoisseur in the matters of love, was so intolerable to b^'mself in the light of this newer and nobler vision of what love really means to those who are fit to understand it, that he scarcely dared to trust himself to a moment's retrospect. As for Linda, she had not thought much about it at all, only she knew that never in all the years of her happy girlhood had life seemed so sweet and full, so radiant with possibility and hope. Many had spoken to her of love, but none had had the power to stir her heart, and though she had not admitted it to herself, she knew very well that now love had come to her, and a64 A STO/iA/y VOYAGER, m 'A ' 11' ; t that the cousin from across the sea had won her whole heart. " I always think," she said, as they emerged from the dark shadow of a belt of trees and saw the homestead before them bathed in its wonderful moonlight — " I always think that spring is the loveliest of all the seasons, and yet each one as it comes is beautiful. I wonder how you will like our summer and autumn, if you stay so long ? " " Why do you say if ? " he asked, quickly and earnestly. " You must know that the one desire of my life now is to remain here, and if I can build up a home for myself here, however small to begin with, I shall consider myself a happy man." " What ! and never go back to Edinburgh again — be content to bury yourself in the Wild West ? " she asked, with a gentle banter not common to her. " The Wild West ! " he repeated incredulously. " People don't know what they are talking about when they use such words. I only wish that I had been born and brought up in it, that's all." " And yet some grumble a great deal, rind wish they had been brought up anywhere else," she said lightly. "Did you hv';ar Willie Reid to-night bemoaning his surroundings and the fate that keeps him away from the city?" " Yes, I heard him, and I would like just to have five minutes' straight talk with him," said Scott. " I say, Linda, I hope there is nobody at Fontainbleau wishing me back in Edinburgh ? " " Oh, what nonsense ! Has any one been hinting a. such a thing ? " she asked, with a gleam of laughter in her eye.s. '* No, but I cannot think what you mean by saying UNDERSTOOD. :65 ;r whole From the »mestead ght-*' I all the itiful. I jtumn, if :kly and ire of my lild up a in with, I I again — est?" she ;r. edulously. )out when had been wish they lightly, laning his iway from it to have Jcott. "I ntainbleau hinting a. aughter in if I intended to stay, when you know how happy I am. Upon my word, I never knew what it was to live until I came here." "And yet there are some who tell us that life is only to be found in cities," she said, with a pleased look on her face. " I am glad that you are so happy, Scott ; it is a great compliment to us." They now came to a little river which flowed at the base of the hill upon which the house stood. In summer weather it could be crossed by the stepping- stones, and in the extreiae heat it dried up altogether ; but now it was a most respectable stream, swollen with the melted snows, and had to be crossed by a foot- bridge firmly secured on either bank. As he helped her up the steps, she turned to him, directing his attention to the wonderful gleam of the moonlight upon the flowing water. Something in the eyes which met hers troubled her, and her face flushed hotly. His love was written plainly on his face, and she, although her heart beat quick, and warm, and true in response to it, felt moved to make haste towards the house, fearing the words which she yet longed to hear. The temptation was strong upon Scott Dalrymple to throw prudence to the winds, and tell her then and there all that was in his heart concerning her, but a sense of loyalty and humility kept him back. He was not yet fit to speak those words ; he had not proved himself, nor had he anything worthy to lay at her feet. It was proof that the good which lies dormant in every human heart had sprung quick and warm and strong to the surface, and was leavening the man's whole nature and life. So he spoke no word, but Linda understood. by saying CHAPTER XXXII. A THUNDERBOLT. ^HE mail came once a day to Fontainbleau, or, more properly speaking, was left at the little post-office on the river bank about half a mile below the house, and there the letters were called for by those who expected them. The Dalrymplcs usually had a very fair bag, each having their own correspondents. Then Mr. Dalrymple being in a sense a public man — the reeve or magis- trate of the district — had a good many official and business communications every day. Scott's only letters, of course, came from his own people, and these on one day in the week. It happened that, as he had promised to take his uncle's riding-horse to the forge to be shod that morning, he called at the same time for the letter-bag, and as he sat on the bench outside the blacksmith's door he opened it with a careless, indifferent hand, not indeed expecting anything for himself. There was a goodly number, and as he glanced them over quickly he at last came to one ad- dressed to himself. The hand-writing ' 'as familiar to him, but it was a moment before he realised where he had last seen it, and to whom it belonged. The en- velope was a large square one of English make and 266 "»• .« A THUNDERBOLT. a67 shape, and the waiting had a certain bold style about it, which in a moment became hideously familiar to him. As it happened, he was sitting quite alone on the bench, the sweet spring sunshine falling all about him, and nothing disturbed him except the monotonous clang of the smith's hammer as he fastened on the horse's shoes. The young man's face became as white as the envelope he held in his hand, and a look of absolute dismay, almost of despair, sat upor it The envelope did not bear the English stamp or post mark, only the Dominion stamp, and the name of Regina, the neighbouring town. It was five full minutes before he had the courage to open it, and then he did so with a hand which trembled like any girl's. It was a very brief epistle, but the few words it contained were enough to strike a new despair into the heart of Scott Dalrymple. It ran thus : — "Washington House, Regisa, April 15/A, " Dear Scott, — You will be very much astonished to receive a letter from Margaret Keith, and still more astonished, although somehow I don't think you ought to be, to hear that she nas left her husband. It is a long time since I discovered that we are totally unsuited to each other. I have spent the most miserable winter, I think, in my life, and I came to the conclusion at last that it was better to end it. We have had no quarrel and no scene ; I simply packed up my things when my husband had gone to Paris to buy his summer goods, and my mother also was out of town. Don't *hink that I want to fasten myself on to you, because I assure you such is not the case. I am a very headstrong person, I know, but not quite a fool ; I am, fortunately, very well off, and as I was able to lay my hands on a good part of my money, and can get more, I * thought I would make a little tour on my own account and see the world. I sailed *:o Montreal frcm Liverpool, and I thought that it would be very pleasant to take a little trip out here to see the country, aLd also to shake hands with you. I hear that your place is a good ride from here, but I did not think 268 A STORMY VOYAGER. of coming out direct, in case I could not explain myself very well to your relatives, but there is no reason why you should not come here and see me. I shall wait here until I hear from you, which I hope will be by return. No more at present. — From your old friend, "Margaret Keith." ^ '* ill i«!i ; n The perusal of this strange letter caused a cold sweat to break on the young man's brow. He sat still, look- ing at it stupidly, scarcely comprehending its contents, and yet conscious that it filled him with despair. Presently the blacksmith came out of the forge leading the newly-shod horse by the halter. He was a big, brawny, red-headed Scotchman, a character in the district, and a general favourite. " Here ye are, sir," he said heartily. " She is a quiet beastie, and gies nae trouble. A' weel up by ? " "Yes, thank you," said the young man vaguely, as he rose to his feet, crushing the letter into his pocket. Then he flung himself on to the back of the mare and rode off. The blacksmith looked after him per- plexedly for a minute, missing the cheery word and joke which he generally had ready, and, unable to find any solution of the mystery, went back into the smithy scratching his head. The mare had it very much her own way going home, and though the young creature was fresh after a day's rest, she took it very soberly, even stopping without let or hindrance to take a fresh bite of grass from the wayside. When Scott reached the homestead there was no one about the outbuildings, so he put the mare in the stable ; then wandered about aimlessly for a few minutes, ab- solutely at his wits' end what to do. At length he went through the orchard, where the apple-trees were A THUNDERUOLT. 369 showing buds of pink and white among the lovely green, and mounting the verandah steps entered the sitting- room. It was not usual to find any of the women of the household sitting at leisure at that hour of the day, but sometimes, when she had had a busy morning, Mrs. Dalrymple would sit down for a quarter of an hour to look at the newspapers and to take a little early lunch. She was so sitting quite alone when her nephew entered the room. " Well, Scott," she said pleasantly, looking at him kindly over her newspaper, " h& e a glass of milk and a bit of cake. Bless me, boy, what is the matter with you I Don't you feel well ? " " Yes, thank you, that is — no, not very well, Aunt Robina." She put down her newspaper, now genuinely alarmed. The ruddy colour had gone out of his face, and he looked so utterly miserable that she felt a good deal of concern about him. "You were feeling all right this morning, weren't you ? " she said anxiously. " You took a good breakfast, I think } " " Oh, yes, it is not that, it is something else. Aunt Robina," he answered, in a low voice ; and then to her dismay he sat down at the table, and, burying his face in his hands, groaned aloud. " Dear me, laddie, what is all this ? Try and tell me what has happened to you," she cried, rising and moving to his side. " I'd like to. Aunt Robina, and yet I am afraid to," he said suddenly. " But I must tell you ; there is no- thing else for it, I fear. Will anybody come in here while we talk ? " " There is nobody to come in," she replied quickly. 370 A STORMY VOYAGER. .■I, " The girls have gone over to the Reids to ask them to come in this evening ; your uncle and the boys, of course, are in the fields. What is it, my boy ? " He sat up suddenly and looked at her straight in the face with a certain desperate courage born of the extremity in which he found himself. *' Aunt Robina, when my father wrote you about my coming out here, what did he say ? " Mrs. Dalrymple sat down in her chair again, and a faint smile dawned just for a moment on her lips. " Well, he .said, Scott, that you had not been just walking in the way you should go, and that he wanted some new surroundings for you." " Yes, but did he give any particulars } Did he say if anything had happened just at the time to make it desirable that I should be sent off at once } " She hesitated a moment, but the young man's eyes implored an answer. " Well, yes, he told us about the foolish way you had been carrying on with another man's wife." A look of inexplicable relief sprang into the young man's face. Now explanation and confession would be comparatively easy. " You knew all that, and yet you never made a bit of difference to me ? " he exclaimed eagerly. " I can- not understand it, and ye(. I feel it. It is that that makes it so easy for people to be good out here. Aunt Robina. Everybody has a chance, and people don't seem to think that because you make one slip you are altogether bad." This tribute sounded very sweetly in Mrs. Dalrymple's ears, and she regarded her nephew with that beautiful motherly compassion which made her so much beloved by all who came in contact with her. A THUNDERBOLT. 871 " Well, but all this, my dear, is not bringing us any nearer the present trouble, is it ? " she 3aid presently, with a mild, cheerful, and helpful air. " Tell ne what has happened to-day to upset you so terribly. Have you had some letters from home ? And yet that is not possible, for it is not mail day." " I have had a letter, Aunt Robin a, but not from home. There, you must read it. What on earth am I to do > " He drew the crushed letter from his pocket, and passed it to her with a hand which still trembled. She took it, and, putting on her eye-glass, read its contents with a very curious expression on her face. " But who is this that writes such a queer letter, and from Regina, too ? What does it mean ? " " Can't you see, aunt i " he cried, with a groan. "That is Mrs. Keith, the girl all the row wr\s about." She looked at him in a bewildered way for a moment, and then the whole truth dawned upon her. " Do you mean to say she has followed you all the way out here, Scott ? This is more serious than I had expected." He was conscious of a distinct change in her voice, and also in her manner, as she uttered these words, and he was quick to comprehend it. " You have had no correspondence with her, surely, have you, since you came to my house .' " she added, rather coldly. " No, Aunt Robina, I have never written a line to ner, or had one until this came this morning." His tone carried conviction with it, and the some- what hard, suspicious look died out of her face, although it was left troubled and anxious. " She must have left her husband, and I don't under- h.^ VJ2 A STORMY VOYAGER. sta i it/' she said slowly. Then suddenly she looked up at him, and her eyes seemed to seek to read his very soul. " Soott," she said, with a touch of solemnity in her voice, "you have been in this house now for five months as one of my own, and it has made me very happy to feel tha' we could be so with you ; but perhaps I have been deceived. Will you look me in the face and say that there waii never anything wrong between you and this woman, but only foolish nonsense, as your father said ^ " Scott rose to his feet, and Mrs. Dalrymple long remembered the look upon his face. " Auijt Robina," he said solemnly, " it was only as my father said, there never was anything but a piece of silly nonsense between us. I will swear it if you like." "There is no need," she said, with a wave of her hand ; '* I believe you, and I will help you all I can." ^ m 11 : Hi;! sne looked to read his )f solemnity ise now for s made me h you ; but look me in thing wrong sh nonsense, rymple long was only as ►ut a piece of : if you like." wave of her 1 all I can." \ CHAPTER XXXIII. A FRIKND IN NEED. IHE sat silent a few moments when she had uttered these words, looking perplexedly out of the window to the budding orchard upon which the noonday sun lay in a golden flood. She was thinking, not of Scott nor of the woman who had taken such a disastrous step, but of her own child, her daughter Linda, whose secret her keen motherly eyes had not been slow to read. For the moment she felt somewhat bitter against the man who had brought this trouble upon their home, because, however cleverly and satisfactorily this unhappy business might be arranged, it still remained a fact that the foolish creature who had written this strange letter had turned her back upon her own home, and upon every- thing which a woman holds dear, and there could be no doubt that it was for Scott's sake. He sat upon the edge of the table with his eyes fixed upon her eagerly, hungrily, as if in her he saw his only hope of escape. "Can't you tell me what is to be done, Aunt Robina? " he said at last, humbly, feeling the silence intolerable. •* Hush ! " she replied, a little sharply. ** I am 373 l8 274 A STORMY VOYAGER. F I thinking. It is not a matter that can be settled in a moment" It was several minutes before she spoke again. " The only thing I can think of," she said then, " is that I go into Regina this afternoon or to-morrow morning and try and convince this foolish young woman of her folly ; you must not see her whatever happens." " I am glad you think that. Aunt Robina, for rather than go and see her I think I would drown myself in the creek." " Hush ! that is but a poor way to face the difficulty, which is, after all, of your own making," she replied sternly. " I think that I will go this very afternoon." "Will you tell any of them ?" he asked shamefacedly. « Who should I tell > " she asked sharply. " Is it likely I am going to relate the story to Linda or Maisie, or the boys } Your uncle, of course, I must tell, as I expect he will drive me in." She felt sorry for him as she looked at his dejected and miserable face, and yet a great impatience filled her heart Into her experience of life, which had been long and varied, such a painful element had never entered ; but she saw the need for prompt action, and felt relieved that the young man had had the sense to confide the whole matter to her at once. " Just go down to the field, will you — they are in the ten-acre lot this morning — and ask your uncle to come up here ? Tell him I want him very particularly, and you can stop down and take his place." He looked relieved at this suggestion for immediate action, but before he put on his cap to obey her behest he looked at her with a mingled pathos and entreaty which she very well understood. "Aunt Robina, I am afraid that you will never allow me to remain here after this, and I have been $o A FRIEND IN NEED. 275 sttled in a she spoke said then, to-morrow ing woman happens." , for rather I myself in le difficulty, she replied afternoon." lamefacedly. 3ly. " Is it ia or Maisie, ust tell, as I his dejected ice filled her id been long krer entered ; on, and felt the sense to -they are in ^our uncle to particularly, > or immediate ey her behest and entreaty Du will never have been so happy. I never knew what it was to live till I came here. Will you send me away } " ** Hush, laddie ; it is impossible for me to say what I may do or may not do yet," she said quickly ; but her voice was kind and her eye had lost its hard, keen look. " I am very vexed, I will not deny, but it may be that we shall be able to find a way out of this hole you have got yourself into. It will be a lesson to you. It is the poor girl I am thinking of; she will suffer a lot more than you will before she has done with it." He was silent, but not unconvinced by her words ; for the moment he allowed his thoughts to recur to Margaret, and although she had no interest whatever for him, he felt the sad truth of his aunt's words, and again he cursed his own folly which had made such a step possible to her. " What kind of a man is her husband ? " was his aunt's next unexpected question. " He is a very good fellow, and he has been badly treated. Aunt Robina," he answered quickly. ** The marriage was hurried on to please her father before he died, and she never cared for him. That is where the mistake was to begin with, and yet he was a chap that anybody could have liked ; in fact, everybody does like, except apparently his own wife." " Poor fellow ! well, well, it is a bad business, and I will be glad when I get back from the town this day. I tell you frankly, laddie, it is not a job I am caring about, but one thing is certain, and that is that you and she must not meet. Off you go, then, and send your uncle up. It is half-past eleven ; I can give him a bite of something, and we'll be off soon after twelve." But still the young man lingered, and there was evidently something on his mind. ; t| 1 276 A STORMY VOYAGER. " Well, what now ? What more have you to say about this unhappy business ? " she asked, noticing his hesitation and evident desire to say something more. " You won't say anything to Linda about this, will you, aunt ? " he said, with flushing face. " It is not likely," she answered, rather sharply. "It is not a very pleasant story to tell anybody, let alone a young girl like Linda." " And I suppose I may consider everything at an end } " he said then, despondingly. " I had hoped — I had hoped " " What ? " she said, when he stoped short, his face flushing still more deeply. " I had hoped that some day, perhaps, you might give me Linda, after I had proved myself worthier of her than I am just now." A tear sprang to her eye. *' I will not say what might have been, Scott, nor what may be, but what we have got to do at the present time is to make the best of this bad business, and see how it is likely to be ended. Off you go, that is my last word ; off you go and send your uncle." An hour later, from the field where they were busy preparing for the sowing, Scott saw the buggy drawn by a pair of horses rolling swiftly along the wide road which led towards the town. His uncle and aunt sat in it, and that they were in haste was evidenced by the speed at which the horses were being driven. He tried to throw ofl* the frightful incubus of thought which lay upon him, in order that his cousins might not observe anything extraordinary in his manner, but it was a very lively pain for him to listen to their many speculations regarding the business which had so sud- denly called their father and mother to the distant town. A FRIEND IN NEED. 177 \ to say icing hi% more this, will sharply, ^body, let ing at an hoped — 1 t, his face yrou might if worthier f say what jX what we :e the best a be ended. ;o and send were busy iggy drawn I wide road id aunt sat idenced by riven. He mght which might not nner, but it their many had so sud- istant town. It was not yet three o'clock when Mr. Dalrymple drove his team up to the door of the Washington House. During their drive they had discussed the matter in all its bearings, but felt that they could not come any nearer a solution of the difficulty until Mrs. Dalrymple had seen Margaret Keith. She went at once into the hotel, leaving her husband to give his horses in charge to the hostlers, and to order some refreshment for them. At that season of the year visitors were not many at the Washington House, and Mrs. Dalrymple, who was well known to the proprietor, had no difficulty in as- certaining at once that the lady she wished to see was in the house. She sat down in the hall while they took her name upstairs, and while she waited she had a curious feeling as if she were in a dream, or acting a part in a play. It was by no means a pleasant task which she had set herself, and if it had been possible, even at the last moment, she would have gone away, but there was more at stake than Scott's comfort or well-being — there was the happiness, and perhaps the future, of her own child. •' Mrs. Keith will see you, madam," said the chamber- maid, when she came down, and with a strangely- beating heart Mrs. Dalrymple followed her up to the first floor, and into a large and pleasant sitting-room which looked out upon the street. From the window of this room, indeed, Margaret had watched the team draw up to the door, without, however, having the remotest intuition to whom it might pertain. Mrs. Dalrymple entered the room with rather a quick, nervous step, and closing the door, bowed silently to the younger woman, who was standing by the table with a surprised and inquiring look upon her face. Even in that awkward and eminently painful 278 A STORMY VOYAGER. moment she was struck by the girl's beauty, but perhaps her youth appealed to her more, and a great wave of commiseration for her swept over the elder woman's motherly heart. She thought of her own daughters in their safe and sheltered home, and thanked God that no such waywardness in them had riven her heart. " Mrs. Keith ? " she said inquiringly. Margaret bowed, and though her colour was height- ened, she did not betray any sign of embarrassment. " I am Mrs. Dalrymple of Fontainbleau," said the elder woman immediately, and there was a certain dignity in the simple utterance of these words which Margaret acutely felt. '* My nephew received your letter this morning ; he showed it to me, and I have come to see you." Margaret bit her lip sarcastically, and bitter words sprang to them, but something in the calm, sweet motherly eyes of the woman before her restrained them. She was unable to utter a word, so they stood looking at each other steadily for several moments. Then Margaret turned away, and walking to the window sat down with her back turned deliberately upon her visitor. Mrs. Dalrymple was in no way disconcerted, for now that she was fairly into the situation she rose to it, and had no difficulty in finding the right word at the right moment. She walked over to th^ window also, and stood looking at the girl with a kind of wondering sadness on her face. " My dear, I hear that you have a mother at home, who loves you, I know, as I love my daughters ; what do you think is in her heart this day } " The girl sat still on the hard bentwood chair drum- ming her fingers on the window-sill and looking defiantly into the streets. Her face betrayed nothing, and her A FRIEND IN NEED. V9 perhaps wave of yvoman's aughters }od that art. height- ment. said the certain ds which ved your id I have ;ter words Im, sweet ined them. )d looking Its. Then rindow sat upon her sconcerted, n she rose ht word at :h^ window a kind of tr at home, iters ; what :hair drum- ng defiantly ng, and her lips seemed to have no desire for speech. She had a wonderful control over herself, for her heart was really filled with a wild tumult of rage and disappointment and shame ; yet something in the sweet, motherly face bent upon her so compassionately touched her, and she kept back the bitter words which surged for utterance to her lips. The silence at length became strained, and Margaret sit round in her chair and lifted her eyes calmly to Mrs. Dalrymple's face. " Will you tell me," she asked quite calmly, *• what your nephew has said about me .' You speak to me as if I were some wicked person who had done something dreadfully wrong. I have done nothing except to leave a life which had become intolerable to me. Surely some right of choice is permitted in this world even to the meanest of us." "You and I call things by a different name, my dear," said Mrs. Dalr^'mple firmly. " You have left your husband for no reason apparently but to satisfy a mere selfish desire for change. I would have no hesitation in calling that a sin." " Did Scott let you see the letter I wrote to him ? " asked Margaret then, exactly as if she had not heard these words. " Yes, he did." " Well, you cannot accuse me of having come out here to seek him. I simply happened to come this way in the course of my travels, and I thought I might as well shake hands with an old friend. He has sent you to-day instead of coming himself. What is he afraid of?" She asked the question mockingly, and yet there was a furtive anxiety in her eyes which indicated that she felt the situation to be a most painful one. Mrs. Dal- rymple looked down upon her curiously, noting her ii it il li 280 /} STOHA/y yOYAGKR. extremely youthful appearance, which could not be hidden even by the assumption of worldliness and experience which Margaret affected. She was think- ing that 'i 1 the whole cou/se of her long life she had never eiicountered such an extraordinary creature, and she felt tempted for the moment tc doubt whether there was not something far wrong with the girl's mental organi '?tion ; certainly she took a strange and perverted view of life. " I would not let him come." she said at length, replying to the latter part of Margaret's speech ; "and I have only one thing to say to you, and that is that the sooner you go back to your mother, if your husband v'ill not receive you, the better it will be for yourself. You are a young woman and I am an old one, and you may take my word for it that I know what I am talking about." CHAPTER XXXIV. ENIGMA. |ARGARET played idly with the trimming on her gown, and again the silence became somewhat strained. Mrs. Dalrymple then took a chair, and sat down in front of the girl, looking at her steadily. "There is something about this whole unhappy business I don't understand," she said. " Is there anything you would like to say to me } I have come here for the express purpose of being a help to you, if you will let me." " I don't think I have anything to say," said Margaret stupidly. " I got sick of the monotony of my life, and I simply came away. There could not be anything much simpler than that." "Or more complicated," put in Mrs. Dalrymple, staring at her helplessly. " How long is it since you left Edinburgh.?" " Oh, let me see — this is April — I left in March, on the twenty-second. My husband was away in Paris on business, and I, being left behind, found it rather monotonous, so I thought I would have a tour on my own account. It occurred to me all of a sudden to 281 38j A STORMY VOYAGER. cume to America, and I um rather glad now I have come, although it is very dull travelling alone." Mrs. Dalrymple looked at her steadily, as far from making her out as ever. She spoke in the most matter- of-fact tone, and did not appear in the least to realise the magnitude of the step she had taken, nor the disastrous consequences which were bound to follow it. She was like a child playing with fire, utterly unconscious of any danger. How to awaken her to a sense of her position was the problem which vexed the good woman's soul. " I can't make you out at all," she said perplexedly. •' Don't you know what you have done } You have cut yourself off by your own extraordinary folly from everything that a woman holds dear — you have lost your good name." "No, I haven't," said Margaret quickly. " I have not done anything which could make people say that of me. I should not be afraid in the least to go back to Edinburgh to-morrov/ ; as far as that is concerned, I have done no wrong." Mrs. Dalrymple shook her head. " You will not get other people to take that view of it, my lass," she said quickly. •' Have you never given one single thought to those you have left behind, and to the agony of mind they must have endured, must even now be enduring on your account } " " It will do them good," replied Margaret, " for certainly they have done their best between them to grind all the heart and soul out of me, and they have no more regard for my feelings or what would make me happy than But what is the use of expatiat- ing," she broke off quickly ; " I could never make you understand. Of course you are one of the good con- ventional sort who think that because one happens to gc EN/GMA. a83 have r from natter- lise the astrous .he was of any position I's soul, lexedly. 3U have lly from ave lost "I have say that go back cerned, I view of ver given hind, and ired, must iret, "for I them to they have )uld make ■ expatiat- make you good con- happens to be born a woman one should have no rights ur privi- leges, but simply be pleased to allow one's life to be mapped out by others. That is impossible for me." " Perhaps you will tell me what you are going to do with yourself," said Mrs. Dalrymple then. "Well, I shall not stay here, anyhow, in this unfinished part of the world," she said lightly. " I shall go back to the States and have a look round. Then I shall probably go to Europe ; I have an old school governess who has set up a boarding-house at Florence. If it is too late in the season to find her there, I daresay I can follow her to her summer quarters. I want to see something ; I have seen so little in my life. ' " But surely you know that it is not safe nor seemly for one so young and so attractive to be wandering about the world like this ? " exclaimed Mrs. Dalrymple, in the utmost dismay. " Why, I am twenty-one, and, besides, I am married. I assure you I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. But perhaps I may not do all that, but go straight home to Edinburgh ; it depends on how I feel." The absolute calmness with which Margaret spoke of her arrangements was so appalling to Mrs. Dalrymple that she did not really know what to say next. She looked at her helplessly, as one might look at some curiosity — a riddle which it was impossible to read. " I have a good mind," she said quickly, " to make you go back with me to my house and send for your mother." Margaret faintly smiled. " That would be very kind of you, but I am afraid you would tire of me before you tempted mamma to take such a journey on my account," she said flippantly. " It is my belief that they are very glad to get rid of me 384 A STOKMV I'OYAGKK. I 1 for a time. T was always a kind uf worry and anxiety tu them, you see, and now they will be able to have a rest." Mrs. Dalrymple rose, a slight impatience visible on her usually serene face. " I don't know what to make of you," she said gravely. " Either you are a perfect child in the ways of the world, or a wicked and heartless woman." " Perhaps," said Margaret coolly, " I may be a little of both." She, too, rose, and for a moment the two women, so differently placed and thus so strangely brought into con- tact, looked at each other steadily. The elder woman, as before, was the first to break the silence. She laid her hand somewhat heavily on Margaret's shoulder, and her voice, when she spoke, had a tremulous ring in it. " Bairn," she said, " I am wae for you when I look at your face, for I fear you have chosen the way of transgressors, which the Scriptures tells us is hard. I would be your friend if I could ; is there nothing you wish to say to me, no way in which I can help you ? " " I don't want any help," said Margaret quickly, but the tone of her voice had slightly changed. " I have chosen my own path, and I am not going to cry out though it seems difficult. I will own that I acted qastily, and I see quite well that it will be difficult, even impossible, for me to go back, but I am quite willing to abide by the consequences of my own act" " And what did you want with my nephew ? " was Mrs. Dalrymple's next question. *' I don't know ; I am not in love with him — you may set your mind at rest on tiiat point, and I think that for old acquaintance' sake he might have come to see me," she said, with a slight heightening of her colour. " You may tell him that when you go back if you like. ENlGStA. ass icty lu I rest." ible on le said c ways a little men, so ito con- woman, he laid kr, and ; in it. 1 I look way of lard. I ing you you ? •' :kly, but I have cry out I acted difficult, im quite n act" ? " was im — you I I think Tie to see :r colour, you like. I hear that he is very much at home in his new country, and that he is winning golden opinions from one and all." " The lad is a good lad away from his evil associa- tions," said Mrs. Dairy mple with pardonable vexation. " Of which I am one," said Margaret lightly. " Well, you can go back with your mind at rest about him. I shall leave this horrible place to-night." '* I cannot let you," said Mrs. Dairy mple then. " I should not be able to sleep in my bed this night if 1 thought you were turning out into the world all alone. You are sure to come to grief. My husband is here with me to-day, and I should like to speak with him on the matter, then we may be able to come to some arrangement as to what will be best for you." " But I decline to be arranged," said Margaret, with a slight, cold smile. " You are strangers to me and I to you ; it :an be no concern of yours what becomes of me." " I can't look at it like that," was the reply. " We are of the same race, even of the same blood, and I have daughters of my own whom I would rather see in the kirkyard than as you are this day. Oh, lassie, think of what you are doing before it is too late, and promise me that you will go straight back to the mother that bore you." Margaret Keith was really inwardly moved, but tried to hide it " I see," she said in a gentle tone, " that I have been foolish. I did not think how people would regard it. But surely when I go back and explain they will under- stand and believe me, will they not } " There was a strange wistfulness in her eyes as she asked this question, and a lump seemed to come in the throat of the woman who listened to her. " Your mother may, because mothers believe and 386 A STORMY VOYAGER. hope till death," she replied, " but your husband is another matter. Don't you think you have given him just cause to feel bitter against you ? " " Perhaps so ; but he has made me feel bitter and dreadful many a time. He is the sort of man who is so good himself tb^* he has no toleration for anything but perfection in others ; but he was kind to me, too. I must not be unjust to him." Mrs. Dalrymple listened with a divided interest, her mind busy with a thousand plans to help this wayward and foolish creature out of the thorny way into which she had brought herself. But it was not easy in a moment to find any solution of a difficulty which seemed superhuman. " I think," she said presently, " that I will take you to N*w York myself, and see you on the steamer for England." " That would be very kind of you, but I would not allow it," said Margaret quickly. " I have come all this way myself, and I can just as easily go back. I assure you I am quite capable of taking care of myself, and I scarcely spoke to a living soul on the voyage from Liverpool. I am not that sort of person." Mrs. Dalrymple was silent, still perplexed. She had come expecting to meet a very different person, and this girl, so young in years, and apparently so old in experience and self-control, mystified and bewildered her. She did not know in the least how to deal with her, and yet she felt, for the sake ot the widowed mother and the deserted husband in far-off Scotland, that she ought not to let her drift upon her perilous way without trying to lend her a helping hand. " Yes, I think I shall go to New York with you if you will wait till to-morrow. I can go back to-night ENIGMA. a*./ iband is ven him tter and 1 who is anything me, too. erest, her wayward to which tasy in a ty which take you eamer for ATOuld not come all back. I of myself, le voyage 1. She had irson, and so old in jewildered deal with widowed Scotland, ;r perilous id. vith you if to-night and get a few things, then we can leave by the train to-morrow evening." " But why should you ? " asked Margaret. " It will not do any good ; I am not even sure that when I do get to New York I shall go straight to England. You see there seems to be a doubt — you yourself have said so — that they will not be pleased to see me if I go back, so what is the use of going back ? I had far better seek out Miss Hardwicke, who will be glad to see mc, I know." "Well, I will go and have a little talk with my husband," said Mrs. Dalrj'mple then ; " men sometimes can suggest a way out of the difficulty. I shall come back to you n about an hour." " Very we.l," said Margaret, in the most matter-of- fact voice. When Mrs. Dalrymple left the room, Margaret looked about her in a dazed, helpless fashion, and her whole manner changed. She had managed through sheer pride and strength of will to maintain a perfectly calm exterior while being cross-examined and advised, but left to herself her composure did not long remain undisturbed. She was bitterly, fearfully disappointed ; she did not know very well what she had expected, but the thought of meeting Scott Dalrymple and of looking on his friendly face had buoyed her up through the days of awful desolation and loneliness which had been her lot since she took the fatal step of leaving her own home ; and now he would have none of her, had not even a lingering regret over the past to make him come and speak one kind word to her. He was cowardly enough to send his aunt to take his place, and so sub- ject her to the humiliation of plain speech which had gone straight as an arrow to the mark, although she had received it all with such apparent calmness. She ill :88 A STORMY VOYAGER. knelt down on the floor, and folding her arms on the table, bent her head on them, and gave way to a momentary burst of weeping. She felt stranded, almost an outcast on the face of the earth, and for the moment her courage failed her ; but at length the wild fit of sobbing brought some relief to her overcharged and sinking heart, and she rose suddenly, her whole de- meanour indicating the birth of some sudden resolve. She did not know where her visitor had gone, or whether it would be possible to avoid her. Her whole mind became bent on the idea of getting away from the place. She rang the bell hastily, snd the servant who answered it was able to tell her that the afternoon train would be due within half an hour. The Dalrymples had gone for a walk through the town, discussing as they went the extraordinary thing which had happened, and which had no parallel in any of their experiences. They were entirely agreed upon one point, that she should not be allowed to leave Regina alone, but that they should at any cost exercise some supervision over her until they could communicate by cable with her friends. As they came up the street towards the Washington House again, the afternoon train for the East puffed out of the station with a mighty noise, and when they inquired at the hotel for Mrs. Keith, they were informed that she had just gone down to the station and taken her ticket for Toronto. ns on the /ay to a :d, almost • moment nld fit of irged and whole de- ;n resolve. I gone, or Her whole away from ;he servant ; afternoon hrough the linary thing allel in any igreed upon ;d to leave ost exercise ommunicate ip the street le afternoon tion with a he hotel for ad just gone ar Toronto. CHAPTER XXXV. (JONE. EORGE KEITH was unexpectedly called to Paris during the last week of March, and as his visit was to be extremely hurried, and the time entirely taken up with business matters, he did not ask his wife to accompany him, although it happened that her mother was out of town at the same time paying a visit to an old friend in the north. Margaret made no demur at being left, and when she parted from her husband at the railway station assured him that the four days of his absence would quickly pass, and she would find plenty of occupation. He felt some uneasiness about her during the night journey from Edinburgh to London, and wished that he had taken her with him. But in the press of business and many interests which awaited him both in London and in Paris, his anxiety, if not altogether asleep, was kept in the background. He came home on the evening of the fourth day as he had arranged, and was somewhat disappointed not to find Margaret at the station to welcome him. It was, however, a stormy evening, with a wild east wind blowing in cold and biting from the Firth, driving 28V 19 » i I i'l i^HB I ! - 1 ! i ilb 390 A STORMY VOYAGER. before it a heavy and bitter rain. He jumped into the first cab, and drove off home, feeling a passionate glow at his heart at the thought of again clasping his wife in his arms. They had not been parted for many months, and that brief absence from home had taught George Keith that, in spite of her many faults and the deep anxiety she had caused him, he still loved his wife above any earthly thing. He was expected home at that hour, and the house was ready for him, but instead of his wife meeting him in the hall, there was nobody visible except the housemaid, who met him, smiling as usual, and ran down to carry up h'is bag. There was no sign on her face to indicate that anything unusual had happened, and it was only when he asked in quick disappointed tones where her mistress was that she looked bewildered and surprised. " She has gone out of town, sir," she replied ; " the day before yesterday." *' Oh ! " he said blankly. " Did she say where she was going > " " No, sir, but I think she must have intended to pay a long visit somewhere, for she took a good deal of luggage.' "Ah, you don't happen to have heard, do you, whether she has gone up to Aberdeenshire to join Mrs. Keith?" " No, sir, I really don't know. The mistress did not say anything at all about where she was going, nor when she would come back." " And left no note } " " No, sir ; at least she told me nothing about it." George Keith threw down his overcoat and his hat, and his face became ashen-hued, an awful fear clutching at his heart which he scarcely dared put in shape, even to himself. He bounded up the stairs, two steps at a GONE. 291 into the ite glow his wife )r many I taught and the oved his ted home him, but there was met him, ) Kis bag. t anything I he asked stress was ied ; " the where she ed to pay a of luggage.' do you, ire to join distress did going, nor ibout it." and his hat, iar clutching shape, even ) steps at a time, and entered his vafe's room, which he found orderly and neat beyond what was common, looking as a room looks which is not occupied. Nothing was out of its place ; there was no sign of hasty departure or confusion of any kind ; nor was there any sign of a «crap of paper which could throw the slightest light upon this extraordinary step of Margaret's. He sat down helplessly on the chair before the bed, and tried to think of some commonplace solution of this strange mystery. She had very few friends ; none so far as he was aware to whom she could go upon a visit without warning, and on the impulse of the moment. What, then, had become of her ? The demeanour of the girl downstairs had something reassuring in it, certainly, and it was evident that, wherever she had gone, she had aroused no suspicion whatever in the minds of the servants. It therefore behoved him to keep them from suspecting anything, at least until anything was proved. He was almost beside himself with anxiety and sus- pense of the most horrible kind, but with a strong effort of will he managed to pull himself together, and, rising up somewhat heavily, he entered the bath-room, where he made a great deal of unnecessary noise washing his hands, in order to excuse his absence upstairs. While he was thus engaged the dinner gong went off, and he was obliged to go down to the dining- room and make some pretence of eating. " I had a very substantial lunch at York, Sarah, and I don't want much," he said, as he sat down and un- folded his napkin. " You haven't heard, I suppose, when Mrs. Keith is likely to return from Aberdeenshire } " " On Monday, sir, I think the mistress said before she went away," replied the girl ; and he felt the keen- ness of her look, and knew that she was filled with r |:iir il 292 A STOHMV VOYAGER. wonder and suspicion. He did not give her the slightest encouragement to talk, but forced himself to make a fair meal, although every morsel seemed to choke him ; and directly it was over he put on his hat and ieft the house. It was now about eight o'clock, and after having despatched a telegram at the nearest post-office asking his aunt to return home at once, he took a cab down to Princes Street. The shop, of course, was closed, but he had a faint hope that perhaps Isabel Heriot might be able to throw some slight light upon the mystery, and so relieve in some measure the terrible anxiety which clutched at his heart. He was glad that she opened the door to him herself, because it saved him making an/ inquiry or being subjected to any questioning on the part of Mrs. Heriot, who was generally rather garrulously inclined. Isabel was quick to note at once that something was wrong with her employer, and she opened the dining-room door quickly and followed him in. The house, of course, was exactly as it had been in the Keiths' time, Mrs. Keith having let it as it stood on very advantageous terms to the Heriots, knowing that they would take care of the household gods which she still treasured. "You look very much worried, Mr. Keith," Isabel said quickly ; " haven't you had a successful trip ? " " Oh, it has nothing to do with that," he replied as quickly. '* Do you know anything about my wife ? " Isabel stared at him blankly. *' No, I don't know anything about her," she replied. " What do you mean ? Is she not at home ? " *' No, she has gone away, the servants tell me, on a visit somewhere, taking a large quantity of luggage with her. I never heard anything about it, and I don't GONE, 293 her the imself to iemed to »n his hat sr having ice asking cab down as closed, ,el Heriot upon the lie terrible was glad because it ibjected to ,t, who was I was quick g with her ■oom door of course, Mrs. Keith eous terms [take care of ;ith," Isabel |1 trip ? replied as ly wife ? ' she replied. ?" tell me, on a of luggage and 1 don't know where on earth she can have gone. T know of no house where she could pay such a sudden visit. Haven't you seen her at all since I went away > " " Yes, once ; she came to the shop the morning after you left, and I think she had some things. She came in and spoke to me, and I heard that they had sent out a travelling rug and cloak, I think, to Blacket Place, but I did not pay much attention to what they said." " Oh, did you notice anything odd in her manner .? " " Nothing ; I thought she seemed in unusually high spirits, that was all. It is very extraordinary. Did she leave no message or any note for you ? " " Nothing whatever ; I am at my wits' end. Where can she have gone, Isabel } " He looked at her in a kind of dumb agony which rent the girl's soul. She saw that it was a matter of life or death to him and she felt her own powerlessness to give the slightest relief to his awful tension of feeling. " You are sure you noticed nothing odd in her manner ? " he repeated. " And she gave you no hint of her intention ; did not even say that she intended leaving town > " " No. She talked of trifling things, I remember, and seemed very gay, even a little excited, I thought after- wards. But now that you speak of it, there was only one little thing I noticed which struck me at the time, and I have thought of it once or twice since." " What ivas that ? " he asked eagerly. " She came back after she had gone out of the counting-house, and said good-bye to me again, and the second time she kissed me, which, of course, was quite unusual ; it never happened before, and I think I was very much puzzled by it." -^i\ 1 294 A STORMY VOYAGER. He turned from her, and looked through the rain- blotted window to the rugged face of the Castle rock, from which the heavy mists rolled down to the valley below, obscuring all the lights which sometimes made it look like Fairyland, and in that bitter moment the iron entered into the man's soul, and the suspense and anxiety which had consumed him for the last hour were exchanged for a certainty more awful to bear. Presently he turned to the woman who had been his faithful friend these many years, and who stood regard- ing him with an infinite compassion, in which something of dread mingled. " I am afraid," he said with difficulty, " that my wife has left me." " Oh, nonsense," she forced herself to say, although in her own mind there was but little shadow of doubt that he spoke the truth. " Why should she lea% e you ? she seemed perfectly happy ; there is no doubt that she has gone on a visit somewhere, and that she will turn up a. ight in a day or two — at least, you will hear from her. The very fact that she has not left any message at all, I think, is a little reassuring, because if she had gone away for good she would certainly have left some message of farewell." He shook his head despondingly, not at all convinced by her words. " There is no place where she can have gone, I tell you," he replied, with a fierce impatience bom of his intolerable misery. " She has no friends that I know of; the only people she is at all intimate with are the Dalrymples. I think I shall go down there and ask if they have seen or know anything about her." " Yes, I should," replied Isabel. " It is just possible that the younger Miss Dalrymple may know something .1 GONE. 295 he rain- tie rock, le valley ,es made ment the lense and last hour to bear. been his )d regard- something it my wife r, although w of doubt leaN e you ? doubt that at she will 3u will hear 3t left any ;, because if rtainly have 1 convinced gone, I tell bom of his that I know with are the re and ask if r." just possible w something about her. They have always been very intimate, have they not ? " He clutched at this faint hope with all the eagerness of a man who feels that it may be the last left to him, and without bidding Isabel good-night, or making any further remark, he went out of the house, and walked rapidly down the steep descent to Heriot Row. The advocate's family had just risen from dinner, and were all at home, so that when he inquired for Miss Ella he was at once told that he could see her. He was shown into the library, where she came to him immediately, looking very much surprised and a little alarmed. She bide him good-evening as she came within the door, looking very sweet and girlish in her simple white evening gown, her face flushed a little with the momentary surprise and excitement of this unusual visit. " Good-evening, Miss Ella. I apologise for intruding upon you, but have you seen my wife lately } " Ella looked more surprised than ever. " No, Mr. Keith, I haven't seen her for some weeks ; why do you ask ? " He wished just then that he had not been so hasty, for of course his questioning would only serve to make the matter more public ; and yet, having gone so far, he must make some explanation. " I have just returned from Paris this evening, and I find that Mrs. Keith has gone out of town. She left no message, the servants tell me, and I thought it just possible that perhaps she might have mentioned to you where she intended going." He tried to speak in the most commonplace and matter-of-fact way, but it was rather a failure, and though Ella was the most unsuspecting and guileless of 396 A STORMY VOVAGEK. mortals, something in the man's manner and in the whole situation struck her as being most peculiar. " No, I haven't seen her at all. I am sure it is quite three weeks since we met accidentally in the street one day. How very ocjd of Margaret to go away and leave no message ; but she does odd things. Perhaps she will be home this very evening. I should not at all wonder." " I believe you are right," he said, trying to speak lightly, " and no doubt I am extremely foolish to be so anxious, but I have been very much worried with busi- ness, and I did not expect this when I came home, so I suppose I acted on the impulse of the moment. I will not detain you any longer ; I am very much obliged to you for seeing me ; pray think no more about the matter." But Ella did think a good deal more about it, al- though some innate delicacy of feeling prevented her from mentioning the matter to her mother and sister when she returned to the drawing-room. -/ CHAPTER XXXVI. A HITTKR (JUKST. RS. KEITH returned from Aberdeenshire next morning, unable to throw the least light upon the extraordinary mystery of her daughter's flight. The fear that was in both their hearts was not mentioned between them, and yet each knew what the other was thinking, and the agony of these first days, before any sort of certainty was theirs, was never afterwards effaced from their minds. George Keith was like a man distracted — not wild indeed in his demeanour, nor had he much to say, but his aunt clearly saw that the life had gone out of him, and that hope was dead in his heart. He left no stone unturned tc discover what had become of his un- happy wife ; but although he employed a clever detective to try and trace her, at the end of a week he was absolutely without a clue. The sinking dread had occurred to him more than once that she might have taken her own life, but the circumstances of her flight forbade him to entertain that suspicion for more than a moment, and at last the other suspicion, scarcely less horrible than the idea of death, was so constantly before his mind that it became a certainty. 297 y- iWSl !«*! I I 398 A STOKAfV yOYAGE/i. One morning he came downstairs earlier than usual, and finding that the letter so eagerly waited and longed for had not yet come, he looked across the table at his aunt, upon whom these terrible days had set their mark, and said bravely, — " Aunt Alice, I am going to-day to Can.ida." She lifted her worn, sad face to his, understanding the motive which prompted this sudden journey, and respecting the reticence which prevented him putting it into words. ** Would you like me to go with you, George ?" was all she said at last. " No, Aunt Alice ; I must travel very rapidly, and. besides, it would not do if Margaret came home and there was no one heie to receive her. You had better stay ; I will not remain away any longer than I can possibly help, and I will write and cable to you at every point." Her hand trembled as she busied herself about the breakfast tray, and two bitter tears forced themselves from her eyes, and rolled slowly down her cheeks. What this was to her was known only to herself and to God. In comparison with this terrible and hopeless sorrow death seemed a tender friend. As she looked at the miserable and haggard face of the man opposite to her, and thought that it was the hand of her own child which had dealt him this deadly blow, her heart grew bitter within her, and she realised the awful bitterness as she had once felt the sweetness of motherhood. " When will you go ? " she asked as she passed him his cup with an unsteady hand. •' To-day. I shall go to Liverpool this afternoon ; one of the Cunard boats sails to-morrow. It is the A BITTER qifF.ST. n usual. I longed c at his ct their •standing ney, and )utting it Te ? '• was dly, anti, lome and ;ad better \an I can u at every about the hemselves :r cheeks, lelf and to 1 hopeless ihe looked n opposite f her own her heart the awful eetness of passed him afternoon ; It is the quickest route to go to New York and travel overland. I shall be there in ten days from now." A numbness seemed to creep to the heart of the desolate woman whose motherhoo " he said hoarsely. " Tell me the worst quickly. My God, think of my suspense, and how I have suffered ! " " I do think of it, and before I say another word, this assurance you must have — she is quite safe ; no harm has befallen her, and none will, I feel sure, because she knows her danger, and I am sure was convinced of her folly." " Have they met ? Has he seen her, then, or what ? " he said with difficulty. " Tell me quickly. I have been able to bear up hitherto, but now it seems intolerable." ** I know, I understand," she said pityingly. " The case is briefly this. Nearly a week ago your wife wrote to my nephew ; I saw the letter, there was nothing in it to which the most fastidious could take I SOME REUEF. y>7 motherly ie said, as id with a lings were I he could ' and how d stepping the dining- in the bolt. 3r there is iuit of your m I parted at Regina." his hands, is cheeks, d hoarsely, hink of my nother word, [te safe ; no feel sure, m sure was n, or what ? " I have been intolerable." ngly. "The o your wife r, there was IS could take the slightest exception. It was a letter any woman might have written to a man whom she had known as a friend in a bygone time. She said in it that she had tired of her monotonous existence, and had started off to find some variety and some change, and the thought had occurred to her that she might as well come out to this Far West, especially as here she might see an old friend. It was very injudicious, considering what had been between them in the past, and yet I think that perhaps it has served some good purpose. My nephew is entirely cured. To show you that he, at least, was guiltless even in thought towards your wife, he placed the letter in my hands, and left himself to be guided entirely by me." She paused a moment, but his eyes, fixed hungrily on her face, compelled her to proceed. •' I went the same day to the town and saw her. Her youth was the thing that amazed me and nearly broke my heart, and yet she struck me as being more capable than many women of twice her age to take care of her- self. I tried to speak to her as her own mother would have done, you understand, but I am not sure that it made any impression upon her." " But the end," he said feverishly, " what was the end of it > " She shook her head sadly. " The end no one knows. I left her for an hour to consider what we should do. I had previously implored her to allow me to take her back to New York, and put her aboard the English steamer, when I should have cabled to you or tO uer mother ; but she gave me no promise. When I went back at the end of the hour she had gone." " Gone where } " he asked, the words forcing them- selves drily from between his parched lips. wm 1^ m t M' u 308 A STORMY VO YAGER. " Ah, that I know not ; that is the terrible part of it. All we know is that she took the east-going express, which leaves in the afternoon. My own opinion would be that she has gone back to Scot- land." He strode across the room clenching his hands, his face working with agitation and pain. Suddenly he paused in front of he**, and his flashing eyes seemed to read her very soul. " Tell me, are you sure that there has been no con- spiracy — that they haven't met } " he asked fiercely. " I could take my oath on that, if need be," she replied, as fervently almost as he had spoken. " I will tell you why I can scarcely credit it," he retorted fiercely. " I know him ; he had no spark of honour or manhood in him, nothing but self and selfish gratification ; to amuse an idle hour he would peril the reputation of those dearest to him." She could not listen to these words without pain, and she uplifted her hand as if to hold them off. " Hush ! " she said hurriedly. " You are very harsh, but I understand and sympathise with you. I grant that he may have been like that in the past, but there has awakened in him of late that nobler humanity which lies dormant in all ; he would retrieve the past, and seek to build up an honest and a manly future for the sake of the woman he has learnt to love." He was silent for a brief space, momentarily puzzled and interested by what she had said. "What woman ? Some one here, do you mean V* " Yes, my daughter ; the girl to whom you have just been speaking. It is the desire of his life to have her as a v/ife, and you may believe in the sincerity of his repentance when you know that he had the courage SOME RELIEF. 30() part of st-going ly own :o Scot- ands, his lenly he lemed to no con- ercely. be," she it it," he spark of ind selfish peril the lout pain, off. are very I you. I past, but humanity the past, future for ily puzzled mean ?" you have ife to have sincerity of he courage to lay bare all the folly of the past and its sad conse- quences to me, her mother." Keith took a long deep breath for the first time during the long and intolerable days wl '~ had passed since the blow fell. The inc 'bus seemed lifted slightly from his shoulders, and a faint far-away ray of hope seemed to illumine the horizon which had seemed so dark. Casting her memory back to the talk she had had in the hotel with Margaret, Mrs. Dalrymple suddenly spoke. " She mentioned the name of some governess who has a pension in Florence, I think she said, and I under- stood from the way in which she spoke that she had some thought of going there." " I don't know her name," said Keith, " but I daresay it will be possible to find out. Well, I need not detain you, and I am very much obliged to you for all you have said." " But you cannot go like this," she interrupted quickly ; ** after such a journey, pursued with so much haste, some little rest is surely necessary. You can at least wait until to-morrow." " No, I can't," replied Keith, gravely but firmly. " I am in that state of mind that rest is impossible to me. I must go on until I learn something, even if it should be the worst." " I understand, and I sympathise," she said gently, " But still a day, or a few hours at least, could make no difference. Your horses, at least, require rest. You will stay and take dinner with us ; it will be on the table in a few minutes." Keith hesitaied a moment, thinking many things. Delay would mean that he must again meet Scott Dalrymple, who, after all, had been the primary cause of this catastrophe which had overtaken him. EM N 310 A STOKMY UOYAGER. " I think I shall not w.iit,'' he said gently. " I bear your nephew no malice, but it will be better that we do not meet." "Ah, I had forgotten that," she answered quickly. " How very stupid of me. You will take a bite, now, then, before they return. I cannot press you to remain, because I know how you feel." He sat down in obedience to her kind request, and she, with her own hands, laid upon the table some slight refreshment for him, which he was able to take, the long drive through the keen, delicious spring air having given him some appetite. Meantime the horses were also refreshed, and in half an hour they were ready for the road again. Tears were in the eyes of Mrs. Dalrymple as she stood upon the verp.ndah to bid him farewell. The simple, serious anxiety of the man had touched her inexpressibly ; he had hidden nothing from her, and she knew that he had received a wound which would take a long time to heal, if, indeed, it ever healed this side of the grave. " Perhaps," she said, with some hesitation and diffi- culty, " you might, if things go well with you, send me a little line to tell me. I shall bear you in my heart and in my prayers. If I hear nothing, I shall under- stand that the shadow has not lifted from your life." " I will do as you say," he answered, giving her hand a fervent clasp ; and not trusting himself to further speech, he vaulted to his seat in the carriage, and then rode away. He looked back as they drove rapidly down the hill, and seeing that she still stood on the verandah steps, he took off his hat and waved it in farewell. They never met again, but neither forgot that one SOME REUEF, 3" 1 «1 brief, strange meeting, wherein the veil had been lifted from the tragedy of life. Mrs. Dalrymple often after- wards spoke to her husband about George Keith ; her heart yearned over him almost as if he had been her own son, and it was a long time before she could over- come the slight feeling of bitterness against her nephew which that brief intervie^r had engendered. It happened as the buggy sped round the corner of the private road and turned into the long sweep of the valley that the team from the fields came out of an adjoining meadow, bearing the busy workers home for the mid-day meal. In the waggon t^at Hamish Dal- rymple, with his son Grahame and his nephew. " Who can that be } " said Mr. Dalrymple, as he saw the buggy going rapidly down the hill, " It look^^ like a team from Regina, but I don't know the stranger." Scott glanced carelessly at the trap as it swept round the corner, and in that swift look recognised the mai; who was no stranger to him. It gave him such a shock that his ruddy face became pale as death and he had to clutch the side of the waggon for support. ' > itf ii ill : \ f '.Ni CHAPTER XXXVIII. TFIE IRONY OF FATE. lUTH arrived at Regina just in time to catch the east-going train, by which he travelled straight as before, without stopping, to New York. He arrived there on Thursday after- noon, to find that no boat sailed until Saturday morning. He had therefore no alternative but to spend the intervening hours looking about the city which it had once been the dream of his life to visit. His interest in it, of course, at the present time was but languid, and yet there was something in the entirely novel conditions of life to be found there which lifted him insensibly out of the deep depression which had him in thrall. He put up for the two nights at the St. Denis Hotel on Broadway, and though he knew several people in the city, having business connections and also numerous friendly acquaintances, he made no effort to seek them out. In the circumstances, he felt that he could not stand the inevitable questioning which would follow his unexpected appearance among them. He did not find the time drag heavily — a day in New York, even to the weary and the uninterested, soon passes. He did not forget to buy a little remem- 312 THE I ROSY OF FATE 3n brance for his aunt, and as he looked at the dainty and novel trifles spread so temptingly in the shop- windows, he thought what pleasure it would have been in happier circumstances for him to make a choice for his wife. The steamer sailing on the Saturday morning was one of the fastest of the White Star Line, and Keith drove down to the quay about half-past nine, to find it a very busy and animated scene. The tourist tide had already begun to roll Kuropewards, and every berth was taken. It was only the merest chance that he had secured one, which had been given up at the last moment by a gentleman whom business detained in New York for another week. Keith had had many lonely moments since he had left his own home, but he had never been conscious of a more bitter and singular sense of desolation than that morning, as he stood on the deck of the great liner watching the busy, happy, animated throng around him. Family parties there were in plenty and some solitary voyagers, but none apparently so desolate as he. The great steamer, beautiful in its strength and power, was moored close to the landing-stage, so that there was no going to and fro in the tender ; and those who had come to say bon voyage were allowed on deck almost until the last minute. But at last the final bell rang, the decks were cleared of all except the outward bound, and the vessel moved slowly dow i the river, amidst the ringing cheers of the lingering crowd. It was not until they had left the picturesque harbour completely behind that Keith went down to his state-room, to find that he had to "hare it with a London merchant, who had come over on a business trip which allowed him only two days in New York. <; .•! ■ i 3«4 A STORMY VOYAGER. ^\ \i\ They exchanged greetings, each glad to find that the other was likely to make an inoffensive room-mate, and, having put his goods and chattels into such compass as was available, Keith went up on deck. He had provided himself with plenty of tobacco and cigars ; for although not a heavy smoker at home, he had found in it some sense of companionship since he had set oat upon this melancholy quest. As it was near Ivuicheon-time, the deck was pretty lively, and the ladies had already donned their travelling garb ; every description of headgear suitable for ocean travelling was to be seen, and George felt idly in- terested in the whole animated scene. His voyage out had been comparatively dull, as the boat had not carried its full complement of passengers. At that season of the year the crowding was all on the boats going to England. One or two solitary beings, who seemed to have no one belonging to them, Keith managed to pick out among the throng ; these were mostly men who looked like his state-room companion, as if they were intent on business rather than on pleasure. He had just answered a remark made to him by n young man who sauntered past him, cigar in mouth, when his eye suddenly fell upon the face and figure of a woman coming up the wide staircase which led from the saloons. His heart seemed to stop beating in a moment, and he felt as if the deck reeled under him, for he recognised the face and figure as those of his wife. She was quite alone, and he was struck by a something in her face, although it was radiant with health — a sad and wistful expression, different from anything he had ever seen there before. The awful irony of the situation caused a grim smile, if smile it ■ l' THE IRONY OF FATE. 3>S could be called, to flit across his face, yet he was conscious of a sudden sense of relief, which in its intensity was almost painful. How simply it had all come about ; he had looked forward to weeks, perhaps months, of miserable anxiety concerning her, and lo ! there she was alone with him on the wide, wide sea. She could not possibly escape him ; it remained to be seen what would be the issue of these six days. The instinct to conceal himself from her until he should have grown accustomed to the idea of her presence caused him to slip out of sight ; and even when the luncheon-bell rang he did not go down, but sat alone in a remote and sheltered corner smoking furiously, and trying to make himself master of this extraordinary situation, and to map out some plan of action. He had never seen her look more attractive, and her extreme youth had struck him painfully, even as it had struck Mrs. Dalrymple at Regina. She was a mere girl ; and to think of the risks she had run, of the complete loneliness and isolation of her position, almost maddened him. Any bitterness he had felt against her had died out of his heart when he looked upon her face. Love with George Keith was not lightly given nor lightly taken back, and there were depths in his nature which even he had not dreamed of. He felt nothing at that moment but the desire to go to her, and, taking her in his arms, ask humbly wherein he had failed that she should have been driven to such a desperate step. In utter unconsciousness Margaret sat in her ap- pointed place at tne luncheon- table, bored to death by the frivolous talk of those about her, inwardly appalled at the prospect of six days of a like experience. She was a splendid sailor, and never knew what it was to ., .^^ ill 3i6 A STORAfV VOYAGER. suffer A pang or qualm of sea-sickness, but it could scarcely be expected that the voyage could have any charm for her. When the luncheon was over she went on deck again, directed the steward to place her chair in a sheltered position, and one where she would be least likely to be disturbed ; then sitting down, she folded her rug about her knees and opened her book. But her eyes seldom dwelt upon the page ; they looked ever out upon the tossing sea, with untold depths of longing and pain in them. She felt herself stranded with her own hands, and deliberately she had put behind her everything that a woman holds dear, and had set out, in the pride and arrogance of youth and inexperience, seeking what ? And lo ! she had come back empJ-y-handed ; and where she was going or what was to become of her, she had less idea than the drift- wood dancing on the foam. About an hour later, George, wandering the deck with a restless and excited step, saw her where she sat. No one was near her ; her chair was so placed that if he chose they could have their meeting and their talk undisturbed. He hesitated only a moment, and his face whitened a little, but finally he strode towards her. The wind had now freshened, and had a touch of almost icy coolness in its breath ; but she had taken off her hat and laid it on her lap, as if she felt some oppression, and longed to have it blown away. The fresh breeze tossed her hair on her forehead and brought a touch of rich colour to her cheek ; her lips were slightly parted as if to inhale the life-giving air, and she uplifted one hand to her temple to break the force of the wind. She heard the step approaching and turned her head rather quickly, with a slightly for- bidding air. When she saw the man a few yards from THE IRONY OF FATE. 3*7 her and recognised him, even as he had recognised her, all the colour faded from her cheek, until it was as white as the linen at her throat. She was unable to utter a single word, but simply stared at him with eyes which had a vague terror in their depths. She believed for a moment that she looked upon a spectre, and felt something clutch at her heart which was like a name- less dread. " I am flesh and blood," he said grimly, " and this is a very pretty comedy. Perhaps we had better talk it over." These were very different words from those he had intended to speak, and very different from those his heart dictated, but he seemed to have no control over his tongue, and these curt sentences fell from his lips in tones as cold as ice. " Where have you come from } How did you come } " she asked voicelessly, trying to rise, but trembling so that her limbs would not obey her. " I came in search of you," he replied. " I have been to Regina, and they told me that you had not long left the place. I intended still to seek for you, although I had but little clue. The thought that I might have such tremendous luck as this never entered my head." He leaned his arm on the railing, and looked down at her with a perfectly inscrutable face. She could not meet that look, and sat in silence while her composure was gradually restored to her. The strain upon her was so great tha«- she felt almost as if she could have screamed aloud, or given way to a burst of hysterical laughter. To see him standing there — her own husband, whose face, sad, reproachful, yet tender as she often remembered it, had been before her an accusing image for so many days — to see him standing there with that 318 A STORMY VOYAGER, dark, inscrutable, and slightly mocking look on his face seemed to her something terrible. A painful nervous- ness presently took possession of her. She put on her hat, and tried to pin it in its place w\\k hands that trembled sorely, then she began to fold up her rug, and rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet, he looking at her all the time with that expression on his face which she could not read. ** Tell me," she said at length, . ^ a weary, difficult voice, " tell me what you are going to do." 11 H ■nHBUm^^H CHAPTER XXXIX. A PRETTY COMEDY. w7 ( & OTHING need be settled," he replied quietly, " until we get to the other side. Meanwhile it will be as well if people do not suspect our relationship. I suppose that you have entered yoi - name as Mrs. Keith ? " " Yes," she replied faintly, " 1 have." " Then we must be relatives of some kind, I suppose," he replied, with a slight touch of bitterness in his tone. " Six days on board ship gives plenty of opportunity for gossip and scandalmongering ; what we have got to do is to see that we don't augment the supply. We can be brother-in-law and sister-in-law, or cousins, if you prefer it." " Just as you like," she replied. "It is for you to say ; but I don't see that it matters in the least what people think or say concerning us." " I prefer that they shall think and say as little as possible," he said, with a little shrug of his shoulders. " Next Friday evening, or Saturday, probably, we shall arrive in Liverpool ; until then, I trust that we shall not inconvenience or bore each other." There was something sc different in his mann'^r and 3«9 il 320 A STUKMV VOYAGER. mode of speech from anything she had ever before seen in him, that she looked at him with a secret amazement. The situation was surely one of the oddest that could be conceived. She had not yet recovered from the shock of the surprise, and yet she was conscious of an inward feeling of satisfaction and peace borne of the thought that they were so near each other. She had been extremely prudent and careful in all her wander- ings, but had proved more than once that a young and pretty woman can scarcely expect to travel s^-^ many thousand miles alone without encountering rather more attention and observation than are agreeable to her. The feeling that she hsd now within call a strong protector, who, she felt sure, would stand up for her to the last, in spite of the shipwreck she had made of his life, gave her a feeling of deep contentment and security. Both felt the silence which en<;ued a little strained. George turned from her, and, lifting his cap, allowed the fresh ocean wind to blow upon his uncovered head. She could scarcely refrain from a little exclamation of surprise and dismay when she observed that his hair was quite grey. For the first time through all her careless life, in which she had been so indifferent to the feelings of others, a consciousness of her own folly and wickedness rose up before her like a spectre, and she saw herself for the moment as she was. The impulse came upon her, so strongly as to be almost irresistible, to kneel by him and humbly beg to be forgiven, but there was not the slightest encouragement to be obtained from his sad and inscrutable face. H<: looked like a man in whom all feeling was dead. Remembering him as he had been, she could have cried aloud ; yet she only stood by her chair with the A PRETTY COMEDY. 321 re seen sement. it could om the s of an ; of the ihe had wander- ung and s,"» many \er more ; to her. a strong > for her made of nent and strained. , allowed ;red head, nation of his hair Ih all her fiferent to own folly lectre, and /as. The le almost ,eg to be iragement Iface. Ho as dead. ,uld have ir with the hand laid on the back of it lightly, betraying nothing of these conflicting thoughts, although her face was still very pale. " I think I shall go downstairs," she said, with difficulty ; " that is, if you have nothing more to say to me." " I have nothing more to say," he answered politely, turning and regarding her as he might have regarded a stranger to whom he was expected to pay the most ordinary attention. " I hope that you have a comfort- able cabin, and everything that you require. I have some books in my portmanteau that I can give you later on if you have nothing to read." " Thank you ver>' much ; there is a library in the music saloon, but I think the books are mostly old," she replied, with a faint, dreary smile ; and gathering up her wraps she walked slowly away. The expression on her face as she went downstairs hastily to her state-room indicated that her nerves were strung to the highest pitch. She had long repented the idiotic and thoughtless step which she had taken, but its consequences had never seemed so appalling to her as now. The look of quiet and absolute indifference on her husband's face, where she had been wont to see nothing but the kindliest concern, had frozen her to the very soul ; she felt herself cut adrift from every- thing, and the future stretched before her a blank and hopeless vista, illumined by no ray of light. She closed her cabin d-or, slipped in the bolt, and threw herself in her berth. She was not a woman who gave way to tears readily, and now the burden lying upon her heart was too heavy to be assuaged by weeping. She lay there for many hours, 'with her head buried in her pillow, her brain a whirl of thought, which only confused 21 3^: A ^iTUNMV yuVAGLK. M m •I i and maddened and brought no order out of the chaos. She got up about six o'clock, made some little alteration in her dress, and wrapping a shawl about her, went up on deck. The evening was fresh and calm, and there was no diminution yet in the number of passengers on deck. Refreshed by their siesta and afternoon cup of tea, all seemed waiting with some impatience the sounding of the dinner-gong. Margaret stood a moment at the top of the stairs, her eyes sweep- ing the bus^ deck inquiringly. She had no object of interest in the busy scene except one. No one spoke to her, although many looked curiously at her. She was attractive enough to receive a good deal of attention anywhere, and being so young, it was natural that there should be considerable speculation about her. Presently, in a sheltered and pleasant corner, she caught sight of her husband. He apparently made one of a cosy family party whose chairs were arranged in a little circle. It consisted of an elderly widow lady, with a sweet, aristocratic- looking face, two lads, and a young lady who looked like the widow's daughter, although too old, perhaps, to be sister to the boys. Her years might have been thirty, and her face, without being strictly beautiful, was rendered singularly attractive by its bright expression and clever, animated features. They seemed to be all talking very merrily together, and George Keith's face had entirely lost that stony and somewhat contemptuous look which Margaret had seen on it some hours ago. He and the younger lady seemed to be carrying on a most animated conversation, with occasional interjections from the lively boys, while the mother looked on indulgently, with her pleasant, l)cni^n smile. Margaret cowld not but admire th§ f the : little about ih and lumber ita and 1 some [argaret 5 sweep- bject of le spoke er. She attention hat there Presently, sight of a cosy a little iy, with a a young although ler years lout being Iractive by features, together, :hat stony rgaret had inger lady nversation, toys, while |r pleasant, ,dmire th§ A PRETTY COAtEDY. 3*3 easy grace of her husband's appearance. For the first time in her life, looking at him, it occurred to her that he was almost handsome. A horrible feeling of loneli- ness crept over her ; a sick, jealous pang that he should be able to smile and be happy with others, while she was so miserable. The impulse was upon the wayward creature to rush up to the group, and putting her hand through her husband's arm, claim him as her own, and yet she dared not. Time was when it would have been a joy and a pride to him to have had her so claim him, but now he had cast her ofT, and had plainly told her that they must be as strangers. She was unable to bear the sight of that harmless little party, and her own thoughts became more and more intolerable to her. She moved over to the side of the ship, and, leaning upon the rail, looked down upon the great swell of the bright, green water ; the mystery of its foam clouds, and the irresistible beauty of its depths fascinated her. George caught sight of her by-and-by, and with a little apology to his new friends, with whom he had made acquaintance in the course of the afternoon, he came over to her side. " You have not been on deck all the afternoon, I think } " he said, and there was less constraint in his voice than formerly. " I hope that you are not feeling ill } " " Oh, no," she replied, " I know nothing about sea- sickness, and I don't expect to. I have been lying down only." " The gong will sound soon," he said then. " Where do you happen to sit ? Have you had your number ? " " Yes, it is far from you. There are two tables, I think, between us." •• That is a pity ; perhaps it would be as well to ill, M' ^m m 324 A STORMY VOYAGER. I'' have it altered. I will speak to the steward if you like." " It doesn't matter," she answered indifferently. " You £eem to have found your neighbours at the luncheon- table very pleasant." " Yes, they are," he replied frankly, "delightful people." " Who and what are they } " she asked, with a slight jealous imperiousness in her voice. " They are Americans ; they belong to Boston, and are going over to England for the season. Mrs. Bayard has a daughter married in London." " Is that young lady with her a daughter of hers too.?" " Yes, she is the eldest of the family ; one of the most delightful and cultivated women I have ever met." " Oh, perhaps it may be as well if I do not shift my seat," she replied petulantly. " I am not cultivated, you see, and I should certainly betray my ignorance." He smiled slightly at her vexation, and somehow that smile aggravated her almost beyond endurance. It seemed to indicate even yet more plainly the wide gulf between them. Time was when such a speech from her lips would have been met by a fond assurance that she was everything that was dearest and best in the world ; but now he only smiled, and seemed to agree with her own expressed opinion. " Just as you please," he said pleasantly. " Perhaps it might be as well as you say for you to remain at the other side of the room. People's eyes are very sharp, and it is just possible that we might betray ourselves, and there is no need for that." She felt furiously disappointed at his decision, but silently acquiesced, and at dinner, while she sat by a ponderous old gentleman who insisted on regaling in A rKETTV roMF.nv. 3«$ you "You heon- ;ople." slight n, and Bayard of hers he most :t." shift my ted, you ^" omehow durance. ;he wide speech assurance best in med to Perhaps [in at the |ry sharp, jurselves, ision, but Je sat by regaling her with comparisons between the Kcpubh'can and Monarchical forms of government, she had the morti- fication of seeing that the Bayards and George were evidently having a very lively time. And so it con- tinued through the whole six days of the voyage. George was very courteous and kind to her, paying her a good deal of quiet attention on deck, seeing to her comfort in every possible way, but he never evinced the slightest desire to have any further conversation with her, and distinctly shunned every attempt she made to allude to personal matter?. He did not introduce her to the Bayards, with whpm he spent a good deal of his time, and it was simply maddening to Margaret to see the evident pleasure he took in the company of Miss Bayard, with whom he strolled about on deck, talking with her in that animated and interested way which presented such a marked contrast to the quiet coldness of his demeanour when he addressed her. This little comedy, undreamed of by those on board, and which had in it so much of tragedy for these two estranged hearts, continued day by day until they came within sight of England. Margaret did not know, of course, that her husband had been scarcely less miserable than she, and that, believing her not only entirely indifferent to himself, but that his presence and his talk were irksome to her, he was glad to seek some diversion in the company of others, nor did she know how many sleepless hours were his, nor how many nights he had walked the deck under the silent stars considering what was to be done when they should land, and pondering over the probable issue of this strange drama. • It was a most propitious voyage, and they arrived in the Mersey early on Friday ; it then became necessary I 3>6 A STOKMV I'OYAGEH. that there should be some further talk between them about what was to be done when they should land. Margaret packed her belongings early, and was on deck ready for shore long before the landing-stage was in sight. She was standing somewhat listlessly in one of her favourite corners watching the coast line pass when her husband came up, looking a trifle pale, and with that strange expression of cold determination on his face which she had seen first on the day they left New York. " I have been looking for you," he said quietly. " We shall land within an hour, and before we do land per- haps it will be as well that we come to some under- standing. Have you got anything to say, any plan in your head } If so, I should be very glad to hear it." !! t n thcni incl. was on age was y in one ine pass ,:>ale, and lation on they left ly. "We land per- ne under- ly plan in lear it." CHAPTKR XL. MV ilD.MK NO MOKE. UK deck was thronged — each passenger intent on his or her own concerns, and the suppressed excitement of arrival in port visible everywhere. No one had time to pay any attention to the two figures at the far end of the boat ; they were as absolutely alone as if they had been in a country lane. Margaret made no reply, but stood with her eyes fixed on the muddy current of the Mersey, which presented a strong contrast to the cool, clear, green billows and the snowdrift foam of the ocean they had crossed. " The time is passing," he said quickly, but not un- gently. " Tell me what you have in your mind." " I have nothing in my mind," she replied duJIy. •' Mrs. Dalrymple hinted that you had said something about going to an old governess," he suggested, keeping his eyes keenly on her face. He saw her start and give a little shiver. " I may have said so," she replied, in the same faint, dull voice, " but I had no such intention." To her astonishment he turned away from her, took a stride across the deck, and came back to her side. .327 ^1 328 A STORMY I'OYAGEK. m Will u m m % m "lam still waiting for you to say something, Margaret ; it is impossible, of course, that I can make any sugges- tion." '* Why is it so impossible ? " she asked, betraying for the first time a flash of her old spirit. " I decline to say. All I wish to know is whether we are to part on the landing-stage at Liverpool or not } " " I do not know," she answered listlessly, as if the life had gone out of her. " Then you wish me to make a suggestion, perhaps ? " he said politely, but with that studied coldness of manner which during the whole week had so cut her to the heart " If you will," she answered. ^ " Then I would suggest that we return to Edinburgh together," he said quietly. • Her face was turned away from him, and he did not see the quick and vivid light which sprang into her eyes, nor the flush which dyed her cheek. " It will be an unspeakable relief and comfort tc me when I can place you in your mother's care." The light faded from her eyes, and she gave her head an impatient shake. " Where is mamma.?" she asked in her old listless voice. " At Blacket Place, of course, waiting. I telegraphed to her yesterday afternoon from Queenstown." " Did you say that we were going back together } " she asked quickly. " No, I could not take so much upon myself, but I can telegraph to her when we land." There was a moment's silence. Margaret seemed to be pondering something deeply in her mind. Presently she turned to him, and there was a look in her eyes which somewhat p!'zzled him. " Do I understand that you wish me to go home with J/) HOME SO MORE. 3»9 aret ; gges- ig for lether not ? " he life aps?" lanner heart. iburgh iid not ir eyes, tc me ;r head s voice, raphed ther ? " , but I Imed to [esently which with you ; that you have no word of reproach or blame for me?" His face flushed suddenly and deeply, and the veins in his forehead seemed to stand out like cords. It was a moment before he could control himself sufficiently to answer her as calmly as he wished. " I have said nothing at all about that. What I wish is that you come home to those who have your best interest at heart, and I would wish to avoid open scandal if I can." She bowed slightly, and turned away with a weary and somewhat wistful look on her face. *• I quite understand," she replied ; " we need not say any more about it now." " I may wire to your mother that we shall arrive this evening, then } We shall be in time for the three o'clock train, which will take us to Edinburgh about nine." " Make whatever arrangements you think fit," she said listlessly. •* Very well ; your luggage is all ready, I think. I must go and say good-bye to the Bayards. I promised to see them before we landed, and we shall be up directly." He turned away from her in the same cool, matter-of- fact way, as if parting from the merest acquaintance. Margaret remained where he left her, looking into the turbid depths of the river with such an awful bitterness in her heart that she felt almost tempted to end it all by one plunge into those fatal depths ; for she was no longer of any account in the world to any human being. Her husband, whose worth she was beginning to prove, and to whom her heart had turned during the bitter days through which she had lived, was totally estranged from her, and would have none of her. She read it in the cold, calm glance of his eye, in the studied civility of his i "i! 'ii '.! ill ii I ^^o A STOKMY yOVAGEfi. manner, which marked an impassable If between them. He desired her safety and well-being, peilnps as one niii,'ht desire that of some wayward child. His mind would not be quite at rest until he had her once more under her mother's supervision, and that was all. She missed the old loving glance from his kind eyes ; his face no longer lighted when he saw her. At last she had killed the patient, enduring love in a good man's heart. She witnessed his parting with the Bayards, exaggerating the exchange of mere friendly farewells, and imagining that the heart estranged from her had turned to that gracious and queenly woman to whom honour and good report were as the breath of life, and that he only now regarded her as an obstacle in the way of the enduring happiness which might have been his. She was far, far from the truth. George Keith merely left his new-made friends with the ordinary regrets which one feels at parting with a pleasant acquaintance ; his whole mind and heart were filled with Margaret. The journey to both seemed long and tedious ; they travelled only part of the way in the same compart- ment, Keith making the excuse to spend a considerable portion of the time in a smoking carriage ; but he was attentive to her comfort, and did not allow her to feel herself neglected in the smallest degree. They arrived punctually in Edinburgh at nine o'clock. As Margaret stepped from the train on to the familiar platform she felt like a person in a dream, and but for the sick, numb feeling at her heart she might have believed the events of the past month the products of a disturbed imagination. Not being overburdened with luggage, there was no delay, and the cab bore them rapidly out to their own home. Margaret was not conscious of any particular sensations at the prospect of meeting Ajy HOME \0 MORE. 33 « her mother : it seemed to her that the bitterness of death was past since the man who had loved her so truly and so long now regarded her as a stranger. When the rattle of the wheels broke the stillness of the quiet street the door of the familiar house was hastily opened, and Margaret saw her mother standing on the threshold, the full light of the hall lamp falling upon her, and revealing the terrible change that the weeks of agony and suspense had wrought upon her. The ruddy colour had all died from her cheeks, which were no longer plump and comely ; she looked in her black gown and widow's cap almost like a frail old woman. Margaret's limbs tottered as she approached the door ; she did not know, of course, of the carefully worded message which had been tele- graphed from the station at Liverpool, and she feared the reproaches which so far her husband had spared her. She felt that in her present overstrung condition she could not bear them ; but, lo I none came. How- ever great her agitation, Mrs. Keith betrayed no sign, but received her daughter quietly, almost as if she were returning from an ordinary visit. She did not refuse to kiss her, only her lips could utter no sound, and great tears rolled down her cheeks. Each drop seemed to sear the heart of Margaret Keith as if with a red-hot iron. Surely never was there such a strange home- coming. Margaret went upstairs mechanically, followed by her mother, who opened the door of her own room and motioned her in. It was then that the tension of the meeting became intolerable. Margaret's fingers, cold as ice, trembled so that she could not unfasten the buttons of her cloak. Her mother approached to help her, but Margaret felt that she could not suffer those kind hands about her ; the longing to throw herself s m 332 A STOHA/y Voy.iCER. upon her breast and weep out there all the agony with which her heart was full was almost more than she could bear, and yet she feared, not knowing how it might be received. " I am afraid you are very tired, my dear," said her mother gently. " It is a long journey from Liverpool to Edinburgh." This commonplace remark restored something of Mar- garet's composure to her. She turned round suddenly. " Mother," she cried, with a sharp, strange ring in her voice, " what does all this forbearance mean ? Why doesn't somebody curse me as I deserve ? I should like it better than this ; I cannot bear it." '» Her mother's face became a shade whiter. '* It is not a time for cursings Peggy," she answered sadly. " I have no room in my heart for anything to- night but gratitude and thankfulness to God beciuse you are safe." "What are you made of?" cried Margaret shrilly. " I expected a storm of reproaches, and I think I should welcome them ; not that I need to be told of my wickedness and ingratitude — oh, I know it all too well, nor is my punishment lacking. Oh, mother, if only I had died when papa died, or, better still, when I was a little baby." Mrs. Keith could not speak, because that had been the bitter cry of her own heart many times during the past sad weeks. She remembered the days of her early married life, when she had rebelled because this one gift was denied her. How she had prayed, like Hannah of old, that a child might be given her I Surely she had paid for that rebellious discontent, and her motherhood all these years had been but a fearful and precarious joy. was They becaus been i MY HOME i\(J MORE. 333 ihrilly. ink I lold of ill too er, if when " Hush ! I do not think you have much reason to complain of your punishment. You have a husband such as few women are blessed with. Do you think there is one man in a thousand, or one in this whole city of Edinburj^h, who would have taken the journey he has taken, and brought back a wife so little worthy of the name, even altliough ;.e believed her to be blameless > I tell you you might go down on your knees, and thank God for him, even while you ask forgiveness for your own sins." " Oh, I know he is good," said Margaret, with a little wildness of look and tone, " but, all the same, he has cast me out of his heart ; he has brought me home to you, but he no longer looks upon me as his wife." "Well, I don't blame him," Mrs. Keith replied. "What you have got to do now is to let him guide your life, to leave yourself in his hands, and be thankful for what is left. Now, I must go down to him ; he more deserves any care and love that I can give him, Peggy, than you, because his heart is broken." " And what about mine } " said the girl to herself in a voiceless whisper, as her mother went out of the room and closed the door. She sat still on the chair, staring before her with a look of set misery on her fac^. She was once more in the haven for which she had so feverishly and passionately longed through many a dark hour during the last month, and yet no sense of peace or of rest came home to her riven heart. The pain of it was so intolerable that she could scarcely bear it ; it was her home, and yet not her home ; she was suffered under its roof rather than welcomed. They were glad that she had come back, perhaps, because it put an end to the anxiety by which they had been consumed ; to feel that she was safe was some- I'fr I t ' :ii 334 // STOKMY IVY ACER. thing of a relief to them, and that was all. Too late, she told herself, she had awakened to a keen, quick passionate sense of all the precous things of life which had been hers, and which she had so ruthlessly trampled upon. Looking back upon the stormy waters of her married life, she was amazed that she should have been so blind. Too much had been lavished upon her from her birth ; love had been poured at her feet, and she had scorned it as we scorn the things we have to repletion, and now, when her starved heart cried out for some drop from that precious store, lo ! it had passed her by for ever. George Keith and his aunt sat talking far into the night, long after Margaret had gone to bed. He told her everything that had transpired since he set out upon his hurried journey, and also made plain to her the course of action which he had mapped out for himself. Next morning before he went to business he asked Margaret to give him her attention for a few minutes. There was still in his manner that studied formality which had marked it since they had met on board the steamer. He had schooled himself to it, but it was a hard task for him to maintain it, especially when he caught a certain wistful and beseeching look in his wife's eyes which had seldom visited them in the past. " I hope you have rested," he said kindly, " and that our talk did not disturb you. We sat up rather late." " I heard you," she replied ; " I slept very little." " Your mother, of course, had a good deal to hear, and I felt in no mood myself for sleep. I am going ilown to business immediately, but before I go I should just like to say to you that if you still care for the shelter of this roof you arc welcome to it. It is not absolutely necessary that the world should know how A/y HOME so MORK. 335 late, uick ;hicli ipled f her been from d she ietion, some :d her to the le told t upon ler the limself. asked linutes. rmality ard the was a hen he in his le past. Ind that ^r late." ile." |to hear, going should for the is not low how nearly our lives have been shipwrecked ; those who can and do spare a little scandal in these scandal-loving times are to be commended. What I wish to say is, that if you are willing to remain I shall not molest or interfere with you in the slightest degree. I will not hide from you that the step you took caused me as much humiliation and pain as it could have caused any man, but I can bear it, and I shall endeavour to take up some of the outside interests which occupied me before my marriage, so that you may feel yourself perfectly free to come and go and live as you please. All I ask is for your own sake as well as mine that you retain my name and the shelter of my roof." He delivered himself of these words in a calmly judicial manner, which indicated that they were the result of much study and cogitation. Margaret heard him in silence with gradually whitening face. " You mean," she said at length, seeing that he waited with polite patience for her answer, "you mean that I shall be your wife in name only } " He bowed gravely. " You can consider the matter, and give me your decision when you have arrived at it," he replied, and turning upon his heel quitted the room. I ( n\ (i'l CHAPTER XLI. I IN THE SUNS TRACK. iP outward appearance there was no change in the life of the Keiths at Blacket Place. Young Mrs. Keith had been absent from her home for rather more than a month, but no one knew how far she had travelled. When the servants saw their master and mistress return together in orthodox and matter-of-fact fashion, they , began to think that they had been inclined to exag- gerate, nor could they discover any flaw in their demeanour towards each other. Fortunately they were not sufficiently keen observers to be able to read between the lines, or beneath the surface. George Keith seemed more devoted to business than ever, and it might have been observed how seldom he was alone with his wife, and how rarely they went out together. Mrs. Keith still remained an inmate of the house, and between her and her daughter there gradually arose a better understanding. Shut out from her husband's confidence and most intimate companionship, Margaret's sore and aching heart tj^rned instinctively to her mother — not that there was ever any demonstration of affection between them ; it was rather indicated by the satisfaction and peace which the girl seemed to find in 336 IN THE SUN'S TRACK. 337 hange Place, t from month, When return n, they exag- Iheir they [to read George er, and is alone igether. ise, and [arose a isband's .rgaret's to her ation of by the find in her mother's constant companionship. But whatever their talk, the strained relations between Margaret and her husband was the one tabooed subject between them ; it was a thing which could not bear talking about. The looker-on has the advantage in most cases ; he or she can generally form a just and impartial judgment of how matters stand. In this . ^se Mrs. Keith was the looker-on, and she speedily came < the conclusion that before there could be any betterment of the relations between Margaret and her husband it would be expedient for her to retire from the scene. Being an eminently practical person, - nd having come to this conclusion, she immediately proceeded to act upon it, and to make arrangements for returning to her own domicile. The first idea, of course, haa been that she should only remain the winter at Blacket Place. This Mrs. Heriot, in taking the Princes Street house, had understood, and was therefore quite prepared to find shelter elsewhere. Mrs. Keith waited until her tenants had made their arrangements before she said anything, and it was nearly midsummer before every- thing was settled. She came back one afternoon from one of her expeditions down town looking particularly well satisfied, for matters had at length arranged themselves according to her mind. " I daresay you have been wondering what has taken me so much down to Princes Street lately, Peggy," she said, as they sat at their tea, " and why I have never encouraged you to come with me. I have simply been making arrangements to return to the old house, and I was afraid to let George or you know anything about it, in case you would stand in the way." " And are you going to leave us, mamma } " asked Margaret, her cheek paling slightly. 22 ^i i •ill 338 A STORMY I'UYAGER. mi Mrs. Keith cheerfully nodded. She saw the chanfje on the girl's face, but affected not to notice it. " You know it was only agreed that I should stay for the winter, and now it is June, and quite time I got back to my own house. I think I was rather wearying for it, though, of course, I have been very comfortable here." '• But what do you suppose I am going to do } " asked Margaret faintly. " I shall have no one." "Oh, yes, you have your husband, and the time has come when it will be better for you and George to be alone again," said Mrs. Keith, with a slight tremor in her voice, which she could not altogether subdue. " You know, as well as I, that George would rather do anything on this earth than be left alone with me," said Margaret, with a strange touch of passion in her voice. " I am sure he will be very angry when he hears what you are contemplating, and I don't believe that he will ever give his consent." " My dear, I am not under his control," responded her mother calmly, " and George knows a deal better than to interfere with me ; and as to him. not wishing to be left alone with you, that is all nonsense. Those on the outside sec most, and I know very well, my lassie, what I am doing." Margaret said no more, but during the next day or two, when her mother was busy with her own arrange- ments, she pondered these words a good deal in her •Tiind. Her departure was not delayed : the Heriots, having secured a new domicile, vacated the house, which a day or two sufficed to put into that apple-pie order which the soul of Mrs. Keith loved, and early in the following week she departed with all her belongings from the house in Blacket Place. She felt more at going AV 77/ A S/'\S TNACK. 339 an^e stay ime 1 •athcr very kcd as ne has ! to be mor in rather ch me," in her le hears ve that iponded ,1 better wishing Those ,y lassie, t day or arrange- in her Heriots, 2, which ie order y in the ilongings at going than she cared to say, but she did not cticouraijo any talk •ibout it, and bade good-bye to her daughter in the most matter-of-fact way, which caused Margaret to secretly wonder whether she felt it at all. lUit after the door was shut, and the cab rolled away, the widow's tears fell fast, and a most passionate and earnest nraycr rose from her heart that the bitter cloud should be lifted from the home which might be so happy, and that love should spread its sweet wings over it, bringing to the inmates happiness and peace. Margaret was conscious of a strange sense of nervous- ness at being left for the first time at home with her husband alone. She dressed herself that night with greater care than usual, though of late she had aTected a much less elaborate style of attire. It was a dull, rainy night, cold for the .season, and she ordered a fire to be lit in the little morning-room, though dinner was laid as usual in the dining-room. She quite expected that George would be late, and that he would have lingered, perhaps, to see her mother settled in her old home ; but he arrived punctually at half-past seven, ar 1 she was astonished when the door opened to hear him whistle, which he had not done for many a long day. She came out of the morning-room with a faint, hesitat- ing smile on her lips, remembering the old days when she had come to meet him without hesitation or doubt, knowing that at any and all hours of the day, and in whatever mood, she was a welcome vision to his eyes. "You are very punctual, George," she said, as he gave her a nod and smile in greeting. " Yes, I came as fast as I could, as I thought that probably you would be feeling a bit dull. We will miss the mother, Peggy." " Yes, but I think she had got a little tired of us. ;=! 340 // srohwfy yovAaiiK. I?,. and you know there never will be any home to her in the world like the old one." " That is so," he assented. " Well, you can let them bring the dinner up ; I shall be ready in two minutes." Their talk did not flag at the table, and the maid who waited upon them came to the conclusion that they were likely to be far happier left alone. When dinner was over, George retired into the morning-room to his pipe, and seemed plea.sed to see the fire, and the cheerful, homely aspect of the place. " I thought, perhaps, you might like to go to the theatre to-night, Peggy," he said kindly, " in case you are feeling dull. I think we are in time yet if you like to, but, upon my word, it looks very tempting here." " I don't want to go, thank you," she replied quickly. " That is all right, neither do I," he answered, and threw himself with evident contentment into his own chair. Margaret did not offer to sit down beside him, but wandered out of the room presently, and upstairs to the drawing-room, which looked rather dull and cheer- less in comparison with the room downstairs. It was directly above the morning-room, and George could hear her pacing up and down, and his face assumed a graver look. He felt that things had come to a crisis with them, and that, perhaps, this very night would decide their future weal or woe. In the solitude of the great gloomy room, which was but half-lighted by the shaded lamps, Margaret felt her excitement gradually rising. She had been strung up in mind and heart for many days, and now the strain upon her had become unendurable. Since the day that George and she had stood side by side on the /A 1111'. St'XS Th.K K. VII in let two natd that /hen oom 1 the ) the 5 you u like e." iickly. d, and own m, but lirs to cheer- t was could tned a crisis would ch was elt her n»g up strain le day Ion the deck of the Gernitviic, as she steamed heavily up the Mersey, there had not passed between them one single word relating to that strange, wild episode which now seemed to her like a hideous dream. That was two months ago, and though there was a semblance of peace between them, so far as the outward observance of it was concerned, they were still very wide apart, and she felt that the state of affairs could not possibly go on. Something must be said or done to end it, and if the first word must be uttered by her, why, then, the sooner the better. Here was her opportunity — the first night they were left alone together again under their own roof-tree. Accustomed to act upon whatever impulses visited her, and having come to the conclusion that it was best that she should speak, she turned swiftly to leave the room. As she passed the console table at the door she caught a glimpse of her own face, and figure in it, and was struck for the first time by an indefinable change in her whole appearance. In a moment it came home to her that her youth had gone ; that she was no longer a girl to whom life was an empty play, but a woman who had awakened to its terrible meaning, and to its boundless possibilities for good or ill. She was not less beautiful than aforetime, nay, the seeing and discerning eye would have un- hesitatingly given the palm to that sweet, if somewhat sad face, lit by its glorious and pathetic eyes. Her limbs trembled as she stepped down the wide staircase, her light footfall giving forth no sound on the thick carpet. When she opened the door of the morning- room where her husband sat, she was surprised to see that he had laid aside his pipe, and appeared to be deeply absorbed in thought. He turned at the opening of the door, and, seeing something in her face which '.r. A STOAA/y VOVAGEI^. m i H- .1 warned him what was coming, he rose to his feet. She carefully closed the door, and then came forward nervously, clasping and unclasping her hands. " There is something I want to say to you, George," she said, her breath coming quickly, and the colour fluctuating in her ch ek, " something I have wished to say all the time since we came home, but I have not dared. I can't go on any longer, but must speak, whatever the end may be." " I am listening," he said, regarding her with a great gentleness. " Won't you sit down } You are so nervous and excited you make me anxious." " Oh, I am glad if anything I can say or do can make you anxious," she cried. " Can't you see tha: the past two months have nearly killed me } And I want to know how much fonger it is to go on." He leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece, and ran his fingers through his grey hair, perplexedly troubled how to act and what to say. " I have acted, as I thought, for the best," he re- plied, still gently. " I have done all I could ; if there is anything else you would prefer, pray tell me." She leaned one hand on the table, and with the other pressed against her beating heart she looked up at him with eyes which stirred in his heart the love which had never altered nor grown cold. " Oh, I have no complaint to make ; you have been goodness itself, only you have shut me out, you have made a stranger of me, I am no longer your wife. It is that that is killing me ; I can't bear it ; indeed 1 can't.' " But, Margaret, listen ; what was I to do } You left me of your own free will, without warning and without excuse ; what could I think but that I had grown hateful to you, that the tic which bound you to AV THE Sl/X S Th'ACA'. 345 s feet. orwaiJ reorge," colour shed to ave not speak, a great are so • do can see tha: And I It id ran his ibled how ," he re- , if there le." with the looked up the love kave been I you have wife. It |:d 1 can't; Jo ? You |rning and lat 1 had Ind you to me had become a bondage too intolerable to be borne ? When you agreed to return with me, I thought naturally that you did agree only because there seemed no other way open. I made up my mind, of course, that while I should gladly give you the shelter of my home so long as you wished it, I should never force myself upon you, or insist in any way upon my relations with you. I told you so, you Vi-ill remember, the day after our return, and I have done my best to keep to the letter of my resolve. Sometimes it has been less easy to adhere to it in spirit." He did not look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on the fire, his whole attitude that of a man arrived at his wits' end. She made no reply, but stood by the table with one hand over her eyes, until he turned to her again. " If you feel that you cannot remain here now that your mother has gone, why, then, we must face it," he said bravely. " She will be glad to have you, I do not doubt, and I — well, I shall be but where I was before, and I daresay existence will be possible to me, although happiness should be no longer an element in it." " Oh, why will you so wilfully misunderstand me ? " she cried then, with a sudden passion which amazed him. " Is it that you have ceased to care for me ^ If you tell me that, I will go out of the house, and never seek to come back." " I cannot tell you what is not true," he answered sadly. " It has been my misfortune to love not wisely but too well, but at the same time I have had my eyes opened to the folly of trying to keep an unwilling wife at my side. That mistake I shall never make again." Then suddenly, with a little passionate cry, she ran to him, falling at his feet before he could restrain her. •* Oh, can't you sec what it is that is killing me ? "' 344 A yWRMV VUVAGKK. il she cried, her voice shrill with pain. " I have learnt, perhaps too late, the value of the heart I have trampled on. There is nothin^j on earth I care for now except your love. I am down in the dust at y»:ur feet, my husband, begging to be forgiven ; to be taken back as I was before ; to be allowed one little chance to atone for all that has gone." George Keith stood still, looking down upon the kneeling figure, his face working strangely. He could not believe that he heard aright, that it was Margaret's face uplifted so appealingly to his with a light upon it which he had never seen there before, that it was Margaret's voice vibrating with tenderness which fell upon his ears. He stooped down at length, and gathered her with his strong arms close to his heart. " Down in the dust, are you, my poor wife ? " he said brokenly. " God forbid that I should keep you there." # # « # « So these two, whose barque had been so nearly ship- wrecked on the matrimonial sea, set sail again together in the sun's track ; and there came a time in the sunny after years when they could look back without a shudder upon the days that had been so dark. It must not be supposed that their happiness was perfect, because they were but human, and perfection is not of earth ; but there never was any furthc misunderstanding or es- trangement between them, and there v.'as in Margaret's love for her husband an element of passionate gratitude which gave to it a singularly pathetic and clinging touch. She had proved him to the utmost in that terrible crisis of her life, and he had not been found wanting. Of the other figures who have taken some share in this history there is not much to be said. Mrs. Keith learnt, ampled except cet, my back as ;o atone pon the le could argarct's upon it : it was rhich fell gth, and heart, ife ? " he keep you arly ship- together ;he sunny la shudder ist not be ause they larth ; but jng or es- argaret's gratitude |ing touch, .t terrible [vanting. share in rs. Keith "IIK STOOPED DOWN AI LtNGfU, AND (jAllll.Khl) IIKH IN lll'i SIKONCJ ARMS." [/'rti'f 344. \^'fi \^i IN THE SUN'S TRACK. 345 was spared for many years to see the happiness of her children, and to rejoice over it as a gift of God. In the far North-West there is another home which is a type of what a home should be, and may be, when those at its head wa!H together in heart and have a common bond of union. In the land of hi:> adoption Scott Dalrymple has redeemed his idle youth, and has found in Linda a true helpmeet in all that makes for righteousness. So were the last days better than the first. Well for those whose stormy voyaging brings them at length into such a sheltered and happy haven. THE END. m^ ■| tti i Ml I! i II If ■! III I I' t '■ ... n CAN ADIAN COPYRI GHT ED ITION OF THE PO PULAR STORIES OF ANNIE S. SWAN. A 8T0RBIY VOYAGER ... •1.25 A VICTORY WON MEMOIRS OF MARGARET GRAINGER, SCHOOLMISTRESS A BITTER DEBT. A lalo of l»ie Hlack Country. THE GATES OF EDEN. A Story of Kiidctivor. .... ST. 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