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Lorsqua la documant ast Irop grand pour atra raproduit an un saul clich*, il ast film* S panir da I'angls supiriaur gaucha, da gaucna i droita, at da haut an baa, an pranant la nombra d'imagas n*csssaira. Laa diagrammas suivants illustrant la mtthoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 456 MICtOCOfY HesOlUTHJN TBI CHABT (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No 2| IL 1.25 Ife Ilia Ilia |1£ ■ 3.6 u M 1.6 ^ r^PPUEDJVHGE In ^. 1653 t„,l «„,„ s„„i ^= (716) .182 - 0300 - nm ^^ (.'16) 288 - 5989 - To. DANNY DANNY BY ALFRED OLLIVANT Author of "Bob, Son of Battle " TORONTO GEORGE N. MORANG & CO., Ltd. 1901 Entered according tu Act of Purliamtnt of C.nnada. in the y»r Nince«n Hundred .ind Two. by UiomoR N. Mohanu & CoiiF*H¥. LiniiiaJ, at th« D^p^trtintiit uf Affriculturti ■ IIU'TKR 1, II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. will. XIX. CONTENTS P.iRT I I-aird and l.ady 'I'lic KniKhlKrrant 'I'hat Doag •1-hey Steal His Love fr,'„„ ,'„,„j. Missie Away His Lndy's Slipper I'ani s Search LocL.nvar is at the Door Uanny Does Homage P^RT I , Robin, the Oracle Warrior, Saint, and Searcher-Out Son of His Father and Afflicted The Woman Prophesies The Watchers on Lammer-more Danny's Tryst The Papish Philistine A Man of His Word " Where Is My Danny?" On Windy-hope TACK • 3 • >7 3' 35 4" 49 6i n 79 • 87 • 9i . 101 . 109 • "5 ' "9 ■^S 'ii '41 '47 VI CONTENTS— a-«/;/»««a' CHAPTER PAGE XX. Simon and the Englishman '53 XXI. The Doomed Knight . i6i XXII. The Return of the Reiver . .67 XXIII. The Shadow of the Dead 177 XXIV. " There's No Place Like Home " PART III 181 XXV. The Kirk-Breaker . 187 XXVI. The Heretic .... »95 XXVII. The Trade-Mark of Deborah Awe 203 XXVIII. The Conformist . . . . 207 XXIX. The Dark Woman "S XXX. The Laird Recounts History 219 XXXI. The Devil in a Bag 229 xxxii. This Side the Grave 233 XXXIII. Simon Dead and Gone 239 XXXIV. The Laird Rides South 243 XXXV. Robin and the Englisher 253 XXXVI. Ban and Counter-ban 261 XXXVII. How Simon Failed to Earn a Guinea 265 XXXVIII. The Killing Cure . . . . 269 XXXIX. The Warrior Wakes . . . 277 XL. Her 28s XLI. Simon Whispers . . . . 297 XLII. Robin Takes a Turn 3°S XLIII. The Swooning of Simon 3'3 XLIV. The Night-watchman 319 XLV. The Tear of Blood 329 CONTENTS-CW/>,«^rf CHAPTER XLVI. XLVII. XLVIII. XLIX. L. LI. LII. LIII. LIV. LV. LVI. LVII. LVIII. LIX. Watching the Weather . A Flighty Bit The Face of the Dream The Laird Gets Up from the The Laird Keeps His Kirk The Keeper of the Door Simon and the Laird A Thread of Fate Forever Danny Dead . The Expiation On Lammer-more . The Voice of the Beloved Sleep • . . . PACK • 339 • 347 • 355 Grave 361 • 37' • 375 • 379 •38s • 391 • 399 • 40s • 415 • 419 • 425 r LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS °^"y Frontispiece Facing Pagb ■ . . S8 " Like a child, greatly afraid " . "'What is it? 'panted Lady" . " Dropped into sullen silence as he entered " " ' I conform,' said he sulkily " . " Sat out the world-wearying service " " Huddled against the door, an old, quavering figure " ..... " An old white Quixote on a white Rosinante " . 1^0 . 176 ■ 234 292 358 410 1 PART I Danny CHAPTER I Laird and Lady There came a knock at the Laird's door, very shy. "Who's there ?" he growled. "It's me, Massa," said a timid voice. "Come in. Me," said the Laird, grimly, and swung in his chair. There entered the Laird's lady, who might have been his daughter. "I'm not disturbing you?" she asked, stand- ing against the door, slim, shy, and with alarmed child's eyes. "You are," said the Laird. "O," said the lady, "sh-shall I go?" "It's done now." "Awful sorry," said the lady. The Laird grunted. "What is it?" "O, it's not'ning," said the lady; and whis- pered, "Hush ! do hush !" to a noise of snuffling without. 4 Danny "Why disturb me then?" "Because it's— well— ra//ier nice," said the lady. "O, show it in !" said the Laird. "May I ?" said she, with leaping eyes, and opened the door delicately. "Danny !" she called, bent, and enticed with slim long fingers. "Hss ! hss ! Danny, wee man !" Busily through the crack there came a knight- ly babe in tabard of clouded silver; halted on a lion's skin; and stood there with uplifted head and the shy delightful dignity of one gentleman doubtful of his welcome at the hands of another. The grey man eyed him with grim unwelcom- ing stare. "What is he?" he asked. "A Dandie, of course," said the lady. "Isn't he a duck?" "I've seen uglier," allowed the Laird. "May I then?" asked the lady, with quick, anxious eyes. "What?" "Why, keep him?" "Why should ye?" "O, didn't I tell you?" said the lady qui'kly. "He's a present. Andie Campbell sent him. I thought I'd said." Laird and Lady S i "What's young Campbell want sending you presents ?" growled the Laird. "It wasn't a present," said the lady quickly. "Then why d'ye say it was?" "I didn't," panted the lady. "I said it wasn't. And don't be such a grump. . . . Not like a present to call a present," she added. "You see," she continued, "I'm bound to have him — sort of." "If you're bound to have him, sort of," said the Laird, "why ask me?" "I don't," said the lady; "I only want to know if you mind." "I do." "But you won't when you know." "I will," said the Laird, and returned to his writing. The lady stood by the door and chewei the end of a baby handkerchief. "You see," she said, lifting eyes of woe, "if T don't — he's got — to go " She paused. The Laird ceased from his writing. "Where?" "You know," said the lady, and nodded ominously. "I guess," said the Laird, and resumed his writing. "In a bucket," said the ladv. 6 Danny "As good a way as any," said the Laird, writing on. She looked at the grim back with wounded eyes. "Don't you care?" "Not a finger-flip," said the Laird. "O," said the la" The lady looked. "He has laid it at your feet !" jeered the Woman. "O the cannie laddie.' he bears ye m mmd even while he's at his bloodying." The lady bent and picked up the bloody sop She looked at it ; shf- looked into her true knight's eyes; and he smiled up at her, there in the fair face of heaven, because he had made his amend • but she was pale. "This is different," she said. "Follow me " And Danny's soul died out of him, and he fol- lowed her. The tone of her voice struck the Woman's ear _ "Dear sakes, Missie I" she cried aghast. 'What's come to ye?" The lady held up the bloody sop without a word. "What is it ?" asked the Woman. "It is murder." said Missie, pale-lipped. "It is no more murder than usual," retorted the Woman. I 24 Danny "It is," said the lady, and added pitifully, "Danny has killed a chicken, and I am taking him to the Laird that he may deal with him." Pale and miserable she marched on her way, and Danny draggled at her heels. The Woman followed, fiat-footed, grim. A sound of one running and cursing as he ran came to them. The Woman turned. An aged beldam of a man, unbonnetted, with dim ringlets dripping about his face, and weeping eye, was stumbling down the hill towards them. The Woman turned in sour disgust. The old man caught up with them. "Where away, Woman?" he panted. "To his Honour," said the grim Woman, marching at Missie's heels. "The other mur- derer has killed once ower often. He has killed that you see in Missie's hand." "That ?" cried the old man in grim scorn. "Think you that is all?" "What," screamed the woman, " is there more?" "Leuk !" said the grim old rr'i.n, and thrust forth a horrible hand. The Woman stopped. «?^.*spi2^<: Tlic Knight-Errant 35 i I ' she screamed. "O IS ^^ "Murder ' Ifs a massacree ! "A massai ree of Incense." "Ve may say that," said the old man It was fine to see !" ''Hear him, Missie !" screamed the Woman O the bloody Belial !" Missie had turned. "You saw him at it !" she asked, cold death. "I did so," said the gleeful old man. "I was in my luck's way." ;_'And you let him !" with stinging eyes Ana why for should I hinder him?" cried the old man hotly. "Would ye ha' him forego the gift that has been given him .?" ^ '•Gift!" shrilled the Woman. "And what IS Danny's gift.?-to make families fatherless andyoueggin' him." "To attend deathbeds," said the other sol- emnly "and comfort the dying. A gran' work for a Chnstian ! " said the preacher of the weep- ing eye. "Death is hard, yet all that lives must come to it. Now a man may die easy or he may die hard; he may die quick, and comfie or he may linger long. And to make death qu>ck to them that might die long, to make it easy for them that might find it hard, that " said the preacher, "is Danny's gift; and none can say but that he made the most of it " '^•f^m^m 36 Danny "There's a pair of ye !" screamed the Woman. "Each bloodier nor t'ither." "I try to live up to him," said the meek old man. ^,^ ,... "Hear him, Missie !" shrilled the Woman. It was this shedder of blood set that one on like as not He should hang too." "You will come with me," said the lady to the old man, and turned on her way. "Will I ?" said the other, not stirrmg. ' Where to?" . , "To his Honour," said the Woman grimly. "Whvfor?" "To help hang Danny," said the grim Woman. The old man stared and started in pursuit. "You're no going to deliver him into the Laird's hands, Missie?" he asked aghast. "I am," said Missie. "Just for a bit massacree ?" cried the old man. "For murder," said Missie. "It was a prom- ise." The old man drew a deep breath. "Then the Lord pity my man, for the Laird will not. He will hang him." "He will so," said the Woman. "He is sore on murder is His Honour. 'A murder, A Lie, Lechery, Treachery—these are the abomi- nations,' " she quoted. "He was not that sore on it," said the The Knight-ErraiU ly other bitterly, "when he murdered one him- self." Missie marched on. "I tell you he will hang him, Missie," cried the old man at her heels, "hang him by his neck — so," and acted it, gu'-gling horribly. "It would be just," said Missie, pale as lilies. "It would be just murder!" cried the other. "More by token it is not murder Danny has done." "Na," said the Woman, "it's a massacree." "He has killed a chicken," said Missie, not to be cajoled; "and that is murder; and Danny knows it." She looked at Danny ; and he was miserable at her feet, and not for the murder's sake. "Cheekhen !" cried the old man, with sud- den heat. "Cheekhen yourself. vShe is none of your cheekhens at all." Missie looked at him. "What then ?" she asked. "A young pheasant for sure?" cried he. Missie stopped. "The rear-mother of that you hold, and of these in my hand, was the grey hen; and she was bringing up half her own and half young pheasants. A-well, as Danny was com- ing off the hill by way of the wood, the canker'd ..Kftt£^ aS Danny old carlin flustered out at him from under a bit bushie, and her brood after her. And so," said the old man, "Danny just took and sent the half of them home," and he rolled his eyes. "I don't see " began Missie slowly. "Ye will if ye'U wait," said the other. "The half he put to rest," he went on, "was the pheasant half." "And Where's the difference?" asked the lady, cold as ice. "The differ!" scoffed' the old man. "Is she daft? Why, in the reek of them. The one reeks gamey, t'other tamey. How would Danny ken they was like, as ye may say, liars, reekin' gamey yet bein' tamey. If they werena gamey they'd no cause to reek gamey. 'AH that reeks gamey is fair game,' that is how he talked, did Danny. And if you reeked gamey, Missie," ended the courteous old man, "he'd serve yoii Ih' same gate." Missie looked at the sop in her hand, and saw that it was speckled; she looked at Danny miserable at her feet. A breath of roses blew upon her cheek. "Thank you, Robin," she said, and sighed like a relieved child. "Will I run fetch his Honour?" asked the Woman, eager at her ear. Siipr*"'iKi:' mm The Knight-Errant 29 "No," said Missie. "It's not murder; it's only manslaughter again." "What will you do then ?" asked the Woman. "I will do my duty," said Missie. "Danny, you old bother, come here ?" He came and lay at her feet, meek knight; nor stirred, while she dealt with him faithfully because she loved him much. The old man turned away ; but tlie Woman watched with glee. "It is a fine little mother you make to him, Missie," she said complacently when it was over. Missie panted ; but Danny, gay at heart again, shook himself and sallied furiously at the yellow cat licking thin lips upon the path as she watched greedily. "Would ye murder my Jael?" screamed the Woman, and caught up her treasure in her arms. "O ! is there no bounds to his bloodi- ness?" But Danny was back at the feet of his lady, begging with adoring eyes for her whip, that he might bear it home for her. So they set off for the house: first Danny, whip in mouth and proud at heart; then his lady, pale still, yet laughing as she watched her true knight swaggering before her bearing the trophy of his shame ; and last the Woman. ill 3° Danny "His Honour will be waiting you in the hall," said the Woman grimly, as they came to the steps ; "you and your bloody one." Missie turned to her with large child's eyes. "Don't tell on us, Deb?" she begged. ■•^x^m. I CHAPTER HI That Doao As she reached the foot- nf ti, * voice stayed her. """ ''""■^' ^ ^^'^^^ One hand on the bannister, she turned. Lard ' r. '''^ -°™-g-om stood the abrt'rrfjr^"^--^-^---^ ■'Dinner's in," he said harshly step . w" "'' 'i'""' '°^"""^ "-^ *he lowest ■fwu ^^^°"tbeasec,Massa.- Why be any time.?" said the Laird "r have waited long enough " ^ fee?Thf "t 1°°'^'' '' ^'" ^--^ knight at her fStet;e;:r ''''-' -' *^^ ^^-^^ -^^ sh:s:-?^::sr^;:"'f''^--H.Massa." him-beforehrd.nL.~'^-"°^^-^-^^- The Laird looked with thunder-brow again":- "''' " '^ ^^^ ^-" bloodying 31 u Danny "Only a little tiresome, Massa," said yoot Missie with frightened eyes. "I weary of this bloodiness," said the Laird. Missie, hovering on tlie lowennost step, looked across at the grim man with appealing eyes. "Don't be cross with us Massa," she pleaded. "We can't help it; we're only human," and added, dropping fond eyes to the little man at her feet, "It's the naughty ones we mothers love." The Laird turned. "Mind," he said, "I will have no murder. If murder is done, I will deal with it," "Yes, -Massa," said poor Missie, "I've prom- ised." "Killing is killing," said the Laird, "and murder is murder, and " "And Danny knows the difference," said Missie quickly. "And well for him," said the grim Laird. 'His first murder is his last." In her room she made him sweet with tender hands, scolding him motherly all the while. When he was once again himself, sweet- smelling as the dawn and fresh as dew, he led her down the stairs, arming her as it were in to the great hall, grey, tender gentleman in shining silver apparel and with eyes of love. At dinner he lay at her feet, adoring her. Thai Doag 33 Once the Laird spoke. "Child," he said, "you are not eating." "All gone," said Missie, showing a clean-swept plate. "So I see," said the Laird; "to that doag under the table." "Not very wolfy to-night, iMassa," said tired Missie. The Laird looked at her. "It's that doag !" he said. Afterwards when he came into the drawing- room she was standing over the fire, shivering, pale, a flush of red in either cheek ; and Danny sat beside her with lifted muzzle warming his i.roat and warrior bosom at the blaze. "A fire in July !" said the Laird. ^^ "I'm a little sort of shivery, Massa," said she. "Deb lit it without asking me." He put forth great hands and took hers, and they were hot and dry. "Child," he said, "you best get to bed." "I think I will," she said, "if you don't mind, Massa." "Tired?" he asked. "No, thanks," she said, smiling at him. "A little all-overish— sort of— that's all, Massa." "It's that doag!" snarled the Laird, and looked thunder at the grey man at her feet. Later she rose from her ; lees in her own 34 Dainty room, and with hushed feet stole across ti) him who sat, sedate grey figure, nodding drousiiy before the fire. Bending over him, she took his face between her hands; and he, dreaming dreams of slaughter and the chase, looked up and beheld her above him, arrayed in long, white raiment, as one about to walk the dewy lawns of heaven, with hair like the shadow of the glory to come veiling her. "Pray God make Danny not quite such a bluggy boy," prayed the mother, and kissed him on the eyelids tenderly. He rose and stood, his hands in hers, lifting a grey muzzle and shy eyes to adore her rever- ently. "Danny try to be a gooder boy," whispered the mother. "Danny not worry mother now. Mother not welly well. Good-night, my blessed." Then she led him to the door and opened it ; and there on the mat he lay and curled him- self to watch over his beloved while she slept : But in the night, guard he never so faith- fully, there crept in one across his body whom he could not see ; and in the morning there came no long-robed figure, innocent and dear, with hair like a shadow of wrought gold, to peep round the door with sleep-clouded eyes and cry him greeting home from his hunting with Robin in the dawn. CHAPTER IV They Steal His Love fmom Danny It was now that they set to w.,rk to steal h:s lady from Daniel, son of Ivr.r. For days the plot had been a-hatching. nor had he been unaware of it. They tried to entice him from her room with soft words and meat-offerings; they sought to hound him f(,rth with hushed abuse and bullymgs; but he lay at the foot of her bed like a sea-grey log and refused to budge. Then Deborah Awe made effort to carry him away by force: in vain. "Dirty tyke !" she cried. "He heavies him- sel' till I canna lift him." "Better not try, Deb," urged the faint voice from th3 bed. "You'll only hurt yourself." "Eh, but ye heard what the doctor said, dearie.'" "But the doctor's an owl. Deb," said the voice. "What was it he said about your herb- tea.? Quack-quack, wasn 'tit?" "And one day he will be called to his account for thae words," said the grim Woman, marching 35 36 Danny out; ami as the door dosed, she at the head of the bed with pale face and clouds of aureole hair winked, while he at the foot smote a sounding blow on the bed with his tail. Later, while she slept, there came the Laird himself, he of the great hands and thunder brow, his enemy whom Danny hated, and bore him awuy to the birch-woods on tiie face of the brae, and there lost him in the evening at the time when the wild things of the woods begin to stir for their night huntings. But Danny, who of wont needed no cajoling to go a-hunting, would not be tempted now. Before ever the Laird was clear of the woods Danny was off the hillside, stealing over dew- grey lawns, quiet as the shadow of coming night, guilty as a haunted soul; had entered the house by way of the open window of the moming-room, crept up to her room, and there lay outside the door, so still that when the Woman entered, Danny, ambushed behind her unknowing skirts, entered too. There he hid beneath the muslin curtains of the dressing-table, nor stole forth till she was gone. Then, tilting up against the bed, he licked the long fingers that drooped from be- neath the coverlet. They stirred, seeking his brow. I Tli-y SUal His Lmv /■roiii Ihumy y- "■niat y.m, Danny?" said a sleepy voice nor seemed at all displeased. So, velvet- iM, he leapt ufx-n the bed and crept alonj; tU he came to the pillows witli the shadowy pale face upon them, weary with the toil of ivuig and dark-frilled eyes closed now as though she slei)t. With tender teeth he pinched her ear as he was wont to do to show that he was there and loved her; and she shook her head and smiled nor opened her eyes, but laid thin fingers on his forehead. So he laid his grey muzzle along the pillows and lay there beside her, watching her with un- tiring eyes. Later there sounded along the passage a ponderous hushed tramp as of an elephant marchmg ujxjn his toes. "Massa, Danny!" whispered his lady, with dark-frilled eyes still shut. And Danny, ivith bnstling back, waited until the feet were at the door, tlicii stole off the bed and crept be- neath it. But he of the thunder-brow marked a tail like a trail of dew vanishing away, thrust out a brutal hand, and haled him forth, wee Danny with the lion eyes, and holding him prisoner, marci'ed to the door still with hushed elephan- tir,. •]. 38 Danny "O Massa !" pleaded the voice from the bed, awaking. He of the thunder-brow marched on. "O need you ?" cried the voice, very pitiful. "Better, Child," said he of the thunder-brow, now at the door. "O why ?" begged the dear voice. The Laird hovered irresolute and turned. "Just a day or two, Child," he said, with voice of the coming waterflood. "I love to have him so," pleaded the dear voice, threatening rain. He stood by the door weighing his prisoner as though in a balance. The grim mouth was bowed like a scimitar, and the stark face granite grey. "Well, Child," he said, in his voice of the coming water-flood. "Well, Massa." "Will I ?" said the Laird with throat of iron. A minute she looked at him with fond eyes ; her face uncertain as an April day. Then she surrendered. "Massa knows," she said, and smiled at him, yet with moving lips. "Bring him here a minie first," she prayed. He came to her and stood beside the bed, great-shouldered grey, grim man, bending awk- wardly that the prisoner beneath his arm might be near to her. They Steal His Love Front Danny i9 i "Just a day or two,!' he repeated huskily. She reached forth a hand thin as a flake of snow, and stroked the broad brow of her true knight ; and he struggled not. curling his tongue upwards to caress her wrist. "Just a day or two," said the Laird; nor seemed to know he spoke. "Just for ever," said the lady, and looked up at him. "You will be good to him, Massa. You won't— you won't— not even if he does bloody sometimes." She broke down quite and sobbed. "If you like me at all"— she gasped and lifted a streaming face. "I love him so— he's such a darling— he's so naughty." The Laird bent and kissed her dumbly. She wrestled with her sobs, smiling at him through the rain. "Thank you, Massa," she said, and patted his hand. "'Bye, my Danny," and waved to him. "Try to be a better boy— and not too bleedy. And don't quite forget your mum." Then he was borne away; and she blew him rainy kisses whom she would never see any more this side. Danny looked back at her with soft cocked ear. Then he understood ; and with a grunt struck for the grey-haired throat of his enemy who had brought this ill upon him. 40 Danny And because his heart was pure, and he was fighting for love of his lady, he was inspired with strength, and battled like a thousand bulls. But his enemy, with arms of oak, as strong as pitiful, bore him away and handed him over to Robin Crabbe, lienchman, to hold him fast until word came. CHAPTER V MissiE Away Now Robin was a rude man. Deborah Awe, who had cause to kno- •, affirmed he was the rudest man in all Hepburn, save his Honour. Moreover, he dreamed dreams, drank whisky drams, and was vainglorious above all men; yet for the dreams' sake, and because he had understanding of visions, she forgave him much— his scourging tongue, his weeping eye, and his great thirst. Now Danny loved him and he loved Danny; for the two did bloodily together on the hill morning and evening at the time of the dews. But Robin, though he loved Danny much, in those days feared the Laird more. So he made fast his prisoner in the wood-shed and barred the door; and morning and evening he came to him with weeping eye and told him how it went with his lady. But Danny sat in the dimmest comer, a grey shadow with mourn- ing eyes, and would not be comforted. Then Robin considered that which was most dear to the soul of his captive next to his 41 4a Danny lady. And he went forth and waylaid great grey rats; and he cleared a space on the floor of the wood-shed and blocked all ways of escape and loosed them for his prisoner there. Then Danny trotted forth and slew them sobrely and without glee; and Robin of the tarnished ringlets tarred him on with blasphemy and Old Testament battle-cries. But Danny, his duty done, trotted back to his dim comer there to mourn with reproachful eyes. Robin retired into the kitchen, and was there assailed by the Woman. "What is all this rout raging of the heathen that I hear ?" she asked fiercely. "Me at Danny," said Robin, dully, "at the work of the Lord." "Fine I ken your work of tue Lord !" cried the Woman. "You have been killing of God's creatures. O !" she cried, "that is like you man-males ! Missie is in the Valley, and all you can do to help is to go rat-killing." Robin looked up. "In the Valley?" he whispered. "Is that so?" The Woman with the weary eyes collapsed. "She is dwining," she said, brokenly. Robin was silent for a while. "Missie must not die," he said at last; "for if she dies then will Danny die too." Missie Away "Heart !" cried the Woman. "Indeed I anTt r rk'^"^. r ^'^"^ ---• -'^ Xs and the hke, w:th Missie drawing nearer God eachtickoftheclock." ^ "And when you have killed her quite '■ Robin began. ^ "Kill her, keep me!" cried the Woman oas -natety. -Me that wrastles with the LaW and yon weary Doctor body and none to help me -me that am tending her my lane and blythe to do it, dear heart ! me thatLver quits cZ7t'r/''- ^'" '^-^ -hatna mor Z- r S ° '° '^"'■^ ^''^ Tell me that Robm Crabbe-you that have the dreams when you are in liquor-and I will do it " Ye could keep away." said the rude man and^dragged back to the wood-shed with weep The fourth day of his captivity found Danny M of secret busyness, carried far into the night /n the morning, unaccountably, he had -ssed a rat ; and, marking the way of its escape^ side Tl " '°'' ^"'^ '•°"«" '^-'•d « the in th u" P"^°"-house. All day thereafter m the absence of his gaoler, he had wrought 44 Danny with earthy muzzle, delving hands and spuming feet ; and when Robin entered had sat upon the earth-heap to hide it, mourning with reproach- ful eyes. Nor would he come forth to the slay- ing, though Robin tempted him with rats, yotmg, unwhiskered, succulent, such as a three- months puppy would kill. Said Robin, "Give him time." Robin watched him awhile miserably; then he went forth and came to the kitchen to the Woman who sat within, idle for once. "You have killed my Danny!" he gulped. "I aye tell't ye." The Woman lifted her face; nor seemed to understand. "What is that?" she asked, uncomprehend- ing. - ■ "Danny is dead," gulped the old man. "He cares no more to kill and he cares no more to live; and I aye tell't ye." The Woman flashed forth upon him. "He has killed my Missie !" she cried. "That should be killing enough for him for one while." Robin looked at her with startled eyes. "Is she away?" he whispered. The flame died out of the Woman's face, and she was grey again. "Get out your blaeks, man Robin," she said huskily. "The Lord has had his will of her." Missie Away Then she began to tell her tale, speaking as one speaks in a dream peaKing as "Then his Honour went-him bein' but a n^an and unable to bear; and I was left :.; ^ ■ • . Then she just lay a bit." les";' '''' ^'^'" P'''''"^ ^' "^'^ -P-n list- "Then she whispered me-and I bent «n^ and m:na h,m. and see he changed his ^^^"AndJ__sworetoi.. . . . ^,,„ ,,^ .^^^ bu£Lr "^^^ '^°^"^^^*' '- «"^- - ^clle "Then she opened her eyes and whispered me^ And she was gettin' far, but I heard- and I was to give her dear love to Danny-'and dontg,mathin.,Deb,-saysshe:'he's'allthe child to me.- And she looked at me, and she wasgreehng. And I swore to it. Then she just lay a bit. • ■ men '■Towards sunset she began to stir, and I do the huntmg. 'Don't be cross, Massa ' she says, fnghtened like. 'We can't help it.' Then Hk rr?" ''''' ^"^ ^- - -d laughed Sb • ThlT"'-' ■?* '^ ' ^^ ^■™"^' I ^'ink. ^0. Then she just lay a long bit." 46 Danny The Woman's throat was haggard, and her face grey as the evening. "Then she smiled — and she just said— 'Good night, Deb. Kiss,' and I kissed her . . . and she was awa. . . . Just, 'Good night. Deb,' she says, 'Kiss,' . . . and I kissed her, and she was awa." She told it with dry eyes, drearily, picking her apron, and Robin, who for all his rude tongue had the heart of a woman, stood in the door, his back to her, shaken with sobs. Long he stood so, then turned, dim old man, with swimming eyes. "Danny is dead indeed," he announced, "is dead indeed." The Woman looked up; and into her dull eyes crept a gleam of joy. "Has he followed her home?" she said. "Then I am glad. He will be like company to her, and her feeling strange among them foreign angel-bodies." Her hands fell to her lap once more, and she began again in that dull dream-voice of hers : "Aiid 'Good-night, Deb,' she says, 'Kiss.' . . . And I kissed her; and she was awa." Two days later at noon Danny stole out of his prison-house with earthy muzzle, and made for the house and his lady. The hall was strangely dark as he entered it, and there was Missie Away an unwonted stir of people, silent-footed as LtTf ^V''^ ^-' °f the stairs was a luntla^?" T '°"^"- ""^^™«- '" that sTde and H ''. ' ' "' """ °" '^ •^'^^'^ ^11- side, and d.mly seen through the heart of them a shinmg slab of oak. Threading his way amid strange legs clothed .n black, and still smelling of th! taitfi^;' he sped up the stairs to the door of his lady crack^tth T '^''"^'^ '° ^^^ ^^-"^h the crack at tha bottom, low and very tenderly as -as h.s way and waited for the sound ofl^p ^ng ^ee, the little laughter, and flash of ha£- admt hfm T " °' °'' ^^^^" ^"^^ -- to admxt h:m of mornings, home from his foray with Robm m the dew. ^ In a passion of expectation he waited watch- ing the crack; now thrusting at the doof^th mpat:ent paw. now crying a soft cauTow akmg a httle eager turn down the passage ^ ' shiv er, and cry to her to come She came not; and at last he lay down to wajCo^ehing close, lest there, in'theW of his enemy, he should be seen. Then a far door opened. old^hT".*''' ''^''"^' '^""^ ^'^ ^"^»y hke an 21S". """^ '""P'"^ '" ''^^ ^'-P. and stumbled agamst the watchman at the door 48 Danny He looked down with eyes that did not see. "Eh ?" he said — "Eh ?" as one lost in a mist. "It is Danny, sir," sniffled the Woman at his heels. "Will I take him away ?" The Laird opened the door without a word Danny shot in. With a little glad cry he leaped upon the bed; and then he knew his lady was gone. Back he came with a fury of onslaught. Too late. The door was shut. CirAPTER VI His Ladv's Slipper m^'ctt""''/' '''' "'^"'"'^ ^'^^ Laird came Danny lay at the foot of the white bed-a sea-grey patch with lion-eyes; and clu Id covetously beneath his chin a silver slip^lr t.I H J '^'°''' '''^'""^ ^"ddenlv. He turned and went out in that blind way of his. At midnight the woman came to him He was sitting lonely in the hall, a short cloak aw his shoulders. His hands were cro Jd ; the stark face was lifted till the throat could be seen, and his eyes were shut he^' vie? "°**"^^'^'^'"^''^«-P«'^- tears in "I laid the clout for him at the bedside-as M^sie would ; and I put his platter on it-as she would; and I called him to it and bid him ay off the bed and wajked round and sniffed it; bokeH T;. V"'* ''°°^' ^^egin' a bit. and looked at the door and waited." 49 so DoHny She gulped. "He would never touch a morsel till she bid him ; and now, she will not be there to bid him any more. And what will I ?" The l^ird answered nothing. "He bided awhile," continued the Woman, wailing; "then he just looks at me and goes back to the bed and cuddles her slipper. And there he lies and looks, and lies and looks, and will not stir for me. And what will I ?" "Let him bide," said the Laird briefly; and he was let bide. For a night and a clay the mourner lay, he and his slipper, and the Woman tended him. In the morning of the second day Rc*in came into the kitchen, nor paused there as was his wont, but marched through. "Where to ?" cried the Woman suddenly. "To my Danny." The Woman thrust her gaunt self between him and the door. "What is you want with him?" she asked fierce-eyed. "I go to comfort him," said Robin. "There is no need," said the Woman with light lips. "Who then is minding him?" asked Robin. "Deborah Awe," said the Woman, hands on hips. His Lady's Slipper 5« "And by whose bidding?" "Missie's." "Missie-s !" cried Robin. "It was not Danny M.ss,e wUIed you too! I leave your Lairds to you to mend and mind." the old man continued hotly. "But this is my Danny" "Missie was my child to me. and Danny was her child to her," said the Woman doggedly And now Missie is away, it is for me to mind him, who was nanny to his minnie." '•But you do not love him !" cried Robin Do I not ?•• retorted the Woman. "I dirtied a sauce-pan for him the mom. If that is not love, I would know what is !" Robin sat down by the door miserably; and the Woman went about preparing food for the mourner. Later she took it to him herself, with fresh water, and laid them on the clout beside the bed^ Soft-footed he leaped down, his slipper m h,s mouth, lapped up his water, wagging gratefully, yet one eye ever on his treasure ; then he went back to his post of vigil, hoarded his shpper beneath his chin, and lay there with haggard eyes like a grey monument at the feet of h,s dead mistress, lying unseen where she had lam of old. The Woman drew close to the bed and watched nim with wrung face. Sa Danny "He canna greet," she cried, with woeful eyes. "Could ye greet a wee bittie, my man !" she said — gaunt Woman, very tender, bending over him, "it would ease you fine. Try, then ! So," and all in a motherly way, her face streaming with tears, she shewed him how; but Danny lay with tearless eyes and could not greet. The Woman returned to the kitchen. "He might not be a male at all !" she said.' "He finds no comfort in his food." Robin, sitting dull-eyed in the door, made no reply. "I have appealed to his stomach," con- tinued the Woman, "and what more can I, him being male ?" "Is a man's heart in his stomach?" sneered Robin tremulously "I kenna" said the Woman; "but I never met the man but I could mend his heart-break with a meat-pie." "Then ye can mend Danny," said Robin shortly. "I canna!" cried the Woman. "Ijustcaima! I got him a gigot fresh from the flesher, and cut him a slice from it, and he'll have none of it. What more is there I could do ?" "Ye can do no more," said Robin. "Danny will die ; and I aye tell't ve. " I His Lady's Slipper ., The Woman looked at him. "Could you do nothing, Robin?" she im- plored. ''I could if I would," said Robin. _^ "And would you not ?" cajoled the Woman— "for our wee man." ''Our man is it?" sneered Robin tremulously. ^''And IS he not yours ?" cried the Woman. "He was mine," said Robin, swallowing "And is," said the Woman; "yours-and mme — and Missie's." "Missie willed him to you," said Robin. "It is not for me to come between Missie and her will " ^^ "She would will ye too," said the Woman. "Belike he might eat for you." "Ay," raid Robin, "he loves me." ■'He does so, for sure," replied the Woman. Often's you and he have been taking hfe to- gether, and that is aye a bond between Chris- tian man-males. Go tell him!" she implored "He might heed you." "If he will heed ahy, he will heed me," said Robin ; and went. Danny lay at the foot of the bed as for these last two days, quite still, with haggard eyes and chin upon his slipper. Robin sat down on the bed. "Mannie." he said, and could say no more for the fulness at his throat. 54 Danny Danny greeted him friendly with faint flicker of ears and slow-moved tail; but he made no move. Robin edged nearer, and the watchman hud- dled over his slipper. Robin patted him, and he crouched with leveled eara. Robin laid hand upon the slipper and Danny pinned him by the wrist ; nor broke the skin. The old man loosed the slipper, and Danny loosed his hold; then he licked the wrist where he had pinched it, very tenderly, watching the other with sad eyes. Robin arose, and went out quickly, down the stairs and through the kitchen. There the Woman waited him. "Well?" she asked- eagerly. Robin trotted past without a word. "Ah! You have mendit him fine!" jeered the Woman, tears in her voice — "you '.vhom he loved." Those were days of woe for the Woman almost beyond bearing. Upstairs lay Danny with ever-growing eyes; while in the hall the Laird sat out his days with clasped hands and blind eyes. "Missie willed him to me to mend him, and mind him, and see he changed his feet," she cried in anguish. "And how will I mend him— when he never doffs himself.? And how will I His Lady's Slipper 55 mind him— when he never utters? And how will I change his feet— when he never wets them ? Oh !" she wailed in shrill voice of woe, "what with him in the hall, speakin' none nor greetin' none; and Danny in the great room the same; and you in the kitchen dreep— dreep — dreeping all the while— Oh !" she cried, turning on the maudlin heap of woe beside the door, "give over; or go and get drunk !" "I have not the heart," said dim Robin, sniffling. That afternoon, as the Laird kept lonely vigil in the hall, he heard a noise of secret sniffling without the door. "Who is there?" he cried in harsh, leaping voice. There was silence; then a voice, very small and woeful, replied . "It is but me, your Honour." "Then begone !" said the grim Laird. There was a silence again; then a nose was blown. "D'you hear me ?" cried the Laird. "I hear ye," replied the sodden voice, "but I dinna heed ye." The Laird rose. "And who are you," he asked terribly, "who does not heed me ?" 56 Danny "Robin," replied the voice, hastily. The Laird flung wide the door. Upon the stone flags in the mouldy passage kneeled Deborah Awe. The Laird looked down at her, still upon her knees. "It seems there's a mistake," he said. T<-ti Woman lifted a wet face to him, and it was wrung with woe. "I was just putting up a bit prayer for your Honour, she said, clutching great knuckled hands — "was ye objectin' ?" "I was not asked," said the Laird. "Just that the Lord send you the comfort of tears— you and Danny. O man!" she cried, "there's a hantle o' comfort in tears. If ye could greet a bit, it would ease ye fine." The Laird looked down at the wet moved face. "Tears are no ease to men," he said. "O, but ye should just see Robin !" cried the Woman. "Dreep— dreep— dreep it is all the while. And it eases him fine. And belike if ye " "I am not Robin," said t! e Laird. "I ken he's not much in the way of a man, is not Robin," said the Woman; "but " "As God meant him," said the Laird, "so He made him. And He made me other; so there's no good talking. ' ' His Lady's Slipper "Hear him!" cried the Woman despairingly "and how will I that Missie bid " "Get up !" said the Laird. "Go !" The Woman did not move. "May I no pray for Mr. Heriot I" she urged Just a bittie-as Missie would. Now she is away, there is none prays for you but yourself. And ye ken that in the village if they pray at your Honour, ifU no be fer ye but against ye " Vou may pray for me," said the Laird "but you must do it in the kitchen. I cannot have you praying about in the public passages " •I thought I'd be nearer here," said the Woman, mopping up her tears. "The kitchen's near enough." said the Laird ■ and turned. "Aweel," said the Woman, resigned id nsmgfrom her knees; "the Lord's there t.o I se uphold." The Laird went back to the leathern chair and his blind reverie. His hands were hardly clasped, his eyes scarce shut, before the door opened afresh, and the Woman stood in it, her face still bleared with tears. "And there is Danny !" she said his'eTes'' °' '*"•" "''' *'^ '^^^''' °P--S "He is as is your Honour. The Lord has de- S8 Danny nied him the gift of tears. God gave woman the heart to sorrow, and tears to ease her of her sorrow ; to man He gave no heart and no need of tears; to dogs, and your Honour, He gave the self-same heart to mourn, and forgot to give them the comfort of tears : for it is all one with you and Danny. He speaks none, nor greets none; and he dwines and dwines because of the sorrow which cannot away in water." "Well?" said the Laird. "Would Mr. Heriot go to him?" she begged. "I have tried, and Robin has tried; and he will not heed us. He just lies and looks, and lies and looks, and that wae with it to gar ye greet." "He is strange with me," said the Laird, pondering. "And he was with me." said the Woman, "but he's not now; nor would he be with your Honour. Ye'd be like a bit o' Missie to him. ' ' "Where is he ?" asked the Laird. "The same where," cried the Woman, gulp- ing. "Missie's bed." I i The Laird went. Danny lay as ever at the foot of the white bed, hoarding his slipper, and with haggard eyes. The Laird sat down upon the bed, and laid grey hands upon his brow. *'*'r'V4^..n,^i,^^ , 'l-iKE A CHILD, GREATLY AFRAID' The Ladys Slipper 59 « *iU it. fettm. "Mi; " '^'-'"8 CHAPTER VII Danny's Search Next morning when the Woman came tn th„ w.n, ; .he „„ ^,„ ,„,. ,j^ ^'2>2 °° ""' " •«" "" ca™ now. .„d „^ .;" morning room "^"^ Agamst a little octagon table he 1. ned and Wted with long muzzle at the work basket thereon. It fell- and f„li c strewedtheflo!;; ■'""°'"°'^"'^— , He leaped down and searched amid the wreckage. Her thimble he took between Ws ^th. punched delicately, shook, and snuffled Coed . "°°' '^ ''''' ^'^^ °- fi- paw neath, then mto the gutted basket he thrust 6i 6a Danny his nose, and scratched the bottom of it with diligent fore-paw. "She is not there, Danny," said the voice of the Laird. Danny looked up and saw him standing in the door, stark shadow of a man ; then he snapped up his slipper, and trailed out into the greenhouse beyond. Here had been Missie's nursery of old; here she had wandered with fond-tending fingers; and now it seemed that these, her children, drooped palely and without hope for lack of love, for lack of her to love. Among them Danny searched. Round the rim of each flower-pot he sniffed with careful nose. One pale fuschia that she had loved above all be- cause it ailed, and tended even on that last evening, hung now brokenly like a love-sick girl. Round it he searched, eager, intent, his tail still low, yet stirring as with reviving hope ; nor would abandon it, as though about it lin- gered still some far, faint rosy breath of her dear ministry. "She is no there, Danny," said Robin chokily ; and Danny looked at him. In the morning room the clock chimed twelve. At that of old his lady would arise and fold away her work, neat, demure, old- inaidenly; then she would skip, cry to him nanny's Starch 63 it were, the t God's mor, knightly d bracken, ir.oii; where tn - ^-in i like the rustic 11 came to that ' 1 a bare shoulder joyously, clappirjr her hands above his head as he prance.! .„.,th; nnd hand-in-hand, as ' u.i ' -p . ,^h gleefully into V ..J sli, id her book of ^r t'li ,111;; the knee-high "i' "Ji :t-siemmed birches. 1. alwayti in the leaves •vol ■ 's robes, until they lioaillmd that thrusts up into Eternity; there to he amid the tides of heaven, the idea of God about them everywhere, look out over the rough-hewn land to Bumwater, shining like a jewel set at the feet of the hills and the far sea flashing like sheaves of shaken spears. So now he went to the door and asked. Robin opened for him, and watched him canter across the silent lawns and lose himself in the heather beyond. "Whither now?" asked the Laird at his elbow, harohly. "To Lammer-more," Robin replied; "to in- quire of God where He has lain her." Twenty minutes later he was back in a bustle. Through the hall he shot and up the stairs at three-legged run. to wait outside the door of his lady in a fur>' of expectancy. 64 Danny li i< There the Woman found him, urgent to be admitted. "She is no there, Danny," she cried, but opened to him. In he thrust furiously; saw the empty bed, and stood quite still, as one shocked to death ; and the hope died out of him as the soul dies out of a man. Then he threw up his head as if to howl; but no sound came. So he stood a moment in the centre of the floor, grey muzzle in the air, like a lost soul praying. Then he turned and trailed out. All that day and the next he sought her. In green shaw and lonely strath and all among the birch-woods, where she would walk in the golden evening, he searched. Not a cottage in Hepburn but he entered it; not a rheumatism-ridden beldame, to whom she had ever ministered with sympathy and pudding- - pudding in that basket-basin that he once valorously carried and spilled lamentably to the tune of maiden laughter — but he came in upon her, a sudden sea-grey shadow, snuffed her old ankles and was gone, before she had well begun to scream. No woodland nook, known to these two only, where she would harbour at noon mid hart's Dannys Search g, tongue and lady-fem. a wild cherry above her, the noise of bubbling water in her ears; no head- land pnvate to him, and her, and the God who walked with them there with trailing skirts in the dew of morning; no secret glade beside the bum. where she would splash a line in June, and weaned, lie out her length upon the bank with far-flung arms, amid the fox-gloves, nor there be anywise afraid; while he, dripping, alert, and clamorous, did doughtily for his lady's sake and his own delight against the water-rats and heathei^ of the wildemess-but he searched them through; nay, not a meek-eyed wood- anemone that she had once caressed, but he stayed with lifted paw and anxious eye to in- quire of it if his lady had parsed that way Then he carried his search abroad. In the Forest of Altyre, in those far cleughs. where the red deer Ue at noon he sought her All along the shores of Bum- Water, on Windu<- hope, and the HiU of the Eagle, in grey moss- hag and far away on the wind-beaten pastures beside the sea. he made his search. He asked the heron in the pool; he asked the wet-eved cattle at the Ford; he asked the wild goats' on the sea-whipped cliffs. Once a herd saw him standmg like a g.ey watchman in the opening day on the high loneliness of Lammer-more where she would go to watch the morning with 66 Danny trailing robes of grey sweeping out of the East over the moors. And once beside the lake of the Black Dwarf, amid the desolate hills, one who had no lawful business there saw him, the lonely hunter, passing rapidly by, so rapt in search that, seen himself, he did not see. On the evening of the second day, the Woman peering forth with weary eyes, beheld him coming down Lammer-more. "He is homing!" she cried to the heap of misery by the fireside. "He is coming off the hill." Robin rose and crawled to her side. "Who's yon at the brae-foot?" asked the diin old man. "The Laird," said the Woman. "Biding him ?" cried Robin. "Ay," said the Woman, apron in mouth. "And has been these three hours." "God help my man !" cried Robin, in an ecstacy of woe, and trotted in again. The Woman watched on. apron in mouth. She saw the little figure commg off the hill at swift unvarying trot; she saw him who stood at the brae-foot, ominous, grim, cloak-wrapt, waiting as another had used to wait of old with '^old cheeks and riding-whip. She heard the i^aird call, and drew her breath; but Danny I^anny's Search g f ""ed 't'l ''• f'''' *""'"^ ^'^^'^ow. nor' seemed to hear. He crossed the lawn into the kitchen passed her too. trotting on hT^Lrd weary intent; passed Robin, huddled bfti th 'sta-rto ; 'T '"°""^^ p--^^- -^ t ashel i"' "" ^■•^^•'-''-^toined and ragged as he was, on the mat at Missie's door. Jy S ''•'' ''"^ ''"^' ^'^^ ^V^"-" came, grey with misery. A wash-tub was in h.l hands, a towel over her arms '' Then the Woman took Danny lo do for hin, as Afissie would do when he was hrl . hunting-bathing his feet, his els "1^ t^etho.3outofhiscoat,;nda:i;;btn':o wash h:s mouth dread feet sounded in the pas sage, and the Laird stood over her The Woman kneeled bolt unrisrhf- r. I am for wacliir,^ n^,. ■■ - . , ■--.."s UoMny,- saui the Woman. 68 Danny "You are for doing everything in the public passages," said the Laird. "He was lying outside Missie's door," said the Woman. "I'd no the heart to stir him." "Why does he want washing?" asked the Laird. "Missie would aye red him up whiles," said the Woman vaguely. "She would so," said the Laird, "when he was home from bloodying." "He has not been bloodying !" cried the Woman quickly. "That he has not !" corroborated Robin. "He has been with me all the while," faithful liar that he was, who had never stirred from before the fire these days past. "Then why wash his mouth !' Laird. ' ' It wets the lips, ' ' said Robin. "He may have bloodied a bit whiles," said the Woman sullenly, him male." "He has not bloodied," said the Laird. "I would to God he had.'" and he passed on down the passage, tramping. At his own door he turned. "Leave his mouth," he said, "and mend his heart : and may be you will red him up to some purpose," asked the in between "God made Danny's Search - 69 Next day was Sabbath. All the mnr.- Danny searched diligently and aLe AtT^ the k k.beu, tolling brought hin. ho„.e " Robin saw him stand before the hoose as gether to the great iron gates, and there nart gamer m his people without remorse- whil. Danny and his lady, with wicked laughter ^I joyful feet, crossed the park-dyke .^^Sd Lammer-more, and there passed a holy W m that world-oblivious loneliness she Jed Now Danny stood before the house "with X. "^ ^"' "^^^^^^ -^"^ *^« '^-^"ell The great door opened On fi,= * steps the Laird appeared alone '^"P"^^'^^ Danny looked; then started away, of set miserable purpose. ^* The Laird swept his short cloak about h; ' and strode kirkwards. ^""' Robin and the Woman were left together And as they stood thus silently, there came to war^s^them floating from on h.gh a far^r; ^^^D^rsaker Cried the Woman, hearkening. !■ I' '■ ;♦ 70 Danny "It's the sound of a breaking heart," said Robin, choking. "The Lord peety our man f. s day." From far away on the height of Lammer- more, it came to them, that voice of Lamenta- tion. Over the birch-woods, borne on sorrow- ful wings it floated, long-drawn and low as Love's swan-song. Down in the village they heard it amid tolling bells; across Bum- Water it traveled, anguished still; by the Ferry lingered, and the boatmen there knew it for Danny mourning his heart away as faithfully as ever did man-lover for his mistress; then it fared forth and lost itself on the comfortless cold bosom of the sea. The Woman stood with bowed head and prayed. "The Lord send Missie is not hearing him," she cried, swallowing her sobs. "It would just break her heart !" "Then there would be two with broken hearts," sniffled Robin. "Maybe that would be like company." "O 1" cried the Woman, "0 !" as the sound of wailing grew. "Will you not go to him, Robin !" "I canna," cried Robin, tender coward that he was. "I could not bear to see him suflfer !' ' "O you man !" cried the Woman. "I will go my lone," and set forth, rrV. Oanny's Search •'That you shaU never !" said Robin jealouslv and set forth only to stop. ""Jealously, "The Uird's gone," he said The Won^an looked up and saw that it was so The Lord go with him." she said solemnly. ' It was an hour before he came back, the gi^y anTn "^^- ""' '" '^'' ^^ ^ - fr^t! and Danny m his arms. *,i ''''^smm CHAPTER VIII LOCHINVAR ,s AT THE DoOR dour in thT oid " ""' ' '"•^^y ^P'«"- knew o" m. "" ^ ^^^" ^'^^^ *h« Laird "WeU?" said the Laird briefly. bro^ '^ "'^'' ^^^'^ -dden'thunder- "Daniel— son— of—Ivor " coi^ *., "of this parish, bachelor"' ^ *'' P"^'^^''- 'Is he dead?" askcH +i,» i ■ j stem-lipped. ' ^'"^'^' ^""^^^"^Y "He is, away and away and all " c=-^ d ,.• and bowed his head upon^h'Sst "' ''°''"' _ Away .p.. shouted the Laird. " Whex^ away ?•• Ihat ,s not for me to say," replied rZ' nd crossed meeW I,.„h, .._._, . fP''^'* ^*>n- "..»^„ee.^<,;Z'^"C..' 73 "For 74 Danny some there is a heaven ; for others there is a hell ; and for the likes o' you and me, earth-wonns that we are, there's a between-the-two." The Laird strode across to him, and laid stem hands upon his shoulders. "Hear !" he said sternly. "Where?" said Robin, meek still. "Is Danny dead?" "Not that I know," said Robin, with some asperity. "Has he gone, then?" "Ay," said Robin testily. '"Ay, ay, ay, I am telling you." "Searching her?" "Searchmg 'em out !" said Robin, rolling his eyes. "Who?" said the Laird. "The heathen I" said Robin, kindling. The Laird looked at him, and his hand dropped from the old man's shoulder. Robin sloshed round in his puddle, stood there, and began to shake with silent giggles. "Crabbe !" said the Laird. "What !" sniggered Robin. "Your back is on me," said the Laird. "If you walk round this gate," suggested Robin, "it will not be neither." "And if you turn round," said the Laird, "I shall see your face." Lochinvar is at the Door 75 "And I vrill see vour» ,«,. Crabbe I" shouted the Laird. Ay, billie," shouted Robin J™,'^"'^^*'""ment's pause, theS,Tudr„r'''^^^P"^^'--said .a:-re':rolr--.a.ain. ..the Lord th:reitS'LS.tr;rr°;°^°-" And he marched away '"" ""'' '''■" "May I no sit me?" crieH R^k- suddenly, and sat him. '"' ^""P^« Nowrrr""''""'"^""*«'^'tchen ^ow as she sat there hpr R^„i her mittened hands ulnhTr? u T" ^'' '^P' with Missie far awarA ' '^''' *''°"^'^*^ ca«ssin.,camein:;rhe?drr"--- Little virgin, white as snawt , °^'"*y' daffin ■, windsomewee - Lochinvar is at the door ''■ "'^'■-- Knockin'.knockinM'oud for thee MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART lANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No 21 A APPLIED IN/MGE In SS-^ '653 Eost Moin Street a r^a Rocnesler, Ne« York t*609 USA "-ass (7?6) 482 - OJOO - Phor.e ^= ,716) 28a - 5989 - fc 76 Danny "Ay," he said, "you have no guts, no heart of love in you : There is Will ye be Wee wife to me, Hummin', bummin', Busy-bte?" "If ye wait for me," said the Woman, shortly, "ye'U want long." "Ye're not asked yet, chuckie," said Robin. "That was just a song; no an offer." "And if I was." said the Woman, "ye'd yet want." "I'd prefer to want," said Robin. "When my first died I found I could do wantin' her better than witli her." The Woman looked at him over her spec- tacles. "I see, you are yourself again," she said. "I am so," said P.obin, "and not me only." "Who else, then ?" asked the Woman. "Daniel, son of Ivor," said Robin; "hero- soldier — saint." The Woman dropped her hands. "What's that?" she cried. "Daniel, son of Ivor, has gone forth to war," cried Robin, kindling. "Bloodying?" cried the Woman. "Some call it so," said Robin. Lochinvar is at titc Door "How d'ye ken he went bloodying and not searching?" "Woman," said Robin with majesty "I am that Robin Crabbe that dreams dreams." "Ay." said the Woman, "and drains drams i" And I," said Robin, "say that it is so." "The Lord send you're saying the truth for once," said the Woman. "He has put forth like Saul to the slaying- continued the old man, "and he will be away three nights; and then he will return and he will be whole of heart again; and thereafter he will bide and comfort the Laird, as is Missie's bidding." "Belike it may be so," said the Woman nod- ding. "Three days breakin', three days makin' —that s the way of a man's heart." CHAPTER IX Da.v.vy Doks Homage knew the bloody.,,, het^^^^-^'^h-^'derness J.^:;Sr;jf^--^a-waso„his bad,er-eanhr:ft 'X:::S.taT f ''' length, with hollow flanks '^^ ^* yard^rfe::;:r:;: '™' ^'p*°-^^ --s the -o.ea,a.;^l™Srwr'^^^T yawned hugely, stretching Ss toe^ th "'^'''• to his old man with grin fond ev^ . '^'"' of ears as of oW .uTu ^ ' ''"'^ *'^''"'^'<^ 79 8o Danny "I have dreamed a true dream," he an- nounced. "It is even as I tell't ye." The Woman looked up from her scrubbing, saw the old man in the door, and Danny in his arms. "O, my bloody wee one!" she cried, and clattered over to him with outstretched arms and mother-murrnurings. "Do not gim at him so," said Robin. "Girn!" cried the Woman, snatching the prodigal away, "Girn ! Will I gim at my man returned to me?" "Your man!" flashed Robin jealously. "It used not to be your man one while." ^^ "Maybe no," said she, nursing her baby, "but he will be my wean to me from now; and I will be nanny to him, and it is I will have his heart !" "In Missie's stead!" sneered Robin. "You will do fine !" "I will make shift till she has need of him," i-epued the Woman, rocking on flat feet. The Woman took her man away, fed him, washed and made him sweet as Missie would of old ; and Robin watched her. When it was over, and the little knight was once again himself, and sweet as the morning, she went to call the Laird. I ^^"""y I>"c^ Hcnige i Danny went before, brisk -mM u ^ ^-t .Missies door ^ Z^^ '' ''''''' busy.bustIing,p,yi„g„,,J:f-- trotted i new Oman turned tntli„ 1 1' ••You are right^sL mk '""""* ^^'^'■'>'-''^'«- ..J *'"'^' she said bitterly I aye am," said Robin, sourly went-and now he iust 1 "■^'" ^^''^«'« - though sheVl nettef^t '^^f ,^^^ ^'°- better than a man at aSr "^'^^^ '"^-^ ""le ca»e:^:;:tr^'^"^^-"-^-^^«^^'oman w:;j^::^:::i^-^^^'"^'-^ort. harsh .Jt^''^.'^''^ ''''' ^^'°"a" >ndifferentlv ■■ ^ whole of his broken heart th; ^ ? ^' ""'^ day." neart-this bein' the sixth '•Where is he?" I'Here,-. said the Won^an. .„,,„„,, She looked. "Dear sakes !" she cripri "i, boards came to their ears. ^ ''^ 8i 8a Danny ! t At 1 ■ -! far end of the passage appeared Danny, and in lis mouth a lady's riding-whip. So he came to the Laird's feet, dropped his burthen there, and stood over it, wagging, wide- mouthed, well pleased. "O Missie !" cried the Woman, her apron to her eyes. "O the wee man !" For just so had he been wont to do for his lady when hon.e from bloody doings in tne dawn, coming to wake her and knightly bringing with him the whip with which she was to chastise him. The Laird picked up the whip. "Na I" screamed the Woman, and snatched up the threatened knight. "Never," said Robin, rolling up his cuffs, "but over the last corp of Robin Crabbe." "Put him down," said the Laird in his curt way. "Will I?" said the Woman, and looked at Robin. "It's your affair," said Robin, and withdrew dowTi the passage. "Put him down," said the Laird. The Woman obeyed, and with shut eyes be- gan to pray. The Laird bent till his face was close to that of the grey man at his feet. ^^ "I will lay no finger on you, Danny," said he. 'now or ever." Danny Docs Homage g t)anr,y stood at his feet with lifted face an.i dubious ta,l; then he ra,sed h,n,sdf and to ^stU^cLainrs knee and pawed. The ^T: took the paw m h,s own ^reat hand; and Danny looked up into his eves, and thencefor war. was the Laird's !iege-n>an forever P^RT II 1 The Villain ROBI.V. Tin; Oraclk. Now all his life fear of the Laird ha, unlike a sha.low o„ his people; ave, before e^•er he s .v ue f tf ?"• '^"""''-"^'.vs of Danny a«c of the Laml grew on his people Harsh and hard and grey, like an East wind ni;.reh,ng, he would stalk through Pfepbur T """■"""^'' ^y-'^' his short cloak — ^i":hri;^:trr77"'"^--" squire ;,: grov. '^^ '-'^ cantered his acaL'eL"-!^'^ ''' '"'''' ^'"^^ ^'^ P'''- "egat. to dulared it was no that cannie, this intim.S fnendship between the tu-n-tv, '" '"^'mate thnt ,> .., ■ ^^^ ""''■e so seeing t m he ;; T""" ''"°"''^^*'"'' ^h^t ■" -^^--e? time they had not been that close nd the pa,rca,ne forth, the grey n^anstalklg .rey Squ.re at heel, the women :n their rose 88 Danny laden porches retreated within doors and watched fearfully from behind drawn blinds. As the Laird swept by like the Shadow, it seemed a village of the dead, such was the hush, nor was it till he had passed the last house, that any dared come forth to peer secretly at him now halted at the bridge over the bum. There he always stayed, leaning against the parapet, to watch while Danny leapt oii the coping, and hunted with diligent nose. Danny never came to the bridge but he hunted so with questing tail; and the village knew why. For in the old days would not Missie often sit there, while waiting the Laird at business among his people? Had they not seen her time and time again of summer even- ings, perched on the coping, swinging slim ankles and, brimming with malicious laughter, drop pebbles on the backs of the fat trout asleej) in the deep-eyed pool beneath; while Danny at her side with alert ears would crane his neck and grin hugely at the joke. It was after he had searched the coping thus and had come to the Laird waiting him at the bridge-head that the village, watching with white eyes, would see the two talking together —Danny with lifted face saying his say, and the Laird with bowed face hearkening. Andra Gillray, inhabitant of the cottage Kobin, the Oracle g nearest the bridge declared indeed that ,^. u the dun:bness is on the Vi^':' '^"' ^^^'"^ Andra.''' dun^bness on his Honour?- asked ba:n:dtrr;^^--— -a SilL'rWvt' "°"'''" "'' '"^^ -^^'^^ of more knn ' u "^' '"'^ ^ndra asked no more, knowmg her heart's bitterness. ••Tddn' the .i,." .,M y„„„j ^^ I »md me," retorted Rol>in, „,lH f.u you, Mr. Robin "LrtJ^fr" ^°"'<^b<' " Vou that have his Hono- '" '^"""'"g'y- "That could I s^rRo'H-P"^"^^^^'-" -S^^n^^,^--^--" While time is; thathavebeenlttttVr''^"'^^^'-^ years " ' *° ''^^ ^aird these forty rude;:rh.'''^'^^^^^"^^°--"-te.upteda "It was so.^said Robin. -ten years back." 9» Danny "The years fly," said the rude youth. Robin rose. "And so'U you," he said, marched to the door, and held it wide. The deputation took the hint. Only the leader, an old, large-eyed man, stayed. "Mr. Robin," he said, when the others were gone and the door was shut, " you ken things." "What man kens," said Robin, "that I ken: and more," he added, "and more." The old man left the door and drew closer. "Whisper!" he said, a.id bent. "Is there one soul to the two of them — to Danny and his Honour f" The oracle of the dim ringlets wiped his eye. "Maybe ay," he said; "maybe no," he said; and maybe — tteither." CHAPTER XI Warrior. Saint, and Searcher-Out Lairds, while there never was the time when there were not several Dannys First there was the Squire of the day; a Gentleman-m-wa.ting, very staid and with Lan-d on the sunward side of Lammer-more before the f5re m the hall with hollow heaving flank and dreamed. This was that saZ Danny who on Sabbaths was Keeper of the Door; leading his lord to kirk, and during ser n solution as in courtesy, barring entrance o the laggards; to whom woe! when the Laird came forth. ^ Followed another Danny-the Danny of the Dews ,, ^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^^ y f th battle-fellow rude Robin of the Heart of Fire All among the lady-birches clad with lace of gossamer on high Lammer-more, through dia mond-sprinkled heather and tawny brTckt. 92 94 Danny beds, he marched as though to pipe music, every dawn, he and Robin, Hke Jonathan and his armour-bearer, going forth against the Philis- tines; for the heathen were his inheritance and he made sore war upon them. Keen as a sword, wary as Ulysses, fiery as Saladin, there was never such a Warden of the Marches to do stem justice on the outlaws of the wilderness. He could be patient as a cat and as still; he could be stealthy as a fox, shadowing his enemies and when the stalking time was past and the time for the onset came the fury of the Lord gat hold of him. He smote upon his enemies like a tempest; he over- whehned them Hke an avalanche of stars. The greater the odds the greater the glory, that was the grey knight's creed ; there was nothing so great but knight-like he attempted it ; nothing so small but he slew it out of courtesy. Many a time the grey knight returned from some immortal struggle against odds, bloody, ragged, and yet ever with bustle of love and tender eyes as his Woman came clattering to meet him. And while she bandaged him with lean fingers, Robin would sit on the edge of the dresser and tell the Homeric tale. " In my days," the old man once averred, " I have fought as few have fought since Sampson. But I am second to our man !" "'"■Wcr. 5u»,/,a„J5.a.c/w-0«< 9S Jhe Woman hearkened sourly " Mv f^,.^ ■ ■ , -^ ' "'^ overcome. " 'He's little like tn if i,^- , . started," said the n, , '^'^^ '^"^"'"^ ^^^ "Av " r . '"^"' ^"'^ failed out vengeL; "Tma;'^ ^°'"^"' ^°"-'"^ ^Im day that he 00^0^ "' "°^' "' '"* ^'^^^ vvordofDeborrA:"P^°'^>'^'"--^*'^e To Deborah Awe, indeed th. Ki j- She never tired indeed of r^ou- could not help himself- Rr^w 1 ^ , '^nerefore he and belike if il ^^ '^^^^to:- "' "*"^^ ered to his fathers, her man" ould fl"'' ^''^■ Christianified. "'"^" ^°"ld become mor^ To which Robin always retorted (,) that he 96 Danny did not intend to be gathered to his fathers yet a bit, and (2) that when Danny was past caring to kill he would be past caring to live. " Onyways," snapped the Woman, " he is not like a man, is not my Danny. He does not murder for the murder's sake and call it sport. He kills by way of duty." "He kills," said Robin emphatically, "for love and the glory of the Lord." Danny's indeed seemed the rage of the fan- atic. He massacred like some warrior saint of old who slew the bodies of the heathen gleefully to save their souls. There was no crime of blood but he would perpetrate it with a fervour of devotion, a passionate conviction of the high- ness of his cause, and bear himself thereafter in so tender and devout a way as to lend a halo to his crime. "There was never the like of him," Robin once averred, in a sweeping wonder of pride. ' Battle's his hunger; blood his thirst. It's like the drink to a drunkard^the more he has the more he's for having." " And but for you who entice him to shedding of innocent blood, he would be as good a Christian as a God-made male may be !" cried the Woman. "To every man his world's work?" Robin replied. "Some is Warriors; some Saints; and Wanior, Saint, and Scarcher-Out gj some is Searchers-Out; and Danny is neither one nor both, but a bit of all three " "An.l Robin Crabbe the same!" jeered the Woman. Warrior. Saint, and Searcher-Out - And some," eontinues bloodiness had the sweetest courtesy of any knight since Lancelot. Xo lady but must love him for his manner's sake; and to this frouzy Woman he bore himself as to a Queen In truth he was the prettiest mannered mur- derer who ever sped a soul. He expiated his cnmesm courtesy; and from the bloodiest domgs m the dew came forth from the Woman's hands innocent, gay, demure, tripping across the great hall to greet the Laird and take up his dear duties as Squire of the Day. The Woman at that time went about in daily fear lest his Honour should catch her man at murder, and never tired of quoting ominously- A Murder, A Lie-tnese are tlw abominations ' end lus Honour spares none." r •' i= Si o« n.iii "y But Robin was in no wise to be frightened, merely replying that Danny never did murder, and that if he did he was far ower cunnie to be catch'd. And in fact what Danny did he did frankly, and all the world was welcome to watch him at it. Stealth and subtlety and creeping deeds were not for the little knight of the fair eyes. He loved light, and to bloody beneaih the open eye of heaven. Once indeed in the early days of their fellow- ship the Land caught him red-handed. He had stalked a jack-hare in the birchwoods, and had snapped him in his form, when a voice from heaven thundered at him. The slayer Ifjoked up. Above him, among the birches, towered the Laird. The heavens were on his grey head ; the bracken to his knees ; he was cloak-wrapt and with thunder-brow. Simon Ogg, upon his belly in the bracken, there on secret business of his own, peeped forth fearfully, and his face was white as the boll of the birch above him as he heard ; but there was no fear in the heart of Dannv Blandly the little knight arose. His booty lolling from his mouth, he staggered to the feet of the Laird, laid it there beslavered in the bracker, and smiled up into the dour face above him. Warrior. Saittl, and Searcher-Out 99 Simon, quaking, waited to see the dumb Laird smite once and smite no more. He smote not; more terrifying still to fearful Simon, he spoke: " Mind !" came the inexorable voice. " I will have no murder!" "Why then did you murder daddie?" mut- tered Simon to his soul, as the Laird tramped off. That evening Simon, stan> ling in the ale-house door, watching the Laird and his body-Squire sweeping down the street, turned to Robin and asked him if Danny feared any? ''None," said Robin, "now Missie is away." "Did he fear her?" asked the youth. " He feared her word," said the old man, " not her whippie." The youth of the red eye-rims pondered. " And does he fear none now ? " he asked. "He fears not the face of man," said Robin. "Or the face of the Laird," said Simon, and trembled. CHAPT-R Xir Son of His Father and Afflicted It was because Danny knew no fear of the ; f T 'i?' '''""' ''''' "- Simon Ogg and the people begun to ■ o afraid of him Simon indeed feared him of old; for in the early days the Warden had met him outbye on the moor, and had words with him; and for weeks thereafter when the grey knight and his lady came through the village, linking along arm-in-arm as was their way. he of the red eye- nms cowed in naked terror behind the door What gars ye tremble that gate, John Jelly- bag? cried his dark mother. "I am afraid," chattered the youth, truthful in spite of himself. " ^^^^^ of what ? ■• cried the mother "Because of him," whispered the youth and pomted with the thumb over his shoulder. The dark woman looked forth. "Of Danny.?" she scoffed. ''He is but a dog." "He is the Devil himself." said Simon with conviction. Dainty To Simon then and thereafter the presence of the Warden was as a perpetual and irritating sore. Simon, though afHicted, was a mighty hunter on the marches of other people, as his father had been before him. That same father, indeed, had come upon his death at the Laird's hand, through his sporting habit; since which time the Laird had forsworn all sport forever: and now for many years the spoiling of the Heriot baronies had been the unofficial per- quisite of Simon Ogg, and the like-livered ; so, as young Simon once pitiably put it, all was for the best after all. Then had come Danny ; and all had changed. The little knight preserved rigidly in his own favour and Robin's, and there was no more spoiling of the moors within the jurisdiction of the keenest-eyes March Warden north of Sol- way ;-and Simon was bitter because of it. And well he might be. Those were bad and barren times for Simon, his mother mocking him everlastingly because he came home empty- handed ii'om his hunting and stayed day after day huddled over the fire — cuddle-minnie that he was ! Was he feared of a bit doggie ? — him, the son of Red-handed Simon. A fine son to his father, and that father's blood crying these twenty years for blood again ! Ah, if she had not been a woman she would have shown him ! ^'"^ of His Father and Alilicted '03 that aU the world knew it was his minnie's was a widow, and warned him what her man so^^tlr' ?-«^ ^^^^^"^ ^- on heroes so the tale went, to put out after him and eet him put away from her forever ^ twin r^r T ""''''' '-'"'' P--^ be- tween the dark w.dow and her son, and later Simon, dnven by her houndings, vent forth' strove all nigh, horror at his heeis, and ill'' mornmg watches achieved a far w-bu k on the borders of the birch-woods As he wiped the sweat from his brow and prepared to truss the legs of his victim San^v he Ml .^" '"• ""' ^*°™^d ^t him down the hill with merry battle-cry Simon rose, roaring, and fled down the brae Jde; and skilled in the wiles of the huntd ana lay there to watch. D,„„y did „„, p„„„. „^ VVhist mannie!" he said fearfully "Ye must mmd your murders if the Laird's about '• I04 Danny Danny looked up, waggled furiously, and plunged with frank delight to gralloching his dead. Robin bent, saw the cord tied around the dead deer's foot ; and understood. Then he stood up, turned his back upon Simon in the bracken-bed, and cried up-hill to the heavens. " Simon Ogg, son of your father and afflicted ! hearken. I see you there. And I ken you're near by, my buckie, for I heard Danny call for you. And I heard you hellaballooin' when he was after you. I thank you for your trouble !" cried the old man. " I thank you for this bit venison ! we was searching meat. And his Honour, who killed your father for you out-bye, he too will thank you when he hears of it." He bent, shouldered the deer, and departed down the hill, Danny at his heels. Simon crawled away upon his belly; and his mother met him in the door of his home and blasted him with scorn. " A fine son to a murdered father !" she cried, "who nor brings home meat for the pot nor makes good his father's murder." Next day the Laird came to him still cuddle- ninnying in his cottage and asked him what he had to say for himself. Simon mumbled that he was bom afflicted, ^on of His Father aud Afflicted ,. ■■ " 105 lis Honour having killeH w c , ever since. " ^"" ^ cottage '■Ve'irasrr!;''^^'^^-P'«Si„,on. thegooi!:.sr:?orr^^"^^>^^-.forau you off this last once vv h ." °^^' ''" '^* Keep your kirks, keep ^ u^^lX °' "^"'"^•• and stealing, and keep dear oTl '™"' P^^^^ng of a mother of yours-anJ ,1 k '^ ^'""'^"^ ;on:esortofan,i:fit:falnyeT"'^ '2 "^'^ -..^and.u.,..-:i,--- the' Tir2%rep:f ^ f -^ the iast of precepts, and went fr.w-1, ^ io6 Danny suddenly by the shores of the sea a score of miles from home. It was the place where the sea comes thrust- ing into the throat of the hills hke the blade of a spear; it was the time when the seals play on the sand-dunes in the moonUght and the dead come forth from the great deeps to feel again the breath of heaven. What then happened by the lapping of the tide, in the stillness of the moon, the scared sea- fowl and secret stars can tell. Simon told none ; and Danny never spoke of it. But for weeks thereafter, when the Laird swept through the village, his calm-eyed Squire at heel, Simon crept indoors and drew down the bhnd. "What's taken you?" cried his mother, dark Woman with the evil eyes, beholding him. "Whisht!" whispered Simon. "He is pass- ing." "He who murdered your father!" cried the dark woman, never tired of harping on that string. " He who nigh murdered his son," said Simon, nibbling; and it was not till the Laird and his Squire were already at their questing on the bridge, that he came forth into the street, and there with Ufted hand, under the roof of heaven, his mother's eye upon him and the village look- ing, swore, by the blood of his murdered faihcr, ■!■« Son of His Father and Afflicted ,07 in a manner to have done credit to his dark — at her best, that one day by moor "r mos on land or water, he would get back upon the Laird and the httle man in grey Robm, passing at the time, heard, but was httle moved, merely reporting the matter to the La.rd; -ho. mdeed. noticed it so far as to se Smon the Shorter Penance-''for taking an o.th^^.. n the grim order,.. Which he\,n "We will see that !" cried Simon, as he came forth next Sabbath into the kirk-yard, paTe eyed and blinking, from being shamed before the congregation. CHAPTER XIII The Woman Prophesies of a sword on all who crossed V f . ^^ not hi„,self above reprScT i^^^^^'j''^^^' T mistically phrased it-" Whilet th '"^''■ forgets a rr^areh himself 'andl • '""" '"^" spoiled sport for Simon ^n^LSr'/"' score of miles around ^''" ^°' ^ Dets'trr™'f '' '''■°PP^^ '"^^ Danny of the ofX' trcSr nr'^t"^' ''' ^-^- him no more No ' ^ ^ '''' °°°'' '^"^^ Oowfo for Sin t „„: "T "^ "' ''•" "X 109 Danny ceased never from prophesying woe and that her man would one day go not to return. "One day we will all go and we will not return," retorted Robin the dim-eyed moralist. "No man lives but must die. And if Danny dies, as died Saul, and as will die Robin Crabbe, in battle on the field, he dies well." " You die of battle on the field !" nickered the Woman in high scorn. " You and your dreep- eye ! Na," she cried, "na; you will die of brandy and in your bed." "It's as the Lord wills," said the good old man. "I will not complain either way." Now there were others besides Simon Ogg whose souls were '. exed by the red crusades of Daniel, son of Ivor. These were wardens to those men who came up out of the South year by year, like a blight of locusts to trouble the land. And these on a day, led by one who was himself little better than he should be, so Robin averred, seeing that he spoke foreign French and took no snuff, gathered in council at the Ferry Ha' by the Ford of the Weeping Bride and offered blood-money for the body of a cer- tain soldier-saint in grey. News of it came to Robin, and he trotted down to the village, and there gave it forth ominously that lie who harmed Danny had the I^aird for his foe. The Woman Prophesies ,,, Hepburn vvas afraid, but the leader of those ofTht's^h tT^'^'^°"'^-'^^^^ Hand fr ^ r ""''^ °°*^^"8 of the Heriot Hand, heard of :t and mocked; anc^ the mother of S.n,on. who was drinking at the Ferry Ha' at he ,n:e returned home to tell her so^signifi cantly of the mocking of the huge-Hmbld Southron, bidding him mark it-" you "hat took an cath and was shamed for it before the congregation," ^ Word of this mocking came to Deborah Av^e too, and she was amazed. "Who is this man who dares defy his Honour?" she cried mdlSy!^ "'^ ^°"^^' '^ "^'"^ •" -''^ R°t,in ^^J^Gohath!" cried the Woman. "APhilis- scribed a one as ever I saw " WomaT '^" '° '^'" °' ^^^^•"' ---d t'^e "A-well " said Rohin, "it seems he spells his name not justly the same; so he'd be but a fa cousm." ""^ Now it was but a week after that gathering of bloody men at the Ferry Ha' that the Reiver went forth a-raiding. He had been with Robin in the white dawn, II* Danny going his rounds busily, bloodily, as was his wont ; the old man had bent to tie his shoe, and looking up had found himself alone. Robin knew of old the vanity of pursuit, yet he climbed feverishly to his watch-tower on Lammer-more, and there under the grey roof of God, the rain-washed moors at his feet, and far Bum-Water dull and dim beneath the bulwark of the hills, clamoured; but no answer came except from a grouse-cock whirring out of the heather half a mile away. Mindful of that dark meeting at the Ferry Ha', he set his face for home, miserably, but as he drew near habited himself in impudence as in armour; and rollicked into the kitchen with the conquering air of the victorious lady's man. "And how is my woman the morn?" he cried playfully — "blithe as a laverock and bonnie as a gowan, I'se be swcm. Oh!" he cried, leering at her, "she is my sin that besets me!" The Woman, scrubbing on her knees, looked up. " Where is Danny?" she snapped. "Away somewhither," said Robin, noncha- lantly. "Where away?" "At the work of the Lord," said Robin, pass- ing on. The Woman Proplusics ,,, fir™ ™^^ ^™- "^^ '-- -'^ con. "One of us has," said Robin, pusherl by her and passed down the passage into the hall The Laird ceased from his lonely pacing as the other entered. "Well?" he growled. Robin raised a warning finger ''Whisht r; he said, and nodded significantly in the direction of the kitchen ;; Whatr asked the Laird, thunder-browed. •■WW ??''"•" '^'^'^P"^'' Robin tactfully. Whatof her, fool?" ^ "She is wae at heart." said Robin _ Wae?" thundered the Laird. "Why?" Whisht !" hushed Robin. " Danny is away so she gar'd me tell ye." "Who gar'd ye tell me?" asked the Laird glowenng. • "Her." said Robin petulantly; "our virgin. It was httle fault of hers." added chivalrous Kobin. and turned to go. "I am not blamin- ler." said the grim Laird Kobm turned. ;'D'you blame on me?" he n.kcd fiercely No. said the Laird. " Yere.-.sGon madcye andyermotherspoiltye. Ve can't help yourself "' 114 Danny "I canna," said Robin. "It's the company I keep," and went out quickly. To the kitchen he returned, sour at heart. "What said he?" inquired the Woman. " It's no matter of yours," snapped Robin. The Woman was joyful. "He scolded ye!" slie cried. "I am blythe to hear it. One day my Danny will go, and he will not return." " And that will be a joyful day for you," cried Robin bitterly. "When my Danny is dead!" cried the Woman. "When you can say: 'I aye tell't ye,'" said Robin, going forth. "iVy," cried the Woman, following, " nd I aye have tell't you, and I will tell you once again: You will lose him once ower often yet, Robin Crabbe. I have said it before, and I say it again. You will lose him once owcr often yet. Mark me," she cried, hanging on his heels. "My word will come to pass. It maybe this very time, or it may not be yet a bit. But mark me ! You will lose him once owcr often yet. And that is my last word to you, Robin Crabbe." "I would well it were," said the rude man, and trailed away to mojie all day, full of un- easiness because of that gathering of dark men at the Ferry Ha'. CHAPTER XIV The Watchers on Lammer-more Those were dark - and inacces- sible, as an eagle shorn of his mate. But the \Voman sai.l much. Day-nnd-night-brg .< that t.me she might be heard, crying that that day had come of which she had long spoken; tdl Robm was driven forth from the kitchen to pass miserable days on Lammer-more. hand to his brow looking forth across the unkempt land towards Burn-Water lying pale and still beneath tar Windy-hoi)e and the Forest of Altyre Two days passed. A third came, and began to pass away, and still the Reiver had not re- turned. On the third evening, at that tender between- t.me when the day is gone, and the night not yet come and the gossamers swing across the eve- ning like fairy tresses hung from star to star there vv-ere three watchers on Lammer-more. I he Woman had come out of her kitchen and stood at the foot of the brae, tli. evening upon ii6 Danny li :i her hungry eyes, scant hair, and gaunt-boned face. Above her on Fir-Tree Knowe was Robin. Once she called up to him shrilly to ask if he saw a sign of the lost one; but he stood like one deaf, his face to the west, and answered nothing. " Nor ever will," shrilled the Women, answer- ing her own question. " Once ower often I aye said; and now ye see !" Topmost of the three, on that high, lonely headland whither Missie and her knight had been wont to go on such holy evenings to ex- change secrets with the Lord God walking there, stood the Laird. Bare-headed, he stood, and black, his back upon the evening star, watching the going down of the day from the topmost pinnacle of the moor. The moors began to smoke ; the mists to steal forth from the cleughs and nether-places of the land; the glory lifted from the face of Bum- Water, lying afar like a dead lily floating in a mere of shadow; while beyond athwart the throat of the hills the sea lay like a barrier of beaten gold. The hallowed silence fell about him like a raiment ; the stars came out ; the moon was like a silver sickle upon a field of azure ; and there The Watcliers v: 7mn. •er-more "7 came stealing across the forlorn dark face a tenderness as though the spirit of the Evenine had entered into him. The iron melted out of his face. He stood beneath the stars, no longer a dark Heriot but a dreamer of soft dreams, very dear. His feet were in the heather, his face in the seventh ^rm'J'r^ "P°" '' '^' '■"■"^'^ ^Pl«"dour of the West like a bUndness to transfigure it And as he stood so, he began laffing and daffing w:th lifted face, blind eyes, and tender hands, as one talking to a child; and as he murmured, smiling, he was aware of one stimng in the heather at his feet Dreaming still, he looked down and beheld two eyes of love, low at his feet, regarding him A moment he stood amazed; as one who looks into the eyes of her he has lost and found now after many years. "Child !" he whispered, in wonder of love- Ch.!d! and bent with tremulous tentative hands as though to lift her; and there was upon his face a glow that was not altogether of the moon. Then a wet leaf, as it were, touched his wrist He woke. At his feet was no maidenly white Missie. but a storm-warrior, wet, haggard, ragged with battle and l,:,t an hour escaped from instant death ii8 Danny As the two came off the brae together, one crept forth from the dark and with whimper- ing cry fell upon his knees, caught up the wan- derer in fond arms and kissed him. As they came to the foot of the brae, the Woman came winging to them in the half-light like Azrael with hungry eyes. " My man to me !" she cried, and hugged him to her bosom. Out of the darkness behind came ^he voice of Robin, nonchalant, swaggering as of old. "So ye'll be disappointed again. Lucky." " And no fault of yours," retorted the Woman, rocking on flat feet. " It is well this time," she cried, " but I will be right yet. Once ower often I have said, and once ower often it will prove." CHAPTER XV Daxny's Tryst Next day Danny was not himself. TI,e Woman noticed it-and abused Robin; Robin noticed it-and moped; so did the Laird-and scowled. The little man was troubled, absent-" all the while away," as the Woman phrased it Once or twice he put forth on little lonely questings about the old familiar lady-haunted spots by burn and brae; and Robin, troubled greatly, followed and tried to entice him to an enterpnse upon a vixen who had a lodgment under Gaunt Scaur. In vain. The War- den, though he greeted his old man friendly went on his questing way alone, and would not be tempted to his duty. Robin trailed back to the kitchen "He cares no more to kill, he cares no more to hve, • he said and sat down soddenly And I aye tell't ye." The Woman turned on him, fierce-eyed It IS that is troubling him, I do think," she cried. -He has something on his soul-some iig m * m if! 1 PI no Danny bloody murder you and he have been at in the wilderness." "God send it's nothing on his stomach," said Robin, mindful of the oath of Simon Ogg and the Philistine of Altyre. Next day Danny was gone again; and the Woman, as was her way, raved at Robin. In the dawn he was home again. Robin bore him back to the kitchen, and there the Woman received him with amazement and open arms. " Back from the bloodying in one day !" she cried. "The Lord's wonders never cease!" "He has not been bloodying," said Robin, greatly gloomy. "He has not so much as fleshed his teeth. I know not what he has been at. I would to Gk)d I did." " I will tell >ou," said the Woman grimly, and looked down into the eyes of love of him upon her bosom, "for God made him mai?. and there is but two things that sort puts out after. If a man has not been after some shed of blood, then has he been after some she-woman. So God made them, and they canna help themselves; and there's no good talkin'." Robin shook his head. "Na," said the dim old dotard, "na; he is no vanquisher of women, as I have been, to my shame be it spoken." WHAT IS IT?' PANTED LADY .f'V^Wt^ Danny's Tryst i-ai Now Danny was Lack from his night-adven- tunng, but he was still sick of soul. There had come the old harassed hungry look into his eyes He now trotted at the Laird's heels with droop- ing tail; anon he made sudden halt and stood with ears alert, as though hearkening to the far- heard feet of the Well-Beloved: again he would start off of sudden scurrying purpose, following unseen skirts trailing over dewy lawns ; and then marched warily with eyes as stars, bright to expect her, ambushed at every corner and be- hmd each bush, to leap forth on him with loud hands and merry eyes just as of old. Even his dreams were troubled. As he lay at the Laird's feet and slept he was not hunting now, but mur- murmg as though talking to his lady in her chamber. The Woman fell back on furious abuse of Robm; and Robin fell back upon whiskey. As he sat that evening seeking familiar com- fort m the ale-house. Simon Ogg, drinking in the door, dropped his pewter suddenly. The potman looked up. "What'staken thelad?" he cried "He's all of a daddle. I'm thinking ye'll ha' taken a chill layin out-bye last night, ma lad," he added. Robin woke from dim dreams. "Who was out-bye last night?" he asked. -'^ *** Danny " Ah !" said the potman. " Ask Looney here." "Simon Ogg, son of your father," said Robin solemnly, "where was you last night, when ye was where ye'd no call to be.'" "God's sake, man, whisht !" whispered Simon urgently, his cheek cuddled against the door- post, peering round it fearfully into the street. " What is it ye see ?" asked the potman. " Is it a war-lock? that gars ye glower that gate." Simon nodded furiously. "Where?" asked the potman, and come to look over Simon's shoulder. "Just there," said Simon, nibbling his finger- tips and nodding streetwards. The potman looked. The street was empty save, indeed, for a lonely little warrior figure trotting down it bent on some earnest business. "It is but Danny," he said. "His lane?" cried Robin. "Is his Honour none there ? " and tumbled to the door to see. " Not in the flesh," said Simon, chattering. Robin looked long. He saw the little lonely figure pass through the village; he saw him come to the bridge, and leap to the coping as of old; he saw him at search there with diligent nose; then he came back, busy, hurrying, rapt, the trouble in his eyes. ^^ "He'll be away hunting," said the potman, "else his Honour'd be there." Danny's T.yst CHAPTER XVI The Papish Philistine before, nor everlw "Vr ''^ "''^ °^ '^ «e has gone not to rSl""^ T"' '"' "^^'^ And as I said and so it h ^ ^"'* "^"'' X^. So indeed she did ^''^'■°'''" ninety and nine ti,^ s in th""!, '""'"'^ ^^ the morning of theZnh ^^''^'^^y^ ■ ^nd as in ^or the tholsant^ttl:t^-->^'-n^it «» upon her. ' ^ ^^iver trotted Then it was Robin's tum c- he stirred not from th^ H . '^^'^" *° ^ve 'ng -t the Woml ^"'''■".'^'^^'^"-hen.iib- Bald-headedAbominaSn'.T^ prophetess, a fair and foul a mhl ; '''"'"^ P^* "^me. -uld lay hold of NoTt7'"^^"'^ "^^^ desist to retire to thl "''""'"& ^11 did he celebrate the Rdve'sM; ''^' *'"^ «"^ *° destruction of Debo^; 2T '"' ^'^ "«^^ i»6 Danny He had been gone a bare half-hour, when the Woman, returning to the kitchen, was amazed to find him sitting before the fire, his head be- tween his hands. "Keep me!" she cried. "Back so soon! You are indeed the rapid drinker that walks down the street, gets you blind drunk, and home again all while I see his Honour changes his feet." "I am not blind drunk," said Robin, chin upon his hands. "I have scarce tasted." The Woman regarded him. "Have you dreamed then?" she asked. " Not to my knowledge," said Robin dully. "Then what in God's world is it?" she cried. " Danny is home ! ye can get fine and fou for a sixpenny ! and there's oceans of innocent blood to be shed!— what more d'ye want, you that God made male !" "It is this," said Robin, and looked her in the eyes; "last night the Forest of Altyre was moved." "What's that to me if it was?" cried the Woman. "To-day," continued Robin, "was to have been a great shooting at Altyre. There has been no shooting because of the moving." "Awell," cried the woman, "am I man that 1 should mourn because the Lord has seen good Tlw Piipisl, Philistine , to^o^rne between his creatu^s an.I their mur. "And the countrysi.le is being raised aeain^f the mover," continued Robin dully woman. He ,s ueary of this blood-guiltiness • and has move.l the Forest to ward his'crelis of he „,, ^^^.^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ures Even so He warned Davi.l in Keilah of the commg up of Saul," "And on every brig and naked wall from here to the Ferry Ha'," continued Robi-t" have a reward out against the mover. I h -e seenit with these eyes." "They may r.ward and rmard," said the Woman gnmly, "and yet if it is as I ^ay-!!-. /^ou say lies," said Robin shortly. -It is ■'On whom then .V' asked the woman. On Danny," said Robin. The Woman turned on him darkly This ,s as I have said!" she cried. "Ten thousand t:mes ten thousand I have tell't you 'Ur^r "'°'''"' ^"^ -'^d out on me Baldhead.r and the like. And now ye se" Ou^r man .s m Jeopardy of his hfe because ^f " How will I hinder him ?" Robin mker- W9' 133 Danny ably. "Missie calls him; and he is just away. She trysts him in the wilderness," said the old man; "that has been shown to me in a dream. And if while he is waiting for her — and you'll mind she was never there to the stroke — he bloodies a bit, who shall blame him?" The Woman pondered. "Who is it has the Forest this year?" she asked at last. "Young Johnson," said Robin; "a young fool-Sanenach with a fair wife. It is not for him I fear. He is little better than as God made him. Nor for her. I have seen her in Campbell-town carousing by in chariots and horses, and though she decks out in gaudy duds as it might be the Scarlet Woman, yet she is ower like to Missie to do scathe to any that walks God's earth, let be Danny." "Who is it then you fear?" asked the Woman. "Awe," said Robin harshly, "I But O Woman!" — he threw up and dropped his hand upon his knees — " I am just sore afraid." "Because of why?" asked the Woman, with scared eyes. " Because of yon muckle slabber of a foul- mouthed foreigner." "Goliath!" cried the Woman, wild-eyed. fear none, dim eyes. The Parish Philistine „. ^ "Ay," said Robin, biting home on a plug and full as uncircumscribed as ever his kin was when he cam' out o' Gath. with helmets on his head and targets on his feet." _*' What of him ?" asked the Woman. "He has sworn," said Robin. "That's little more than the mort o' men do, said the Woman, relieved. "He cursed Danny by his gods," Robin con- tmued. " That's no matter," said the Woman " The gods o' the Philistines are of little account " Wait !" said Robin. " He swore-he swore —to crucify him." "To crucify him!" screamed the Woman and rammed her apron to her mouth "Mv wean !" ^ "Ay," said Robin, "your wean-my wean- Missie s wean— all our wean !" • The Woman was pale as her apron PhiSier"''" ^'^ -'^'- "^^ P^P^^ " To crucify him," continued Robin, nodding along o' t'other vermin against his kennel-door' Ve man look!" said the old man. "It is truth I am telling you. Andra' GiUray. who has foreign French and tongues, heard him swear it at the Ferry Ha'. Myself," said Kobm, "I am a Christian and have no dealings 13° Danny with barbarious tongues; and I cannot rehearse you the words, but that is the matter of it." The Woman drew a deep breath as one emerging from icy waters. "The Anti-Christ !" she said. "The bloody Caiaphas!" " He is all that, to be sure," said Robin, and spat upon the floor, "and worse. He is an Englisher." The Woman turned and scurried for the door. "Where away?" asked Robin sharply. "To warn his Honour," cried she. "Let be. Woman," snapped Robin. "What cares his like for his Honour?" "If not for his Honour, for whom then?" asked the Woman, hand on the door. "Woman," said Robin solemnly, "if there is any hugger-mugger-muddlin' over this mat- ter it will be like to cost us our man. Is it to yon old billie " "Billie!" cried the Woman. "Bletherin' and blatherin'," said Robin. "Mind your mouth !" shrilled the Woman. " That we will turn in our hour of need," said Robin. "Na. This is a matter for a man, or more than a man. This is a matter for such an one as was he who slew ilie kin of the same Uncircumscribed— a mighty valiant man and a man of war." The Parish Philistine 13, " For such an one indeed," cried the Woman "But where will we find our champion?" Robin gathered himself and rose. "Here is your David," said he, and stood before her, dim, aged-bowed, with dripping ringlets; then went out. Mi ip CHAPTER XVII A Man op His Word It was nigl.;; and from the cottage of Simon Ogg proceeded merriness and shrill song. Three wee devils in a big black pot, Screamin', steamin' ! And the ole daddy Devil gaily stirrin' of the lot, Beamin', streamin' ! The door opened and a face looked in. Within all was blackness save for the light of the peat fire splashing ruddily on dingy walls, and low rafters, hung with onions and fat hams. Pinned to the centre-beam and fluttering in the red light, like a huge anguished butterfly, hung a notice; and before it in the firelight danced Simon Ogg, beating with two wooden spoons a furious rat-a-tan on the sides of a fat ham, and screaming : He's a-pokin' and a-s*rokin' with a poker that is hot. Here one, there one .' Particularly proddin' in a sore selected spot, His dear one, the heir one I "His heir one!" said a voice in the door — "Simon Ogg, son of his father." Simon leaped round, and saw one in the '33 14 ■^"-^w-'^sm • '34 Danny door, dim, ringleted and bonneted, against the night and everlasting stars. " Ye're fine and songful," said Robin. "Ay," tittered Simon, and searched with blind hands at his back. " What gars ye pluck for that notish ?" asked Robin, eyeing him. "What notish-.?" "The notish hanging from the beam," said Robin, "offering ^£10 reward for information against you." "Against me," cried Simon. "What for why?" ''For bein' there," said Robin, nodding. "Who's been where?" said Simon, nibbling his nails. "You have," said Robin, "in the Forest." "What Forest?" "The forest that was moved." "Has the Forest been moved then?" asked Simon. "You should know," said Robin souriy. "When was it?" " By night," said Robin. "What night?" "The night you was there," said Robin. " I wasna there," said the youth, fearful, but dogged. "And who tell't you ? " "Ah," said Robin, "I have my dreams." A Man of His Word ,3, " Your dreams can put no proof on me." said the youth, watching him with cat's eyes. "And there is Danny," said Robin "Danny!" said the youth, and began to chatter. ' ' Did he see me ? " " Did he not .'" said Robin. "But it was pit-murk!" cried tlie youth nibbhng furiously. "Maybe," said Robin. "He sees with ais nose." "And now I mind me," cried Simon, "I was never there to see." "And now I mind me," said Robin, "he was none there to see ye." ^''Indeed, but he was so !" cried the youth. " Can ye swear to that ? " "Swear to it !" cried the youth. " I just saw him a." " You saw him !" cried Robin, and transfixed him with accusing finger. " You saw him, you that was not there !" Simon staggered but recovered. ■' It was in a dream I saw him," he mumbled. "You dream dreams!" cried Robin. "The very trouts in the poddies will be dreamin' dreams ne.xt. Na," he cried, "na; you lie lies ' but you do not dream dreams. ... And you was in the Forest," and he turned to stump out. "^ »3« Danny n>-ii eyj'"* to?" asked Simon, following, pale- "To earn £io." "What for?" "Infonning on you," said Robin. Simon drew closer. ■ K,-"^. J"""' ^'- ^°^'"'" ^^ whispered, nib- Wmg, if you will swear to tell none, I in mv turn will tell you " ' "What?" " A thing," said Simon, nibbling and nodding m a very ecstasy of mystery. "I thank you," cried Robin with high scorn but when I would kno^ a thing it is not to you that are afflicted that I would turn- it is to my dreams." "Concerning Damay," said the youth, and nibbled and nodded. Robin stayed. "Tell on," he said with cold indifference 1 will make shift to hear you." "Ye'U tell none o' my bit jaunt?" insisted ormon. "Trust me," said Robin, "and see." " Ye'U none tell Joliff, the Englishman," pur- sued Simon. "He has his eye towards me. He would clink me if he could. ' ' " Ye're safe with me," said Robin. " I'll none telljoliath. I could not if I would. I have no A Matt of His Word Phaistine Besides that, I would not be seen taUcmg wjth English in the gate " Simon drew closer stealthily * Whisper I" he said and began " I Hi^ • . happen there or thereabout' ^" '"'' 'Where?" "Tuesday night." "How came you there?" ^JAwen,;; said Simon. .-Ij^stwolce and found "Where?" " On Windy-hope above Bum-Water • if, th where the great fir was that came down n th" ^ochet-stor^ two years by-past; and a^ T It Roh ;^r "'^^ ^'^°"''^ ^"""^ by but-!'. Robm held up his hand. ';i will hear no more," said he shortly Why not?" said S^mon, looking ai him pose I thank you." said Robin courteously And what's that?" asked S,-,„„ • ciously. '^ ^™°"' suspi- "To clink you." said Robin R!I^r'^?^°°"^-"^^'^^'"«d Simon. Robm turned on him wrathfully break the V^??'i,' ""' "^^^'' "*^^* ^ -°-ld freak the troth I have plighted. Na, I will •38 Danny indeed inform on you— how else would I earn the reward? But I do not go to the Bloody Englisher, but to his Honour." "But the Forest's none of his Honour's?" cried Simon. "Is not Danny his Honour's?" said Robin sternly. " And are they not putting the moving of the Forest on him ? Shall he suffer for your sin ? " "I'd liefer ye tell't the Bloody Englishman than his Honour," whined Simon. " Na," said Robin firmly. " I have my oath that I may not break. Yet be not dismay'd. It will be the same to you. For 1 will tell it up to his Honour, who will tell it up to the Fool- Sassenach, and he to Joliath, and Joliath to the police." "And I will be clink't !" cried Simon. "You will so," said Robin, "if you are not hang't." Simon chattered. "Mr. Robin," he began. "Need ye tell his Honour ? It was him k'^ed my daddy in Gaunt Scaur." "Ay," cried Robin fiercely, " and for all thanks to him for doing that for you, you would kill his Danny— who is more to him than son, and little less than soul." "I'll ne'er lay a hand to him," whimpered Simon. 1 I A Man of His ly^^ ■■V . . '•" you took an oath " sairl vi^u- • "It was minnie made ^e " th • 'T r"'^" "O Mr. Robin, is there t::, b^Ss h?"' must know?" '* Honour He stood before the old man l.„t, shabby-kneed, and whirnpeTe, " ''"^'"^• bui'^nrrr^o'Arr--'--''-^ TentheB,ood7En^Sr\';'"°™'^'"°- none but you moved th loTl 'T '"'^ ™ght be well to tell h,^ that to' "' '' ;n.cgain knowledge. ant :rn-r rr^i:"--^-----"enr ' Ye've none but mv wnrA j Simon cunningly. ^ ^^' *^^'-«'" «^>d "No man can be Ivin' -ill fh^ *• you." said Robin. ' Tel him t.T "°* '"^" have tell't you And if .^*' ^^'^ "^^ ^ thehalfofo„ewtrd^^2f'^^°^'>^^by than that, then " s^ d Roh T '* '^' ^''' "-y the Laird ^X^^o^ITL'T ''''■ father, or worse, or worse ' '' '^ ^°"^ ^Jan he worse than murder me... .sc.,„ed "Whatthe Laird canna, there is ,-ust one that 140 Danny can, and that," said the old man, "is Robin Crabbe." w Robin stood in the door of the kitchen, and looked in on the Woman. "I have done four things this night that should stead me well," he announced. " I have saved my Danny — and Missie will be pleased; I have made away with a malefactor out of this parish maybe for aye and may be for six weeks— and his Honour will be pleased ; I have made ;£io that I have not earned— and I am pleased ; and I have taken an oath that I have not kept, nor yet broken it — and the Lord will be pleased." CHAPTER XVIII "Where ,s Mv Dannv?- It was dawn n^vt a , the door of hZo ieTnd !.'"" °^^ ^^^^ '" heels was his darkTn^, '^'"''^'"^ ■ ^"'l at his "Whostrilcesntn '*'^'^P^""g• theda^kwot:„'^^":^:r'-.fLai^d•.^id Simon shrugged sh;,,^ the silent stref;;^;!^^^; ^'^^^^ «"* into -«t«". and tu^ed West o""\"*° '^"'^ and in the silent streerS^ ,"'" ''" ^""'^d watching hin,; so he^l ^ "''^ '""^^er stood °M drove-road that sSh'^r ""^ *°°^ ^^^ "lo'^. surging up tof ^°°' °^ ^^'"'ner- eyes on Danny. ^""'^"^ ^^e youth, his 141 I4a Danny m Ml " On that business I spoke with you of last night ?" asked the old man. "The same," said Simon. Robin eyed him critically; then he thrust forth an old hand. "Simon Ogg," said he, not unfeelingly, "you have more guts to you than has been shown to me. It is ill to sin," continued the preacher of the weeping eye, "but some hold— and I am one — that to sin and then to confess your sin is better than never to have sinned at all. And mind, if they give you the ;£io for informing against yourself, it is to me that it belongs, who put you in the way of addling it. But I will not forget my little friend," said Robin tenderly, " and we will share and share alike. You shall have your sixpenny if ever you come forth from clink alive ; and I will have that is over. Go, my buckie !" said Robin, tears in his eyes. "Go ! and the blessing of St. Colomb be with you !" Simon, son of Simon, tramped on his way, tittering; while Robin trotted home with heart uplifted. In the kitchen he sat down and laughed so long and silently, that the Woman, coming in on him, asked him sharply had he been drinking, or had he had the dreams. "Nor t'ane nor t'ither," said Robin, hugging himself. "^^'■^ts My Danny f '43 J^^^"*"^" looked at him. "I have cotched Z- saTiTK '^"°"-" Wor:rreri"°---^edthe,au„t Here to my heel " siirl P^t,- "Iseehimnot,-s;id few ''"''°°'^^^- into the old man's eyes '"' ""'^ ^°°^«d . "^^^'' ^''^'"^^" the same," said Rni,- 'ng and ever turnine ^J '"' *""'- turned, "only-iTust' "''"" ^^''"^ ^« he then^anlhoLDinnrHVr-''^---^^ Honour," he said t^7- ^"'* ^^ ^'th his ■ with shaking hp ■ '"^""^ '"^'ff— , and yet scutt Joff"^ ^'^^*'" '^-'^ the Woman, and ousraioTtrpfsLr^^^^'^'-^^^^- ^h.SeJS;2;t^7-norhasheen," ''A-hisHonL;;rkerrrrh:t"°°-- theWoman:^;.iLtL"°^'v^^^^^^^^^^ champion ! You th=+ t, ^*^ ^""e our "ifheisn!;:ht.:jr?'™-'" he Win b, some other X^' "' "' '^ '"'^ 144 Danny m m m " He is lost ! " cried the gaunt Woman, " lost !" and turning called down the passage. "Robin Crabbe has lost him again, your Honour." " Send him here !" came the harsh voice from the hall. "The Laird would speak with you," said the Woman, turning. "I canna come," said Robin, hurrying away. "He must come!" thundered the voice unseen. "I canna!" cried Robin, raising his voice. "I've my work." "Ye can let it go," thundered the Laird, "same as usual." " Na," said Robin, firmly, " a man must work while he has daylight : it is in the Book. Maybe I'll come to-night, maybe I winna." He sneaked away, and the Woman hung on his heels. "Then what will I tell his Honour?" she asked, "and him shouting for Danny. God's Sake ! hear him !" "Tell him," said Robin shortly, "to go look for him." "I will tell him this!" cried the Woman: "that Danny is gone; and that Simon Ogg has gone after him, whose father the Laird slew, and who has sworn to slay again ; and that you ' Where is My Danny? " jnt hhn. And I will teH him of the oath of the Enghsher wh:ch you have withheld from hL^ ' Robin turned. " I tell't you of it I" he cnVH " n. to tPlI h,. tr necned. It was for you feet." ^ ^^ changed his " Me ! " screamed the Woman ' ■ t+ forbid me flatlv ' H^ ,?' ^* "^^ y°" bletherin-. ar^J blathSn '°" °'' '"'^«' , ani. Diathenn , serve us? ' ye said Na ^ysyou..Iwillbeyourchampio':,"t -ys. _ I W.1I go up and fight with this PhL" "I did ittotry ye," said Robin. "Idid it bv his Honour's word." ^^ "We will see that!" cried thp w J-2 -^ «^^ ^0^ the hoSe^tltS^Tnd EnS:r?"Thi' "" !'^ °^*^ °^ ^•^^ Woody unghsherf she cned, "word for word that T may rehearse it to his Honour " Robm above her on the mound quavered bowed, and feu suddenly upon his knees To crucify him," he sobbed, his old face in h^hands. "To crucify him. OMissielX a " I CHAPTER XIX On Windy-hope Twelve miles away across .^t^^r, -dden cleughs. and LnZliSl^Tr "' nses Windy-hope. h.lJ^^Z::'l'^ ";^^^' and insetting sea °°^^ a in his ruin been deserted by his Court the fir-t.ee throne two stood and talked. One was a burly man and brown, with a face id be rd trr' '"' ^" Englishman's hog! Sad oaf; ' '""^ y°"^^ -'th flaming wCrir;r ^'^ ^'^ °^ °"^ -'^^ '= afraid' ever at^r ^u T '°''' " '^'^' ^'^ Angers thenf. ''\'"°"*'^- 1^^^ «y<=s everywhere- while Jinjon^at last made end. and stood looking at "What think ye.? "he said at last. 147 f 1 148 Danny ri ! '. ■ 1 ■ i The Englishman thought a little, spat a little, and replied briefly — "It's a dom lie— that's what A think." "Ye said the same about the otter, Mr. Joliff," replied the lank youth eagerly. "Was I wrong that time?" The Englishman spat gloomily. "I put ye on to him fair enough," continued Simon, "and however you came to miss him " The Englishman turned on him. "Shut gab o' thee !" he roared. Simon retreated out of fist-reach. He had touched on a sore, and he knew it. A fortnight before Simon had fallen alive into the hands of this same loud Englishman, and had only saved himself by swearing to deliver to Joliff in his place the Arch-Spoiler himself; telling a tale of a certain otter lady who had her hold in the wee lochan on the top of the hill with whom, so Simon affirmed, he of the coat of tarnished silver and lover's eyes had a friendly feud to death. Joliff, loud-tongued, tempestuous, had mocked. "Yon HI terrier mix it oop wi' her like !" he had jeered. Yet, Simon persisting, he had lain out at night beside the silver-splashing shallows where the waters of the lochan dimple before On Windy-hopc weather had awai ^7 '"' """^'^ °' ^°" eyes. '^ ^'^ ""^-"^ °f the lover's sw.ng.ng over the Forest from aiar "^^^ Jolitt had snatched tii's a,,^ j , the hi., towards Z^:t.::'^::^'\'^^ chance his Master, out ai el "'^ ^^''^ Maida, and the ter^V , ? '^ "^'^'^ °'d todriCetheRi^rXth^'^^r'^'""" furiously, had arriv^rar.W ^ ^' '"""^^ would come, on his wav to tnH^„ ^i, P^^^^*^- «e had not to wait long. On thp h;» -a "m. ,„ hta „ol hi„ he .,aS . '? "^ ■HI 15° Danny first with violent words and then with a violent blow that had knocked the words clean out of his ah-eady riddled mind. This much, however, he did know: that it was here in the clearing, where they now stood, that Maida had lost the scent as completely as though the fugitive had been rapt up to heaven. m "And it was here yo' seyn him?" asked the Englishman, moodily. " It was so," said Simon, nibbling, nodding. "What night?" asked the Englishman sud- denly. "Tuesday night," said Simon glibly, "Thurs- day night again " The Englishman rounded on him, thimdering, and would know by this and that how Simon came in his forest on these or any other nights. Simon tittered, nibbled his nails, looke'^1 at the Englishman's feet, and "What's yon?" he asked, pointing "Where?" "Just there," said Simon, pointing beside the fir-tree throne — "whitey." The Englishman bent, picked up a gossamer- rag, soiled but dainty, and folded it with careful fingers. " Her handkercher," he said shortly. "Whose?" On Windy-hope ■J' "Missus's." "Missie's?" cried Simon fearfully ■Ay," said the Englishman, "the Missus's. that'n" ""' ^^"™' ^"'' P''^*"""' ^"d "Would she be at it here.?" asked Simon pomtmg to the fir-tree throne ■■Betimes," said the Englishman surlily, bhe was figurin' here the time " denl^'' ^°" ^ ^"'■" ^^^^'^'^ ''^™°"- «"^1- ^^The Englishman timed and looked up the On the brow of Windy-hope a girl stood against the sky, slender, tall, and with sunset "Ay," he answered shortly. Simon looked long. '' Hoo !" he said, sucking in his cheeks, " hoo !" and takmg his courage in his hands, -See here, Mr.Joliff! Just lend yon here a bit " ;;Her handkercher?" cried the Englishman ^Ay, said Simon, nibbling, nodding That yo' may snuffle on it !" stormed the other and came on. "Ma guy! A'U leam tnee ! 'Na," said Simon, retreating, "na I'm none for snufflin' on it. I have my sleeve." 1 he Englishman halted. V i i5» Vanny "What's 'ta' want with it tiien?" he asked, glowering. " See," said Simon. " So," and showed hiffi. CHAPTER XX Simon and the Englishman Two days later towards dawn Simon stood at the door of the Enghshman's lodge. "Danny will trouble you never more, Mr. Joliff," he said, smirking. "Hast caught him, then?" asked the other. "I have so," leered Simon, "and more." The Englishman hearkened, grim-mouthed. "Let's see the body, ma lad," said he. "Seein's believin'. Where's the body?" and he thrust his hands deep in his leather breeches. " Back in the clearing," said Simon, nibbling. "The carkiss?" "Ay," said Simon. "Gie me my penny-fee, and I will be away." " Plenty time enough to talk o' that, ma lad," said the Englishman. "A bid yo' snare him; A never bid yo' kill him. Think A'd trust the killin' of a Christian beast to your heathen hands ! Likely !" he cried in scorn, and strode down the hill, Simon, lurcher-like, at his heels. So they came to the clearing on Windy-hope. There beside the fir-tree throne one sat, en- '53 '54 Danny meshed; and in liis eyes were dreams and in his mouth a handkt.-chief. The Englishman turned. "Yon thy carkiss?" he asked, grimly. "There's the body," tittered Simon, "and the breath in it, and a'." Burly, sun-bearded, grim, the Englishman strode acros.s the clearing, released his prisoner and held him at arm's length. Danny hung quite still; in his eyes were dreams, and in his mouth a handkerchief. "It's a rum 'un," said the Englishman; "it's a rum 'un," and holding his prisoner at arm's length eyed him. Here was the villain of half the tragedies of Joliff's later life, who had haunted him these several seasons like a guilty conscience. Now that at last he had his enemy in his hand he could not but admire. Long he had known him bold in peril, daring in plot, flaming in battle; and now in adversity found him strong to endure, and loved him for it as a brave man loves a gallant enemy; yet there came no thought of pity into his heart. "A've gotten thee at last, ma lad," said he, and shook him, not unkindly; "yo've had your nm, and a rare run, too; and now yo' mun pay." He slanted across Windy-hope. "Where away?" asked Simon at his heels. ^"""«««■ and .lip, ,„j iJZ, '"'""•r a... ••ocks. and sc:^ened bv r K ^'"^""^y^d. set in to hide the fairylaZ hi ''"^'"^ ^^'^ - '^^'d eyes of thT sun "^ ^'^^^^ ^^'^'n ^he Were in that lonelv hnii„ f nt save for the ba'bb or;hrr^ '^""^ '"-■ of a white-breasted w..7 ""■^^'" ^nd cry -ck above the ^o, thTE„T^-th. on the , J-" -ed sl^^f-;--^^ ov^^S;:S:Sl^;^^.a„.bent Simon watched, aghast seemed unmoved "* handkerchief, The Englishman rose Tu T^ • ^^"le-eved iS6 Danny ■I i Beneath him lay the pool, cat-like, crouching, with green eyes, awaiting its prey. " Noo, ma lad !" said the Englishman. " Say thy prayers !" and began to swing him. "Hi!" protested an urgent voice. "Bide a bit." The Englishman turned. "Are you for drowning him, Mr. Joliff?" protested Simon. " What's that to you ?" scowled the English- man. "Ye swore to crucify him," said Simon, and sniggered. The Englishman breathed deep. "Browning's none good enough, eh?" he asked. Simon, with sideways head like a coy child, tittered. "A-well," he said, "may be crucifyin's the more laflfable." "Happen so," mused the Englishman, meas- uring the distance between Simon and himself. "Here 1" and suddenly held out the prisoner. Simon slipped back a yard. "What's it?" he cried. " Kill him," said the Englishman. " And I'll crucify him." "Kill him I" shrilled Simon, " and where will be the sport in crucifyin' the dead ? " Simon and the EngUshn^^^ '57 leareu? he scoffed iJimon giggled. A proper male' o' man s„r.i v, ^"^''^hnian. scom. ^"' '"^«'y •' and turned in ball!" '"" "^^^ J°"'^-"' -^ed Simon at his TheEngh.hLl:i.^°^^'"^^^- ■ts that a bargain?" Simon nodded. "Strike hands on that f -j -an, and came to him ^L T ')' ^"^"^'>- stretched forth. ^"^"^ ^'"^"k hand Sirnon clutched it eagerly and a'." ■' ' ^"^ Just for love and smote hirifeirnTr^^^'^' and a'!" "'^^'^~ Just for love S SI. AllJeamthee.f (blow) •S8 Danny m M '' '! I'M I If , I "yo' bloody-minded" (blow) "double-dutch" (blow) "Frenchified" (blow) "Roosian Proo- shian" (blow) "made in Gummanee," and felled him. "Stan' oop !" roared the Englishman. "Stan' oop ! A ain't reetly begun on thee yet ! Stan' oop, I say !" "What for?" whined Simon, wriggling on his face. "That A may fell thee !" roared the English- man. " I'd Uefer lay," whimpered Simon. "Get oop!" stormed the other. "Get oop I ma guy ! or A'U tread thee," and he began to. .Simon wriggled, rose, and shifty as lightning, slipped out of fist reach. Then he turned, babbling, blubbering. " Ye shall hang for this, ye bloody Englisher ! " he screamed. "You are not his Honour that you can murder folks when you've the mind!" "Hod awa' wi' thee!" stormed the English- man, coming on. " Ma guy ! ma gosh ! If A lay hand to thee, it'll like to be t' end o' thee !" "Pay me my penny-fee!" screamed Simon, dancing out of reach, " and I will away and tell his Honour I am murdered quite, and he will hang you ; for though whiles he murders bodies himself, he is sore on oth-'rs that do the like." JtF^' •.<^^'' Slmn ml ,4, E,gliAKm ,„ expecting to find his prisoner gone ^' The doomed knight had not stirred- and in h. e,.. ere dreams, and in his .outhatnd": "It's a rum 'un ! ' - — -„ . said the Enelishmnn h:s arm and marched off up the hiU "We^f see what Master says I" " ■■■'■ CHAPTER XXI The Doomed Knight At the foot of an old black fir on Windy-hope above Bum-Water sat a doomed knight in the homed glow of evening. At his feet was a new-dug grave; and round his neck a halter tied to the stem of the fir Across the grave stood Joliff, handling a gun. Ihe knight sat sedately beside his grave • and was politely bored. The sun had westered behind dark Windy- hope; and was no more seen. Still he sat, the dreams asleep in his eyes, gazing steadfastly to where on the brow of the hill, a gap i„ the Forest made a gate of gold with pillars of dark pme. Joliflf clapped the gun to his shoulder. Tranquil as the evening sat the little knight and ever gazed towards that gate of gold with pillars of dark pine as though through those fair portals out of that western wonderland of stars and pale Illimitable lakes of gold, should come to hmi his Well-Beloved from searching of lost «uns. i6i t6a Danny Joliff dropped his barrel. Then he blew his nose rudely, expectorated, swore ; withdrew the cartridge, peered down the barrel, blew down it, expectorated, swore; -nulled forth another cartridge, polished the biass end, weighed it, expectorated, swore; and shoved it home. Then he took another sight. The doomed knight looked up the muzzle of the gun with grave interest. Joliff dropped his barrel; drew his fist across his mouth to wipe away an oath; bent his hands on his great thighs, and said in the other's ear and confidentially: "Dom thy eyes, lad!" Danny wagged ; and his air was that of the fine lady who smiles to show how bored she is. JolifE snatched up his gun. " Dooty's dooty !" he said, "and to be done," and kneeled, with blind eyes. " Arttheer, lad?" he hoarsed, and pressed the muzzle of the gun against the other's heart. For answer, Danny yawned. JolifE clinched his eyelids. "Steady, ok' lad !" he hoarsed as Danny began to stir. " It's none o' my doin', mind! It's master's!" his finger on the trigger. " 'Twon't be long," and fired. There was a little startled yelp, and not of pain. The Doomed Knighl i6^ " I'd a« lief ha' killed a lad ! " gulped the great man, and opened his eyes to find before him no grey-and-bloody-dabbled corpse, but at his side, at full stretch of the halter, one who had waited long and beheld at last her he had sought. Johff, still on his knees, swung about to see. Over the brow of the hill, through the gate of gold between pillars of dark pine, there came one on white wings; and the gossamers swung across her path to stay her as she sped. Out of the pure heart of the West she came, the Well-Beloved from searching of lost suns, and as she came she cried : " You beast!" Joliff rose from his knees and dusted them. A lady stood at his side like a lily in flames. " You dared!" she panted. Joliff touched his cap, stolid, respectful oak of the Forest. "Orders, 'M," he said, surly and not at all ashamed. "Whose orders?" "And orders bein' orders, 'M," said the oak, "Then what of my orders?" passionately. " Beg pardon, 'M," said the oak, touching his hat, "but Master's orders for men, 'M, Misses's orders for maids." 5S i64 Danny " Did the Master order this murderf" cried the lily in flames. " Did hei did he?" " And that bein' so," cor -inued the oak, " and orders being orders " " No, Jolifft It's no goc> Vou shall tell me. You shall! No, I wont' You shall." " I mun carry of 'em out," continued the oak, unmoved ; and loaded his gun. " Will yo' please to step aside, 'M. ? " She did not understand, pale still with passion. ! I "I were, 'M," said the oak, "and I are, 'M. Will yo' please to step aside, 'M?" and began to circle around her. Then she understood. "If yo' please, 'M," said the oak, circling round. She stood before him pale as a sword, and as dumb. " By your leave, 'M." He thrust out an arm like an iron bar to thrust her aside. Like a lily she bowed to the sweep of his arm, bent beneath it, and sprung erect again. Then she faced him, snow-cold and still; and Danny in her arms. "And now !" she said. She stood where she was in the hush and holi- The Doomed Kntghl g Then the noise ceased E.gii.h™„, Wet" bLclTLT,"""' "" «» PW«t West ''"''>'• 'S*™' A was none for it 'M " i,„ She watched him, wondering ^Jarments. ^ What is i, little man?- she asked at last, At tJxe sound of her voice he i;ft»^ and looked at her with t ublei tes' ""Z T 11 IN 1 66 Danny A moment he stood four-square before her; and then with muzzle Hfted to the sky cried out his heart because this was not her he sought, his lady dead, come back to him from wander- ings in far-and-near eternity, but only one like her as her shade. "Hush!" cried the lady fearfully, " Hush.'" for a horror that his crying might draw her hus- band seized her. "Home! Hepburn! Home to your Laird I Murder-man Laird ! Keep-His- Kirks Laird !" and she waved to him urgently. He went, trailing sadly; then looked back at her, standing with large eyes beneath the fir, and invited her to follow. " Just a wee way then," she said, and followed. So together the two went through the eve- ning, he bearing himself as one well used to ladies' company in the dew, until they came to the height of Windy-hope. Here she stopped, the evening wind caressing her fair hair, and stood u ,noment nibbling a silver pencil; then she wrof:. " No farther, Danny !" she said, and kneeling beside him, her fingers played about his collar. " Now be good ! and if you love lady ever so little don't come again !" and framing his face between her hands she kissed him. CHAPTER XXII The Return of the Reiver you.,. , ^ wor :rhX» Next morning, for the first time for three da^^he crept brokenl, to the .itehentd hea!th's"on?'r' ^"^ '""'^'^ ^^ ^'^^ -Pty hearth-stone, her great hands clutched togethe^^ I6; MICROCOPY DESOIUTION TEST CHA>T (ANSI ord ISO TEST CHART No, 21 fE Ilia A APPLIED IfVMGE In (716) 462 - OJOO - Phor ('16) 288 - 5989 - Fo» 1 68 Danny all knucklc-bones and working fingers; lost in prayer. She heard his coming and looked round. " Is he home.'" she asked, in dull, passionless voice, nor stirred from her knees. " I just cam' to see that," gasped Robin. The Woman closed her eyes, and was back again at prayer; then she raised her face, and asked in that still voice, hushed as in church: " Was it crucify him?" The old man had run out at a little dribbling trot to creep up to his high loneliness to be miser- able there with God alone; and here in the eyes of the wakening morning he knelt now, un- bonneted, dim, and poured out his heart with sobs to the God of the Bereaved. Anon he rose, walked to the brink of the hill, and peered out over the mist-muffled moors toward Bum-Water, cradled in the hills, and wrapped in mystery of sleep. There was no sign of him he sought— only hope creeping out of the East over the land Uke the first faint flush of Love rosying innocence. He closed his eyes and prayed again, not now to Him who would not hear, but to her who lay forever at the foot of the Throne, prayed that she would turn the ear of God towards him ; call- ing her " Missie !"— " dearie !"— and a thousand tender names of the old time ; "You that had the The Return oj the Reiver 169 fondness for your man one while ! You that could wheedle his Hcjnour's self to hear you !" At length for a last time he opened his eyes. Beneath him still the moorland lay with the patient face of the unheeding dead. Only as he looked a cock-grouse rose with sudden alarum cry ; nearer, a raven, slow-winged, and gorged, flapped wearily away ; at the foot of the hill a whin-chat leaped into the air; and then it was as though one was walking up the hillside unseen, yet leaving in his wake a trail of wak- ened creatures. Robin fell to his knees. His eyes were shut ; yet he prayed not. The heather rustled before him ; there v/as the patter of little feet, and sound of one who pants ; then two small hands thrust at his breast, and one was kissing his blind face very tenderly. Robin lurched forward, as one who swoons. " Am I dead ? " he gasped ; opened his eyes, as one first opening his eyes in heaven, who looks about in frightened hope to see if all is well. "Or, Missie ! have you heard?" and knew that she had heard. Robin came to the kitchen, Danny riding on his shoulder. There kneeled the Woman as he had left her. '7° Danny "There's no nee