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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Souls of Passage
 
 LIKK A VISION OK A CKNTt'KY AGO.
 
 SOULS 
 
 O F 
 
 PASSAGE 
 
 By 
 
 AMELIA E. BARR 
 
 Author of "The Bow of Orange Ribbon," 
 
 "I, Thou, and The Other One," "The 
 
 Maid of Maiden Lane," etc. 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 
 EMLEN McCONNELL 
 
 New Tork 
 >.& Dodd, Mead & Company 
 1901
 
 Copyright, 1901, 
 By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY. 
 
 Copyright, 1900, 
 
 By J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 (In Lippincott's Magazine.)
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 I. PROVOST ROBERT MACKENZIE i 
 
 II. FLORA DUNBRACK 20 
 
 III. AT DUNBRACK CASTLE 35 
 
 IV. EUPHAMIA MACRAE 71 
 
 V. WHO WAS TO BLAME? 120 
 
 VI. THE INEVITABLE QUESTION 147 
 
 VII. WHITHER? WHEREFORE? 170 
 
 VIII. LIKE AS A FATHER PITIETH HIS 
 
 CHILDREN 197 
 
 IX. MONEY AND MARRIAGE 226 
 
 X. EUPHAMIA MAKES A CONFESSION . . 256 
 
 XL FAME Is MARRIED 280 
 
 XII. ALAN AND FLORA 302 
 
 A LITTLE SEQUEL 325 
 
 2227870
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 LIKE A VISION OF A CENTURY AGO," . Frontispiece 
 
 SHE BEGAN TO STEP A STATELY MEASURE," . . 22 
 
 ' AND I WILL NEVER FORGET THAT GOD HlMSELF WAS 
 
 SENDING YOU,' " 98 
 
 THE CEASELESS RAIN SWEPT IN IMPETUOUS BURSTS," . IQ2 
 
 HE WENT TO HER AND PUT HIS HAND ON HER SHOUL 
 DER," 238 
 
 THEY SANG FROM THE SAME PSALM BOOK," . . 316
 
 SOULS OF PASSAGE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PROVOST ROBERT MACKENZIE. 
 
 EVERY great city has a pronounced individual 
 ity, a character which is its own, and which ex 
 presses its peculiar life with unmistakable power 
 and eloquence. Manchester is a big market-place ; 
 its whole atmosphere is that of money making. 
 Oxford and St. Andrews exhale a stately, schol 
 arly, ecclesiastical element. Edinburgh is an epic 
 in stone ; as soon as we enter its precincts, its ro 
 mance goes to our hearts like wine ; and every one 
 who has been in Glasgow feels that this city is the 
 palpable incarnation in gray granite of the Low 
 land Scotch character of its theology, its pa 
 triotism, and its enterprise. 
 
 To this trinity of the religious, commercial, and 
 national spirit Glasgow owes its special character ; 
 and in its provost, Robert Mackenzie, these three 
 qualities were well mingled. Certainly on the first 
 day of the week the religious element dominated 
 him; and he then put his provostship behind his
 
 2 Souls of Passage 
 
 eldership ; but for six days, commerce and patriot 
 ism had their full dues, and there were also many 
 hours in which the three qualities were so subtly 
 blended that they became one. And in such hours 
 Robert Mackenzie was at his very best. 
 
 Personally, he had a strongly marked coun 
 tenance, a commanding stature, a proud port and 
 an authoritative manner. The inner man in his 
 case had fashioned its bodily semblance with ex 
 traordinary power and precision ; and as he stood 
 among his bailies glorifying their city and its 
 evident great destiny, they were sure they had 
 done well in selecting him for their leader. 
 
 "We have made the river that made the city!" 
 he cried, " and this great Glasgow which we have 
 builded is the monument to our adventurous faith 
 in God and man." And this recognition of the 
 Almighty's right to share in their honor and high 
 emprise was at once unanimously applauded; for 
 though as Glasgow bailies they were proud men, 
 they did not forget that Glasgow was a city of 
 mortals though doubtless mortals of a very 
 superior order. 
 
 Patriotism is not so easily expressed as piety; 
 it requires some hours of health-drinking and 
 song-singing to illustrate properly this national 
 quality: for though the Thistle has worshippers 
 all over the world, nowhere do Scotsmen hail it 
 with such songs of praise, or pour out in its honor
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 3 
 
 such libations of toddy as in this wonderful city 
 of the Clyde. So that it was growing toward ten 
 o'clock when Provost Mackenzie and his friend 
 Bailie Brodie stepped out of their handsome din 
 ing-room into the wet, dirty streets. They were 
 shrouded in yellow vapor, yet still in touch with a 
 sloppy crowd that walked steadily onward with 
 out heeding their surroundings. 
 
 "There are no loungers in Glasgow city," said 
 the provost with an air of satisfaction ; "we have 
 none of our own, and we have nothing to attract 
 them from other places." 
 
 "They would get short quarter while you rule 
 St. Mungo's city," answered Brodie; and then his 
 voice became suddenly soft and glad, and he 
 added, "Oh, man Robert, who would have 
 thought of this day, when we two laddies slept to 
 gether in Maggie Stark's garret ?" 
 
 "I thought of it, Jamie. It was aye in my head ; 
 but for all that I looked for you to be provost at 
 this time ; for you are a born favorite, Jamie, and 
 you might have had the city and the ruling of it 
 for a word, if folk had thought you wanted it." 
 
 "I was better known and better judged," Brodie 
 answered. "How would I guide a sedurant of 
 proud, stiff-necked bailies ? No, no ! I leave ex 
 altations and connsellings and rulings to other 
 men. The high hills to the harts, Robert. I love 
 the valleys."
 
 4 Souls of Passage 
 
 The provost made no answer. Those few 
 words, "the high hills to the harts," had suddenly 
 sent him backward to his boyhood. The Glasgow 
 nightmare of iron and coal and fog, of gray houses 
 like tombs, and human beings like phantoms, all 
 vanished away. He saw in their place the old 
 village of Morandaroch in its solitary beauty of 
 sea and land ; the high, heathery hills around, and 
 the harts moving over them in a long, swinging 
 trot ; and the big stag of a herd lying in the midst 
 of his comrades, his yellow body glistening in the 
 sun. He saw the little lochs set like jewels in the 
 moorlands, and the sounds through which 
 
 "by night and day 
 The great sea water found its way." 
 
 He saw the guillemots sailing home in white- 
 breasted pairs; and the little Highland cattle 
 hurrying along the beach, to luxuriate upon the 
 seaweed, and the vision was speechless. 
 
 Brodie, however, did not trouble his friend for 
 an answer. He understood that some unusual 
 thought "possessed" him ; and he was not a woman 
 to take offence at silence, or to ask troublesome 
 questions concerning it. They spoke no more, 
 and when they reached the handsome house in 
 which Mackenzie dwelt, they parted at the gate 
 with a hand grip which explained nothing, but 
 which satisfied both. Mackenzie had his latch-key
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 5 
 
 and he entered his home without observation. All 
 was dark and silent, but a little band of light com 
 ing from under his chamber door brought a smile 
 to his lips. "Marian is waiting for me at any 
 rate," and with the thought he opened the door, 
 and Marian stood up to meet him. She had a 
 pleasant face, with a fine open-air color in her 
 cheeks ; and in her manner and speech the unmis 
 takable local stamp. As a matter of duty she had 
 been reading her Bible, but when her husband 
 entered she closed the book and said with a laugh : 
 
 "My certie ! provost, but you keep decent hours. 
 Alan was saying it would be midnight ere you got 
 through singing 'Scots Wha Hae' and the like of 
 it." 
 
 "Marian, I can keep elder's hours,* if I am pro 
 vost, and I would be glad if Alan did the same." 
 
 "He was home so early to-night that I be to ask 
 him for pure wonderment, 'Is that you, Alan ?' and 
 he said, 'As far as I know it's myself, mother.' He 
 is a mortal queer lad whiles. Then he got into a 
 terrivee with his Sister Jessie about the young 
 minister of St. John's, and the way they argued 
 about him was just incredible." 
 
 "And he got the better of her doubtless ?" 
 
 "Him! He could as easily have got the better 
 of the Bass Rock. Jessie is not a babe in the 
 Word. She knows all it means, and all that it 
 
 *Half past ten.
 
 6 Souls of Passage 
 
 does not mean. I was fairly moidered between 
 them and just at their merciment." 
 
 "What has our Jessie to do with the young 
 minister at St. John's ? Is not the minister in her 
 own kirk good enough for her ?" 
 
 "It seems not. This St. John's minister is a 
 young man fairly burning to show his light to the 
 world. He talks to Jessie about Dr. Chalmers and 
 ragged schools, and all sorts of societies for help 
 ing the poor to live without working, and Jessie 
 thinks he is a very apostle. I can see well she is 
 set on marrying him, and advising him, and so 
 forth. As she sits sewing, the very thoughts flit 
 o'er her face and settle round her mouth. Whiles 
 she smiles the least bit of a smile, and then I know 
 well she has made up her mind what the young 
 man ought to do and will have to do. And my 
 thought is that he might as well buy the wedding 
 ring. He is coming here two or three nights 
 every week, and I am not liking him any the bet 
 ter for it" 
 
 "Well, Marian," answered the provost, "if 
 Jessie has made up her mind to marry the min 
 ister she will take her will, and we may as well 
 learn to thole the man. You know it is not pos 
 sible to affront a minister. And I can tell you 
 that other folk are as hard set as we are ; there is a 
 divinity lad after little Annie Brodie, and as far as 
 I can see the black coats have their fingers in every
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 7 
 
 one's pie. But, Marian, you may still your heart 
 with this thought Jessie will do no harm to her 
 self." 
 
 "Alan is not liking him at all." 
 "What has he said against Alan?" 
 "Nothing very bad. He does not think Alan 
 is orthodox. When Jessie said her brother was a 
 good young man and would be glad to help in the 
 new kirk work, the minister answered with a 
 queer drawing in of his lips, 'No doubt, no doubt ; 
 but he deviates.' And Alan was fairly mad at the 
 word, and said he was proud of his 'deviations' 
 mocking the minister and not right to do so, of 
 course and that it was gey likely he would de 
 viate a little more, and the like of that. And then 
 Jessie laying down the law, and the Gospel, too 
 but what will you, Robert ; for, as the rhyme says : 
 
 " 'There's nane exempt from worldly cares, 
 And few from some domestic jars ; 
 And whiles we're in, and whiles we're out, 
 Kissing and quarrelling turn about.' " 
 
 "That is just the way, Marian." 
 
 "And the observe you made about disapproving 
 of a minister is quite true. Forbye, Jessie is think 
 ing heaven and earth of him, and we might disap 
 prove till we were both of us black in the face, and 
 she would only be astonished at our blindness, and 
 maybe put up a bit prayer in our behalf. And
 
 8 Souls of Passage 
 
 what could we do or say then? A cross word is 
 easily given back, but a word or two of prayer is 
 not always handy." 
 
 "You may let Jessie guide herself. She will 
 not go a step out of the way of the godly and 
 the prudent. It is our dear lad Alan I am troubled 
 at my heart for. He is so good and so bad. 
 Whiles he has more divinity than any D.D. in the 
 Glasgow pulpits, and then again you would think 
 the very spirit of doubt and rank impiety had been 
 given dominion over him for a season. He is 
 needing something we cannot give him." 
 
 "He is needing no earthly good thing. Why 
 are you troubling yourself about Alan? We'll 
 say he is not all he should be. What of that ? I 
 would like you to mention to me a man who is! 
 Every lad that has the world and flesh to fight 
 needs enough of the devil in him to keep the devil 
 out of him." 
 
 "Marian, a shadow of the bygone came over me 
 to-night, and I saw as if I was in a dwam* the 
 Highland hills and the great North Sea ; and I am 
 believing that a year up yonder way would be 
 good for the lad. He has too much of the world 
 and of its men and women. It might be a kind of 
 salvation to let him match himself with the men 
 of the mountains and the fishers on the sea ; with 
 the harts on the hills and the dumb beasts that 
 *Trance or second sight.
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 9 
 
 have a sense of their own, and a very fine sense 
 in its light and way. It is forty years since my 
 dog Brian died at Morandaroch, and this night 
 the very creature himself seemed to be padding at 
 my side. You will be forced to say that love 
 which can keep the grip of you for forty years 
 is wcrth the having; for I would give a thousand 
 pounds this night to have the honest beast at my 
 elbow." 
 
 "Well, provost, Alan can have a dog, or two 
 dogs, right here in Glasgow itself if you think 
 there is salvation in a dog's love. Keep me, 
 Robert! What are you havering about? If you 
 had named the love of some good woman I could 
 well believe you but dogs and the like of them 
 creatures ! Perfect nonsense ! And I am not for 
 Alan going to the Highlands. Goodness only 
 knows what or who he will foregather with on 
 the mountains and on the water. There's women 
 folk, too, wherever you send him, and I'm think 
 ing, if you will be honest with yourself and with 
 me, that it is Flora Dunbrack you are feared for ; 
 and that you are for sending Alan to the High 
 lands out of her way the smatchet! the saucy 
 little cutty that she is !" 
 
 "Whist! whist! wife! There is not a mite of 
 harm in the bonnie creature. She is just a little 
 wild heart, that has had too much of her own 
 way, and so is ill to guide in the way of other
 
 io Souls of Passage 
 
 people. Forbye, she does not care a pinhead for 
 Alan Mackenzie. Not her ! She is aye measuring 
 him by some soldier or woodsman and finding him 
 totally and altogether wanting." 
 
 "It sets her to find Alan Mackenzie wanting! 
 Her ! with her bit fortune of three hundred a year ! 
 What will she be expecting a Highland lord or a 
 Lowland earl ? I think, provost, we had better be 
 sleeping than talking nonsense at this hour of the 
 night I might say of the morning." 
 
 "I told you, Marian, that I had a kind of dwam 
 or backsight as I was coming home ; and it has put 
 sleep far from me, and set some things in such 
 clearness before my soul that all the glory and 
 honor of this day is just as a whiff of smoke." 
 
 "It was a great day for you, Robert, and a 
 happy, proud day for me." 
 
 "I know that, wife ; but when we are on the top 
 most peaks of joy or prosperity we are often made 
 to feel that their foundation is deep down in some 
 abyss of sorrow or care ; and to-night I looked for 
 a moment into one which made my soul tremble, 
 for in it I saw as it were the shadow of our dear 
 Alan." 
 
 "Robert ! Robert ! What are you saying? Now 
 you have sent the sleep far from me, and you be 
 to tell me all you fear and mean. The lad has no 
 outstanding vices that I know of." 
 
 "Nor yet any outstanding virtues. I wouldn't
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 1 1 
 
 mind the vices if he had the virtues to keep them 
 in check. He is so many-sided and so many- 
 minded. Of Jessie we know everything. All that 
 Jessie might do she does. There is nothing want 
 ing and nothing over. But with Alan there is al 
 ways something over. You think he has said his 
 say, and that he means what he says, and then at 
 the last he will out with a few words that leaves 
 all uncertain and unfinished and you don't know 
 where you have him." 
 
 "I am sure there are few young men more re 
 ligious. He is a very Pharisee about the ordi 
 nances and the Sabbath day." 
 
 "Yes," answered the father wearily. "Alan is 
 of the religious temperament. But he has not a 
 single conviction that could stand a strain. Jessie 
 would go to the stake for her creed without a 
 word. Alan would argue the question until he 
 was uncertain about every creed ; and he can per 
 suade most people of most things, and himself of 
 almost anything. I heard him arguing with Mat 
 thew Laird about Calvinism the other night at the 
 Thistle. He started out with an extravagant 
 praise of the dogma, of the fine men it had bred, 
 and the great deeds it had done ; and when the talk 
 was over Alan's last word was, 'Well, Matthew, 
 if Calvinism is what you say it is I think my 
 opinion ought to have been asked ere I was sent 
 into the world on any such like terms,' You see,
 
 12 Souls of Passage 
 
 Marian, he had sailed quite round the question, 
 and he went off whistling The Laird o' Cockpen.' 
 What will you say to religion of that kind ?" 
 
 "I say nothing at all. God is love, and I build 
 my faith on that creed. Where do mothers get 
 their love but from Him? and I think, Robert, it 
 would be more wise-like and kind-like in you 
 sometimes to wink as well as to see." 
 
 "I see one thing clearly : Alan must have other 
 surroundings, and as soon as I came to this con 
 viction the way was opened wide for him. For a 
 week ago I had a letter from Peter McDuff, of 
 Morandaroch, and he tells me that the old castle 
 of the Dunbracks is for sale, and at a bargain past 
 believing. Colonel MacLeod, of the Indian Ser 
 vice, bought it six years ago, and now he is sick 
 of the place, and wants to go back to the heat and 
 sun of Calcutta. Very well ; Dunbrack is only two 
 miles from Morandaroch, and he has made great 
 improvements, and nothing asked for them. I am 
 in a great mind to buy it. McDuff says it is a fine 
 estate going for a song." 
 
 "What would you do with an estate in the 
 Highlands? You a Glasgow merchant! Thae 
 proud Highlanders would give you scorn for your 
 friendship." 
 
 "I am as good as any of them. If a poor gentle 
 man has to make money in trading, that is not his 
 fault. They will ask whose son I am, and when
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 13 
 
 they hear I am Roderick Mackenzie's son, they 
 will lift their bonnets to me at once. But I was 
 not thinking of going to Dunbrack. It is to be 
 for you and for the children as a summer home, 
 and I may say that few Glasgow ladies will be able 
 to even you in this respect." 
 
 "But it would be a poor estate and a poor house 
 wanting yourself. I would rather bide where I 
 could see you. It is maybe just a habit with me to 
 like your face and your company, but that is my 
 failing, and there is no estate in Highlands or 
 Lowlands that could make up for that pleasure if 
 I had to want it." 
 
 "Your words are sweet, Marian, and I am far 
 from seeking to be rid of your face and company. 
 I thought of our poor cousin, Thrift Athole; she 
 will look after the young things, and you need 
 not be too long away at any time. Forbye, I 
 might make occasion to run up there myself now 
 and then." 
 
 "My certie! Elder Orr's wife would have to 
 sing her song about Alderswood a key or two 
 lower. If she can write herself ' Mistress Orr, 
 Alderswood House' I would then be what 
 would I be, Robert?" 
 
 "Mistress Mackenzie, Dunbrack Castle, Moran- 
 daroch, Rosshire." 
 
 "I would just put the whole of that on my card, 
 provost,"
 
 14 Souls of Passage 
 
 "And Alan would, in a way, own the hills, and 
 the deer, and the birds, and the little bay with the 
 fishing boats coming and going, and the blue lochs 
 where the trout lie hid ; and he would be up on the 
 hills, and away on the sea water, and so the smur 
 of the market-place and the spirit of the Glasgow 
 planestones would be blown off his young soul, 
 and I have faith to believe that he would be in a 
 way made o'er again." 
 
 "He suits me well as he is. I don't want him 
 changed. Why would I? God made him, and 
 He knows every slip and fall the lad will have be 
 fore he walks in the right way without a stumble. 
 I trust him with God." 
 
 "If it was only in matters between him and God, 
 that would be sufficient ; but the lad is as slippery 
 and uncertain about business as he is about re 
 ligion. And that will not do. Men won't put up 
 with it. His ideas about very important obliga 
 tions are, to say the least, often loose-ended. I 
 want to see if a different life will make a different 
 man of him, and whether you believe me or not, I 
 will say this a wife like Flora is just what he 
 needs. She is strong where he is weak. She is 
 wise where he is foolish. She is clever where he 
 has not an ounce of common sense." 
 
 "And she has a temper that blazes like a pine 
 knot. Alan with his good nature would be at her 
 merciment. What do you say to that?"
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 15 
 
 "I say that Alan has his own temper, and a very 
 bad one it is at times. I have seen him neither to 
 hold nor to bind. Patient enough with women, of 
 course, but if there is any kind of temper to be 
 afraid of it is the anger of a patient man. Alan 
 will bear and bear, and then in a moment just 
 for nothing at all say or do what no one will 
 bear ; and then the mischief and all to pay. Flora 
 has a hot temper, but she has it bitted and bridled, 
 and ever she does give it headway she will be 
 understanding herself the why and the where 
 fore." 
 
 "I would like to know, once for all, what for 
 you are so set up with that lassie? There must be 
 something behind what you have told me, and 
 how do I know but that it is the lassie's mother. I 
 can tell you it is not a thing any woman likes to 
 have a full-grown girl dropped into her home; a 
 girl, too, that has not a thing in common with any 
 one of us. Her thoughts and ways are that out 
 landish that the ladies who come calling look at 
 her in wonderment; and if the men do go daft 
 about her beauty, I think that is little to her 
 credit." 
 
 "I hope, Marian, you will not count it to her 
 blame ; for what will you say then about your own 
 beauty, which bothered the men not a little ere you 
 chose me from among the lave of your lovers. 
 And well you know there is no woman behind
 
 1 6 Souls of Passage 
 
 Flora; no woman but yourself ever troubled the 
 heart of Robert Mackenzie." 
 
 "Then tell me why Colonel Dunbrack sent her 
 to you, as if he had a kind of right to send her 
 not one 'If you please/ or 'Will you, for the sake 
 of God, take care of my child?' but just, 'Dear 
 Robert, I send you my little girl.' What for did 
 he expect you to take charge of his little girl ?" 
 
 "I will tell you, Marian. Angus Dunbrack 
 Flora's father was for many a year heart of my 
 heart, and soul of my soul. We were constantly 
 together ; we hunted and fished together, we read 
 together, we ate and slept together, I think we 
 mostly dreamed the same dreams. Talk of the 
 love of brothers, it was not to be named with our 
 love ; and when at last Angus went to the army, I 
 felt as if one half of me had died and gone away 
 forever. Twice over he saved my life ; once when 
 I was drowning, and once when I was lost cross 
 ing Ben Trodhu. My own kin had given up the 
 search, but Flora's father would not give it up, 
 and at last he found me and my dog Brian starv 
 ing together. The dog had laid himself down to 
 die with me, his head close to my face, and I re 
 member this moment how he tried to comfort me 
 as long as he had the strength. Well, Angus went 
 to Canada with his regiment, and poor Brian died 
 soon after; but I thank God I was able to sit by 
 him and comfort and help him till I saw his big,
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 17 
 
 tender eyes grow dark in death. Poor Brian! 
 Now you will be understanding why I would give 
 a thousand pounds to have had him at my elbow 
 this night. For I think he would have known of 
 the glory and honor that had come to me, and been 
 glad of it," and the provost's voice trembled, and 
 he put his hand for a moment before his eyes, for 
 they were full of tears those ancient tears, whose 
 source is in the youth of memory, and which only 
 something subtle and sudden can surprise. 
 
 "You should have spoke of these things before, 
 Robert. I am sorry you were not more trusty 
 with me." 
 
 "I am sorry myself, Marian. I will tell you 
 why I did not. When I was twenty-one years old 
 my Uncle Roderick God rest his soul gave me 
 the five hundred pounds which was all my father 
 could leave me, and I fancied maybe it was only 
 fancy that he thought he had done his full duty 
 and would be glad to be rid of me. So, one day 
 after a few words I did not like, I turned my back 
 on Morandaroch, and I vowed to myself never to 
 let a thought of it come between me and my fu 
 ture. I tried to put it out of my mind, and I 
 never even named my life there to Jamie Brodie, 
 though we have been very close friends from the 
 first day of my Glasgow life. When I asked your 
 hand I told your father that I was of a good High 
 land family, and he said, 'Let that be ; you have a
 
 1 8 Souls of Passage 
 
 good name and a good business, and that is more 
 to the point. I am not asking after your forbears, 
 I am asking after yourself.' And as the years 
 went on I forgot Angus, but only in the same way 
 that we forget the dead whom yet we love. I did 
 not speak of him, I did not write to him, but he 
 kept his place in my heart and memory, and no 
 other man has ever, or will ever, take what is his. 
 So when I got those few pitiful lines written on 
 his death-bed, and I knew that he had not forgot 
 me, my heart went out to the child he loved, and 
 for his sake I loved her, and syne for her own 
 sake, for she is well able to win her own love, if 
 only folks will be a little kind and just to her." 
 
 "I had been kinder to her if you had been freer 
 with me, Robert. I feel a deal different to the 
 lassie now. For it is not to be denied we owe a big 
 debt of love to her ; and though we may pay a debt 
 of siller with siller, a debt of love must be paid in 
 kind or go unblessed." 
 
 "And you will be remembering, Marian, what 
 the Scriptures say about entertaining strangers." 
 
 "I am minding it, provost ; but I am not expect 
 ing anything so extraordinar as that Flora Dun- 
 brack will turn out to be an angel." 
 
 The provost rose with a sigh and went to the 
 window and looked up to the blue lift full of stars. 
 The watch was just calling "Half -past twelve, and 
 a fine, starlight morning," and he listened until
 
 Provost Robert Mackenzie 19 
 
 the man's voice was lost in the empty street. 
 Then he said : 
 
 "I have had a long day, wife, and the best part 
 of it has been the end of it. There is nothing now 
 between us but love, for I have shared the last 
 thought and fear and hope with you. And I am 
 thankful this night to the Giver of all good gifts 
 that in the height of my prosperity He thought of 
 me, and sent me a back-glimpse of life to sober me, 
 and that I was helped to share with you the care 
 anent our boy, that has been troubling my heart 
 for a long time. My dear Marian! 'I wouldna 
 gie my ain wife for any wife I see.' Now we be to 
 ask His blessing, and then rest in its merciful 
 shadow." 
 
 But long after, when all his physical senses were 
 fast shut in deep sleep, the wife, wakeful over 
 many new thoughts, heard the unconscious man 
 murmuring in the far-off, hollow voice of the 
 dreamer : 
 
 " On high Benmore green mosses grow, 
 And heath bells bud in deep Glencoe."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FLORA DUNBRACK. 
 
 IT was really spring in spite of the showers and 
 the chill wind, for the sunshine was coming into 
 Flora's room as though the sun had risen for her 
 alone. She was sitting in it, singing and sewing, 
 but mostly singing a lovely little woman, fresh 
 and sweet as a spray of apple blossom on the day 
 of its birth. Lazily her hands drew the thread 
 through the cloth, keeping a kind of time and 
 motion to the haunting melody of an old Border 
 song: 
 
 " Some say that I love young Polmood, 
 
 And some say he loves not me; 
 But I think I'm a match for the best of his blood, 
 Though I had not a ewe on the Logan Lee." 
 
 She laughed gaily to herself at this assertion, and 
 went over the last two lines without a stitch to 
 keep them company. Then she continued : 
 
 " For wooers I have many braw men, 
 
 Booted and spurr'd, as any may see ; 
 
 All lighting down at the Mossfennan gate, 
 
 Down by the side of the Logan Lee.
 
 Flora Dunbrack 21 
 
 " Three came east, and three came west, 
 
 Three came out from the North Countrie ; 
 The lave all came from the Moffat-side, 
 All lighting down at the Logan Lee." 
 
 And with the last lines she rose, threw down her 
 sewing, and spreading her little black gown, be 
 gan to step a stately measure, that had a delightful 
 Old World charm about it. Her eyes danced, her 
 face blushed like a rose, her bright brown hair, 
 falling in a glory around her, seemed to be instinct 
 with radiant life in every single strand. It waved 
 and curled, and fell forward and backward, as if 
 aware of the girl's delight, and she lifted her 
 hands and put it behind her ears, and in her un 
 conscious abandonment to the joy of melodious 
 movement made a picture that was in the highest 
 degree captivating. 
 
 When she was weary she sat down and lifted 
 her work again, and began to talk to herself a 
 very significant thing to do. For this converse is 
 with ourselves, with our inner, real life; and in 
 such communion we may express every feeling 
 without any fear of giving offence, and without 
 any doubt of complete sympathy. So as she put 
 the needle through the linen she said to the woman 
 within her, "What do you think of it, Flora? 
 What is the meaning of it all? I am to call Pro 
 vost Mackenzie 'Uncle,' and Mistress Mackenzie 
 'Aunt,' and Jessie is to be 'Cousin Jessie,' and
 
 22 Souls of Passage 
 
 Alan 'Cousin Alan.' Have I had a fortune left 
 me ? Or have there been rulings and counsellings 
 from the pillow ? Or is it Alan's doing? Or the 
 minister's? Alan is in love with me, and he does 
 not know it, and I hope he will never find it out ; 
 and the big minister six feet two of divinity, I 
 mean theology I could not be worthy of so much 
 approval; and I hope he will never express it 
 men are so queer, and they think girls believe 
 them. Oh ! 
 
 " ' Some say that I love young Polmood, 
 And some say he loves not me.' " 
 
 The merry, mocking words were ringing through 
 the room when Jessie Mackenzie opened the door 
 and said : 
 
 "Cousin Flora, you sing more Scotch songs 
 than any Scotch girl I know. Where did you 
 learn the 'Logan Lee'?" 
 
 "In Canada. I was riding with father one day 
 in the woods near Ontario and we came to a 
 Scotch settlement, and a woman stood in the door 
 of a cabin singing it. There was a spring of 
 water close by, and father said, 'Let us water our 
 horses,' and as they drank he took up the song and 
 sang it with her. And she said, 'Light down, sir 
 you and the young lady and have a drink of 
 milk and a mouthful of oat cake, just for the sake 
 of the "Logan Lee." ' And we did so ; and when
 
 " SHE HEGAN TO STEP A STATELY MEASURE."
 
 Flora Dunbrack 23 
 
 father began to talk to her he found she had come 
 from a place called Morandaroch, quite near his 
 own home, and they were Mackenzies. Some of 
 them had known father when he was a boy and a 
 young man. So ever since I love the 'Logan Lee,' 
 for I always smell the pines, and feel the great 
 silence, and hear my father's voice in it. Yes, 
 when I sing the 'Logan Lee' there are more sing 
 it with me than anybody but myself hears." 
 
 "You are a queer lassie. What will you think 
 when I tell you that my father has bought Dun- 
 brack Castle, and that we are going there ? Your 
 father sold it to Peter McDuff, and he sold it 
 again, seven years ago, to an Indian officer, and 
 now the Indian officer sells it to my father." 
 
 "Then I am going home! Going to the old 
 home of the Dunbracks! How strange! How 
 wonderful ! I hope my father knows it !" 
 
 "It is far from likely, and you should not say 
 such things. The dead will have something else to 
 do than care about the living." 
 
 "I think that is what they will like to do best 
 of all and you know nothing about the dead, 
 Jessie I mean about my dead." 
 
 "Neither do you." 
 
 "I do not tell everything I know. Do you think 
 my father and my mother forget me? It would 
 be a queer thing if they did. I do not forget 
 them."
 
 24 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Well, we are going to Dunbrack in two weeks, 
 and you will have this and that to buy, for I dare 
 say there will be no shops convenient. Mother 
 made out a list for you, and she says you had bet 
 ter go to Campbell's and get the things." 
 
 "Are you going?" . 
 
 "Not just yet. I am expecting Mr. Laidlaw 
 about the sewing class." 
 
 "And what will Mr. Laidlaw do when Jessie 
 goes away ?" 
 
 "He will just have to do without her," 
 answered Jessie, smiling ; "Effie Gilchrist will slip 
 into my place." . 
 
 "Oh, what an ungrateful thing to say, Jessie ! 
 But I will go to Campbell's and fill this list of 
 pretty things, for who can tell how many braw 
 lovers I may meet with in the Highlands ?" 
 
 "There are plenty of Mackenzies round Dun- 
 brack, and the Mackenzies are a handsome race. 
 If you should meet Alan on the street, mother 
 says, you are to tell him that his father has heard 
 of the theatre party, and is very angry anent it. 
 She thinks Alan had better be getting his excuses 
 ready." 
 
 "As if he needed time for that!" said Flora 
 with some contempt. "He has an excuse on the 
 tip of his tongue for every fault. Have you seen 
 him this morning? And what does he say about 
 Dunbrack?"
 
 Flora Dunbrack 25 
 
 "He is delighted. He went out immediately to 
 buy guns and fishing tackle. You would suppose 
 he was going to clear the hills of deer and the 
 streams of trout, but any Highland lad will put 
 him through his facings. Be sure and get a linsey 
 dress for the heather, and high boots, and a hat 
 that will tie well down." 
 
 "I will not have linsey I will have tartan." 
 "A good dark one, then, like the Black Watch." 
 "I will have my own tartan. The Dunbracks 
 are kin to the MacLeods, and the MacLeod tartan 
 is good enough." 
 
 "Very well; as mother says, you be to have 
 your own way ; no other suits you." 
 
 "My own way is the right way for me." 
 Then she put on her bonnet and cape and went 
 out to do her shopping ; but she did not see Alan, 
 nor did any one of his family do so until dinner 
 was over and they were gathered in the drawing- 
 room. His absence had not been spoken of, but 
 it had been felt, and the provost was gloomily 
 pondering it when the young man entered the 
 room. He came in buoyant and eager, and looked 
 exceedingly handsome and persuasive, as his eyes 
 sought the whole company, and smiled upon them 
 in such security of good-will that it was very hard 
 to resist their influence. The brightness of youth 
 glowed in his face, and the light on it came and 
 went like light on water. He had a caressing
 
 26 Souls of Passage 
 
 voice and a delightful smile, and all who came 
 within his influence were quickly captive to his 
 kindness and charm. 
 
 There is, however, in every face a moral aspect 
 and value that is less evident than the physical 
 form, but far more potent and lasting in its judg 
 ment, and the moral aspect in Alan Mackenzie's 
 face was not as favorable as the physical one. At 
 first this weakness was not recognized, and the 
 conviction of it was generally forced unwillingly 
 on those who knew him, and who only admitted 
 the fact after repeated experiences of his disap 
 pointing way of running into sand before he ac 
 complished what he promised. No matter how 
 well he was loved, sooner or later his friends were 
 forced to acknowledge this mysterious stamp of 
 moral looseness of mind on the physical beauty; 
 and perhaps no earthly feeling but maternal love 
 could determinately and constantly ignore it. 
 
 Certainly his mother saw no fault in him, and 
 she was as ready this evening as she had always 
 been to stand by him in all his "deviations," 
 though the theatre was, in her honest belief, a 
 specially wicked one. 
 
 "Good-evening all !" said the young man with 
 great good humor ; "I am a little late, I fear." 
 
 No one spoke for a moment, then Flora 
 answered with equal gaiety of tone, "Good-even-
 
 Flora Dunbrack 27 
 
 ing, Alan. We have all been wearying for you. 
 None of us liked to say we wanted to go to the 
 Highlands till we heard from you." 
 
 "Alan does not want to go to the Highlands," 
 said the provost. "Why would he be caring for 
 the sea and the mountains? He would rather be 
 among sawdust, and painted women, and lamp oil. 
 Where were you last night, sir ? I cannot believe 
 I have heard the very truth anent your doings." 
 
 "I was at Glover's Theatre, sir. Mrs. Glover 
 was playing 'The Jealous Wife/ and James Little- 
 John and Tom Brodie and myself were of the 
 opinion that it would be a kind of education to see 
 it. We shall, all of us be forced into the married 
 state one day or other, and Mrs. Glover gave us 
 an insight into some things last night that will 
 doubtless be very serviceable in our future lives ;" 
 and he looked full and smiling into his father's 
 face, for it was well known in the Mackenzie 
 household that the provost had suffered many 
 things in his day from the exacting affection of a 
 suspicious wife. 
 
 The provost answered the insinuation in a way 
 Alan did not anticipate. He looked squarely and 
 sternly into the young man's eyes and said, "If 
 that was the knowledge of good and evil you were 
 after, you should have come to me. I could have 
 told you more than all the play actors."
 
 28 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Provost, what are you saying at all?" cried 
 Mrs. Mackenzie. "I'll not sit and listen to such 
 remarks! Me jealous! My certie! who would I 
 be jealous of? And if I was jealous an orra time 
 I will go bail that I had my own good reasons for 
 it." 
 
 "There is no reason in jealousy, Marian; and 
 there is no good in making plays and nonsense out 
 of it. You know well, Alan, that I have forbid 
 you to go to a theatre. I have never denied you 
 anything that was right and manly, but to what is 
 sinful I will not give my consent. Whenever did 
 you see your mother or myself inside the danger 
 ous place ?" 
 
 "Yet, sir, I rather think you will feel obligated 
 to go there next winter, for Mr. Glover is going 
 to produce the great national drama of 'Rob Roy.' 
 The theatre is to be hung with the famous red and 
 black tartan, and every lady will wear a dress of 
 it, and every gentleman a cravat or breast knot, 
 and our best citizens will be looking for their 
 provost to be present." 
 
 "Our best citizens will be doing nothing of the 
 kind. They know well that Robert Mackenzie is 
 no theatre man." 
 
 "But this will be an extraordinar occasion, sir. 
 A great national hero like Rob Roy " 
 
 "A great national robber, and cattle lifter, and 
 jail breaker! I will not sanction such a character
 
 Flora Dunbrack 29 
 
 by my presence, and I think little of Walter Scott 
 for giving Scotland such a like hero." 
 
 "But, sir, the national drama ought to be en 
 couraged. It is the only way to get a pure, 
 patriotic drama." 
 
 "The national nonsense! Forbye, it was not 
 the national drama you were seeing last night. It 
 was not even Mrs. Glover's lesson on jealousy. It 
 was a play of William Shakespeare's anent love, 
 and foolish, disobedient love-making, and death 
 and suicide, and the other natural results of such 
 behavior. Do you think I am not knowing what 
 'Romeo and Juliet' is about ? And you will hardly 
 have the effrontery to be calling Shakespeare a 
 national dramatist. Walter Scott and his Rob 
 Roy may be Scotch, but you cannot call Shake 
 speare Scotch." 
 
 "I do not know about that, father. Some of his 
 plays would warrant the presumption. What will 
 you say about Lady Macbeth and the Thane of 
 Cawdor and such like people?" 
 
 The provost had a momentary puzzled look at 
 this question, and Mrs. Mackenzie regarded him 
 with an expectation that made him feel uncom 
 fortable. Flora came to the rescue with a ringing 
 laugh, and then Mrs. Mackenzie laughed also, and 
 Jessie ventured to say : 
 
 "Effie Gilchrist has been to see 'Romeo and 
 Juliet,' and she thought it highly moral. She said
 
 30 Souls of Passage 
 
 that after such a lesson she would never, never, 
 never allow any young man to make love to her 
 unless her father approved of him." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear that," answered Alan. "For 
 a long time I have been thinking of making love to 
 Effie, and I am very sure the elder does not ap 
 prove of me. Jessie, I will be obliged if you will 
 signify my intentions to Effie. Just tell her the 
 simple circumstance." 
 
 By this time the room was charged with Alan's 
 easy, happy temper, and it was impossible in it to 
 consider grievances and keep up a disapproving 
 conversation. The young man was quickly sen 
 sitive to his own influence, and he turned to his 
 father with a countenance alight with affection 
 and respect. "Sir," he said, "I am sorry if I hurt 
 your feelings or principles in going to the theatre. 
 I did not intend that you should know anything 
 about it. I would not purposely grieve you." 
 
 "But don't you see, my dear lad, that my 
 ignorance would not mend the matter? It is the 
 principle of the thing the principle the prin 
 ciple the morality of the circumstance! My 
 feelings have nothing to do with the eternal right 
 or wrong of things. Don't look as if there were 
 two ways in the matter, Alan. There is not." 
 
 "I do not really care a button about the theatre, 
 father. I would rather go to the hills and lochs." 
 And then he put his chair close to Flora, and be-
 
 Flora Dunbrack 31 
 
 gan to examine one end of the woollen strip she 
 was knitting. Every one looked at him, and every 
 face wore the same air of speculation an air 
 which could readily be translated into the ques 
 tion, "Is he in love with her ?" Perhaps Flora felt 
 the unspoken interrogatory, for she flushed, and 
 her fingers moved more rapidly, and the near 
 presence of Alan appeared a great embarrassment. 
 The provost broke the uncomfortable pause by 
 saying : 
 
 "Next Friday I shall send off the Highlander 
 with the carriage and horses on board, and what 
 ever else you wish to take with you, Marian ; the 
 larger part of your trunks had better go by this 
 conveyance." 
 
 The proposal brought on an animated discus 
 sion between the father and mother and Jessie, but 
 Alan seemed oblivious of the fact that they were 
 disposing of his belongings as seemed right in 
 their eyes. He was talking to Flora in a con 
 fidential way about nothing at all, and she felt 
 annoyed at the unwarranted familiarity of his 
 manner. 
 
 "You have dropped a stitch," he said in a low 
 voice. "Why are you so careless ?" 
 
 "Why are you counting my stitches ?" 
 
 "Because I like to do so. Every stitch you take 
 is a fresh charm." 
 
 "See, then, you can have them all," and she rose
 
 32 Souls of Passage 
 
 and left the strip of work in his hand. He looked 
 a little foolish ; and Jessie with an understanding 
 of the situation said : 
 
 "You are dropping stitches now, Alan. Come 
 here, Flora, and tell us what you wish to take to 
 Dunbrack. Will it be the piano ?" 
 
 "No, indeed! I will not be the one to carry 
 Glasgow to the Highlands. Let us be content 
 there with the fiddle and the bagpipes." 
 
 "Sit down, my little lassie," said the provost. 
 
 "I am sleepy, uncle, and I can give no advice 
 that would be of the least use." 
 
 "Well, well, to-morrow, then." 
 
 "Ah, sir, in what far country does 'to-morrow' 
 live? There is yet to-night, and I may go back 
 to Canada to-night I mean in dreams ; so I will 
 expect Canada to-night, and think of Dunbrack 
 to-morrow." 
 
 She went to her room with these words, and 
 the family without further remark continued their 
 discussion. "I am only an outsider," she thought ; 
 "they can do without me ;" and as she uncoiled her 
 bright hair she reiterated this supposition, and so 
 continued for a few moments indulging herself in 
 this dangerous luxury of self-pity. Suddenly she 
 heard with an unmistakable clarity her father's 
 voice in the "Logan Lee." For the ears have 
 phantoms as well as the eyes; they hear sounds 
 that are not, and give back the music of memory
 
 Flora Dunbrack 33 
 
 without any corporal aid. She sat motionless, 
 listening until the fugitive melody without 
 sound or words passed away, growing fainter 
 and fainter, until it was rudely dismissed by a 
 clatter of carriages outside her window. 
 
 She rose and looked out. Yes, it was Glasgow 
 and not Canada; she had only been dreaming. 
 With her usual celerity she began to fold her 
 clothing and put her room in that scrupulous 
 order which living in the restricted spaces of camp 
 life had taught her. But she was no longer sleepy ; 
 all her senses and feelings were alert and active, 
 and as she moved noiselessly about she remem 
 bered many things that for a time had seemed to 
 be forgotten. "Father was intending to bring me 
 back to Scotland, and let me see the home of the 
 Dunbracks 'the old gray castle that had cradled 
 them/ she thought. I think he said something, 
 too, about buying it I suppose he did not know 
 McDuff had sold it to that Indian officer. And 
 now, instead of father taking me home, I am 
 going with strangers. I do not like it; I wish I 
 was back in the woods of Canada. I am tired of 
 this life, where ministers and milliners and tailors 
 'are throned powers and share the general state/ 
 and we pray, and dress, and visit, and shop as if 
 these things were the chief end of man. That is 
 not the opinion of the Shorter Catechism, but it is 
 the answer of our daily lives."
 
 34 Souls of Passage 
 
 She threw a shawl round her shoulders and sat 
 down, and after some thought began again to 
 talk to herself : "There is Alan. What do I think 
 of Alan? What do I care for Alan? He is in 
 love with me am I in love with him ? No ! But 
 can one catch love as they catch a disease from 
 contact with it ? Perhaps. And Alan will doubt 
 less be heir to Dunbrack. If I married him I 
 might go back to our old home. That would 
 please father, but would it please me? I do not 
 know really, I do not know. When one does not 
 know which road to take it is the part of prudence 
 to stand still. That is what I will do. I will not 
 move an inch to meet Destiny. Let her work her 
 own will. How white and soft my pillow looks ! 
 Who can say that life is hard with sleep and 
 dreams to bless it? Dreams! In another hour 
 they will be wandering up the darkened stairs and 
 passing into every sleeping place, busy with their 
 guests. How far we see in dreams ! how far we go 
 in dreams! Somebody says our little life is 
 rounded by a sleep but but is it a sleep f"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT DUNBRACK CASTLE. 
 
 Two weeks after this conversation the provost's 
 family were on board the Clansman bound for 
 Dunbrack Castle. It was a stormy sail round the 
 Mull of Cantyre, but when the Minch was reached 
 there was only a spent swell and hardly a breath 
 to fill the canvas. Then Flora began to look 
 around her. She had never before seen such a 
 mixed company. A noble of high degree was 
 talking to a Free Kirk minister, who was describ 
 ing the voting at the General Assembly in some 
 heresy case. An English squire, going north to 
 rent a shooting box, was relating to a Stornaway 
 fish-curer how he had killed, last year, the biggest 
 stag in Murshvoe forest. Farmers were talking 
 of prices to manufacturers, and merchants, com 
 mercial travellers, and friendly, sociable people of 
 all kinds from the Hebrides made the Clansman a 
 very cheerful, cosmopolitan place. 
 
 This human side of the journey was blended 
 while daylight lasted with the most wonderful 
 aspects of nature wild headlands, rocky harbors,
 
 36 Souls of Passage 
 
 towering scaurs, and finally the serrated hills of 
 Skye, and farther north the western coast of Ross 
 a weird wreck of colossal masonry, piled there 
 by the primeval deep which first began the fash 
 ioning of these hills. And grimly through the 
 distance loomed the ruins of many an old ghostly 
 castle, girt round with clouds, and standing in 
 strange solitudes, they had in a peculiar degree 
 that haunting charm which belongs to memorable 
 places utterly forgotten. Flora saw everything as 
 it were in the twilight of Ossian and Columba 
 the very cliffs had that sombre look that pleased 
 the early saints, and girdled these rocky shores 
 with their lonely cells. 
 
 Sitting together at night on the deck, with the 
 shadowy land on either side, and the vessel mov 
 ing steadily on in the darkness, Alan spoke to 
 Jessie and Flora of these sacred haunts of the 
 early missionaries. But Jessie having a fixed in 
 tention of marrying a minister so distinctly ortho 
 dox as James Laidlaw, did not feel it right to give 
 any enthusiasm to men so distinctly unorthodox. 
 She said there had been saints and more worth 
 the talking about in their own day; and with a 
 kind of hushed reverence asked if they would 
 think of evening St. Columba with the like of Dr. 
 Chalmers, the man who had led the Highland host 
 of the saints of the Free Kirk ? 
 
 Flora knew nothing of this tremendous eccle-
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 37 
 
 siastical uprising, and she did not answer the in 
 quiry ; but Alan took it for a challenge and replied, 
 "Certainly not. There was no comparison. He 
 considered Columba beyond all doubt the greater 
 saint of the two," and then he gave her a rapid 
 sketch of Columba's labors thirteen centuries ago. 
 She said she had read all about them in her guide 
 book, and she supposed most of it was tradition. 
 Was there any adequate proof that the saint had 
 ever really existed? Was he not possibly a kind 
 of religious Ossian?" 
 
 "Plenty of proof," answered Alan enthusiasti 
 cally. "His works are still extant. I have learned 
 his hymns, and I do not know any hymns that 
 can equal them." 
 
 "I hope you will allow that King David could 
 write hymns. I am sure that even in heaven 
 David will be glad to remember he wrote 'The 
 Lord is my Shepherd,' and it is not likely that 
 Columba's hymns will stand that test," and Jessie 
 looked triumphantly at her brother, and threw her 
 head back to emphasize the argument she believed 
 to be unanswerable. 
 
 Alan was not dismayed. He said he knew some 
 hymns of Columba's that angels might desire to 
 make melody to; "for instance," he added, "the 
 hymn written when he journeyed from Tara to 
 this lonely land, where he had no friend or helper 
 but God."
 
 38 Souls of Passage 
 
 "I am thinking," said Jessie, "that it cannot be 
 an innocent thing even to speak of the writings of 
 the two men together. You must think of this, 
 Alan Mackenzie ; David's words are the words of 
 the Lord." 
 
 "Very good, Jessie; then I will only say that 
 the hymns of Columba are as fine as any chorus 
 of Sophocles. I suppose there is nothing wrong 
 in that association ?" 
 
 "We all know David's hymn in the green pas 
 tures and by the still waters," said Flora; "sup 
 pose you repeat to us Columba's hymn upon the 
 mountains." 
 
 "I can say eight or nine lines of it; for I say 
 them always when my soul is cast down or dis 
 quieted within me : 
 
 " ' Alone on the mountains I need the help oi God only ; 
 This shall shield me better than a guard of six thousand 
 
 warriors ; 
 
 For not even these could avail me aught 
 If the hour appointed for my death had come. 
 The reprobate perish even within the sanctuary, 
 The elect of God is preserved in the forefront of the 
 
 battle. 
 
 Let God order my life as it please Him : 
 Nothing can be taken from it, nothing added to it, 
 Each man must fulfil his own lot.' " 
 
 There was a moment or two of silence when 
 Alan ceased, and Flora looked sympathetically 
 into his face ; but Jessie was not impressed. "I do
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 39 
 
 not think much of that as poetry," she said; "in 
 deed, it is not poetry at all. A minister whom Mr. 
 Laidlaw knows has written a much finer hymn 
 about this coast. I will repeat eight lines of it to 
 prove what I say." Then with a consciousness of 
 her superior taste she continued : 
 
 " 'Have the rocks faith that thus they stand 
 Unmoved, a grim and silent band? 
 Have the proud billows thought and life 
 To feel the glory of the strife? 
 Thy way, O God, is in the sea; 
 Thy paths where awful waters be ; 
 Thy spirit thrills the conscious stone; 
 O Lord, Thy footsteps are not known.' " 
 
 "They are excellent lines, Jessie. Did Mr. Laid 
 law teach you them ?" 
 
 "He advised me to learn them. He said I 
 should feel them as I sailed along this coast. He 
 was quite right." 
 
 "Of course he was quite right. He always is 
 quite right. Still, I shall stand by the old saint. 
 What do you say, Flora ?" 
 
 "I will let the sea speak for me. Come and lean 
 over the taffrail and listen to it. What does it say, 
 Jessie?" 
 
 "Do not be absurd, Flora." 
 
 "It is not absurd. Between the day and the 
 dark there is a voice in most things. Listen to it 
 as it breaks against the Clansman: 'Saint
 
 40 Souls of Passage 
 
 Co-lum-ba! Saint Co-lum-ba! Saint Co-lum-ba!' 
 and as she lifted her head Alan looked at her with 
 eyes as full of love as a cup full of wine. Some 
 thing from them struck on her heart ; she felt their 
 glance from head to feet; but the feeling was 
 mingled with resentment, and she was angry at 
 herself for agreeing with him. Jessie also was 
 annoyed. "We had better go inside," she said. 
 "We are only making a speculation of ourselves, 
 with our poetry and nonsense. People are fairly 
 wondering at us." 
 
 But in this little incident there had been a wide 
 step taken to lessen the distance between Alan and 
 Flora, though Flora was far from acknowledging 
 it. Indeed, she told herself that she would not 
 think of Alan at all, and then she ended by think 
 ing of him, and dreaming of him all night long. 
 So that when she met him on the wet deck in the 
 early dawn she was shy and constrained. The 
 steamer was groping her way through swaying 
 curtains of mist, and Alan asked, "What does the 
 sea say this morning, Flora ?" 
 
 "It is not right to consult an oracle twice in 
 twenty-four hours," she answered crossly. "I 
 should only hear 'Saint Columba' again ; and I am 
 tired of the saint. I have heard his name even in 
 my dreams, I think." 
 
 "Why do you say 'even in my dreams'? I
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 41 
 
 should not wonder if dreams are a very important 
 portion of our life." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 "Well, we spend nearly one-third of our lives 
 a-dreaming. Is it likely, then, that dreaming is a 
 thing of no consequence? It is written that Co- 
 lumba prayed even in his dreams, and a strange 
 event happened to myself last night, Flora. I 
 dreamed that I loved a beautiful girl very truly; 
 but I had not realized it until I dreamed that I 
 loved her." 
 
 Flora knew that he was making a confession, 
 but she laughed at such a dream lover, and was so 
 clever in keeping space between dreaming and 
 reality that he never found any opportunity to tell 
 her the name of his dream maiden. For this half- 
 confession of love did not astonish Flora ; she had 
 anticipated it, and her heart was resolved not to 
 be moved by any persuasion Alan could make. 
 The physical charm of the young man she al 
 lowed, and she was vexed that she should be so 
 sensitive to it. "What is it that pleases me when 
 he is present?" she sternly asked herself his 
 handsome person, his sunny temper, his clever 
 ness, the glance of his kind eyes, the touch of his 
 hand, the smile that I see is for me alone? Very 
 well, but what of his readiness to fall into every 
 temptation that comes his road? What of his
 
 42 Souls of Passage 
 
 continual folly in lending money? The good pro 
 vost has a chronic quarrel with him on this sub 
 ject. What of his rash speculations and his rash 
 extravagances? What of that facile temper that 
 makes him to-day one thing and something else 
 to-morrow? It might be very pleasant to have 
 Alan for a husband but oh, how much wiser not 
 to have him !" 
 
 Perhaps Alan had some withdrawing thoughts 
 also. The rest of the day he devoted himself to 
 his mother, who had suffered much during the 
 first part of the sail, from the grievous prostration 
 of the sea. This morning she was able to come on 
 deck and look at the wonders of the hills and the 
 waters the tides racing through their narrow 
 ways; the mountains fretted into marvellous pre 
 sentments of huge cathedral fronts of every age, 
 so that she gazed at them with awe, and drawing 
 Alan close to her whispered, "I think I have seen 
 to-day the temple not made with hands." And he 
 understood her. 
 
 Toward evening they reached the village at 
 which they were to leave the steamer, and they all 
 looked rather gloomily at the broad-bottomed 
 craft which was to convey them to the shore. It 
 was manned by two wild-looking Highlandmen, 
 with bare arms and streaming hair, but they knew 
 their work, and to a wild shout the boat went 
 dancing to the shore on the great v/aves raised by
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 43 
 
 the departing Clansman. On the little stone pier 
 a strong wagonette, drawn by a pair of fine horses, 
 was waiting for them; and they struck at once 
 into the woods. The road, however, never left 
 the sea very far ; its roar in the basaltic caves still 
 kept them company, till after a rather tiresome 
 drive they came to a village of white slated cot 
 tages clustered round a kirk and a manse. Then a 
 mile of steep ascent brought them to Dunbrack 
 Castle. It was not a castle at all in the ordinary 
 sense of the word; it was rather a stone house, 
 built in the form of a square, the main part of 
 which was of great age, and covered with ivy. 
 But from the windows shone fire and candle-light, 
 and at the entrance Cousin Thrift stood with 
 cheerful face and words to greet them. 
 
 They were too weary that night to do more 
 than accept the comforts provided, and the exami 
 nation and arrangement of the house was a 
 pleasant anticipation for the future. No one but 
 Flora had any thoughts beyond or behind the 
 present ; but she could not help, nor did she desire 
 to help, thinking of the men and women who had 
 lived and died within these old gray walls. They 
 were her kindred after the flesh, and doubtless 
 mainly her kindred after the spirit. She had for 
 the first time in her life a sense of being at home. 
 With closed eyes and clasped hands she lay awake, 
 recalling all her father had told her of the fierce
 
 44 Souls of Passage 
 
 Dunbracks, with drawn swords righting their pil 
 grimage through this life; and of the beautiful 
 women who had had the far harder pilgrimage of 
 waiting in this lonely place the signal for their 
 release. Her heart was full of the vague, melan 
 choly dreams of memory. She imagined so much, 
 she apprehended so much, she seemed even to re 
 call. It was an experience she accepted without 
 doubt, else it had never been hers ; for all spiritual 
 experience proves that the very existence of an 
 invisible world depends upon our personal re 
 sponse to that idea. 
 
 So musing she fell into a sweet, deep sleep, and 
 when she awoke in the morning it was as if she 
 were in heaven. The room was flooded with soft 
 sunshine, the mystical-looking pines were gently 
 waving at her window, and the deep mountain 
 thrill of winds and running waters mingled with 
 the solemn murmur of the ocean. Life was so de 
 lightful, so full of joy and expectation, she was 
 eager to begin the day. It was a new world she 
 was in, and she threw wide the windows and let 
 the mingled scents of the pine forests and the 
 ocean blow through her room. 
 
 When she went downstairs the family were just 
 gathering. Cousin Thrift was bringing in a dish 
 of broiled trout, Mrs. Mackenzie making the cof 
 fee, Jessie reading her portion from the "Blavat- 
 zkey's Treasury," and Alan examining his fish-
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 45 
 
 ing-rod. But every one had a measure of that 
 clear, sweet sense of living which filled Flora's 
 heart. They ate their food with gladness, and 
 then went eagerly to examine their new home. It 
 was a house full of surprises, of rooms in all kinds 
 of unexpected places. Some were even hid away 
 in the thick walls, and the entrance to others was 
 by a sliding panel or the drawing back of a full- 
 length portrait. But all of them had alike the old. 
 very old, past atmosphere of places in which 
 humanity had lived and died for centuries. They 
 were impregnated also with a personality which 
 no one recognized but Flora, but which had for 
 her a singular affinity and correspondence. For 
 old houses do come to have a kind of local human 
 sentient aura; and there is an inherited sympathy 
 between them and the families who for centuries 
 have inhabited them. 
 
 The East Indian furniture looked strange and 
 out of place, and even women as little sensitive as 
 Mrs. Mackenzie and Jessie felt its incongruity. 
 But much of it was very handsome, and at that 
 date very uncommon, and there seemed to be no 
 reason for banishing it altogether from the parlors 
 and guest rooms. Flora, however, would have 
 none of it. She went to the great garrets in which 
 the old Dunbrack belongings were stored, and 
 selected from this store some chairs, and tables, 
 and a pretty tent bed, as well as some framed
 
 46 Souls of Passage 
 
 needlework. There was a great deal of this kind 
 of ornamentation, and one large sampler, the work 
 of a certain Lady Sara Bella Dunbrack, particu 
 larly attracted her; for it was full of quaint say 
 ings, and had scraps of verses embroidered on it. 
 
 "I will hang it at the foot of my bed, and it 
 shall be a talisman to me, as I dare say it was to 
 Lady Sara Bella," and then Flora went over and 
 over to herself the four lines which had pleased 
 her so much : 
 
 "There are four corners to my bed ; 
 There are four angels at my head ; 
 One to watch, and two to pray, 
 And one to guard me night and day." 
 
 "What a beautiful faith you must have had in 
 those lines, to work them so exquisitely, Lady 
 Sara Bella!" she exclaimed. "I have no doubt 
 you believed every word of them. So will I. I 
 will not be one of the foolish virgins who can do 
 without guardian angels." And as if to reward 
 her loving interest, she found in one of the draw 
 ers of a case she was having carried to her room 
 a small oil painting of a young woman of great 
 beauty. She was dressed in the fashion of the 
 latter half of the eighteenth century, and in her 
 black hair there was the white rose of Stuart, and 
 where her lace kerchief was knotted there were 
 three white roses resting against her bosom.
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 47 
 
 "A Jacobite, of course, you lovely creature!" 
 she cried. "I, also, would have been one had I 
 lived with Prince Charlie. Oh, my dear, I will 
 keep you now in the sunshine, and talk to you 
 every day. I wish that I knew your name, for I 
 declare you look as like myself as a beauty can 
 look like an ordinary mortal." Then with her 
 treasure she ran to the room that was to be hers, 
 and carefully removing the dust of generations, 
 she found in quite distinguishable characters 
 "Sara Bella Dunbrack, A.D. 1745." Her interest 
 was redoubled; she tenderly passed the softest 
 lawn over the lovely face, and then smiling down 
 at the picture, kissed it. After a few moments' 
 thought she opened a trunk, and took from it some 
 artificial white roses ; then she arranged her hair 
 after the manner of Lady Sara Bella, with the one 
 white rose in the rolled-back tresses, and baring 
 her throat, folded a white veil in the manner of 
 the kerchief, with the three roses lying against the 
 breast. 
 
 "Now I am a Jacobite! and, what is very 
 strange, I feel like one. I will go and show Aunt 
 Mackenzie how I have changed myself; and I 
 must take the picture with me, for I really am like 
 it." 
 
 She ran down the stairway like a vision of a 
 century ago, and rushed into her aunt's presence. 
 And the words she was going to say died upon
 
 48 Souls of Passage 
 
 her lips. There was a stranger there, a young 
 man in Highland dress. He was standing with 
 Alan looking at the reel of his fishing-rod, and he 
 stopped in the middle of what he was saying and 
 turned his full gaze on Flora. She stood still, and 
 Mrs. Mackenzie stared at her with wonder, and 
 Jessie with disapproval, and Alan with admira 
 tion. The embarrassing silence was followed by 
 an exclamation from Mrs. Mackenzie : 
 
 "Keep me, Flora! You perfectly wonderful 
 lassie ! What have you been doing to yourself ?" 
 
 "Look!" she cried, so full of excitement that 
 her very body seemed to think, "look what I have 
 found! It is almost a picture of myself, and I 
 dressed like it to make it more so I mean, of 
 course, that it is much more beautiful I mean 
 that I am not beautiful at all but " 
 
 "Oh," cried Alan, "it is your very image!" 
 Then he looked at his mother, and she said : 
 
 "I hope you will excuse the nonsense, sir. Miss 
 Dunbrack means nothing out of the way. Flora, 
 this is our neighbor, Mr. Shaw McDuff, and I 
 dare say he can tell you about the picture. His 
 father bought Dunbrack from your father." 
 
 Then Mr. Shaw McDuff bowed and looked at 
 the picture. "It is the likeness of Lady Sara Bella 
 Dunbrack," he said. "She really died for Prince 
 Charles. I will tell you her story some day. And 
 you are exactly like her. Any one can see that."
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 49 
 
 "Now, Flora, go and make yourself like living 
 folk; it is uncanny to dress for the dead," said 
 Mrs. Mackenzie, and embarrassed and ready to 
 cry with chagrin the girl left the room. No one 
 had felt as she did, and the egoism of youth is so 
 strong that it never asks, "Why should they feel as 
 I do?" There was, indeed, no reason why the 
 Mackenzies should feel any particular interest in 
 the dead lady; and Jessie was much mortified at 
 the invasion of this element into the proper and 
 satisfactory visit which it had in a manner ter 
 minated. 
 
 For Shaw McDuff left immediately after 
 Flora's dismissal, and Jessie was sure that he had 
 been displeased at the Dunbrack incident. "It is so 
 imprudent," she complained, "to speak of family 
 matters. You never know how people think and 
 feel. The McDuffs may not care for Dunbrack 
 reminiscences. I do wish Flora would act more 
 judiciously. I think Mr. Shaw McDuff was much 
 annoyed." 
 
 He was not annoyed at all, but he had been 
 much astonished and charmed ; and he thought it 
 best to depart. He felt that as long as life lasted 
 he would not forget that swift entrance of unex 
 pected loveliness. "I can see her face yet," he 
 said to himself after he had walked some dis 
 tance, "it was like an illumination. I wonder if 
 she is to marry that fellow he knows no more
 
 50 Souls of Passage 
 
 about fishing than I do about dressmaking. I 
 must ask my father about this Miss Dunbrack." 
 
 He had scarcely made this resolution when he 
 saw his father in an adjoining field. He was turn 
 ing about sharply on all sides, pointing here and 
 there with his long, thin finger to the ditcher who 
 was taking his orders. Shaw called to him, and 
 he came at once toward him. He was a tall old 
 man with bushy white eyebrows, and under them 
 sharp, surveying eyes in which there was a very 
 artful squint. "Well, Shaw," he said as he thrust 
 his hands into his pockets, "what do you think 
 of our new neighbors ?" 
 
 "There is nothing unusual about them ; they are 
 like the rest of Glasgow bodies. The mother is 
 civil and kindly, the daughter a saint with a 
 temper, the son a conceited young muff, who 
 thinks he knows all about fishing and shooting, 
 and he may hire the youngest gillie in the clachan 
 to give him lessons. But there was a girl there 
 called Dunbrack that is able to bewitch a man out 
 of his seven senses." 
 
 "Dunbrack! Dunbrack! She must be a daugh 
 ter of Angus Dunbrack, the man who sold the 
 castle to me. Just so; we had some unpleasant 
 ness about it he was a suspicious creature/' 
 
 Then Shaw told his father the incident of the 
 picture, and described Flora's enthusiasm about
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 51 
 
 the castle and the people who had lived in it before 
 her. 
 
 "Aye, aye, talks of her ancestors 'them that 
 was before me.' Just so ; I am knowing that kind 
 of a girl. I am thinking she will be having little 
 else but her ancestors. Angus Dunbrack was a 
 shrewd creature, but he was sent to Canada, and 
 what can a man make in Canada ?" 
 
 "There are opportunities in all places, father. 
 One might say, What can a man make in Ros- 
 shire ? But you have not done badly." 
 
 "I might have done worse; but it has been a 
 watch and a scraffle. That is not all, though. A 
 fine lad like you can have his pick of the women ; 
 and you are not to throw yourself away, whatever. 
 I will be asking some questions about this Dun- 
 brack girl maybe it was for herself Robert Mac 
 kenzie was buying the place. Angus Dunbrack 
 and Robert Mackenzie were chief together when 
 they were laddies both of them born and bred 
 near here. I shall be asking a few questions, 
 Shaw, before you are committing yourself." 
 
 "I am in no hurry for a wife, father. You 
 trouble yourself on that subject beyond all 
 reason." 
 
 "There is Euphamia Macrae. You have been 
 thinking of Fame ever since you were as high as 
 my walking stick. I have no objections to Fame."
 
 52 Souls of Passage 
 
 "But Fame is poor." 
 
 "She ought to be rich. Ian Macrae thinks he 
 is living one hundred years ago. I have shown 
 him many times how he could be a rich man, and 
 it was so much good advice thrown away. But 
 if you were Fame's husband you would find the 
 land worth many thousands every year. There is 
 the Macrae forest full of red deer, and the Macrae 
 hills full of grouse, yes, indeed, and ptarmigan 
 also ! and where, nearer than Ben Nevis, will you 
 get ptarmigan? Nowhere. Then, one or more 
 shooting boxes could be put up for the purse- 
 proud English to rent. Macrae says they shall 
 not shoot o'er his ground. Perfect nonsense ! An 
 English lord or rich brewer going about the 
 hills jingling the sovereigns in his breeches 
 pockets would be a sight and sound we could well 
 thole a few weeks in a year. Yes, indeed, praise 
 God!" 
 
 "That also is what I think." 
 
 "As it is, the Macraes, rich and poor, take all the 
 deer and all the grouse and all the trout they want, 
 and not a 'thank you' asked for them. Any land 
 lord with a pennyworth of sense would have 
 packed them, bag and baggage, into Nova Scotia 
 long ere this. They lazy crew ! They are eating 
 him to the bone, and that he'll find out when it is 
 o'er late to mend it." 
 
 "It would take money to build shooting boxes
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 53 
 
 and send nearly a hundred men and women to 
 Nova Scotia." 
 
 ''Here is the money. I have spoke these words 
 to him often." 
 
 "What did he answer ?" 
 
 "Not very nice words at all. 'Your money is 
 costing too much, McDuff.' That was what he 
 was saying to me he is a suspicious creature." 
 
 "You have a mortgage on the estate already." 
 
 "I have had a mortgage on it for sixteen years. 
 One thousand pounds he borrowed from me, to 
 give his sons a start when they went to India. 
 They was to make great fortunes there, but it has 
 been touch and go for them to pay me my in 
 terest." 
 
 "And you would lend more on the land ?" 
 
 "That would I. I would lend three times as 
 much. I am quite safe on the first thousand; it 
 has been paid me in the interest the lawful in 
 terest nearly twice over. Between us, as man 
 and man, he owes me nothing whatever ; between 
 us, as creditor and debtor, he owes me one thou 
 sand pounds and half a year's interest on the 
 eleventh day of July next. Now, if you should 
 marry Fame you would soon make her do as you 
 thought right, and her father is at her will and 
 word." 
 
 "I do not think that. Macrae has a queer tem 
 per; when he has made up his mind to a certain
 
 54 Souls of Passage 
 
 course not any son of Adam could change him 
 no, nor daughter either." 
 
 "He is a poorly creature; he can't live forever." 
 
 Shaw did not answer his father. They had 
 come by this time to the village, and his eyes were 
 fixed upon a figure pushing a little boat into the 
 water. "The devil!" he muttered, in a voice of 
 annoyance, and his father answered with equal 
 anger : 
 
 "That is not language for a Christian man to 
 use, and us so near the kirk, too. What will be 
 the matter with you ?" 
 
 "Excuse me, father. I forgot that I had prom 
 ised Fame to go on the water with her, and the 
 time is gone by, and she is away by herself; and 
 now she will be angry." 
 
 "It will be no harm that Fame should see and 
 hear tell of another young lady for you to call on." 
 
 "But, father, women think " 
 
 "Women think ! Who can tell the thoughts of 
 the inscrutable creatures ? But here we are at the 
 manse, and I am going in to see the minister. 
 There are some of the people not satisfied. Rob 
 Assynt is thinking him not sound in the essen 
 tials; and John Lochiel says he is not sure on 
 Moses, forbye there is this quarrel about instru 
 ments of music in the kirk. Indeed, I have been 
 long hearing a sough of talk, leading up to a 
 serapheme, or melodeon, or the like of it. Mor-
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 55 
 
 andaroch will stand no such nonsense just to 
 pleasure a few sheep from the Glasgow presby 
 tery, that are here with a gun for two or three 
 months in a year. I would not go after Fame. If 
 she is in a Macrae tantrum, you could not please 
 her; if you should give her the whites of your 
 eyes she would go on flyting. I know the lass." 
 
 Peter McDuff went into the manse, and Shaw 
 stood looking at the little boat on the gray water. 
 There was a bright red speck amid the gloom, and 
 he knew it was Fame's red hood ; and he knew also 
 just how her handsome face looked under it. He 
 walked to the end of the pier, and in his high- 
 pitched, falsetto voice called to her ; but there was 
 no answering movement, and then he was angry, 
 and turned away. And the black look on his face 
 indicated that the McDufFs tantrum might be as 
 ugly an affair as that attributed to the Macraes. 
 
 Late in the afternoon the weather changed, and 
 for three days there was a monotonous rain with 
 out a gleam of sunshine. Yet amid the gloom the 
 swallows were amicably chattering in the chim 
 neys, and 
 
 "The cuckoo bird 
 Breaking the silence of the seas 
 Among the furthest Hebrides," 
 
 and such a sense of coming joy and beauty that 
 Alan's smiling remark, "It is a dull world,
 
 56 Souls of Passage 
 
 friends," sounded exactly like, "It is a delightful 
 world, friends." They were three happy days, 
 full to the brim of household interest and home 
 pleasure, and at the end of them Dunbrack Castle 
 was in perfect order, and they were ready to enjoy 
 its many beauties and comforts. 
 
 Then there came one of those exquisite days of 
 early summer, that in the Highlands are unwrite- 
 able and unspeakable the birken glades, the 
 whimpering burns, the silent summits of the 
 mountains, and the infinite azure beyond them, the 
 larks jargoning in the fields heavenward, the lin 
 nets singing in the hedges; and to the west the 
 blue sea, and the white sea birds, and a ship with 
 all sails spread, sweeping swiftly toward the har 
 bor mouth. Oh, it was sweet to live, and sweeter 
 still to love in such days and in such surround 
 ings ! and Alan's heart was full of love. 
 
 For the time of the home settling had provided 
 so many little confidences, so many family famili 
 arities, that Flora had shown herself in quite a 
 new light. The feeling that she was "at home" 
 had driven away that air of proud shyness which 
 had so often done her wrong. And in her frank 
 good-nature Alan became his very best self. There 
 had been no explanations, no recognized change, 
 and yet a charming confidence, a half-spoken, 
 quick-glancing, sweetly smiling understanding of 
 each other had taken the place of the restless,,
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 57 
 
 mocking, easily offended intercourse of their pre 
 vious acquaintance. What had come between 
 them? That divine love which attracts the best 
 in every one, because it gives the best. Their love 
 had received no special care, no tender oversight ; 
 on the contrary, it had been rebuffed, and set out 
 in the cold, and wounded, and left to itself, but, 
 like a wild flower, it had grown insensibly and 
 fast. And there is a peculiarity about the flower 
 of love it shows various in the bud. 
 
 " 'Twill look a thistle, and 'twill blow a rose." 
 
 This was precisely the case with Flora's love; 
 no one could have suspected the sweet-natured, 
 affectionate, charming girl that had been hidden 
 behind the proud, withdrawing, self-conscious 
 Flora they had hitherto known. The thistle had 
 blown, and lo ! it was a rose. She had practically 
 learned one of the greatest lessons of life that if 
 she wished to be miserable she must think about 
 herself: what she wanted, what she liked, what 
 people thought of her, what attention they ought 
 to pay her ; and that if she wished to be happy, she 
 must think about others: what she could do for 
 them, how many good qualities they had, how 
 large a share of their affection they gave her, and 
 how glad and grateful she ought to be for it. 
 
 They were strangely happy days, for they were 
 days of growth in many good ways; not even
 
 58 Souls of Passage 
 
 Jessie had a look of dissent. Indeed, Jessie was 
 in a state for which mortals generally make great 
 allowances a state of delicious suspense; yet a 
 suspense full of a sweet assurance and a deter 
 minate ending. The Rev. James Laidlaw had for 
 mally requested her hand, and she was waiting in 
 the blissful confidence of his love her father's 
 communication on the subject. It came one morn 
 ing as they were sitting at breakfast, with all the 
 windows open to catch the joy of the woods, and 
 the hills, and the sea. Two letters were given to 
 Jessie, and she opened one with a perceptible 
 tremor, and then the shadow of anxiety grew 
 light, and her fair, still face broke up into smiles, 
 as if there was music in the letter. There was 
 music to her heart. The provost had given his 
 fatherly permission; he was satisfied with his in 
 terview with the minister; he wished his daugh 
 ter all the happiness she anticipated, and sent her a 
 check for five hundred pounds, so that she might 
 order at once such additions to her wardrobe as 
 she desired. When she lifted her eyes from this 
 pleasant epistle she saw her mother looking tear 
 fully at her. She also had had letters from the pro 
 vost and the minister, and she silently stretched 
 out her hand to her daughter. 
 
 "You might speak a word, mother," said 
 Jessie between her smiles and tears, and Mrs. 
 Mackenzie answered the request at once. "Alan,
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 59 
 
 Flora, I be to tell you that our Jessie is promised 
 to the Rev. Mr. Laidlaw. Her father has signified 
 his consent." 
 
 " 'Approval,' mother, approval was the word 
 used." 
 
 "His approval of their marriage, which is to 
 take place next September. So, then, Jessie is 
 now almost a woman in the married state. It is 
 just extraordinar ! I was dreaming of her last 
 night, and she was a baby in a little pink calico 
 frock I remember making that pink frock and 
 now God keep us all! it will be the wedding 
 gown." 
 
 Alan rose and kissed his sister, and Flora snug 
 gled closer to the budding bride, and then the 
 party broke up. They all wanted privately to ac 
 custom themselves to this invasion of a new ele 
 ment, and Alan was glad when Shaw McDuff 
 came, and they two could go off to the hills to 
 gether. 
 
 The new element, however, rapidly became a 
 very domineering one. The tables were littered 
 with books and samples from various houses in 
 Glasgow and Edinburgh dealing in those beautiful 
 garments which belong traditionally to brides. 
 And the consultations on these things were end 
 less. Jessie was not the woman to buy in haste 
 and repent at her leisure. "I require to be very 
 careful, mother," she would say, as she balanced
 
 60 Souls of Passage 
 
 the bits of lawn or satin ; "a minister's bride is an 
 object of speculation to the whole kirk. James 
 says in this morning's letter, 'I must be moderate 
 in my niceties and fineries,' people expect that 
 much from a minister's bride." 
 
 "But," said Mrs. Mackenzie, "you'll not be for 
 getting just yet that you are the provost's daugh 
 ter. I must say I am disappointed about the 
 wedding. I don't like it done in a corner. I had 
 my heart fairly set on a grand ceremony, and all 
 our friends present, and I cannot settle to think of 
 a 'two or three affair.' ' 
 
 "James does not want to make a show of him 
 self nor of his wife. He says people will stare 
 at a bride and bridegroom even if they have seen 
 them every day for a twelve months." 
 
 "That is a perfectly natural unreasonableness. 
 Most brides and bridegrooms like to be stared at." 
 
 "They ought not to like it." 
 
 "That is ridic'lous, Jessie." 
 
 "James says so." 
 
 "And, pray, what way did he find out ?" 
 
 "His native good sense taught him, as it ought 
 to teach every one." 
 
 "To be sure. James Laidlaw is an oracle of 
 sagacity. But for all that, when I see him next, 
 I am going to have a few words with him. He 
 ought to consider your father's position." 
 
 "He must, of course, consider his own position ;
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 61 
 
 and I do not think I would argue the point with 
 him. He has made up his mind, and to move him 
 against his convictions is a hopeless thing." 
 
 "I do not doubt it as hopeless as to tie the 
 wind in a bag. Let me see again the satin you 
 have chosen. If it is not to be white satin, do 
 come as near white as you can." 
 
 "James disapproves of white satin. I could 
 only wear it once. I would need another satin for 
 a kirking dress,* and James thinks I ought to 
 make one dress do for the two events. James is 
 not rich." 
 
 "Is that your notion? Sensible woman! I 
 never wore my wedding gown but once. It is put 
 away in lavender for my golden wedding, if God 
 is so very good to your father and me as to let us 
 grow old together. But you are a very queen of 
 Sheba for wisdom, Jessie, and I am not doubting 
 the judiciousness of Mr. Laidlaw's opinions, not 
 in the least. If you want a prudent, practical man, 
 you must go to what they call the divines for him. 
 I have learned that much lately, Jessie." 
 
 These discussions about every purchase, it 
 must be admitted, soon became monotonous and 
 without much interest to any one but the wise 
 woman who conducted them. Alan had other 
 interests. He was living a charmed life of his 
 
 *The dress a bride wears to church the first Sabbath after 
 her marriage.
 
 62 Souls of Passage 
 
 own, a life of delicious reverie, of half-appre 
 hended bliss; a life in which as yet all was as 
 wonderfully lovely and silent as the earth just be 
 fore the dawning. He was sure Flora loved him ; 
 the very words had trembled voicelessly in the 
 air between them, as they had stood with clasped 
 hands in the morning greeting or the night's 
 farewell. Their souls already understood, and he 
 was only watching for the hour the fortunate 
 hour in which he might reveal himself in words 
 and find Love waiting for him. 
 
 One morning, about three weeks after their set 
 tlement at Dunbrack, they were eating a leisurely, 
 cheerful breakfast, when the mail came, bringing 
 Jessie word that the minister would arrive that 
 night on the Clansman. Immediately a sense of 
 unrest and preparation took possession of the 
 house. Jessie finished her coffee hastily and be 
 gan to make arrangements. Alan was to go to the 
 fishing village and secure the freshest and finest 
 fish. Flora was to cut flowers and fill all the 
 vases anew, and Mrs. Mackenzie said she would 
 go herself to the kitchen, adding, "The Highland 
 cutties there are not knowing the first thing about 
 making 'the sweets' for a dinner table." 
 
 As for Jessie she had a multitude of things to 
 look after, both as regarded the rooms and her 
 self; and there was such an uncomfortable, un 
 usual atmosphere pervading the house that Flora
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 63 
 
 was glad at the early lunch to hear Mrs. Mac 
 kenzie proposed going to her room for a rest. 
 Jessie said she would "do the same thing, 
 especially as she had her hair to crimp and a new 
 satin belt to make for her white dress." Alan 
 laughed at all this fuss, and hoped when it was 
 his affair "somebody would turn their house out 
 of the windows for him." In the meantime he 
 said he was going to look at a yacht Shaw Mc- 
 Duff had for sale; not one of his own, he ex 
 plained; it had been built last summer for Lord 
 Reay, who had since gone to Italy for a year or 
 two, and who wished, therefore, to dispose of it. 
 
 "Who told you that tale, Alan?" asked Jessie 
 scornfully. 
 
 "Mr. McDuff. I suppose he knows." 
 
 "Well, if he made up the story, I suppose he 
 does know. I would not advise you to believe it. 
 If you want a boat a most unnecessary thing, I 
 must say but if you do want one, why not ask 
 father to buy it? When father buys a boat he 
 knows what he is buying." 
 
 "I know myself what kind of a boat I want, 
 Jessie. It has been in my head for a year or 
 more." 
 
 "It might be a good thing if you kept it there, 
 Alan. Anyway, ask father. He knows all about 
 bows and sterns and keels." 
 
 "I suppose I have heard him talking yacht,"
 
 64 Souls of Passage 
 
 said Alan. "He thinks people who do not know 
 about these things must be idiots. Is not that the 
 truth, mother?" 
 
 "Well, Alan, I would not say that much. But 
 a yacht is his hobby, and he does think a man who 
 can turn a racing buoy at the shortest is a very 
 superior man. When Mr. Henryson was running 
 for Parliament he got your father's vote just be 
 cause he luffed his boat cleverly on the top of the 
 boat of the other candidate. It's a fact before 
 divines! Henryson was a Liberal, and your 
 father was never that; but he thinks you may 
 judge a man by the way he manages his boat, and 
 not often go far wrong. So if you want a boat, go 
 to your father ; he will buy you a proper boat, and 
 I am not thinking much of Mr. Shaw McDuff, 
 anyway." 
 
 "Come, mother, we cannot discuss boats this 
 afternoon, and Alan ought to have some con 
 sideration." 
 
 "Kindly remember, Jessie, that I did not begin 
 the discussion." 
 
 "You are sure about trie fish", Alan?" 
 
 "Sure as I can be." 
 
 To this assurance mother and daughter left the 
 room, and Alan lingered a moment to see if Flora 
 was inclined for his company. But the evidences 
 were not encouraging, and he went off to seek 
 Shaw McDuff. Then Flora having watched him
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 65 
 
 out of sight, turned from the window with a sigh 
 and a pain at her heart. He was thinking more of 
 the boat than of her. She was vexed that he had 
 respected her apparent preoccupation. Why did 
 he not take her sewing out of her hand and ask 
 her to go to the hazel walk ? 
 
 When this thought came into her mind, it came 
 with an irresistible longing for the green, cool 
 shade of the arching hazel branches. There was a 
 seat at the bottom of the walk, and flowing past 
 it a pretty brook, whose source was high up on the 
 highest hill, and whose end was the ocean, scarcely 
 a mile away. It had a happy song in its heart all 
 the time, and went singing it to the sea. That 
 was the place to go for rest and quiet ; and she put 
 her sewing tidily into her work basket and went 
 to the sheltered bench among the hazels. What 
 long, long thoughts are the thoughts of youth! 
 Flora's stretched backward and forward, and for 
 an hour she did not weary of them. She was just 
 going to return to the house when she heard 
 Alan's steps, and in a few minutes he was at her 
 side. 
 
 "I could not find McDuff," he said cheerily. 
 
 "And so you came to find me. Thank you." 
 
 "Flora! Flora! You know you are wronging 
 me. You know that you are the first and the last 
 in my heart, the beginning and the end of love to 
 me."
 
 66 Souls of Passage 
 
 She smiled faintly, but did not answer. 
 
 Then he came closer to her, he took her hand, 
 he kissed it, and she reddened like a rose, but made 
 no other sign. 
 
 "Flora, tell me you love me, and keep me all my 
 life at your side; or tell me you do not love me, 
 and never can love me, and I will go away forever. 
 I wonder at myself for bearing this uncertainty so 
 long. I feel at this moment that I can bear it no 
 longer. Do be kind to me. It would be a joy to 
 some girls to keep me in suspense and misery, but 
 not to you, Flora, not to you ! Make me the hap 
 piest man on earth, or put me with a word out of 
 my misery. Flora, Flora, speak to me !" 
 
 She did not speak one word, but she turned 
 her face toward him, and no words can describe 
 what Alan saw in the eyes of the girl who loved 
 him. Full of rapture, he drew her close to his 
 heart and kissed her, and in that sweet embrace 
 both felt what can only be felt once in a lifetime. 
 
 Then they began to tell to each other under the 
 hazel branches their tale of love, and they believed 
 it to be something quite new and fresh ; something 
 sweeter and stronger than any other lovers had 
 ever experienced ; something created specially for 
 them, out of the noblest impulses of their hearts. 
 And with the generous and the magnanimous this 
 is really so ; they make love to grow in hearts that 
 love them ; they create it from their own store.
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 67 
 
 After the first amazing sense of bliss had sub 
 sided Alan said, "Let us go to mother at once. 
 She will love me twice over for giving her such 
 a darling daughter." 
 
 But Flora shook her head positively. "Do you 
 not see, dear Alan, that it is beyond all reason to 
 speak of our love at this time ?" 
 
 "No, no, no ! I see nothing of the kind." 
 "But it is. Jessie is now in the very noon and 
 pride of her engagement. All her world is at her 
 feet. She is the most important person in it. 
 Think of the handful of letters she gets every 
 morning, and the presents that come by every 
 boat. Not even your mother is of half so much 
 importance in the family as Jessie, and for the 
 next three months, at least, every one's affairs 
 must be subordinated to Jessie's." 
 
 "Of course ! Jessie is so demanding." 
 "But Jessie is right. Every girl expects this 
 little importance once in her life. She is like an 
 uncrowned queen without it. Now, it would be 
 very unkind of us to tithe Jessie's pride and hap 
 piness in her lover and her nuptials. Suppose we 
 go and tell mother of our engagement; she will 
 give us, perhaps, the largest part of her sympathy, 
 and Jessie will be compelled to share her im 
 portance with us. It would be a great unkindness 
 to her to let any one even suspect our betrothal. 
 We must be content with the happiness of our
 
 68 Souls of Passage 
 
 own hearts ; to ask for more at this time would be 
 unkind. Let Jessie and her lover have their full 
 measure of importance. That is what I say, and 
 I will not say anything else, Alan dear Alan !" 
 
 "You are right, Flora. You wonderful little 
 woman ! you quite unspeakable little darling ! You 
 are always right and kind and wise !" And Flora, 
 smiling gladly at the wild happiness of her lover's 
 words and expression, said : 
 
 "I must now go to the house, Alan. I promised 
 to help Jessie with her hair, and you may find Mc- 
 Duff now. But you must be home in time to go 
 with the wagonette to meet Mr. Laidlaw. We 
 must make Jessie as happy as we can our turn 
 will come, you know." 
 
 "I will do whatever you desire, Flora my 
 Flora! Just to please me, dear, just to make me 
 the proudest man in the world, say, My Alan !" 
 Then they said together the dear personal little 
 word, feeling the while far more deeply than they 
 could express that potent right which draws a 
 woman to the one man in the world for her, and 
 a man to the one woman in the world for him 
 that right which is the only divine right in the 
 realm of love. 
 
 As they were parting Alan said, "Do you re 
 member, Flora, that a few nights ago we were 
 talking of the Highland custom of betrothal, and 
 you said it was the simplest and most poetic form
 
 At Dunbrack Castle 69 
 
 you had ever heard of? Meet me here to-night 
 at nine o'clock, and we will make that rite to 
 gether. The dinner will be over then, and Jessie 
 and her lover will be glad of our absence." 
 
 "It will be dark." 
 
 "It will be nearly light as day. The moon is at 
 the full." 
 
 "I will come, Alan. Nine o'clock ?" 
 
 "Nine o'clock, Flora ;" and so with a lingering 
 embrace they parted. 
 
 Just at nine o'clock Flora went swiftly down 
 the hazel walk to meet her lover. She had made 
 herself bewitchingly pretty for the occasion, and 
 when she reached the trysting place Alan stood 
 there waiting for her. She looked proudly at the 
 handsome fellow, who drew her close to his heart, 
 whispering, "My Flora!" and with a tender, sol 
 emn sense of the meaning of the simple ceremony 
 they were going to perform Alan led her to the 
 little brook, wimpling and glancing in the moon 
 light. Swift as thought he leaped to the other 
 side, and so clasping hands across the water, they 
 repeated together the promise they had come to 
 make: 
 
 "While this water runs to the sea 
 I will be true to thee. 
 While yon moon above shall shine 
 I am thine ! only thine ! 
 And while mountains round us stand, 
 Thine my heart ! thine my hand !"
 
 JQ Souls of Passage 
 
 A sweet, hallowing sense of the lovely night was 
 over them, their joy was so great it was near to 
 tears ; they sat silent or spoke softly in that sweet, 
 broken patois that love teaches, when the heart 
 acknowledges with a blissful sigh, "I feel more 
 than I can say."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EUPHAMIA MACRAE. 
 
 THE invasion of a distinctly new element into 
 any home is never a pleasant event and often 
 a very tragic one. The minister's advent was 
 very much in the nature of a conqueror come to 
 take possession. He assumed such right in 
 Jessie and such airs of authority about all that 
 concerned her and as yet Jessie's concerns were 
 very much the concerns of others that it was 
 often very hard for Mrs. Mackenzie and Alan 
 to endure the interference with their own wishes 
 such supreme selfishness entailed. In these days 
 Shaw McDuff gained a very familiar position in 
 the Mackenzie household, for Alan found the 
 society of a third person a very necessary condi 
 tion of keeping the peace. Shaw was politic, 
 and he had a large share of the almost unbeliev 
 able reverence of the Highlander for the clergy. 
 A man wearing "the cloth," a man with the 
 three magic letters "Rev." before his name could 
 do no wrong in Shaw's eyes; and he was always
 
 72 Souls of Passage 
 
 distinctly proud to be seen in the company of 
 one. 
 
 Shaw was also quite able to converse with the 
 clergy on all the subjects interesting to them. 
 He had every one of the Free Kirk's grievances 
 in his heart, he knew all the doings in the General 
 Assembly, and the weak points in every heresy 
 case. And though he was a good shot, he liked 
 better to talk of theology than of forestry or of 
 fishing. There was, therefore, little wonder that 
 Mr. Laidlaw considered Mr. McDuff a young 
 man of a remarkable intelligence, altogether a 
 superior young man; and still less wonder that 
 Jessie tacitly acknowledged her previous opinion 
 of McDuff to be a misjudgment, and that she 
 atoned for it by a more than usual kind famil 
 iarity. 
 
 One of the consequences of this change of 
 opinion was that Shaw sold Lord Reay's yacht 
 to Alan. The sale came about in the most natural 
 manner. Mr. Laidlaw thought it a very pretty 
 boat, and he said McDuff appeared to be quite 
 indifferent about disposing of it. Indeed, Shaw 
 so frequently asserted his lack of all personal 
 interest in the sale it was impossible to doubt 
 such distinct disclaimers. He admitted, indeed, 
 that he did have a desire to see his new neighbor 
 take the advantage of a good bargain, "and, 
 perhaps," he added with an air of honest confes-
 
 Euphamia Macrae 73 
 
 sion, "I have a little selfish hope of sometimes 
 enjoying a sail in the boat if it belongs to Alan 
 Mackenzie." At any rate, the boat became 
 Alan's, and he was glad to have her as an excuse 
 for getting away from the new member of the 
 household. As it happened, there was at that 
 time a bitter kirk quarrel on hand concerning 
 the use of instrumental music in churches; and 
 the minister and McDuff had an absorbing 
 subject to entertain themselves with, and were, 
 perhaps, as glad to be rid of Alan's boredom as 
 Alan was glad to be rid of their dictatorial ecclesi- 
 asticism. 
 
 As yet there had been no suspicion of the 
 relationship existing between Flora and Alan. 
 If Alan remained a great deal in the house when 
 the minister and Shaw were walking about the 
 hills or making calls on the village minister, Mrs. 
 Mackenzie easily understood that the Dunbrack 
 parlor might be more agreeable to her son. She 
 did not suspect Flora had anything to do with 
 this new inclination for domestic life; and Jessie 
 was too much interested in her own love affair 
 to be aware of any other, even though that other 
 was in her constant presence. So that this 
 understudy of love and matrimony went on in 
 the house, and in the garden, and down by the 
 brook in the hazel walk, and no one but the 
 servants suspected it; and as they were adoring
 
 74 Souls of Passage 
 
 allies of these two young people, they were blind 
 and deaf and dumb, and only whispered their 
 surmises among themselves. 
 
 One hot day, when the sunshine was crushing, 
 the family sat in listless mood at lunch. McDuff 
 had managed to get his chair next to Flora's, and 
 Alan was in a temper at the circumstance, for the 
 thing happened too frequently to be regarded 
 as an accident. In fact, Shaw's admiration for 
 the charming girl was quite apparent to any one 
 who could see an inch beyond his own interests. 
 And as Alan could find no fault with Flora, he 
 longed to find fault with some one, and so he 
 watched Shaw with that intelligence for motives 
 that dislike readily supplies. But Shaw trifled 
 silently with his salad, and the minister was too 
 much in earnest in disposing of his share to open 
 a conversation. Yet Alan felt that any kind of 
 conversation would do. He was confident of his 
 ability to make it disagreeable, and was not dis 
 concerted when Shaw said slowly: 
 
 "You see, Mr. Laidlaw, speaking of your able, 
 luminous explanation to Rob Assynt this morn 
 ing, Calvinism is the philosophy of the Scotch 
 people; and as for their being mostly democrats, 
 Presbyterianism is naturally democratic. Hence, 
 Rob Assynt, though only a fisher, thinks himself 
 in the kirk, and as one of the elect, the equal of 
 any man. The spirit of divinity is equality."
 
 Euphamia Macrae 75 
 
 "It is nothing of the kind !" said Alan. "It is 
 not equality in heaven, where there are distinct 
 orders archangels and angels, seraphim and 
 cherubim. It is not on earth, where we have 
 archbishops, bishops, and priests." 
 
 "Alan !" interrupted Mr. Laidlaw, "we have 
 nothing to do in Scotland with prelatic orders 
 and establishments. In the Scotch Church all 
 ministers are practically equal." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir; the foundation of 
 Calvinism is inequality, and inequality without 
 individual merit or demerit. It presents us at 
 the very outset with that awful problem of the 
 elect and the non-elect; and what equality is 
 there in that, or what justice either, if men be 
 born unable to keep the commandments, and 
 yet ordained to everlasting perdition for break 
 ing them?" These words he poured out with a 
 rapidity that was not to be contradicted, or even 
 stayed; and then he looked around complacently 
 at the astonishment and displeasure he had 
 aroused. For, after all, if a man wants to be 
 exasperating, there is nothing like a sweeping 
 religious denouncement to compass his ends. 
 
 Jessie's lips quivered; she regarded this insult 
 to her creed as an equal one to her lover; she 
 rose to her feet, and was on the point of giving 
 Alan the few words he really deserved when the 
 door was rather hastily opened, and a very
 
 j6 Souls of Passage 
 
 handsome girl stepped into their midst. A swift 
 glance at the company satisfied her; she made 
 a slight courtesy to Mrs. Mackenzie, and said: 
 
 "Mrs. Mackenzie, I am Euphamia Macrae, 
 the Macrae's daughter, only the Macrae is now 
 a simple gentleman, called Mr. Ian Macrae." 
 
 "You are very welcome, my dear. We have 
 been expecting you before this day." 
 
 "I should have come earlier, but I did not 
 think you had got your house in order. Why do 
 you not make my excuse for me, Shaw?" she 
 asked, looking directly at that young man. 
 
 "Indeed, I ought to do so," he answered. "It 
 is partly my fault Miss Macrae has delayed her 
 visit. I knew you had so many private interests 
 to attend to, Mrs. Mackenzie." 
 
 "Humm ml Afraid of me and this High 
 land beauty ! that was his reason," thought Alan; 
 and indeed he was not far wrong, Shaw had 
 feared Alan, and Alan instantly saw his opportu 
 nity for being satisfactorily annoying. 
 
 While this short explanation was being made 
 by Shaw, every one in the room had their eyes 
 fixed on the young lady. Her beauty caused 
 a sense of delight and astonishment. It was 
 gypsy-like in its olive skin and the rich carnation 
 color blushing through it. But her eyes were 
 the Highland eyes, brown, soft, and kindly. 
 Altogether, a face to disarm criticism; and she
 
 Euphamia Macrae 77 
 
 was received with open heart as a welcome addi 
 tion to the Dunbrack circle. Before half an 
 hour was over she was at the piano, and singing 
 merrily with Flora and Alan, and even Jessie, 
 "Wha Wouldna Fight for Charlie?'' "The Gath 
 ering of the Clans," "When the King Conies 
 Hame," and other rattling Jacobite songs. 
 
 With this music in his ears Shaw found theo 
 logical discussion difficult, and Alan's happy 
 voice mingling with Flora's and Fame's roused 
 in his heart the very devil of hatred. 
 
 "That insolent fop!" he thought. "I knew 
 how it would be !" Then aloud to Mr. Laidlaw, 
 "Had we not better join the party, sir?" 
 
 The minister slowly rose, and they went to 
 gether to the drawing-room. By this time 
 Fame's fingers were whipping from the ivory 
 keys the delirious music of a Scotch reel, and 
 Flora and Alan were stepping to it; and Mrs. 
 Mackenzie, entering by another door at the 
 same time, spreading her skirts, and taking the 
 old tingling step with bows and laughter. Alan 
 did not suffer the minister's entrance to damp 
 the enthusiasm; the poignant, magical sounds 
 went on to their conclusion; and then suddenly, 
 without a moment's pause, Fame dropped into 
 that very soul of hopeless pathos, "Lochaber 
 No More," and her voice sobbed through the 
 wailing notes till the house was full of their grief
 
 78 Souls of Passage 
 
 and lamenting. When she ceased there was a 
 dead silence, tears were in every eye, the minister 
 had unconsciously clasped Jessie's hand, Mrs. 
 Mackenzie had covered her face, Alan and Flora 
 stood spellbound beside the singer, and a gar 
 dener outside was leaning on his spade, weeping. 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Mackenzie, breaking 
 the impassioned silence, "you have fairly dis 
 tracted us all with your bygone sorrows and 
 songs. You are just an incredible little witch 
 with the music. But it is far too hot a day to be 
 gathering the clans for Charlie, and what I say 
 is, run away with Flora to her room for an hour 
 or two, and talk of Queen Victoria and your own 
 weddings." 
 
 "I cannot stay longer now," said Fame with 
 a sudden shyness. "My father will be wearying 
 for me." 
 
 "Then he will just have to thole his weariness, 
 for I will not take a nay-say from you." So the 
 two girls went away together, and Jessie and her 
 mother followed, and the three men were left 
 standing in the suddenly still parlor. 
 
 "I never heard such music in my life," said 
 Alan. "It tingles in my heart and brain yet." 
 
 "The young lady has a great capacity," said 
 the minister. "I wish I had asked her to sing 
 The Land o' the Leal.' " 
 
 "She is a natural musician, the songs are in
 
 Euphamia Macrae 79 
 
 her heart," added Shaw. "If you could believe 
 her father, he would tell you she brought them 
 with her; that her skill is something her soul 
 remembers of old." 
 
 "Oh," replied the minister, "the absurd theory 
 of reincarnation, the old heresy of Origen !" 
 
 "Much older than Origen, sir. It was a hoary 
 theory in his day." 
 
 "Let us go to the sea !" cried Alan. "We shall 
 be sure to find a breeze there." 
 
 Shaw looked at him with undisguised con 
 tempt. "Who is to manage the boat?" he asked. 
 
 "Earne Macrae is on her. Is there a better 
 boatman? And I suppose we are none of us 
 blockheads; but if you are afraid, Shaw " 
 
 "Afraid! What of? Even if you coup the 
 boat, I can swim. And you never take the 
 Lapwing far from land. She just ripples the 
 shadows of the hills that is all her sailing." 
 
 "I take her as far as it pleasures myself. Will 
 you go, James?" he asked, turning to the minis 
 ter. 
 
 "Not this afternoon. I have a few ideas to 
 jot down some other time some other time." 
 
 "I wish my father was here," said Alan; "he 
 would show the lot of us how to sail a boat 
 yes, indeed, he would show the whole country 
 side." 
 
 "That would be a sight indeed!" answered
 
 80 Souls of Passage 
 
 Shaw. "A Glasgow merchant outsailing a High 
 land boatman!" 
 
 "Provost Mackenzie is a Highland gentleman 
 as well as a Glasgow merchant, and he is as 
 proud of one name as the other; and I will say it 
 again, and maintain it, that my father can sail 
 a boat where no man here would venture. I 
 have seen him when the seas were any size you 
 like outside the Cantyre land." 
 
 "If I was you, Alan, I would write a book 
 about it," said Shaw. 
 
 "I would rather be learning how to do it," he 
 answered. 
 
 "Come, come," said the minister, "we shall 
 all be better of a little rest. That music has set 
 our nerves quivering; the room is full of the 
 martial spirit and of the sorrow that comes after 
 it. I feel that I need to go into solitude and 
 compose myself." 
 
 Then Shaw took his hat, and no one said they 
 would expect him to dinner. He reflected on 
 this omission as he walked home through the 
 heat, and in his jealous mood was sure it was 
 a purposed omission. Alan would have the 
 company of Flora and Fame all the evening, 
 and he could not endure to think of it; moreover, 
 some one would have to take Fame home after 
 dinner, and, of course, it would be Alan. It was 
 bad enough that Alan should have such constant
 
 Euphamia Macrae 81 
 
 opportunities with Flora, but to have him also 
 interfering with a girl whom he had been accus 
 tomed to appropriate entirely was something 
 not to be borne. 
 
 In the meantime Flora and Fame were enjoy 
 ing the first sweet emotions of a real girlish 
 friendship. Neither of them had ever had this 
 luxury before, and both were sure there was 
 something marvellous in their meeting and in 
 their attraction for each other. "But we are 
 both in a manner wild girls," said Flora. "We 
 have neither of us been in what is called society. 
 You have grown up among the Highland hills 
 with your father for a companion, and I grew 
 up in the Canadian woods with my father for 
 a companion. Is it not strange that we should 
 meet here, and that we should like each other 
 at first sight?" 
 
 "No," replied Fame. "Father says such meet 
 ings are generally appointed, and when things 
 are fated some one must speak the word or do 
 the deed that brings them to pass." 
 
 "I wonder how you learned to play as you do. 
 No one ever played in that way to me before; 
 yet it was real music; it was, as Aunt Mackenzie 
 said, "playing on the heart strings." 
 
 "I do not think I learned so much as I remem 
 bered," answered Fame. "Many times when 
 people have been explaining things to me I have
 
 82 Souls of Passage 
 
 kept saying to myself, 'Oh, yes, I know! I 
 know!' My teachers all considered me not 
 teachable, but somehow I learned or remem 
 bered. Many things in this way come to me. I 
 can tell the time without a clock. I can tell the 
 fishers where the herring school lies. I know 
 when it is going to rain before the glass knows 
 it. I know when danger of any kind is near. 
 I have even a dim consciousness that I have met 
 you in dreamland and exchanged a word with 
 you in passing. You are not quite strange to 
 me." 
 
 Then they spoke of Jessie and the minister, 
 and the approaching bridal, and the rich people 
 who would soon begin to come to their houses 
 on the hills, and the shooting and dancing and 
 sailing, and the long, long winters; but they 
 never named either Shaw McDuff or Alan Mac 
 kenzie. Yet Shaw was certain he was being 
 criticised and talked over and, perhaps, ridiculed. 
 Alan had no such torment. His surety was in 
 Flora. She would neither say ill of him nor 
 listen to it; but he did wonder what the private 
 opinion of the girls was about Shaw, and he felt 
 that it would be a pleasant thing to hear that 
 Fame had a good opinion of himself. 
 
 When they met at the dinner table it was with 
 a general air of intimacy, free, frank, affable, and 
 conversant. Alan had been an hour on the
 
 Euphamia Macrae 83 
 
 water, and was full of the peculiarities of his 
 boatman, Earne Macrae, "a most extraordinary 
 man," he said; "a poet as well as a sailor. I 
 wonder if he knows it?" 
 
 "He must do so," replied Fame, "for his songs 
 are sung by all the boatmen round. What one 
 was he singing for you, Mr. Mackenzie?" 
 
 "He was not singing at all, but he was con 
 stantly saying things that were very much like 
 poetry. When the wind rose he turned the boat 
 homeward, because with that wind the sea 'was 
 mischiefous,' and then he looked reprovingly 
 around and added, 'It is always hungry for men; 
 if you will be noticing the white horses racing 
 here in the high winds, you will be seeing also 
 the long graves it makes for them.' Is not that 
 poetry?" 
 
 "Of a kind," she answered. "Earne is a man 
 by himself. My father is loving Earne, and 
 plenty of trouble he has in helping Earne out of 
 trouble. Earne will shoot too near the McDuff 
 land, and it is one warrant after another Peter 
 McDuff has out for him; and the birds still going 
 where they should not go, and not seldom in the 
 season a young stag or two." 
 
 "But," said Alan, "Earne should not touch 
 game; he has no right to shoot that is wrong, 
 of course." 
 
 "Of course, Mr. Mackenzie, no one is denying
 
 84 Souls of Passage 
 
 that. But Earne has the right to shoot anything 
 he wants on the Macrae land; and ii McDufFs 
 stags and birds will trespass on the Macrae 
 heather, is Earne to blame? My father is a 
 magistrate, and he says 'no.' ' 
 
 "And what does Mr. McDuff say?" 
 
 "That is another matter. Really, Earne does 
 not know nor care who is owning the beasts and 
 birds. He is a savage about the game laws, and 
 respects them about as much as the blackbirds 
 respect your fruit. It is as ridiculous to punish 
 Earne as it would be to punish the blackbirds." 
 
 "You are wrong there, Miss Macrae," said 
 the minister. "The transgressor must be taught 
 by punishment what is right and what is wrong. 
 If he is not punished here, he will be hereafter." 
 
 "For killing the game on the hills Earne does 
 not fear any punishment hereafter. He says, 
 'The Merciful One is not giving man, made in 
 His own image, to Satan, and not supposable 
 He ever will do so/ and the like of that talk. 
 You should listen to him for an hour it might 
 set you thinking it often does me." 
 
 "I expected Mr. McDuff would be here to 
 dinner," said the minister, ignoring Fame's 
 advice, and evidently determined to change the 
 subject. 
 
 "I was so excited with the music I forgot to
 
 Euphamia Macrae 85 
 
 ask him," said Mrs. Mackenzie, "and Jessie for 
 got likewise." 
 
 "I do not think he would have come to-night," 
 said Fame, "because they are voting about the 
 organ, and he will be in the kirk, no doubt." 
 
 "Dear me, I should have liked to be present 
 myself!" said Mr. Laidlaw regretfully. "The 
 question of vocal praise being aided by an organ 
 in the kirk service is, I consider, an important 
 one. I incline to favor it." 
 
 "I cannot see any harm in it," said Jessie. 
 
 "No more harm than there is in the precentor's 
 pitch-pipe," said Mrs. Mackenzie. 
 
 "The bitter party feeling aroused by such a 
 trifling discussion is absurd," said Alan. "You 
 might think the people in the village were dis 
 puting about a great war, instead of a 'kist full 
 of whistles.' " 
 
 "Or," continued Fame, "that the Pope him 
 self was hid somewhere in an organ. Such a 
 storm for nothing at all is perfect nonsense." 
 
 "My dear Miss Macrae, we must pay respect 
 to the prejudices of good Christians. I have it 
 to do myself," said the minister. "One of my 
 elders, a most estimable man, objects even to 
 the singing of paraphrases. He will stop a friend 
 outside the kirk, and say, 'We can wait a bit; 
 they are singing, and it's just a paraphrase.'
 
 86 Souls of Passage 
 
 But I should like to walk down to the kirk 
 myself after dinner. Will you go with me, 
 Jessie?" 
 
 Jessie was delighted to go, and Alan instantly 
 proposed that Flora and himself should walk 
 home with Fame. "It will be a pleasant party," 
 he said; and as the proposal was enthusiastically 
 received, there was a little hurrying of the meal 
 to make an early start. The minister and Jessie 
 led the way, Alan with Flora and Fame followed 
 and very soon did not follow, but lingered and 
 stopped to argue a point, and so obviously 
 wished to be left that they had no reason to 
 complain of the circumstance when it really did 
 occur. After all, it was sweet to linger. The 
 summer night was full of stars, and gradually the 
 holy silence of the gloaming touched them to 
 something deeper and sweeter than laughter. 
 Very soon they were in the great wood, through 
 which a road had been made to the village; and 
 the trees began to press them closer, and they 
 were sensitive to something in this temple of 
 nature something vast and nameless some 
 thing superhuman or antihuman, that was quite 
 inexplicable. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Alan, when they had all 
 fallen suddenly silent. "What is it, this holy 
 horror of the forest? Even at midday I feel it; 
 an obscure religious dread, a singular awe of
 
 Euphamia Macrae 87 
 
 the spirit. Are the woods enchanted? What is 
 it?" 
 
 "And if there was a thin spectre of moonlight 
 gliding between the branches, how much more 
 awesome would be the influence!" said Flora. 
 "I have noticed this effect in the Canadian 
 woods. What is it? Enchantment?" 
 
 "Suppose," answered Fame, "suppose that we 
 have among our forefathers some old druid, and 
 that just a drop of his heart's blood is in our 
 veins; might not the holy horror of the forest be 
 still alive in our spirits, even after two thousand 
 years? I am sure it might." 
 
 "It is the very feeling that Wordsworth ex 
 presses. Do you remember, Flora? We were 
 reading it together not long ago : 
 
 " 'A weight of ages did at once descend 
 Upon my heart; no thought embodied, no 
 Distinct remembrances, but weight and power, 
 Power, growing under weight.' 
 
 No doubt Fame is right, and the present is 
 haunted by the past." 
 
 "There is another inherited terror, that about 
 snakes," said Flora. "A child that has never 
 heard of or seen a snake, when he first sees one 
 is immediately conscious of an antipathy and 
 fear that seems unreasonable. I have seen in 
 stances of this very often."
 
 88 Souls of Passage 
 
 "It is the same feeling," said Alan; "only the 
 trees are full of beauty, and a snake is the sum 
 of all ugliness." 
 
 "There are handsome snakes, Alan." 
 
 "No, Flora, there are not; even their beauty is 
 hideous to us. We hate their bare, spotted, 
 clouded nakedness; it is too like a dusty, sordid, 
 soiled humanity." 
 
 "Why are we talking of such things in this 
 heavenly place?" asked Flora. "Why, indeed?" 
 added Fame. "As for me," she said, "I love 
 trees, they are almost human; they sleep and 
 they feel; they know when storms are coming, 
 and how they do tew and fight and wrestle with 
 a tempest ! It is even said they know when their 
 owner is going to die. Always before one of the 
 Assynts die, some great tree near the castle falls. 
 And who likes to cut down a yew tree or an 
 elder tree? Will you believe that I saw Alister 
 Macrae bare his head and implore an elder tree 
 to forgive him for having to cut it down? Yet 
 he is a staunch Calvinist." 
 
 "I do not wonder," said Flora; "whatever 
 seems to suffer seems to have a soul. And, per 
 haps, the druid drop was in his heart also. As 
 for me, I feel glad and sorry with trees, and I 
 cannot help it. In the Canada woods, when 
 I first heard the birds in spring I not only knew, 
 I felt, how glad the trees were, to hear the singing
 
 Euphamia Macrae 89 
 
 in their branches again. And I used to imagine 
 that they sighed for the sorrows of the nests 
 built in their branches. What would men and 
 women become if there were no gardens and 
 no woods?" 
 
 "Yet," answered Alan, "the minister will tell 
 us that all our sins and sorrows came from a 
 garden and a tree." 
 
 "Do you believe all the ministers say?" asked 
 Fame in a voice at once tentative and assertive. 
 "I should like to ask Mr. Laidlaw a few ques 
 tions; or, rather, I would like father to ask them. 
 I would not have the presumption." 
 
 "As to what, Miss Macrae?" 
 
 "As to the very foundations of his creed, thus : 
 Did Adam know of the fall of the angels? Can 
 you not see how that knowledge might, could, 
 or should have influenced him? What a discus 
 sion there is in it ! Then, again, did Adam know 
 what death was? Did he believe in it until Abel 
 died? And did predestination take place only 
 after the Fall, or was it influencing the angels 
 prior to man's disobedience? I have heard 
 father and Colonel MacLeod talk about these 
 things often, and I wonder what the minister 
 would say? And, please, do not call me 'Miss 
 Macrae'; I do not know myself by that name. 
 We have quite lost our companions." 
 
 "They will not regret it," said Flora. "Jessie
 
 90 Souls of Passage 
 
 will ask us why we did not keep up with them, 
 and the minister will not by the movement of an 
 eyelash suffer it to be known that he was con 
 scious of our neglect. After all, he is a faithful 
 soul. There is a great deal in James Laidlaw to 
 respect; and he is, at least, a refined, thorough 
 bred ecclesiastic, self-willed and self-confidant; 
 but, then, Jessie is liking that and every other 
 thing about him." 
 
 After this manner they talked until they 
 passed out of the wood and the dim vision of 
 the ocean burst upon them, and its fresh breeze 
 blew far off the sensitive seriousness which the 
 shadows peopling the wood had invoked. "Lis 
 ten to the waves," cried Fame. "What a lively 
 cadence they make as they run after each other 
 on the beach! And see, yonder is my home! 
 Father has put a light in the window for me. It 
 is a gloomy-looking place even in the sunshine; 
 but we are not gloomy at all, father makes every 
 place pleasant. I can see him coming down the 
 garden to meet me. Now he is at the gate." 
 Then all were silent. 
 
 In a few minutes they reached the gate, and 
 Ian Macrae stood with it open in his hand. 
 "Come in, all of you. I am glad to see you, Miss 
 Dunbrack, and I am glad to see you, Mr. Mac 
 kenzie. I was knowing your father when he was 
 your age; yes, indeed, when he was only as wild
 
 Euphamia Macrae 91 
 
 a school laddie as you could catch on the hills 
 or on the water. And you have been keeping 
 my little girl, and thank you for your kindness" 
 and he drew his little girl within his arm and 
 looked fondly at her. 
 
 "It is late, Mr. Macrae," said Flora, "and we 
 will call to-morrow." 
 
 "No, no. You must not come to my thresh 
 old and turn back from it until you have stood 
 on my hearth. Come in one five minutes, and 
 let me look at you in your faces." 
 
 So they went in, and he poured out wine and 
 milk, and said, "Now drink, for there is more 
 love between us than this day tells of." And as 
 they drank and broke an oaten cake with him 
 he watched Alan and Flora with eyes sad and 
 pale, as if he looked at them from some depth 
 of antiquity. His face was of that noble type 
 which age makes nobler; and he had that natural 
 dignity of manner which underlies the highest 
 courtesy, and which, united with the gentleness, 
 indulgent love, and wisdom of old age, is a far 
 finer thing than the fantastic glamour and ex 
 travagant hopes of youth. 
 
 "I hear, Mr. Mackenzie, that you have a boat. 
 Sometimes I should like to be taking a sail with 
 you." 
 
 "That will be a delightful thing for me, Mac 
 rae," answered Alan.
 
 92 Souls of Passage 
 
 "And for me," said Flora, "for I will go with 
 you." 
 
 "And for me," added Fame, "for I will not 
 be left behind." 
 
 "Now, we will say 'good-night/ and to 
 morrow I will be watching for you I and 
 Fame." 
 
 "I am afraid we have kept you from sleep, sir," 
 said Alan as he walked with Macrae to the open 
 gate. 
 
 "No, you have not. The day is for the body, 
 the night is for the soul. In the night-time my 
 soul wakes, and I wake to talk with it. I was 
 going to write you a letter about a poor man 
 that I care for. He is in trouble again, and this 
 time it is not easy to see a way out for him. It 
 is Earne Macrae. I am fearing you will have to 
 look for another man on the Lapwing." 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 "The matter is this : he is hating the McDuffs, 
 and he will not stop hating them how can he 
 stop hating them when the hate is in his blood? 
 and he has been cutting some of their herring 
 nets, and that is a thing in this part of the coun 
 try very ill thought of. 'And why were you doing 
 it, Earne?' I asked; and he said only, 'Because 
 of the McDuffs. I am hating them/ ' 
 
 And Alan smiled, and asked what the punish 
 ment would be; and Macrae said, "A very hard
 
 Euphamia Macrae 93 
 
 punishment for Earne, for he has riot a shilling, 
 and it will be as much as twenty pounds to pay; 
 and as there is no money, then the prison and 
 the hard work and Earne is liking neither 
 indeed, the prison is always making of him a 
 wild animal he is not to hold nor to bind." 
 
 "When is the trial?" 
 
 "To-morrow at eleven o'clock." 
 
 "I will be there," said Alan. "You say twenty 
 pounds?" 
 
 "It will not be more." 
 
 "Can it be proved that Earne cut the nets?" 
 
 "At first Earne said he did not cut the nets, 
 then he said he wished he had cut them, and 
 then he said he did cut them. I am suspicious 
 whether he cut them at all; but he is hating the 
 McDuffs, and he is wanting them to know he 
 hates them, and not caring much by what way 
 they find it out." 
 
 "I will see Earne very early in the morning. 
 He is on the boat?" 
 
 "Yes. His uncle was his surety for to 
 morrow." 
 
 "I wonder that he did not tell me about it," 
 said Alan. 
 
 "No wonder at all. He would be putting off 
 to-morrow till to-morrow came. That is Earne' s 
 way." 
 
 Then Flora and Alan turned homeward, and
 
 94 Souls of Passage 
 
 their walk back to the castle was indeed a walk 
 through an enchanted wood. Lovers have had 
 such walks before, and lovers will have them 
 evermore; and yet each such communion has its 
 individuality, and belongs of special right only 
 to one pair. They did not hurry, but they were 
 at the castle and eating curds and cream when 
 Jessie and the minister followed them. They 
 also had had their walk into Love Land, and 
 Jessie's cheeks were the color of a rose, and her 
 eyes full of light; while the minister was almost 
 boyishly gay and satisfied. 
 
 "How went the organ fight?" asked Alan as 
 soon as they appeared. 
 
 "Morandaroch has got its kirk organ by a 
 majority of one," said Mr. Laidlaw. Then he 
 described the voting and the dissenting, and the 
 chatter went on merrily about this and that until 
 Alan spoke of poor Earne's dilemma, and asked 
 the minister if he would "like to see the trial in 
 the morning." 
 
 "No," he answered, his face becoming serious 
 and even gloomy. "As a Scotsman, Alan, I 
 cannot help feeling anger at this turning of the 
 Highlands into a great hunting-ground for rich 
 Englishmen. A Perth farmer whom I met on 
 the Clansman told me that you might walk from 
 the south of Perthshire to the seaboard of Ros- 
 shire on forest ground, and that from Deeside
 
 Euphamia Macrae 95 
 
 to Speyside a hundred miles at a stretch you 
 would meet nothing but deer. He said that from 
 three to five thousand deer and even more than 
 that number were often in a forest, and I do not 
 think such things are to Scotland's honor and 
 welfare. I would rather see sheep and shepherds 
 than deer and gamekeepers. And of course it is 
 hard to make the poor Highland man, who has 
 for centuries had the game on the hills, feel that 
 he must not touch it." 
 
 "This time it is not the game, it is the fishing 
 nets." 
 
 "But the game is at the bottom of it. Shaw 
 was telling me the trouble they had had with 
 Earne on this subject. And it is for this he is 
 hating the McDuffs. I cannot go and see Earne 
 punished; my sympathy is with him." Then 
 they fell into an argument about the preservation 
 of game, and continued it with some anger until 
 Cousin Thrift reminded them "the clock had 
 struck twelve, and the lasses were worn out for 
 their sleep." 
 
 In the morning Alan had made up his mind 
 not to go to the trial. There were some business 
 transactions between him and Shaw McDuff 
 which required at least the semblance of friend 
 ship for their arrangement, and it seemed best 
 not to rouse any bitter feeling while they were 
 pending. So he went instead to the boat, where
 
 96 Souls of Passage 
 
 he found Earne picking a herring and drinking 
 a mug full of hot, sweet tea. He looked happy 
 and unconcerned, and lifted a face lit with admi 
 ration and love to his master's. 
 
 "Good-morning, Earne !" 
 
 "Good-morning to yourself, sir !" 
 
 "Have you forgotten the trial about the nets, 
 Earne?" 
 
 "I have not forgotten it, sir. But it will not 
 be for more than two hours as yet. My cousin 
 will be minding the boat when I am leaving her. 
 I was not forgetting the boat, sir." 
 
 "The Macrae told me last night, Earne, that 
 he did not see how you were to escape punish 
 ment this time. Why did you cut McDufFs 
 nets?" 
 
 "I am hating the McDuffs, from the beginning 
 to the end. My dirk was in a temper at them 
 that day, and it was a very good thing for Mc- 
 Duff I was coming across the nets, and not 
 himself." 
 
 "Peter lays the damage at twenty pounds." 
 
 "I wish it had been more than that." 
 
 "But you will have it to pay." 
 
 "That is the law. It is a bad law, but I was 
 not making it." 
 
 "Macrae says that if you cannot pay the 
 money you will have to go to prison." 
 
 "I cannot go to prison not at all. I am not
 
 Euphamia Macrae 97 
 
 able to sleep with four walls round me. I want 
 the heather and all Ben Macrae, or else the boat 
 and the North Minch. I will not be going to 
 prison; moreover, here is the boat." 
 
 "And I am not going to let McDuff send you 
 to prison for twenty pounds. Here is the money 
 in one-pound bills, and when you hear what is 
 to pay, pay it." 
 
 The poor lad with his wild, handsome face 
 and tangled hair looked at Alan with indescrib 
 able emotion. For some moments he was 
 unable to speak, then he dropped upon his 
 knees and kissed the hand that held out to him 
 the price of his freedom. 
 
 "It is the mercy of God!" he sobbed "it is 
 His mercy ! He was knowing about poor Earne, 
 and pitying him. For I was telling Him all about 
 the McDuffs last night, and I was sure He would 
 be sending me some help. Yes, I was saying to 
 myself since the day broke, The help will come, 
 for the help was promised; there was a word to 
 me last night, and I was knowing what it meant. 
 So I was waiting. And I will never forget that 
 God Himself was sending you; and I will never 
 forget you, and I will be paying this kindness 
 back, some way or other; living or dead, I will 
 be paying it back ; living or dead, I will be paying 
 it back; that is my promise." 
 
 Then Alan sent him with his Cousin Luthe
 
 98 Souls of Passage 
 
 to the office of the magistrate, and he himself 
 remained on the boat. He had plenty to think 
 about, and the time went quickly enough until 
 about one o'clock, when Earne and his cousin 
 returned to the Lapwing together. Alan could 
 hear their shrill, sibilating Gaelic some distance 
 away, and he knew from its tone that things had 
 gone satisfactorily for Earne. And when they 
 came on board there was an unmistakable air 
 of triumph in the set of Earne's bonnet and in 
 the pride of his step. He looked at Alan with 
 unspeakable gratitude almost with adoration 
 and then went straight to his duty, leaving his 
 Cousin Luthe to tell his story. 
 
 "It is all right now, sir," said Luthe, "and the 
 trouble is over. Indeed, it was not that bad. 
 The Macrae was shaking hands with myself 
 he was very civil with me but the fine to pay 
 for all that as was right. Earne not caring, 
 though he had his pleasure whatever." 
 
 "You were not long in settling the matter." 
 "Why would we be long? The Macrae called 
 the witnesses, and they were telling this and 
 that, so Earne spoke for himself. 'It is great 
 nonsense,' he said, 'minding what Ian Black and 
 Janet McDuff and the others will be saying. I 
 cut the nets with my own hand and my own 
 dirk, and I am not denying it; and what, then, is 
 the use of taking up the Macrae's time, and the
 
 AND I WILL NEVER FORGET '1 HAT li(il) HIMSELF WAS 
 SENDING YOU.' "
 
 Euphamia Macrae 99 
 
 time, moreover, that Mr. Alan Mackenzie is 
 paying me for?' Then the Macrae said, 'The 
 fault is acknowledged, and the damage is esti 
 mated. Six fishermen here say that ten pounds' 
 worth of nets have been spoiled that is the loss 
 at the very utmost some are saying not more 
 than five pounds. Then Peter McDuff said, 'The 
 damage is as much as twenty pounds;' and Shaw 
 McDuff stood up to speak his mind also, but 
 the Macrae was not hearing them at all; he went 
 on talking to Earne; and 'Earne,' he said, 'the 
 act was wilful, and moreover malicious, and the 
 Court fines you ten pounds for the ill will. So 
 that is twenty pounds, Earne; and if you can 
 pay it, pay the money now; and if you cannot pay 
 it, you must go to jail and pay it with your 
 work/ 'The sentence is scandalously light/ said 
 Peter McDuff in a great passion; and this time 
 the Macrae was hearing him, and he answered 
 him, 'You are not the Court, and you are not 
 the counsel, McDuff, and you will be bringing 
 yourself in for contempt of the Court, if you are 
 not taking more care of your words;' and then 
 he asked, 'Can you pay the money, Earne?' And 
 Earne said, 'I can pay the money, Macrae, and 
 I am glad to pay the money.' And he walked 
 up to the table, and he counted out the twenty 
 notes one by one; and said he, 'There are twenty 
 one-pound notes of the great Bank of Scotland,
 
 ioo Souls of Passage 
 
 and I am sorry for the dirty road the bits of 
 paper are taking;' and then the Macrae said, very 
 stern like, 'You are dismissed, Earne Macrae;' 
 and with that Earne put on his bonnet and 
 walked past the men who are hating him; and 
 his heart was proud, and he was looking proud 
 enough to vex the devil as well as the McDuffs. 
 And a many people were showing Earne that 
 they were glad that he was free." 
 
 "However, tell Earne that he must not buy 
 any more ill will from the McDuffs. It is not 
 safe. He will go too far some day." 
 
 "I was telling him the same thing, sir. The 
 McDuffs are ill to their friends and worse to 
 their foes, and even their shadow is unlucky. It 
 is a good thing to keep beyond it. It is, indeed." 
 
 Alan had these words in his mind when he 
 met Shaw McDuff on the village street. His 
 face was black and angry, and when Alan said, 
 Good-afternoon, Shaw," he answered : 
 
 "Little thanks to you, Mr. Mackenzie, for 
 interfering in our affairs. It has cost you a few 
 pounds to-day; take care, or it may cost you 
 many more pounds some other day. I am not 
 apt to forget my debts if you are." 
 
 "I was interfering in my own affairs, Shaw. 
 Earne is necessary to my boat, and I would have 
 paid many more pounds rather than lose him."
 
 Euphamia Macrae 101 
 
 "He has been cutting our nets, and I believe 
 he was in your employ when he did so." 
 
 "You have been paid for your nets. Why 
 should you be angry at a poor, ignorant lad like 
 Earne?" 
 
 "Ian Macrae was at his back and perhaps 
 others." 
 
 "And if any poor McDuff was in trouble, I 
 am sure you would be at his back. You know 
 you would. Come up the hill with me." 
 
 "I have this and that to look after, and my 
 father is not for letting this matter drop. I shall 
 stand at his back, no matter what he intends." 
 
 "Shaw, I have only done what you would have 
 done in the same circumstances. How was I to 
 know you had set your heart on sending the 
 poor fellow to jail? You are not losing money 
 by him, what then?" 
 
 "We are losing money, for we are losing 
 standing in the country round. He was cut 
 ting our nets for simple hatred, and every one 
 knows it, and every one is flattering him for 
 daring to show his hatred and pay out twenty 
 pounds for the heart pleasure it gave him. And 
 in his heart Ian Macrae was proud of the deed. 
 The sentence was just a joke on the McDuffs; 
 but there is more to come of it yet the McDuff 
 lobster fishers are making a personal thing of it,
 
 1O2 Souls of Passage 
 
 and Earne may get his deserts from them, if he 
 does not from the law." 
 
 "I am astonished at you, Shaw ! Such a fuss 
 about nothing at all! The law punished Earne 
 sufficiently, and if I for my own comfort chose 
 to help Earne bear his punishment, that is my 
 affair. Of course, Earne will eventually pay his 
 fine. I shall take it gradually off his wage. The 
 law cannot object to one man lending another 
 man twenty pounds, nor, for the matter of that, 
 giving him twenty. Let the subject drop. Mr. 
 Laidlaw goes away in two days; he will be dis 
 appointed if you do not come and dine with him 
 to-night." 
 
 "Mr. Laidlaw was not in court. He did not 
 sympathize with Earne by his presence." 
 
 "Then you can come and break bread with 
 him." 
 
 "I can come if, in the meantime, I can manage 
 to soothe my father. At present he is feeling 
 after the Macrae, and he will not be long ere he 
 lays his hand heavy on him." 
 
 "Such ill will over a poor fisherman ! I never 
 heard tell of anything like it. What did you 
 want done to Earne?" 
 
 "A century ago we would have hung him 
 ourselves; fifty years ago the law would have 
 hung him; we wanted him sent for a few years 
 to the quarries at hard labor, under ball and
 
 Euphamia Macrae 103 
 
 chain. That is the sentence he ought to have 
 got, and would have got, if any one but Ian 
 Macrae had been on the bench." 
 
 "It would have been a most cruel sentence; 
 and as we are to be forgiven or punished just as 
 we forgive or punish those who trespass against 
 us, might it not have been more cruel to your 
 self than to Earne? For it is a terrible thing 
 to fall into the hands of the living God." 
 
 "You are not in the ministry, Alan Mackenzie, 
 and preaching comes ill from your lips." 
 
 "It comes ill from no one who is sincere, and 
 I feel with all my soul what I have said. Come, 
 Shaw, look over the offence. I promise you, if 
 Earne ever cuts your nets again to discharge 
 him." 
 
 Then Shaw, with a reluctant grace, took the 
 hand Alan offered, and said he would try and 
 make it possible to spend the evening at the 
 castle. Indeed, he had no intention of relinquish 
 ing the position he had gained at Dunbrack. It 
 was only because of Alan's known good-nature 
 that he had ventured to show his own ill temper 
 in such an unmistakable manner. But the little 
 bluster and boast and threat had satisfied his 
 pride, and Alan's frank apology left him free to 
 continue his relations with the family. 
 
 "Why," he reflected, "should I lose the good, 
 dinners and the good company incident to Dun-
 
 104 Souls of Passage 
 
 brack? Flora and Fame are now inseparable, 
 and I am not going to be deprived of the society 
 of both girls, and leave them entirely under 
 Alan's influence. No! a thousand times no!" 
 he muttered with a passionate stamp of his foot. 
 "I am determined to win the love of Flora Dun- 
 brack; and as for Fame, I can easily keep her so 
 fond of me that she will not listen to a word 
 Mackenzie says. Fame loves me; of course she 
 loves me; she always has loved me; she never 
 knew any one else to love but Mackenzie 
 and I notice that she is very shy with him. I 
 have a great mind to tell him that Fame and 
 I are engaged; it will put him off his guard about 
 Flora, and keep him from trying any of his con 
 founded blandishments on Fame. For she 
 might fall under his spell; he certainly pleases 
 women, though why or how is a puzzle to me. 
 He is not as tall as I am, he has not as fine a 
 build as I have, he has no dignity, and I am 
 noted for the dignity of my manner; he is but 
 a poor talker unless it be on theology and if 
 it comes to singing or dancing, he might take 
 some lessons from me. I have as good or better 
 chances with either girl as he has, and I am not 
 going to give them up. That is what he would 
 like me to do. No, thank you, Alan Mackenzie, 
 I shall get the better of you yet." 
 
 So he went up to Dunbrack that night, and
 
 Euphamia Macrae 105 
 
 under a pretence of a visit to a Caledonian Club 
 at the little inn went in his handsomest High 
 land dress. It was exceedingly becoming to 
 him. He looked the chief to perfection; for his 
 stately figure and martial air were admirably 
 expressed in the splendor of his picturesque 
 costume and the jewelled dirk in his belt. Even 
 his dark red hair, curling close around his brow, 
 appeared to be precisely what the dress required; 
 and inwardly he felt all the romance and valor 
 of the kilt and philabeg, the plaid and the dirk. 
 His eyes shone beneath his brows, and his fair 
 face was flushed with this air of bygone glories 
 and triumphs. 
 
 "He looks like Ajax or Achilles," said Flora 
 to Fame. "Why do men wear plain clothes 
 when they might do themselves justice?" 
 
 "They only dress up when they are going to 
 kill each other," replied Fame; "and I don't 
 think Ajax or Achilles was at all like Shaw. 
 Perhaps Woden or Balder would be better. 
 Balder had red hair, I believe." 
 
 "But he is really handsome to-night, Fame. 
 Do you not think so?" 
 
 "Shaw varies," Fame replied. "I am sure, 
 however, that he thinks himself handsome. Be 
 sides, his father will have told him so twenty 
 times to-night already. I propose we ignore the 
 circumstance."
 
 106 Souls of Passage 
 
 It was, however, impossible to ignore it. 
 Shaw expressed the fact in his every movement, 
 in his unusual civilities and officiousness. He 
 enjoyed walking about the large, well-furnished 
 room; he felt that he was ornamental to it, and 
 that things were improved by an association 
 with him. 
 
 At first Alan was amused by this little drama 
 of conscious physical beauty, and he sat watch 
 ing it without any resentment until he noticed 
 Shaw's marked attention to Flora. He had 
 asked him to dinner with the express information 
 that the minister's visit was nearly over, and that 
 he would enjoy a last conversation with him. 
 But Shaw appeared to think that with the mili 
 tary kilt and jacket the society of ladies was the 
 only correct thing. And, somehow or other, he 
 carried the evening; even Jessie was attracted 
 by his physical ascendency, and perhaps more so 
 by the domination of his powerful will exerting 
 itself to maintain that ascendency. 
 
 Alan made no effort to dispute Shaw's tri 
 umph. With an apparent unconcern he reclined 
 in a large chair by the open window, and chatted 
 to Mr. Laidlaw or his mother or either of the 
 girls who came near him. His smile was as 
 bright, his manner as cheerful, as if there was no 
 Shaw McDuff in the room; but there was a
 
 Euphamia Macrae 107 
 
 tumult in the depths of his heart which made 
 him tremble. Something there was crying pas 
 sionately, "The silly, vain, conceited cad ! Does 
 he think good women can be caught with tartan 
 and horsehair and a velvet jacket? I have as 
 much right to wear the Highland dress as he 
 has, and I will get a suit of the Mackenzie tartan 
 which shall make the McDuff caparison mean 
 and tawdry and shabby." But after a moment's 
 reflection he thought far more positively, "No; 
 I will not make my heart and soul mean and 
 tawdry and shabby in order to render McDuff's 
 small vanity a failure." And this resolve at once 
 strengthened him. He shook off the languor 
 of incipient chagrin, asked Jessie to play them 
 a strathspey, and led Flora out to dance it with 
 him. It was not what Shaw desired; it would 
 be sharing honors too much, but no excuse was 
 possible, and though Alan had not thought of 
 the proposal in that light, the dancing did equal 
 ize matters. Alan's evening suit looked fittest 
 for the dance, for it is not given to man to appear 
 martial and festive at the same time. 
 
 Two days after this evening of strained civili 
 ties Mr. Laidlaw and Mrs. Mackenzie returned 
 to Glasgow. She intended to bring the provost 
 back to Dunbrack with her, and then would 
 come the month of August and the advent of
 
 io8 Souls of Passage 
 
 the men ready for slaughter. Every one missed 
 the minister, for, in spite of some ecclesiastical 
 peculiarities, he had shown himself to be a man 
 of sincere character and not unamiable disposi 
 tion. Jessie wept a little, and was silent and 
 forlorn for a few days, and then she went with 
 a double earnestness to her bridal preparations. 
 They had been delayed by her lover's presence 
 and there was a great deal of work to be over 
 taken. But Flora and Fame offered their help, 
 and found sitting together over the dainty gar 
 ments a delightful way of spending the last hot 
 days of July. 
 
 The intimacy of the girls had become more 
 and more sisterly; they were not happy apart; 
 they dressed alike; they had the same opinions 
 and almost the same thoughts. They were 
 proud of each other, and they loved each other 
 after a womanly fashion, which is only calculable 
 without the masculine element. As yet, this 
 element had not been an interfering one; but it 
 was impossible to say how long it would be 
 quiescent. They spoke freely of Alan and Shaw; 
 it was their custom to make pleasant remarks 
 about them; but these remarks were only super 
 ficial; they consisted of opinions and criticisms 
 as to their dress, manners, conversation, or 
 appearance; but they were just such criticisms 
 as any girls coming in contact with certain
 
 Euphamia Macrae 109 
 
 young men were likely to make. Thus, one 
 morning Flora said : 
 
 "I think Shaw looked very well last night. 
 The Highland dress becomes him;" and Fame 
 answered : 
 
 "A great deal depends upon wearing it con 
 stantly. Shaw has the habit of wearing it, and 
 therefore wears it well. When men put it on 
 now and then they are awkward and self-con 
 scious." 
 
 "Do you like Shaw's hair, Fame?" 
 
 "You mean the color? Yes; I think it suits 
 him. Red hair seems precisely right on Shaw. 
 But I like best hair the color of Alan's. I think 
 Alan is so gentlemanly." 
 
 "And good-natured." 
 
 "And good-hearted." 
 
 "He would not hurt anything. He only 
 bought his dog Bevis two weeks ago, and the 
 creature idolizes him." 
 
 "To be sure, Flora; dogs know whom to 
 idolize." 
 
 "And yet Sykes's dog, according to Dickens, 
 loved a very bad man." This was Flora's re 
 mark, and Fame answered with a sigh, "Well, 
 Sykes was a good man in his dog's opinion, and 
 you know 'opinion is the rate of things.' ' 
 
 "So it is," answered Flora, finishing the 
 quotation :
 
 no Souls of Passage 
 
 " 'From hence our blessings flow, 
 I have a better fate than kings, 
 Because I think it so.' " 
 
 Then holding up the lawn tie she was ruffling 
 with lace, "Is it not pretty? Just fit for a minis 
 ter's bride." And before Fame could answer she 
 had let her thoughts wander to the "Logan 
 Lee," and was singing with all its mirthful 
 abandon : 
 
 "Some say that I love young Polmood, 
 
 And some say he loves not me ; 
 But I think I'm a match for the best of his blood, 
 Though I had not a ewe on the Logan Lee" 
 
 Such bits of talk, with numberless variations, 
 accompanied their busy fingers, and were not 
 unfrequently varied by others of a far different 
 order; for Fame had below her quick, passionate 
 temperament a layer of feeling strangely sensi 
 tive to the supernatural and a tendency con 
 tinually to revert to it. She was a great 
 dreamer and a fervid believer in dreams, and 
 there was much in Flora's nature which re 
 sponded to Fame's faith in the unseen. For 
 Flora had inherited through her father the 
 pensive, poetic, superstitious Highland tempera- 
 ment^which is the very antipodes of the Low 
 land theological materialism; and therefore, 
 though Fame's ideas were strange and unauthor-
 
 Euphamia Macrae 1 1 1 
 
 ized, something within Flora encouraged their 
 discussion. 
 
 One morning as soon as they had seated them 
 selves and the needles began to glint through 
 the white cloth, Fame said, "I had such a strange 
 dream this morning. I came wide-awake out 
 of it, as if some one had said to me, There, now, 
 the vision is over.' I thought I saw a soldier 
 lying wounded in a trench, and when he turned 
 his face to me it was Alan Mackenzie." 
 
 "Of all unlikely things, that is the most un 
 likely, Fame. Alan will never be a soldier." 
 
 "Who knows? Dreams come how it may 
 do read the future. God in all ages has spoken 
 to men in dreams and by the oracles that dwell 
 in darkness. Dreams are large possessions; how 
 poor I would be without my night visions! I 
 think we may have senses that are only roused 
 when we are asleep." 
 
 "Once," said Flora, "I had a dream which 
 my father read to me in such a way that I have 
 never forgot it. Besides, it was just before his 
 death, and to him it came sweetly true, I have 
 no doubt. I thought I was wandering wretch 
 edly over great hills, tired, cold, and alone; and 
 then I opened my eyes, and I was in my own 
 dear home, and the fire was burning brightly, 
 and the tea table set, and father was wjatching 
 me, and waiting until I woke up. And when I
 
 ii2 Souls of Passage 
 
 crept close into his arms and told him my dream 
 he said. "It was just that way with earth pil 
 grims; when all the joy of life was gone, and 
 they were lonely and full of sorrows, they woke 
 up some morning in the Paradise of God, and 
 found all they had lost there." 
 
 "That was a beautiful reading of a dream," 
 answered Fame. "Say what you will, I know 
 that when I am sleeping my spirit often goes out 
 of the body, and is spoken to by other spirits 
 who are out of the body at the same time. They 
 meet, and often messages and warnings are thus 
 given : 
 
 " 'After midnight, when dreams fall, 
 Somewhat before the morning gray, 
 I, wandering so gaily over the world 
 From my tired limbs at home,' 
 
 see and hear many strange things. It is so. 
 Father often says the night-time of the body is 
 the day-time of the soul." 
 
 "So, then, Fame, if we are dreamers, we really 
 live two lives here?" 
 
 "Yes; one while we are fully awake, another 
 while we are fully asleep. At the border line, 
 between sleeping and waking, when the impres 
 sions of each state meet, we often receive from 
 our inner selves admonishings, forebodings, and 
 warnings in regard to the future."
 
 Euphamia Macrae 1 1 3 
 
 "However, Fame, I do not think your inner 
 self told you the truth about Alan. I cannot 
 conceive of any circumstance likely to take him 
 to the army. It is a profession he has no inclina 
 tion for. He might desire to be a minister, but 
 a soldier! that is not to be thought of. His 
 father and mother delight in him; they would 
 not listen to such a thing, even if he wished it." 
 
 "I think he is a delightful young man." 
 
 Then Flora looked at Fame with a quick 
 suspicion, but it was instantly banished by the 
 girl's face and manner, which were only pleas 
 antly indifferent. So she answered, "Every one 
 thinks Alan delightful. I wonder if that is 
 good? Perhaps, if some people disliked him, it 
 might be more in his favor." 
 
 "Well, then, Shaw dislikes him with all his 
 soul." 
 
 "Oh, Fame, that is incredible! How can you 
 say such a thing?" 
 
 "He does. I know Shaw McDuff. I am 
 knowing him well all my life. I see the look no 
 one else sees I hear I feel I know." 
 
 "Why should he hate Alan?" 
 
 "Hate does not require a reason." 
 
 "You could not persuade Alan that Shaw 
 hated him." 
 
 "I am not sure of that. Hate must make itself 
 felt."
 
 1 1 4 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Hate is not greater than love, and where love 
 is hate cannot come. So Alan may not feel it. 
 The love of mother, sister, friends must have 
 more influence than the hate of one person." 
 
 "Hate can kill." 
 
 "Love can make alive, then." 
 
 "I wish father was here; he would explain 
 what I mean; however, mind what I say, Shaw 
 McDuff does not love Alan Mackenzie, and that 
 will be seen and heard tell of." 
 
 "I am sorry you have said it. Come, let us 
 go into the garden, till the wind blows the words 
 out of the room. They hurt me, Fame." 
 
 Yet at that very hour Alan and Shaw were 
 having no very friendly conversation. Alan had 
 gone early down to the sea, and was lazily read 
 ing a novel as the boat rocked with the full tide 
 at her pier. Earne was cleaning the already 
 bright brass work, and singing softly "The 
 Rover of Lochryan" when Shaw walked forward 
 and stepped on board the Lapwing. Alan called 
 out cheerfully: 
 
 "Glad to see you, Shaw. Come into the 
 shade." 
 
 "I was going past, and you looked so comfort 
 able under your blowing awning that I could 
 not resist a call." 
 
 "I was just going to have a cup of coffee and 
 a smoke. Will you join me?"
 
 Euphamia Macrae 1 1 5 
 
 "Yes; I should like to." 
 
 The coffee was soon ready, and the young 
 men drank it and smoked for some time in a 
 contented silence. Shaw was the first to break it. 
 "I wonder if Fame Macrae is still at Dunbrack?" 
 he asked; and Alan answered readily, "She was 
 there when I left home this morning-, I am 
 happy to say." 
 
 "I want to see her very much." 
 
 "Then you must go up to Dunbrack." 
 
 "That is not what I like. I think she ought 
 to be more at home." 
 
 "I suppose she knows best where she ought 
 to be. I don't think it is our business, Shaw." 
 
 "Not your business, perhaps, but certainly 
 mine. Of course, it is a good thing for Fame 
 to be in Miss Flora's company I am not deny 
 ing that but I want her nearer at hand." 
 
 "Perhaps she may oblige you, if you ask her," 
 answered Alan coldly. "My opinion is, she will 
 be apt to do just as she wants to do. She has 
 a will to match her beauty, and that is saying 
 a great deal." 
 
 "I have been thinking for some time, Alan, 
 that I ought to tell you that Fame and I are 
 engaged. She is very handsome, and I " 
 
 "You thought you had better put up the 
 warning, 'No trespassing.' Thank you, Shaw." 
 
 And Alan took the information so coolly that
 
 1 1 6 Souls of Passage 
 
 Shaw had a feeling of intense mortification. He 
 looked angrily, yes hatefully, at the complacent 
 young man, lazily puffing the smoke of his cigar 
 windward; and wondered what he could say to 
 ruffle his aggravating serenity. He had not 
 decided on any words strong enough, when Alan 
 continued : 
 
 "I congratulate you, Shaw. Fame is a beauty, 
 and in other respects a most charming woman. 
 Very few men could be worthy of her." 
 
 "She thinks Shaw McDuff is; I am not saying 
 she is right." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Nothing but what I said; you are a lucky 
 man." 
 
 "I saw how much you admired her, and I " 
 
 "You were not jealous, surely? I assure you 
 there is not the slightest reason." 
 
 "Jealous! There is not a man in the High 
 lands, no, nor in all Scotland, I would be jealous 
 of. Fame and I understand each other. She 
 has grown up at my side. I may say that I have 
 formed her mind made her all she is. Ian 
 Macrae, her father, has been a poor dreaming, 
 not overly wise creature the last few years." 
 
 "Oh, but he is a lawyer and a magistrate." 
 
 "What kind of one, pray? He is the Macrae,
 
 Euphamia Macrae 117 
 
 and that accounts for his popularity. Macraes 
 are in the majority round here." 
 
 "And you feared I might fall in love with 
 Fame, and wished to spare me the pain of a 
 refusal? You are kind, Shaw. Will you believe 
 that I never entertained such an idea? All the 
 same, thanks! Take one more cup of coffee." 
 
 "No, thank you. I had better go now. Any 
 discussion of this subject might end in some 
 misunderstanding." 
 
 "But there is no need to discuss the subject; 
 for, as I said before, I never felt any desire to 
 fall in love with Fame." 
 
 Then there was silence, and Alan calmly lit 
 another cigar. His manner was so polite, his 
 face so indifferent, that Shaw could not make 
 either a ground of complaint; and yet he was 
 irritated and humbled beyond speech. He had 
 come with news which he expected would make 
 a sensation, and Alan had taken it as if it was 
 a weather report. He had thought to put Alan 
 under an obligation by his frank avowal, and 
 Alan had disclaimed all necessity for it. He was 
 almost in the position of a man who has had 
 a gift refused, and his heart burned with a sense 
 of defeat and vexation. He took himself off the 
 boat with that air of high-spirited bravado which 
 generally hides the white feather somewhere,
 
 1 1 8 Souls of Passage 
 
 and went stamping along the village street to 
 thoughts of furious anger and revenge. 
 
 "He never felt any desire to fall in love with 
 Fame! That is a lie!" he muttered; "or else he 
 is in love with Flora. Confound his cool, calm 
 impudence! He never felt any desire to fall in 
 love with Fame! Oh! oh! oh!" and the bitter 
 laugh with which he emphasized the ejaculations 
 was vocal with the hatred he could not then 
 utter. 
 
 As for Alan, he sat quite still, smoking and 
 thinking for a long time; and in that passionate 
 pause of time, will it be believed, there first of 
 all came to him not only a desire to love Fame, 
 but also a sudden revelation that Fame already 
 loved him. "I have been blind," he thought, 
 "and I have been warned off before I trespassed 
 well, then what?"' He rose hastily, flung his 
 cigar into the water, and cried out, "Get under 
 way, Earne. I want a breath of the sea." 
 
 "There is not much sea on, sir; only a north 
 erly lipper. What way will I be steering, sir?" 
 
 "Any way will do that takes me far enough 
 away from land. I don't want any more callers, 
 Earne." 
 
 "I must be alone I must think " he said to 
 himself; and he lay down on the deck of the boat 
 and considered the information that had been 
 given him by Shaw, and also that which had
 
 Euphamia Macrae 1 1 9 
 
 been revealed to him by his own heart. No man, 
 however, is made angry by the knowledge, how 
 ever unexpected, that he is beloved by a beautiful 
 woman; and if Alan had any such feeling it was 
 directed against his own stupidity for being so 
 blind and so indifferent to what he easily foresaw 
 might become a very tragic affair. He forced 
 himself to recall all Flora's sweetness and affec 
 tion, he assured himself that Flora, and only 
 Flora, had his love; and he asked his heart with 
 a little indignant amazement, "Is it possible that 
 I could ever love any other woman? Is it possi 
 ble I could ever think of Fame Macrae with any 
 warmer affection than sincere admiring friend 
 ship?" And he answered his heart emphatically, 
 "No!" 
 
 For he did not reflect that the first step 
 toward any wrong deed is the consideration as 
 to whether it is possible.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WHO WAS TO BLAME? 
 
 THAT night, when Alan came to the dinner- 
 table Fame was absent; and it struck him as it 
 never had before what a space she filled in their 
 daily life. Flora was in her loveliest mood, with 
 just a touch of her old contradiction; and he was 
 sensitive enough to the charm of her personality ; 
 yet the dark, glowing, fitful Fame, with her pretty 
 follies and her wise sayings, her reeling music and 
 her martial songs, was an obvious want, even to 
 Jessie and Flora. The evening went slowly away ; 
 something piquant, almost poignant was removed, 
 and Jessie said : 
 
 "How dull we are to-night ! I wish Fame was 
 here." 
 
 "So do I," answered Flora; "I am lonely; I 
 think I am stupid without her." 
 
 "Why did she go away ?" asked Alan, in a tone 
 of indifference. 
 
 "Shaw McDuff came for her. He said she was
 
 Who Was to Blame? 121 
 
 required at home. I think he came to exhibit his 
 new dog-cart and the fine horse he has bought for 
 it." 
 
 "A new dog-cart, eh, Flora? He never told 
 me he was going to get a dog-cart." 
 
 "He says he required to have one in the season. 
 I suppose he then goes about a great deal. He is 
 a fine shot, and fine shots are welcome at all the 
 big houses." 
 
 There was a long pause after these remarks. 
 Jessie was writing to her lover, and Alan, sitting 
 beside Flora, was holding her ball of pink wool, 
 and wondering if he should tell what he had heard 
 of Fame's engagement. Shaw had not laid any 
 charge of secrecy on him. His call for Fame had 
 the appearance of "proving his averments." It 
 seemed as if he wished to give Alan an opportu 
 nity to say, "Fame is engaged to Shaw McDuff, 
 and he is not pleased at her spending so much 
 time with us." At any rate, "when Jessie had 
 folded and sealed her letter, and brought her sew 
 ing beside 'Alan, he could no longer keep his 
 informations 
 
 "Flora, Jessie, what do' you think Shaw told 
 me to-day ?" he asked. 
 
 "That he had a nearly new dog-cart for sale, or 
 a fine horse, or something or other of that kind," 
 answered Flora with a shrug of her shoulders and 
 a meaning glance at her lover.
 
 122 Souls of Passage 
 
 "That he was invited to the Grants of Loch 
 Grant, or that the Dunbars of Rossheath were 
 begging his company before the rich Englishman 
 at Benmorvan Castle could secure him," said 
 Jessie. 
 
 "Or that her Majesty's company at Balmoral 
 would not be complete without him," continued 
 Flora. "The man wearies me with his excel 
 lences, and his exaggerations, and his expecta 
 tions. What good or great thing is there he does 
 not expect ?" 
 
 "He made me his confidant to-day concerning 
 one of his anticipated good things. He says he 
 is engaged to Fame." 
 
 "I do not believe one word of such a story," 
 replied Flora angrily. 
 
 "Nor do I," added Jessie. "I suppose I know 
 how an engaged man ought to behave, and I never 
 saw Shaw McDuff look at Fame, or speak to her, 
 or act toward her as if they were engaged. Com 
 pare his behavior with the behavior of my James. 
 That settles the matter, I should think." 
 
 "I do not believe one word of that story," re 
 iterated Flora. "Do you imagine Fame could 
 have been constantly with me for weeks, and 
 never have said anything about her engagement ? 
 unless, indeed, she had some very good reason 
 for keeping it secret."
 
 Who Was to Blame? 123 
 
 "Shaw says they have been engaged from 
 Fame's childhood; that he formed Fame's mind 
 and made her all that she is; so there can be no 
 question of any need for secrecy." 
 
 "He form Fame's mind ! Oh, what a an un 
 truth !" cried Flora. "Why, he is quite unable to 
 understand her. He does not approve of her 
 queer ideas, and there have been times when I 
 even thought he did not admire her personally. I 
 shall ask Fame a question or two when I see her. 
 I do not believe a girl of her straight, upright 
 nature could love a man so radically false-hearted 
 and selfish as Shaw McDuff." 
 
 "You must remember," said Alan, "that they 
 have grown up together, and that for nine months 
 every year Shaw is the only gentleman in the 
 neighborhood fit for Fame to associate with." 
 
 "As for growing up together, I do not count 
 that of any importance," said Jessie. "I had never 
 seen my James one year ago, yet at the first of our 
 acquaintance it was as if we had known each other 
 forever." 
 
 And Alan clasped Flora's hand at these words, 
 and she answered the appeal with a smile so rav 
 ishing and full of understanding that he quite 
 forgot how interesting their conversation had be 
 come until Jessie asked : 
 
 "Why did he tell you this bit of news just
 
 124 Souls of Passage 
 
 now, Alan? Has he grown jealous of you? 
 Have you given him any reason to be jealous of 
 you?" 
 
 Then Flora raised her eyes from her work and 
 fixed them upon Alan, and the young man smiled 
 confidently back at her. "I never gave Shaw the 
 least cause for jealousy," he answered. "You have 
 seen me constantly, Jessie, and you know that if 
 I have shown any preference it has been for Flora ; 
 and you also must have seen how Flora received 
 my preferences. With Flora so undemonstrative 
 and Shaw jealous of the wrong girl, it is enough 
 to make me give him some occasion for jealousy 
 in the future." 
 
 "That would be dangerous," said Jessie. 
 
 "It would also be wrong and cruel," said Flora. 
 "You might unwittingly win love you did not 
 want, and wound love you did want." 
 
 "I am not the man to do either," answered Alan 
 with a glance that Flora understood in its full 
 meaning. And at that hour Alan meant all that 
 Flora understood. 
 
 "Well," continued Jessie, "I have only one 
 thing to say, Alan ; do not let Shaw drive you into 
 temptation. You are not Saint Anthony, and 
 Fame is a very potent temptation." 
 
 "I have a talisman against her charms, Jessie. 
 I have known Fame some weeks, and not fallen 
 under her spell. Am I likely to do so now?"
 
 Who Was to Blame? 125 
 
 "Circumstances alter cases; there might come 
 some motive hitherto absent ; and then ?" 
 
 "Then I should find my talisman sufficient;" 
 and the flash of intelligence which passed between 
 Alan and Flora was so vivid, that even Jessie's 
 attention was arrested and she looked curiously at 
 the two. But the suspicion was a fleeting one, and 
 nothing occurred to detain or strengthen it. 
 
 Three days passed without any visit from 
 Fame, and the family at Dunbrack had begun 
 seriously to accept Shaw's story of the engage 
 ment. 
 
 "Of course, she is doing as he tells her," said 
 Jessie. 
 
 "Of course, she is doing nothing of the kind," 
 contradicted Flora. "She may be engaged to 
 Shaw, but that would not make her do what Shaw 
 ordered her to do. I should say it would have a 
 contrary effect. What do you think, Alan ?" 
 
 "I think if Fame wished to be at Dunbrack she 
 would be here at this moment. Then, the infer 
 ence is that some one, presumably Shaw McDuff, 
 has more of her affection than we have." 
 
 "Affection for Shaw McDuff! It is quite in 
 conceivable. No one but a mother or father could 
 love him." 
 
 "Oh, but, Flora, you are prejudiced," answered 
 Jessie; "he is a fine young man every way; most 
 women would like him."
 
 126 Souls of Passage 
 
 "I think better of 'most women' than you do, 
 Jessie." 
 
 Circumstantial evidence was indeed against 
 Fame, but it was as apparently true and as really 
 false as it generally is. Fame had remained away 
 in order to have a new dress made; and on the 
 fourth evening she came to dinner in it, and was 
 received with outspoken and generous admiration. 
 It was only a lawn gown of the color of ripe 
 wheat, with a bunch of poppies in its belt ; but it 
 was very effective and becoming. Flora, Jessie, 
 Alan all petted and praised her, and the girl 
 glowed and smiled and beamed on them with a 
 ravishing beauty and affection. The evening was 
 a little festival in her honor, and nobody men 
 tioned Shaw ; he was, as it were, quite outside the 
 happy circle, even in memory. 
 
 In the morning, as the girls sat together, it was 
 different. Flora lifted her eyes several times and 
 looked intently at the beautiful girl before her. 
 Her face was as calm as a lily on a pond, and 
 there was certainly nothing but serene happiness 
 behind the smiling mouth and eyes. She won 
 dered how best to approach the subject of Shaw's 
 claim, and then finding no cunningly devised 
 words that suited her purpose, she went, as it was 
 natural for her to do, directly to the point. 
 
 "Fame, Shaw says that you are going to marry 
 him. I wonder you never told me."
 
 Who Was to Blame? 127 
 
 Astonishment, incredulity, anger flashed into 
 Fame's face. She let her work fall, and looking 
 straight at Flora, uttered slowly two passionate 
 words : 
 
 "Shaw lies!" 
 
 "He told Alan he was engaged to you." 
 
 "He told Alan a lie, and he knew it was a lie. 
 I am not engaged to Shaw McDuff. I would 
 rather die than be his wife. I am knowing him 
 too well to marry him." 
 
 "Whatever, then, could make him tell Alan such 
 a falsehood?" 
 
 "Shaw has a soul out of the bottomless pit of 
 selfishness. He is jealous of every one; even a 
 girl like me might get some little pleasure or atten 
 tion he wanted for himself." Then after a 
 moment's consideration she continued: "Yes, I 
 will tell you what happened last summer. Young 
 Gillian Grant liked me very much. He came 
 every day to see father, and always brought me a 
 basket of hothouse flowers or grapes, or, perhaps, 
 some beautiful book he wished me to read. Then 
 Lady Grant came to see me, and she asked me to 
 a dance at Loch-Grant, and father sent to Glasgow 
 and bought me a pretty gown of white tarletan 
 spangled with gilt, and if you will not think me 
 vain, Flora, I looked very well indeed that night 
 of the dance, and Gillian Grant never left my side ; 
 and though he said no foolish words, I knew that
 
 128 Souls of Passage . 
 
 he loved me. In spite of Shaw's black looks I 
 came home so happy, and waited for Gillian to 
 call the next day. And he did not call, and after 
 four days had gone I got a little sorrowful note 
 from him. It was dated at Edinburgh, and he 
 said only: 'Farewell, lovely and beloved! May 
 you always be happy. Gillian Grant.' And I 
 was very wretched, and / confess to you that I 
 felt heartbroken; and one day I said to Shaw, 
 'Why does Gillian Grant come no more? Have 
 you quarrelled with him?' And he laughed and 
 answered, 'Gillian Grant has gone to India. He 
 will be two years away.' And after that the 
 Grants were cool and unfriendly, and things were 
 not pleasant at Loch-Grant even for Shaw, and he 
 began to speak badly of the Grants. I saw no 
 more of them. Can you not imagine now what 
 took place to cause this change ?" 
 
 "I am sure I can. Dear Fame, it was too bad." 
 
 "I know that Shaw told Gillian I was engaged 
 to him ; and Lady Grant was angry at me for tak 
 ing Gillian's gifts and being kind to her son. She 
 thought, of course, I was kind to him for the gifts. 
 Was not that a dreadful position to be in ?" 
 
 "Oh, Fame, how mortified you must have felt ! 
 And you could not explain ?" 
 
 "No ; I could explain nothing. It was impossi 
 ble to go and ask Lady Grant if Shaw had said
 
 Who Was to Blame? 129 
 
 such a thing. I could not return poor Gillian's 
 gifts. I had simply to bear the shameful thoughts 
 I knew Lady Grant, very naturally, entertained of 
 me. Long after I heard Gillian had fainted the 
 morning after the ball in a little shooting box on 
 Ben Grant ; and I have no doubt it was there Shaw 
 told him the untruth. He was sick for three 
 days, and then he went with his tutor for a long 
 <.our in the East. Shaw had been staying at Loch- 
 Grant for two weeks, but he came home the day 
 Gillian left." 
 
 "Thank you, Fame, for telling me this sad 
 story. It confirms my opinion of Shaw McDuff. 
 Have you forgotten Gillian ?" 
 
 "No ; I do not forget easily, but I have ceased to 
 fret about the circumstance. It is over. He has 
 forgotten me, I have no doubt. And the break up 
 and parting was so full of misunderstanding and 
 so painful that I try to keep it out of my memory. 
 That is the reason I have not spoken of it to 
 you before. But you have never told me any 
 thing about your lovers, yet you must have had 
 lovers ?" 
 
 "While I was in Canada I lived alone with 
 father. I stayed in barracks or in camp with him. 
 If he had to move from point to point, I went with 
 him. Sometimes young officers looked as if they 
 admired me, but none of them ever said so."
 
 130 Souls of Passage 
 
 "But in Glasgow last winter?" 
 
 "In Glasgow last winter I saw a great many 
 young gentlemen, undeveloped lawyers and doc 
 tors and ministers and merchants. Many of them 
 did me the honor to dance with me, and some even 
 called on me afterward. They were all afraid to 
 go further I was an oddity a colonial a back 
 woods girl. I wanted the Glasgow stamp and 
 mintage; my speech had not the local tone, and 
 the local idioms were Greek to me. I was a haz 
 ardous quantity, not available for mere flirtation, 
 and not safe for matrimony. Besides, I had no 
 fortune worth speaking of to atone for my de 
 ficiencies. Can you understand ?" 
 
 "Very well; I am in the same position 
 in another way. But there is Alan! Perhaps 
 there was an idea that you were engaged to 
 him?" 
 
 "If so, I am positive that Alan never gave it." 
 Then Flora hesitated, and if any certain feeling 
 had come to her help she would have confessed her 
 engagement to Alan; but she could not instantly 
 separate the advisable from the inadvisable; and 
 the moment that might have saved her much 
 sorrow slipped away, its gift unused, its duty 
 missed and left undone. For Flora only added, 
 "As to Alan, you can see for yourself how he feels 
 toward me." 
 
 "Yes," answered Fame, "he treats you just
 
 Who Was to Blame ? 131 
 
 like a sister ; I am sure he loves you quite as much 
 as he loves Jessie." 
 
 "I think he does," said Flora ; but there was a 
 faint tone of irritation in her voice. "Alan is lov 
 ing and lovable. He is not perfect, but " 
 
 "I think he is perfect. His disposition is always 
 noble. He could not do a mean or cruel thing. 
 Now, Shaw is cruel even to little children and 
 dumb animals." 
 
 "Yet he is very religious. He would not 
 miss a church service even for his Highland 
 Glory, the great Duke himself. I heard him say 
 so." 
 
 "All the same, he is cruel and selfish and false 
 hearted." 
 
 "And you think Alan the reverse of these 
 things?" 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 "Are you not the least little bit in love with 
 Alan, and therefore prejudiced in his favor?" 
 
 "He is not in love with me. I, also, am like a 
 little sister to him, though he does not care for 
 me as he does for you. There is a difference; I 
 can feel it. You are one of his household, I am 
 only a stranger." 
 
 "You are my dear friend. Next winter you 
 will come to Glasgow and astonish the young men 
 of St. Mungo's town. They are very big and 
 handsome, and they can sing Scotch songs, and
 
 132 Souls of Passage 
 
 dance reels, and recite! My dear Fame, their 
 recitations are wonderful. Every young man 
 recites. Some have selections from Shakespeare, 
 some from Robert Burns, some from Walter 
 Scott, but they all recite ; and really at the supper- 
 table, when they have had a glass of toddy, they 
 do it very well." 
 
 After this diversion the conversation kept clear 
 of danger, but amid all its changes Flora's heart 
 beat to some sad presentiment, which her friend's 
 calm, candid face did not dispel. 
 
 In the evening Shaw and Alan came into the 
 dining-room together. They had been playing 
 some kind of game all afternoon with "the 
 books,"* and Shaw was twelve pounds the richer ; 
 but he was as sombre as if he had been the loser ; 
 while Alan was brimming with quips, and jokes, 
 and merry compliments. All of the girls were par 
 ticularly lovely that night. The warmth had led 
 them to choose white gowns; Jessie's had not a 
 suggestion of color, but Flora's and Fame's 
 diaphanous robes waved over pale pink tissue, and 
 there were bows of pale pink ribbon about them ; 
 and they had pink roses at their girdles, and each 
 one a sweet rose in her braided hair; and surely 
 two young men never sat down to eat with three 
 fairer women. 
 
 But nothing can brighten a room filled with an 
 
 *A pack of cards.
 
 Who Was to Blame? 133 
 
 evil influence, and Shaw's jealous, envious mood 
 infected the atmosphere, just as a lowering thun 
 der-storm might. 
 
 Even his twelve pounds annoyed him. He felt 
 the sovereigns in his pocket, though he kept ask 
 ing himself why he should do so? Besides, Alan 
 did not seem to care for their loss, and that also 
 was irritating. "The rich, wasteful fool!" he 
 thought whenever he looked at him. "How he 
 smiles, and nods, and passes his little intelligences 
 around ! And how the women adore him ! Fools, 
 all of them!" 
 
 It was not possible to resist long this inimical 
 influence of a hateful soul ; for human beings are 
 as sensitive to emanations from individuals as 
 they are to those from other forms of life ; and the 
 sphere of a rose is not more obvious by its sweet 
 odor than the sphere of an ill-natured soul by that 
 spiritual force of hate which it creates and which 
 unconsciously enters into the organism of those 
 within it. For thoughts are powers, even when 
 unexpressed, and go forth armed with influences 
 for good or ill on other minds. There was soon 
 short silences and malapropos remarks at the 
 tai>le ; something checked every impulse to smile, 
 and though no one realized it, the very voice of 
 Shaw had a contagious dissatisfaction; and his 
 envious anger caused the nerves of every one to 
 vibrate to it. So that when he asked Alan to
 
 1 34 Souls of Passage 
 
 order his dog-cart there was a conscious feeling of 
 relief; and Jessie made an effort to render the 
 parting moments more sympathetic. 
 
 "It is so very early, Mr. McDuff," she said; 
 "can we not have a song or a dance or some 
 thing?" 
 
 "It is too warm to dance," said Flora, "but 
 Fame can sing for us. She has a wonderful new 
 song about Angus MacRory, 
 
 " 'Whose soul-stirring note 
 Gives strength to the arms 
 That give wings to the boat.' 
 
 Come, Fame, sing to the glory of the MacLeods 
 and the brave-hearted Rory !" 
 
 "Fame will require to put on her hat and man 
 tilla at once," answered Shaw, in a voice whose 
 sharp authority there was no denying. Fame 
 looked at him a moment, dropped her eyes on her 
 work, and said : 
 
 "I am not going down the hill at all to-night." 
 "Your father will be expecting you, Fame." 
 "My father will not be expecting me for two 
 or three days." 
 
 "You are not treating your father very kindly 
 these last weeks." 
 
 "That is my father's affair not yours." 
 "And you are not treating me well, either." 
 "That is your affair not mine ;" then turning
 
 Who Was to Blame? 135 
 
 to Flora, she asked, "Is this row right? five 
 stitches plain, three purled, one cast over, two to 
 gether?" 
 
 "It is right, Fame." 
 
 "Are you going with me, Fame?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Then Jessie with a conciliating air came for 
 ward, saying, "I have asked Fame to stay with us, 
 Mr. McDuff, and her promise is given, and we 
 will not let her break it ; so you really must excuse 
 her to-night." And as Fame took no further no 
 tice of him, and Alan's smiling silence was intol 
 erable, the irate young man saw nothing better 
 than to accept this explanation. 
 
 He left the room, however, with his usual fine 
 air, and Alan followed him. Then Jessie began 
 her nightly letter to her lover; she had much to 
 tell him, and she soon became absorbed in her 
 occupation. Flora and Fame put down their work 
 and went to the open window. They stood there 
 quite silent; a strange and apparently causeless 
 sadness had suddenly mastered Flora. Her soul 
 sank back upon itself, and seemed to retire from 
 all affection. Tears, unreasonable tears, without 
 motive or occasion, made her heart and eyes fill. 
 She presaged something sorrowful, she knew not 
 what, and she believed her presage ; and this fear 
 ful, intensive feeling not only struck inward, but 
 also outward ; for her body answered the mood of
 
 136 Souls of Passage 
 
 her soul by a peculiar lassitude and inertia, which 
 she felt unable to resist. 
 
 Fame did not attempt conversation; that fine 
 courtesy, which is the subtle, natural aroma of a 
 spirit enlightened by the heart, taught her instinc 
 tively to respect a frame of mind which was be 
 yond her understanding ; and she stood quietly at 
 Flora's side looking into the dim garden, where 
 the twilight, embalmed in the tall August lilies, 
 was mingling its soft glamour with the young 
 moon's radiance. Under the great vault of the 
 wood's branches a nightingale was softly, almost 
 solemnly, singing; and as they listened the sweet 
 sounds were crashed out by the wheels of Shaw's 
 dog-cart rattling rapidly down the stony hill. 
 
 Then Alan returned to the parlor. They heard 
 him whistling gaily to himself as he came through 
 the house ; and his first words were : 
 
 "It is a glorious night; let us go out and be 
 come a part of it. This room feels as if there was 
 something unhappy in it; let us go into the 
 garden; it is warm, and sweet, and calm as a 
 resting wheel." 
 
 "I cannot possibly go," said Jessie; "I have a 
 long letter to write; but by all means take Flora 
 and Fame. When you come in we will have a 
 game of whist, and some raspberries and curds 
 and cream."
 
 Who Was to Blame? 137 
 
 "Fame will go with you, Alan," said Flora. 
 "It is impossible for me to walk to-night. I am 
 not all here not quite well. If I go out I shall 
 take cold or something worse." 
 
 "Nonsense! It will do you good, Flora." 
 
 "It will not. Leave me for a little. I want 
 to find myself. I do wish you and Fame would 
 go away for half an hour. I shall be glad to be 
 alone." 
 
 "Come then, Fame, you and I will go. May 
 we come back in half an hour?" 
 
 "Yes. I shall have finished my letter in half 
 an hour," said Jessie. 
 
 "And perhaps I shall have found out what is 
 the matter with me," added Flora. 
 
 For a few minutes she remained standing at the 
 window, watching Alan and Fame slowly pacing 
 up and down the broad, flagged walk leading 
 to the main entrance. Alan had a cigar in his 
 mouth, and she heard him say something, at 
 which Fame laughed heartily. Then they turned 
 into another avenue, and Flora lay down on the 
 sofa and tried to reason with herself, and espe 
 cially to conquer that physical incapacity for 
 family claims which looked so ill-natured, but 
 which had really been beyond her control. 
 
 The avenue into which Alan and Fame had 
 turned was a narrow one facing the south, and
 
 138 Souls of Passage 
 
 full of heliotrope. The delicious scent filled the 
 air, and the lovely moon transfigured the place 
 with her soft, melancholy radiance. The secret 
 silences of the night and all the mystical in 
 fluences of nature were rained down upon them. 
 They gradually ceased speaking they stood 
 still without warning or intention they were in 
 the very high place of temptation. And the 
 moonlight added to Fame's beauty a something 
 inexpressible. It fell over her face and form like 
 a charmed garment. Alan could not choose but 
 feel it. There was a delicious pause, conscious 
 and sensitive, and then one word, soft as a lover's 
 whisper : 
 
 "Fame!" 
 
 She lifted her face; her eyes stirred his heart 
 like fire and wine; he knew that she loved him, 
 and he stooped and kissed her. And after that 
 kiss he could not think, he could not pause; he 
 was like a man in a swift current, the touch of 
 Fame's lips had carried him off his feet, and 
 he did not at the moment care where he was 
 carried. 
 
 For one half-hour there was an interlude of 
 perfect happiness in the old garden; then they 
 went slowly back to the house, and Flora roused 
 herself, and with forced smiles came to meet 
 them. Jessie had laid out the cards and the 
 counters for the game of whist, and the talk was
 
 Who Was to Blame? 139 
 
 only of kings and queens and aces and honors; 
 the love scene just enacted -among the helio 
 tropes appeared to be quite forgotten. For in 
 some way, without a word on the subject, Alan 
 had made Fame understand that it was not to 
 be spoken of. She could not have explained 
 how this fact had been impressed upon her, 
 unless it was by Alan's attitude of good-natured 
 indifference to all things but trumps and tricks. 
 Not even in his "good-night" courtesies could 
 the most suspicious rival have detected anything 
 unusual. 
 
 She did not know what to think of this atti 
 tude, but she was sure it involved nothing wrong 
 or unkind. She told herself that the revelation 
 had come to both of them so suddenly and un 
 awares that it was not likely Alan could decide 
 at once on the best course to be taken. And 
 then she also remembered Jessie's approaching 
 marriage, and put Alan and herself in much the 
 same relation to it as Flora had already done. 
 She was, however, so happy that she longed to 
 share her happiness with her friend, but that 
 night nothing about Flora invited confidential 
 conversation. She was tired and silent, and had 
 feelings she could only explain under the con 
 venient excuse of headache. Besides, Fame 
 remembered that she had already told Flora 
 about Gillian Grant, and she felt it would require
 
 140 Souls of Passage 
 
 an effort to speak of another lover so soon after 
 this confession. So she lay down with the 
 dream in her heart, unshared and unread, and 
 was not sorry, for a while at least, to hide it 
 there. 
 
 In the meantime Shawhad gone straight to his 
 father. He walked into the small parlor, where 
 Peter McDuff was reading the only book that 
 really interested him his private ledger. He 
 closed the lock with a snap as Shaw entered and 
 said he was glad to see him, adding, "But what 
 brought you home so before hours? Were the 
 ladies not there?" 
 
 "They were not there for me, father. I felt in 
 the way. I was not wanted." 
 
 "Not wanted! That is clearly impossible," 
 said the old man in a tone of incredulity. 
 
 "Will you tell me how we stand with Macrae? 
 I mean how we really stand. I want the truth 
 all of it." 
 
 "We have a mortgage on Macrae's house and 
 enclosed land for one thousand pounds; and 
 there has been half a year's interest due this little 
 while. I am not satisfied about the interest. 
 Macrae has paid it unwillingly for as much as 
 two years, and he seems to have forgotten there 
 is now money due." 
 
 "Why do you not make him pay it?"
 
 Who Was to Blame? 141 
 
 "Can I make him? What do you think?" 
 
 "There is the law." 
 
 "Just so. But this is how we stand to the law. 
 I loaned Macrae one thousand pounds, and he. 
 has already paid me back one thousand six 
 hundred pounds. If he took the case to the 
 Court of Equity, he would win; if he took it to 
 the Common Law Court, we might be indicted 
 for usury our interest being beyond the lawful 
 and I have been thinking lately that Macrae 
 has at last got this idea into his head; or perhaps 
 some one has put it there for him; he hasn't any 
 money-brains of his own." 
 
 "His daughter made a point of insulting me 
 to-night." Then Shaw told his father what had 
 occurred at Dunbrack, and before he had fin 
 ished Peter was snapping his fingers and uttering 
 all kinds of bad words in Gaelic the language 
 he used for such purposes. 
 
 "We will be putting the screw en him, 
 Shaw," he said when his son ceased speak 
 ing. "I will call for my interest in the morning, 
 and I will also let him understand the prin 
 cipal is wanted, and that, too, at once. It is at my 
 call." 
 
 "You cannot frighten Macrae, father." 
 
 "I can and I will. But stop is that the best 
 way? You must not give up the girl. She
 
 142 Souls of Passage 
 
 means the Macrae land. You must, you must 
 win her, Shaw. She is yours by right." 
 
 "She is in love with young Mackenzie; so is 
 the other girl." 
 
 "That is nonsense most unlikely nonsense! 
 I am not believing it. Fame was showing off 
 her power; let her do it while it is her day your 
 day will come." 
 
 "Oh, indeed, I shall neither beck nor bow to 
 Fame Macrae. There is Meriton's sister, and 
 Jean Stewart, and Grace Frazer, and some few 
 others that I can wive for the asking." 
 
 "Just so. You are right; but Fame has ad 
 vantages for you. A little policy, Shaw, a little 
 policy may mean a deal of property. Speak out 
 to the girl. Women are easily cowed. A word 
 or two makes most of them step down from their 
 high horse. I'll see Macrae in the morning, and 
 as soon as you get the wilful lass outside Dun- 
 brack and in her own surroundings ask her to 
 marry you. Don't take 'no' from her. I'm 
 feared you have delayed the straight question 
 o'er long. Women like all things squared and 
 settled." 
 
 "You might name the subject to Macrae. 
 His word might help." 
 
 "Or hinder likely. Your own word is best 
 of all. You'll be requiring no other word. Just 
 offer yourself; I would like to see the woman
 
 Who Was to Blame? 143 
 
 who would refuse you! She would have to be 
 a born idiot." 
 
 This opinion soothed the wounded pride of 
 the young man. He got up and walked about 
 the room with a stately air, furtively watching 
 his reflection upon the white wall as he did so. 
 Certainly he had an imposing, dignified figure, 
 and his father's words did not seem over-compli 
 mentary or very unlikely. And when they had 
 drank a glass of toddy together, and discussed 
 the matter in detail, Shaw went to sleep with the 
 firm conviction in his heart that as far as Fame 
 Macrae was concerned he had only to ask and 
 to have. 
 
 While the McDuffs were arriving at this 
 comfortable conclusion Flora was striving to 
 discover the "why" of her singular depression. 
 When Fame left her she locked her door, and 
 turned with a face full of sensitive inquiry to the 
 picture of Lady Sara Bella. It had been hand 
 somely framed, and stood on an easel near the 
 comfortable chair Flora used in her hours of 
 reflection and relaxation. A singular friendship 
 had grown up between this living, loving girl 
 and the painted image of the ancestress whom 
 she so closely resembled. They had become 
 familiars. They held long conversations with 
 each other. Flora was accustomed to tell her 
 the secrets of her heart and soul, to ask her
 
 144 Souls of Passage 
 
 advice, to seek her sympathy, even to stand 
 before her a minute or two when she was prettily 
 dressed, that she might have her approval; in 
 short, she treated the image of the dead lady as 
 if it represented her own inner self. 
 
 "My dear," she said softly, "I am sorrowful, 
 and I do not know why. Do you?" 
 
 This night, however, though she waited long, 
 no answer came to her question. But as she sat 
 motionless in that sweet receptive mood which 
 makes spiritual influence possible, she was sud 
 denly conscious of that holy desire which God 
 Himself forms in the soul, that secret prayer 
 within us, which is a fire that never goes out, a 
 lamp incessantly burning before God, so that 
 "if we sleep our heart waketh." Into that com 
 munion no stranger entereth; but it sufficeth. 
 When the morning came her spirit had shaken 
 off this egotism of sorrow, she rose with a song 
 in her heart, and was ready to "enjoy herself" 
 a very striking and satisfactory condition, for 
 the happiness we receive from ourselves is much 
 greater than that we receive from our surround 
 ings. 
 
 Alan met her with a radiant face and with 
 good tidings. The provost and Mrs. Mackenzie 
 were coming, and the castle was already in a 
 joyous hurry of preparing for the master, who 
 had not yet seen his new home. The young man
 
 Who Was to Blame? 145 
 
 bore no traces of mental struggle nor of night 
 watching. And, indeed, he had not suffered 
 from either. The incident with Fame had been 
 very pleasant to him, for it had possessed in an 
 eminent degree that forbidden flavor, usually 
 found to be so alluring. Not only that, it gave 
 to his thoughts of Shaw a certain zest of triumph, 
 and he tasted them, as it were, with that faint 
 smile of satisfaction which always springs from 
 some interior source of complacency. It was 
 not the first time that he had kissed a pretty 
 woman under the moon and in sweet-scented 
 gardens; the women had never seemed to dislike 
 it, and it had on no occasion brought him any 
 severe penalty. He was not angry with himself 
 for "the little folly," and he did not suppose 
 Fame took his passing infatuation seriously. 
 He met her precisely as he met her every other 
 morning; and, at any rate, all feelings and events 
 that day were merged in the delightful excite 
 ment incident to the master's home coming. 
 Alan, with twenty boys from the village to help 
 him, was cutting branches and making garlands 
 and hanging wreaths; and inside the house the 
 three girls, with all the help they could press into 
 service, were equally busy. 
 
 And then, just H time to be cooked for the 
 provost's dinner, Earne came sheepishly up to 
 the castle with a brace of grouse. It was not
 
 146 Souls of Passage 
 
 the twelfth of August, but no one asked Earne 
 a question. In fact, he was much thanked and 
 made of, and went back to the Lapwing with a 
 look on his face which it was well Shaw McDuff 
 did not see. For he would have felt it to be not 
 only a breach of the peace, but also a positive 
 proof of a violation of the game laws.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE INEVITABLE QUESTION. 
 
 IT was a hot August morning; the twelfth had 
 come and gone, and the hills were free to the 
 sportsmen; but Provost Mackenzie was not for 
 the hills. He had realized his vision of the 
 "harts upon the high mountains," had seen 
 those mighty beasts, the wing-footed red deer, 
 taking the heather, the burns, the rocks, and the 
 peat with that long, swinging trot which carries 
 them at such tremendous pace over the roughest 
 country; had heard a "royal" his breath com 
 ing like smoke out of his nostrils bellowing 
 defiance, and answered by another and another 
 stag, till the whole valley seemed alive with 
 them. And in Glasgow he had promised himself 
 to shoot a "royal," or at least a ten-pointer; but 
 he could not now lift his gun against one. And 
 it was the Macrae's doing. 
 
 For he had gone on the first morning of his 
 visit to Dunbrack to see his old companion, and 
 they had clung to each other like brothers ever 
 since that meeting. And Macrae during the
 
 148 Souls of Passage 
 
 last few years had taken up strange ideas about 
 killing animals and birds for mere sport; and he 
 had said words to Mackenzie that had made his 
 rifle a burden. 
 
 "I'll not go with you if you are taking the 
 rifle," was his answer to Mackenzie's invitation 
 to walk with him to Dunbrack covers. "If I 
 went to a slaughter-house for amusement, I 
 would be thinking myself a brute, and I am 
 seeing little difference in going to the hills to 
 do murder on the birds. No, indeed !" 
 
 "Come, Macrae, we have a lawful supremacy 
 over the animal world. And animals hunt each 
 other; cats naturally kill birds, and a hound re 
 quires no teaching in order to hunt a fox." 
 
 "That is proving nothing for you, Mackenzie, 
 unless you think yourself justified in adopting 
 the morals of the cat and the hound. And as 
 for our 'supremacy/ as you call it, it is o'er like 
 that of Satan a supremacy of pain and cruelty. 
 Oh, man! man! I want you to respect this 
 mysterious animal world, that 'groaneth and 
 travaileth in pain with us, waiting for the re 
 demption of the body.' We are to be saved 
 together. Mind that." 
 
 "Macrae, you are surely not thinking that 
 animals have souls?" 
 
 "Well, Mackenzie, we are not blinded with 
 the light we have about our own souls; and I
 
 The Inevitable Question 149 
 
 am not knowing anything certain about the 
 spiritual nature of beasts. But we can take our 
 Bibles and say with Bishop Butler that animals 
 can make out from that Book quite as good 
 a case for their future life as man can." 
 
 "We'll talk that statement over some other 
 time, Macrae. I am doubting it." 
 
 "I am not feared to do so. Search for your 
 self, and you will learn a deal in that search. 
 However, I'll be reminding you now that the 
 Saviour of men took up His first lodging with 
 the beasts. By a perfect offering of Himself, He 
 had come to put an end to their sacrifice. And, 
 moreover, St. Peter's vision of the vessel let 
 down from heaven, with all manner of living 
 creatures in it, you must take notice, was 'drawn 
 up again into heaven;' and we are told distinctly 
 they had been cleansed, as well as man, by the 
 Great Atonement. We are to be saved together. 
 Mind that !" 
 
 "Don't go too far, Macrae. These are new 
 thoughts to me." 
 
 "For seven years I have been thinking them 
 out. There is, moreover, a general belief in 
 them that we will not listen to. Nobody denies 
 that beasts and birds have the second sight 
 that is, spiritual sight. They see ghosts and 
 spiritual beings, and are terrified by the super 
 natural, just as we are. The 'night-side of
 
 150 Souls of Passage 
 
 nature' broods o'er them as well as o'er us, 
 Mackenzie." 
 
 "You have the case in your heart, at any rate, 
 Macrae." 
 
 "I have. And I love you so well that I will 
 not let you sin against your own soul by sinning 
 against the life you cannot give to any creature." 
 
 "Man is a cruel animal naturally, Macrae." 
 
 "He is. He has denied women their freedom 
 and right for thousands of years; and he will not 
 emancipate beasts until he has grown nearer to 
 the Maker of them. It is not possible to take 
 a walk through this village without hearing such 
 sad, plaintive voices come to us from the out 
 houses and the obscure buildings, where we 
 hold them captive veritable prisons, in which 
 we bind and tie them. Yet, praise God ! 'He 
 saveth both man and beast/ Those are His own 
 words, and, moreover, He is asking them in the 
 same blessed Book 'to praise Him, and to bless 
 Him.' You see, He is pleased to have their 
 praise and blessing. He may hear the larks 
 singing, as well as the angels; and the voices of 
 the stags on the mountains and the crowing of 
 the grouse in the heather be right welcome to 
 Him. He made them; and He tells us the 
 young ravens and the young lions cry to Him 
 for food, and are fed by His hand. Now, Mac 
 kenzie, are you for killing the grouse, or shall
 
 The Inevitable Question 151 
 
 we go down to the sea, and hear the waters 
 singing the ancient hymn 'The sea is His, and 
 He made it, and His hands formed the dry 
 land'?" 
 
 And Mackenzie put his rifle on a high shelf 
 and turned with a smile to his friend. "You 
 have the day," he answered cheerfully. "I'll 
 buy no more powder and shot, Macrae." 
 
 Many conversations on this subject followed 
 this initial one, and Mackenzie could not shoot 
 against them. As he stood in the open door 
 of Dunbrack Castle that hot August morning 
 he saw on the spur of a high hill a great stag 
 standing. The luminous sky behind him set the 
 splendid beast in startling clearness as he angrily 
 turned his antlered head, scenting his human 
 stalkers. And the sight gave Mackenzie a heart 
 ache; he turned his gaze into his own garden, 
 and there he saw something that called to his 
 face that peculiar smile of gratification which is 
 born of realized hope. He saw Alan and Flora 
 walking together, and their attitude was that of 
 lover-like confidence, of delightful companion 
 ship, and of that sweet familiarity which only 
 exists when two hearts are one. As he looked 
 with happy hopes at the couple they stood still, 
 and Flora gathered a flower and put it in Alan's 
 coat, and the young man clasped her hands in 
 his own. Then the provost turned away with
 
 152 Souls of Passage 
 
 a sigh that was not sorrowful; it was rather a 
 tribute to the memory of his own youth than 
 a symptom of any anxiety about the lovers. As 
 he was looking for his hat and walking stick 
 Mrs. Mackenzie joined him. 
 
 "I heard you pottering about, Robert," she 
 said, "and no wonder. The canes and whips and 
 sticks of all kinds and for all purposes that Alan 
 leaves here are just beyond counting; and the 
 shooting caps and travelling caps and boating 
 caps take up every peg and nail; aye, and they 
 are hanging one on the top of the other. Where 
 are you for this morning, Robert?" 
 
 "I am going to see Ian Macrae; and I would 
 not wonder if we end on the Lapwing. The 
 herring fleet is near, and I would like to see the 
 nets shot. You wouldn't mind, Marian, if I was 
 later than ordinar?" 
 
 "Stay your heart full, Robert. It isn't many 
 holidays you give yourself. I am real glad that 
 you have found a friend like Ian Macrae." 
 
 "Marian, I saw something five minutes ago 
 that pleased me well. I saw Alan and Flora 
 together in the garden, and if they are not lovers, 
 I shall never trust my judgment in love matters 
 again." 
 
 "Tuts, Robert ! They have been lovers longer 
 than they know themselves. I am most sure 
 they are promised to each other."
 
 The Inevitable Question 153 
 
 "And why did you not tell me?" 
 
 "I was waiting to be told myself." 
 
 "What for are they keeping the fact a secret, 
 I wonder?" 
 
 "It will be Flora's whim; and I would be 
 willing to wager if I did wager, which I don't 
 that she does not want it known until Jessie 
 is married and away. I am saying nothing 
 against the lassie, and so you need not look 
 negatives at me; indeed, I think she had a kind 
 thought to Jessie and ourselves in the secret. 
 I know I am glad nothing has been said 
 about it." 
 
 "I don't believe that, Marian; it is not like 
 you." 
 
 "It is the very truth, Robert. Two sets of 
 engaged lovers in the house at one and the same 
 time would have been beyond all bearing. No 
 body would believe the trouble I've had with 
 Jessie's marriage, and if Alan also had been 
 thinking of making himself a married man, I 
 would just have gone distracted and given up 
 the battle." 
 
 "I thought when I first saw him with that 
 little girl of Macrae's that she would be Mrs. 
 Alan Mackenzie. What a beauty she is!" 
 
 "Highland as a peat." 
 
 "None the worse for it. I am Highland my 
 self."
 
 154 Souls of Passage 
 
 "None the worse for it, Robert. You are as 
 good a man as any sinful woman was ever 
 married to. But you are in the wrong for once ; 
 Alan's heart is set on Flora. Happen, he might 
 do worse." 
 
 "I don't think he could do better. I hope 
 what you say is the truth." 
 
 "I have not changed look or word with him 
 on the subject, but I am sure it may be, if the 
 lassie wills it. She has the hank in her own 
 hand. For both their sakes I wish she had more 
 money. They are neither of them knowing the 
 worth of a penny piece." 
 
 "The little lass is prudent enough. Crawford, 
 her lawyer, told me she never got outside the 
 rim of the shilling and money cannot buy true 
 love." 
 
 "True enough, but it can buy things that are 
 perfectly necessary to true love." 
 
 "Money or no money, I hope they will make a 
 match of it." 
 
 "Well, then, I am mostly sure Flora has given 
 her promise, and what she promises she will per 
 form as certainly as she is a christened woman. 
 She is stubborn beyond believing that way." 
 
 "I am well pleased to hear that. For the very 
 opposite is one of Alan's faults ; and there is noth 
 ing better for a man as shifty as Alan than a 
 steadfast, loving wife like Flora."
 
 The Inevitable Question 155 
 
 "Shifty! You should not say such a word in 
 the same breath with Alan. You can give a dog 
 a bad name and then hang him. And you may 
 call your lad 'shifty' till you call shifty to him. It 
 is fact as death, and I hope I will not have to re 
 mind you of it again. You said last night after 
 Shaw McDuff went away that you were thankful 
 Alan could not be likened to him." 
 
 "Did I say that? Let it pass. McDuff has 
 faults, but a man's a man for a' that." 
 
 "That is one of Robert Burns's lies. There are 
 plenty of creatures in kilts and breeks that are not 
 men for a' that." 
 
 "Here comes our lad himself! Alan, will you 
 go to the Lapwing?" 
 
 Alan was delighted to go, and he began to 
 search the hat-rack for his boating cap. As he 
 did so, he lifted an umbrella with a laugh, and 
 pointing to its broken bones and tattered silk, said 
 to his mother : 
 
 "It is the fault of Bevis. My dog does not get 
 on well with the Morandaroch dogs. It took the 
 weight of this umbrella yesterday to make him 
 behave like a Christian to Shaw's dog. Bevis is 
 simply hating the creature, and if they meet they 
 fly at each other's throats without a word." 
 
 "You ought not to encourage Bevis, and I am 
 afraid you do," said the provost. 
 
 "On the contrary, I never take Bevis out with-
 
 156 Souls of Passage 
 
 out advising him to behave properly. I durst not 
 take upon me to do more, for Bevis is very strict 
 about his rights, and he considers fighting his 
 inalienable right. As we go through the village 
 this morning notice the look on his face; it says 
 as plainly as words could, 'Are there any dogs 
 here wanting a fight ?' ' 
 
 "Then why keep a bulldog, Alan?" said the 
 provost to the young man as they began their 
 walk through the wood, the dog Bevis trotting at 
 their side in a very good humor. 
 
 "Well, father, fighting is the work bulldogs 
 came into the world to do ; and I am sure you will 
 allow they do it as well as they can. I may not 
 have this quality of duty myself, but I admire it, 
 even in a dog. Then notice how little fuss they 
 make about accomplishing their work; without 
 noise, without passion or ostentation, they go at 
 another dog quietly and effectively. No fuss and 
 fury about their fighting; a bulldog is as much 
 opposed to boasting as to 'letting go,' and after a 
 course of Shaw McDuff a bulldog's modesty is a 
 relief." 
 
 "Is Shaw a favorite with the ladies I mean 
 with Jessie and Flora and that little girl of Mac 
 rae's?" 
 
 "He says he is; he told me he was engaged to 
 Fame Macrae." 
 
 "I would not have thought it. He seemed to
 
 The Inevitable Question 157 
 
 admire Flora most; but I am an old man, and 
 maybe not over clear in my judgment of such 
 affairs," and the provost looked at his son, think 
 ing he might receive some confession which would 
 settle his new hope into certainty. 
 
 Alan made no such confession. He laughed at 
 Shaw's pretensions, and said, "Flora Dunbrack 
 would not be caught with chaff." 
 
 "Well, well," continued the father, a little dis 
 appointed, "if you have any liking for either 
 Flora or Fame, do not be making little of Shaw 
 McDuff. He is what Highlanders call 'a pretty 
 man/ " 
 
 "Not he, sir. Girls like something better than 
 beauty; for instance, a sweet, frank, honorable 
 nature. Now, Shaw is as little capable of these 
 virtues as a worm is of walking or a bear of fly 
 ing. He is also underbred, and there is nothing 
 more distasteful to a nice woman." 
 
 "He seems, however, in great request. He was 
 at Dunallan yesterday with all the lords and 
 gentry." 
 
 "He was there because he is a fine shot, and 
 shooting grouse, my dear sir, is not now mere 
 amusement. Our noblemen stock the London 
 markets; and a sportsman who does not shatter 
 the birds, and so render them unsalable, is a very 
 welcome guest. Shaw and Dunallan's keeper 
 killed easily yesterday seventy-five brace of grouse
 
 158 Souls of Passage 
 
 besides hares; and as Dunallan sends his game 
 regularly to London, you may see why Shaw is 
 his guest." 
 
 Thus they talked until they came in sight of 
 Macrae's house, a ghostly-looking mansion, 
 square and gray, and having even in the bright 
 sunshine an air of gloom and of utter weariness of 
 existence. It was of rough granite with windows 
 small and narrow, and a roof of red sandstone; 
 and it stood in a grove of decaying trees, peopled 
 with colonies of magpies, pigeons, and a whole 
 presbytery of crows. If a house can become 
 saturated with the experiences of mortal life, Mac 
 rae's home had beyond expression the air of old, 
 unhappy memories. 
 
 Therefore, the sight of the master waiting at its 
 gate to welcome them was the more remarkable, 
 for his face was the face of a calm, sabbatic mys 
 tic ; of one who lived in a mountain atmosphere of 
 that inward serenity which is in itself a sacra 
 ment. He put his hand in Mackenzie's and smiled 
 gravely at Alan, and then without a word the 
 three men stood listening to Fame, whose voice 
 was thrilling the space between them with the in 
 describable pathos of an exile's song : 
 
 "From the lone shielings of the misty islands 
 
 Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas ; 
 Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, 
 And we in dreams behold the Hebrides."
 
 The Inevitable Question 159 
 
 Then Macrae softly took up the chorus with 
 her, and to its melancholy notes they entered the 
 dwelling : 
 
 "Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand ; 
 But we are exiles from our native land." 
 
 "Good-morning, Fame," cried Alan; "do not 
 tear our hearts to pieces so early in the morning. 
 Have you no gayer word for us?" And she 
 nodded and laughed, and struck out the martial 
 air that Alan loved. The notes were sharp as the 
 clang of steel on steel, and he threw himself at 
 once with spirit-stirring animation into the wild 
 declamation of the "Gathering of the Clans" : 
 
 "Glengarry will stand with arm of steel, 
 And Keppoch is blood from head to heel ; 
 The whiggers o' Skye may gang to the deil, 
 When Connal, and Donald, and gallant Clan Ronald 
 Are all in the field and know not to yield ; 
 Are all in array and hastening away 
 To welcome their prince in the morning. 
 
 "The Appin will come while coming is good ; 
 The stern Macintosh is of trusty blood ; 
 And the Athol men keen as fire from the steel, 
 Macpherson for Charlie will battle the deil ; 
 Come Moidart, and Mory, Macgunn, and MacCraw, 
 McDugalds, McDonalds, MacDevils and a', 
 And the wild Macraes, more swift than the roe, 
 
 Worse devils than a' ; 
 Come, welcome your prince in the morning."
 
 160 Souls of Passage 
 
 They sang the stirring song till they felt the 
 iron in their blood, and forgot everything but the 
 bewitching cry, "To arms!" They had summoned 
 the past, and brought it back to stir with its old 
 tumult the peaceful present; and Prince Charlie, 
 though his bones were dust and his sword rust, 
 lived and dominated the two young hearts who 
 had called him up by the spell of their enthusiasm. 
 When they ceased singing they turned round with 
 faces aflame to catch the answering glow in other 
 faces ; but they were alone. And Fame looked at 
 Alan with her soul in her eyes, and the temptation 
 was very great. For they stood in an atmosphere 
 which they had mutually charged with passionate 
 feeling, and their hearts throbbed to its vibrations. 
 Alan's will, undisciplined and unexercised, abdi 
 cated all control in the presence of a fascination 
 so potent and so alluring. For a few minutes life 
 was held in a delicious, sensitive pause ; then they 
 heard the approach of Mackenzie and Macrae, and 
 the spell was broken. 
 
 "We want some lunch, Fame," said Macrae. 
 "We are going afterward to the Lapwing." 
 
 "But why trouble Fame ?" asked Alan. "There 
 is cold grouse in plenty on board and everything 
 else necessary. Earne will give us a lunch fit for 
 a Highland chief." 
 
 "So he will. I know what Earne can do," said 
 Mackenzie. "Let us go at once."
 
 The Inevitable Question 161 
 
 "May I not go with you?" asked Fame. 
 
 "No," answered her father. "We may be out 
 very late, and I am not caring to leave the house 
 alone. I have not paid McDuff's interest yet, and 
 I have papers lying about. I want you to stay by 
 the house, Fame." 
 
 Much disappointed, Fame put down her hat and 
 cloak, but that she might dispute, much less dis 
 obey her father's wish, never occurred to her as a 
 possibility. Yet she watched the three men off 
 to the water with a feeling of envy. 
 
 "To be a woman," she sighed, "is the first 
 calamity ; every other sorrow may come after that 
 misfortune." 
 
 After she had eaten her solitary lunch she won 
 dered what she should do with herself. It was 
 only two o'clock, and the long, long afternoon 
 was before her. If she could have walked up to 
 Dunbrack the inquiry would be solved, but she 
 was not to leave the house, and the house had not 
 any social attractions. Unless the minister's wife 
 came in there was no one to expect. She had had 
 enough music for that day. Alan was gone, and 
 she could sing to no lower pitch. She was not 
 very fond of reading, and none of the books she 
 lifted attracted her. 
 
 Well, there was her sewing ; she could sew and 
 think at the same time, and thought was full of 
 romances. Any delightful thing she desired was
 
 1 62 Souls of Passage 
 
 waiting for her in the realm of thought. There, 
 everything might happen to her wish; and her 
 wishes at this time were all connected with Alan. 
 They were quite innocent wishes ; she had no sus 
 picion that she was wronging her friend ; she was 
 sorry that she could not make her a confidante in 
 her hopes. "Why not?" she asked her heart as 
 she sat sewing ; and then she compelled herself to 
 answer the question with the utmost truthfulness : 
 In the first place, Alan's behavior made her 
 understand that their love was not yet to be 
 spoken of. Then Flora invited no confidence on 
 the subject; she was herself hiding a love secret, 
 and she naturally avoided too close approaches to 
 it. Also, she was always reticent concerning love 
 and lovers ; and Fame was yet abashed whenever 
 she remembered her confession about Gillian 
 Grant. Flora had neither then nor since discussed 
 or "talked over" the circumstance with her. So, 
 until there was something sure and decided be 
 tween herself and Alan in fact, until Alan con 
 fessed his love for her publicly she did not feel 
 as if she could speak of it. And perhaps more 
 forcible than all these considerations was that in 
 nate, innermost consciousness that silence and 
 solitude are the almost necessary conditions for 
 the growth of a feeling so sacred and secret as the 
 delicate emotion of love. And confessed or un-
 
 The Inevitable Question 163 
 
 confessed, there is blended with this retirement of 
 the heart a kind of selfishness, a desire to brood 
 silently over the new, strange feeling; to enjoy it 
 without participation ; to keep for personal pleas 
 ure every tone and glance and movement of the 
 beloved. Other reasons arising from the peculiar 
 circumstances of the Mackenzies and her own 
 family pervaded and strengthened the ones gen 
 eral to all lovers; and after an hour's sweet 
 thought concerning Alan's evident affection for 
 her, she concluded that this flower of their hearts 
 was yet too tender and too much in the bud to set 
 out in the public eye, or subject to general ap 
 proval or criticism. And she was happy in this 
 conclusion; it relieved her from present embar 
 rassments, and permitted her to enjoy her love 
 without advices or interferences of any kind. 
 
 Having come to this satisfactory state of mind, 
 she began to sing as she worked, soft, tender little 
 songs that gradually died away as thought and 
 feeling took more entire possession of her mind, 
 surrendering it finally to those vague, elusive im 
 pressions which cannot be translated into words, 
 or even ideas, but by means of which one soul 
 enters into relations with another soul. So happy 
 was she that she ceased asking of herself any 
 "why" or "wherefore." The joy of loving was 
 sufficient.
 
 164 Souls of Passage 
 
 Suddenly, in the very midst of this trance of 
 restful pleasure the delicate antennae of her intui 
 tive nature told her to be "on guard," and she 
 lifted her head, and then rose and went to the 
 open window. She saw no one, but she heard 
 footsteps approaching, and she said instantly to 
 herself : 
 
 "It is Shaw McDuff." 
 
 Arrived at this conclusion, she sat down and 
 began again to sew and to sing; and when Shaw 
 entered the house she was vowing in musical im 
 petuosity : 
 
 "To buy herself a tartan plaid, 
 And follow the lad wi' the white cockade." 
 
 He stood at the open door waiting for her to 
 welcome him, but she was sitting with her back to 
 the door, and therefore not compelled to be aware 
 of his presence. Besides, she was too busy at 
 tending to "the lad with the white cockade." 
 Finally there was a moment's pause and he said : 
 
 "Fame, you know very well I am here. Where 
 is your father ?" 
 
 "I know very well that you saw my father go 
 with the Mackenzies to the Lapwing. Why, then, 
 do you ask after him ?" 
 
 "I want to know if you are alone, or is Miss 
 Dunbrack here ?" 
 
 "I am at present a lone abider."
 
 The Inevitable Question 165 
 
 "Why do you not ask me to sit down?" 
 
 "You are not used to wait for any such cere 
 mony." 
 
 "I have something to say to you, Fame. It is 
 of the greatest importance. My father and the 
 Macrae had some very hard words this morning." 
 
 "Then why do you come here ? If your father 
 spoke ill to the Macrae, he spoke ill to me also; 
 and you and your father are the same in my 
 sight." 
 
 "I hope not I hope not, Fame ! My father is 
 an old man, with old-time, unreasonable passions. 
 I hope you are seeing some difference in us, for 
 I am young, and people say not unhandsome, and 
 I have learned to be more lenient in my judg 
 ments, as, indeed, is the way of the world these 
 days." 
 
 "You are one to me. And, pray, what was 
 Peter McDuff saying to my father?" 
 
 "He is wanting his money, Fame. It is more 
 than sixteen years since he loaned it." 
 
 "He has been well paid over paid for the use 
 of it. I am knowing that much." 
 
 "And I am believing some threats were made 
 about the getting of it. You know, at any time 
 my father can sell this house above your head." 
 
 "Let him dare it. Just let him dare it." 
 
 "You can prevent it, Fame ; you, and you only, 
 can prevent it."
 
 1 66 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Of course I can prevent it. I shall not see my 
 dear father put out of the old home of the Mac 
 raes by any McDuff. You may be sure of that." 
 
 "But how can you prevent it ? We have the law 
 on our side." 
 
 ' 'We'?" I thought you were in it. Do you 
 think I will tell you 'how' ? And as to the law, it 
 may be on our side. I think it is." 
 
 "Now, Fame, be reasonable. You know that I 
 love you." 
 
 "I do not wish you to love me. If you could 
 put your love in my hand I would throw it away." 
 
 "That is absolute nonsense. You have loved 
 me all your life." 
 
 She went on singing and did not answer this 
 statement. 
 
 "And you are going to marry me, Fame. Be 
 cause you know that if you do not marry me 
 your father will have to flit. That is the long and 
 the short of it." 
 
 "And the height and the depth of it is that I 
 would rather jump into the Trodhu chasm than 
 marry you. What for were you telling Mr. Mac 
 kenzie I was engaged to you? You knew it was 
 a lie." 
 
 "I do not tell lies." 
 
 "You would lie to the devil. I have no more to 
 say to you. Do your worst I am not afraid of 
 you."
 
 The Inevitable Question 167 
 
 "Fame, in spite of your temper, you know that 
 I am dear to you, and that you are dear to me. Be 
 sensible, my sweet girl !" 
 
 "I am not your sweet girl, and I will not listen 
 to you. 
 
 " Til buy myself a tartan plaid, 
 And follow the lad wi' the white cockade.' " 
 
 At this interruption of song Shaw became black 
 angry at the scornful girl, and he said passion 
 ately : 
 
 "I suppose the lad wi' the white cockade is Alan 
 Mackenzie ? Well, I have my thumb on him also." 
 
 "Gilderoy is a bonny boy, 
 
 Has roses to his shoon; 
 His stockings are of silken soy, 
 His garters hanging down." 
 
 "Fame Macrae, it will be the worse for you and 
 the old man if you do not stop singing." 
 
 "The name of the old man is Mr. Ian Macrae 
 when you find good manners enough to say it. 
 And I am not caring a bone button for your 
 threats. It is not Beelzebub rules this world, or I 
 might be trying to please you 'Gilderoy is a 
 bonny boy' " 
 
 "Confound you, Fame ! I will " 
 
 "If you swear at me again I will tell the min 
 ister of you. You swear at me, and then ask me
 
 1 68 Souls ot Passage 
 
 to marry you ! I would deserve to be your wife 
 if I could be a wicked girl like that." 
 
 "You are in love with Alan Mackenzie, and you 
 think he is in love with you, and you are very 
 much mistaken ; he is already " 
 
 "I would not have the presumption to be in love 
 with Alan Mackenzie. I am far from judging 
 myself worthy of his love." 
 
 "Worthy! Good God!" 
 
 "Go out of this house, Shaw McDuff. How 
 dare you take the Holy One's name in your mouth 
 as a witness to your bad temper ?" 
 
 "I was wrong, very far wrong, Fame. It is 
 your fault. Your beauty and your scorn drive 
 me crazy." 
 
 "Keep away from me. I am far from seeking 
 your company. I can do well without it." 
 
 "I am asking you once more to be my wife to 
 be Mrs. Shaw McDuff. I will be a good husband 
 to you. Think before you refuse me." 
 
 "Thank you, but I am not seeking a husband 
 of any kind. And I will be obliged if you stop 
 saying to any one that I am engaged to you. I 
 am caring for my good name, sir. And now, 
 if you will not leave me, I will bring in Effie 
 Ross and Luckie Wrath to hear your talking. 
 For I do not think myself safe in your hands 
 without witnesses. That much I am knowing 
 well."
 
 The Inevitable Question 169 
 
 "I have been loving you ever since you were a 
 schoolgirl ; is this the end of our wooing?" 
 
 "This is the very end, and you will take notice 
 that it does not end like a play or a novel Jack 
 does not get Jill." Then she opened a side door 
 and called, "Effie, Luckie, come here ! I am need 
 ing both of you, and that instanter;" and as the 
 two women hurried through the flagged passage, 
 Shaw put on his Glengarry, and clashing the door 
 behind him went fuming away, his passion wax 
 ing and waxing with every step he took. The 
 tumult in his heart was at first a chaotic rage, but 
 it soon found some relief in the constant iteration 
 of two enraging, stormful assertions : 
 
 "This is Alan Mackenzie's doing! By fair or 
 foul, I will marry the girl !"
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHITHER? WHEREFORE? 
 
 UNDER the majestic headlands of Ross, tinged 
 with sapphire loom of sunset, the Lapwing was 
 luffing to keep the failing breeze; but the tide 
 was running with her, and would soon be at 
 flood, and then she could easily bring the little 
 harbor of Morandaroch. Earne was sailing her, 
 Macrae and the Mackenzies silently watching 
 the great calm ocean, dim with heat and vapor, 
 little mountainous islands seeming to rise out 
 of it. When the sun set, up rose the moon, and 
 the Lapwing made her way through quivering 
 moonbeams. 
 
 Now, nature does not initially make us think, 
 it makes us feel; and the visions of the hills and 
 of these lonely places of the sea filled the hearts 
 of the watchers. They were all in that rare 
 mood when the over-belief, which we call super 
 natural, becomes a fundamental truth; and 
 inward voices from the reality of unseen things 
 speaks and is heard. For, beyond all peradven- 
 ture,
 
 Whither? Wherefore? 171 
 
 "there is life that breathes not, powers there are 
 That touch each other to the quick in modes 
 Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive, 
 No soul to dream of." 
 
 The long, sensitive silence was broken by Alan, 
 who exclaimed almost petulantly : 
 
 "What does it all mean? What are we? What 
 are we here for?" 
 
 Then Macrae turned his face to the young 
 man, and there was a look of fire in it as he 
 answered : 
 
 "We are souls of passage. We are here for 
 a purchase." 
 
 "For a purchase?" 
 
 "Yes. There are souls who have finished their 
 course, and who no more suffer His will, because 
 they do His will. They are His messengers, 
 crossing their glorious pinions between the con 
 stellations, or floating on wings of silence 
 through all the sidereal spaces. But there are 
 also souls of passage who are sometimes here 
 and sometimes there; here, for a purchase; 
 there, for rest and restoration a marvellous 
 school of transition, in which for the hope of 
 attaining unto the perfect stature of the Son of 
 God the deathless spirit becomes a little child, 
 and dwells in a house of clay; and though sure 
 of its immortality submits to years and to what 
 we are calling death."
 
 172 Souls of Passage 
 
 "What would the minister say to such a belief, 
 sir?" 
 
 "My faith in reincarnation does not impair my 
 orthodoxy. Man in all his stages of progression 
 must have faith and a creed embodying that 
 faith; and I am doubting if any creed but Calvin 
 ism would have dealt with the wild men of the 
 Highlands. In my past life or lives it has doubt 
 less been a good schoolmaster to my spiritual 
 senses." 
 
 "You think, then, Ian, that you have lived in 
 this world before? Having left it, why should 
 you come back?" asked Mackenzie. 
 
 "Why should I not be coming back as often 
 as I can acquire fresh knowledge and fresh 
 experience? Will any one of us three, Robert, 
 be carrying away so much from this life as to 
 have nothing to repay us for returning to it?" 
 
 "But we are not conscious of our return, nor 
 do we remember our previous existences." 
 
 "Does the butterfly take with it into the air 
 the organs and desires of the worm from which 
 it sprung? Are you yourself, Robert, remember 
 ing what happened to you when in your mother's 
 arms? Are you remembering what you were 
 doing ten years ago, five years ago, one year 
 ago at this time? If you are for making memory 
 the test of existence, then what becomes of those 
 parts of your life when you were sleeping or
 
 Whither? Wherefore? 173 
 
 unconscious, or which you have forgotten? It 
 would be no more for our interest to remember 
 our past than it would be to foresee our future: 
 
 " 'Oh, wise and kind that love that leads us step by step !' 
 
 But I say it on my faith in God's love that sooner 
 or later in this incarnation, or in some future 
 one, the whole of our training will be revealed 
 to us. When we are ready for such knowledge 
 it is not withheld. And they who have ever had 
 it can smile at trouble and death. They know 
 that death has no power over them." 
 
 "If we could come back adult," said Alan, "I 
 could accept such a faith gladly; but to go 
 through childhood again !" 
 
 "That is the wonderful gate," cried Macrae. 
 "Only God could have thought of such a marvel 
 lous introduction to the struggles and trials of 
 manhood and womanhood ! Think of your own 
 childhood, Alan its joys, its flashes of illumina 
 tion, its presages of work and wonders, and its 
 dreams of self-denial and of doing good and 
 great things. If you had come adult, you would 
 have lost all the opportunities of correction 
 and instruction, which as a child you took will 
 ingly from your parents and teachers. I am 
 thinking, Alan, the childhood of each incarnation 
 is as necessary as the manhood maybe more 
 so."
 
 174 Souls of Passage 
 
 "But, Ian/' said Mackenzie, "we are to be 
 made perfect not by living, but through suffer- 
 ing." 
 
 "Just so. We only really live in so far as we 
 do feel and suffer. Jesus Christ, the Captain of 
 our salvation, was made perfect through suffer 
 ing, though without sin, tempted and tried in 
 every manner possible to humanity. But this 
 remits not our necessary discipline in the same 
 school : 
 
 " 'Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born, 
 But not within ourselves, our souls will be forlorn; 
 The Cross of Golgotha we look unto in vain, 
 Unless within ourselves it be set up again.' " 
 
 "I have often had intuitions like these," said 
 Mackenzie, "but have not dared to pursue 
 them." 
 
 "What is intuition? Inborn experience, that 
 which the soul knoweth of old and from former 
 lives. For all our earth experiences are stored 
 up as tendencies and are transmitted through 
 an unbroken individuality. All of us to-day are 
 the result of the infinite past through which 
 we have sinned, suffered, learned, and enjoyed. 
 Rory Beg, the saddler, does not remember every 
 stitch he took when an apprentice; but every 
 stitch helped to make him a saddler. You may
 
 Whither ? Wherefore ? 1 75 
 
 not remember every life you have lived, Robert, 
 but every one has helped to make you just what 
 you are." 
 
 "Then you think we are immortal as regards 
 the past, as well as the future?" 
 
 "You may assure yourself, Robert, that God's 
 love for you does not date from your nativity 
 fifty years ago. He has loved you with an 
 everlasting love. Is it likely He made us a 
 half-eternal being? Have we an existence with 
 but one end? No, no! A line must have two 
 ends, whether it be physical or spiritual. 'The 
 Eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are 
 the everlasting arms.' How did Moses rise to 
 this height? I saw Alan lift one of Charles 
 Kingsley's books the other day. In it he says 
 these words, 'Out of God's bosom, the fount of 
 life, we came, through selfish, stormy youth, 
 through manhood not altogether useless, 
 through calm and slow old age; with many con 
 trite tears we return whence we came, to go 
 forth again with fresh powers and higher knowl 
 edge to nobler work.' ' 
 
 "I thought Kingsley was thoroughly ortho 
 dox." 
 
 "So he is, and so also was Dr. Priestley, 
 yet in his correspondence with Dr. Price (page 
 372) he says reincarnation is 'the original doc-
 
 176 Souls of Passage 
 
 trine of the soul, and what is necessary to 
 make the Christian system complete and consist 
 ent.' " 
 
 "Is not that saying too much, Ian?" 
 
 "No. Without reincarnation the terrible in 
 equalities of birth are inexplicable. Pour into 
 a vessel holding one hundred alkaline bases an 
 acid, and it will with unerring certainty combine 
 with the alkali, and that only, for which it has 
 the greatest affinity. In the same way the 
 wretched babe born of drunken, vicious parents, 
 amid surroundings of want and woe, is justly 
 born so; for it has created in a former life such 
 attractions as render it impossible to be born 
 under any other conditions. If we three had 
 been other than we were in the past, we should 
 be other than we are to-day. We were born 
 when and where we were because our condition 
 was what it was. Thus, character is destiny. 
 Reincarnation is eternal justice. It does not 
 permit us to blame Adam, or Eve, or our par 
 ents, or our fate, or our God." 
 
 "Then we make our own destiny?" asked 
 Alan. 
 
 "Yes; for we are reaping just what we sow. 
 The winds of God are blowing all the time. If 
 our sails are set, we catch them and go onward. 
 If they are furled, we do not catch them. We 
 are tossed hither and thither, delayed, and make
 
 Whither? Wherefore? 177 
 
 no progress. Is that the wind's fault? It is our 
 own fault." 
 
 "I know," answered Alan; "I know well that 
 when I do wrong nothing and no one is to blame 
 but myself. It is I and I only." 
 
 "Then, Alan, when you realize this, stand up 
 like a man and say, 'It is my own doing, there 
 fore, I can undo it. The condition I have made 
 I can unmake. If others had made it or it was 
 my predestined fate, I might despair; but as it 
 is my own work I can demolish it. All the 
 strength I want is in myself and in Him who 
 gives grace to help in every hour of need. I will 
 bury my dead past. I will never forget that 
 every thought and act is laid up by myself for 
 myself. No such effort can be lost, for soul 
 force, like all other forms of force, must have 
 results. It is a cause, and in the eternal law of 
 nature must have its corresponding effect. In 
 deed, the affinity which in reincarnation guides 
 a soul to its most fitting body is but an example 
 of the law of force, taking the direction of the 
 least resistance." 
 ? "When life ceases " 
 
 "Man! Man Robert! life never ceases. Death 
 is like the setting of the sun. The sun never 
 sets, life never ceases; only certain phenomena 
 occur, which are purely illusive and occasioned 
 in both cases by the feebleness of human vision.
 
 178 Souls of Passage 
 
 But I have said more than enough, because too 
 many phases of the subject have been brought 
 forward, and none of them fully discussed. The 
 joy of knowledge is in its acquirement. I have 
 set the door open, go in and buy the truth for 
 yourselves. We are now with the herring boats, 
 shall we stay and see them draw the nets?" 
 
 "No," answered Mackenzie. "We will just 
 walk quietly home. You have filled my heart, 
 Ian; I feel as I never felt before the greatness of 
 my destiny." 
 
 "A little lower than the angels, Robert; and 
 aye growing nearer to them. To become a 
 celestial being, that is the glorious aim and hope 
 of every soul of passage." 
 
 There was no further conversation; the two 
 older men stood silently together watching the 
 herring boats, Mackenzie's hand resting lovingly 
 on Macrae's shoulder; and Alan and Earne were 
 equally satisfied with each other's quiet com 
 panionship. Alan stood by the helm, Earne cast 
 eyes full of devotion on him, and Alan answered 
 such glances with a smile of confidence that was 
 meat and drink to Earne's affection, which was 
 canine-like in its unreasoning attachment. 
 
 They parted at the pier, Earne remaining on 
 the boat, Macrae going to his home, and the 
 Mackenzies taking the nearest road to Dun-
 
 Whith er ? Wherefore ? 179 
 
 brack. They spoke very seldom as they climbed 
 the hill; Macrae had troubled their deepest 
 thoughts, and the solemnity of the walk through 
 the dark, whispering wood intensified the spirit 
 ual wistfulness of their half-believing. 
 
 As they approached the castle there was a 
 sound of music and singing that clashed unpleas 
 antly with their mood; and when they entered 
 the parlor the scene was still more antagonistic, 
 for Shaw had brought up some foolish but 
 exceedingly taking negro melody, and every one 
 seemed possessed by its nonsensical spirit. Mrs. 
 Mackenzie was laughing, Jessie and Flora laugh 
 ing and singing, and Shaw was just emphasizing 
 with a pirouette the last ridiculous line of the 
 chorus. The whole atmosphere of the room 
 was that of unreality and folly. The provost 
 very quickly left it, and Alan soon became 
 angry; for the attitude of Shaw with Flora and 
 Jessie was, in Alan's opinion, far too familiar. 
 He resented his officious amiability at the piano; 
 he noticed that Shaw stooped his head to Flora's 
 head when there was no occasion for such inti 
 macy; and that his hand managed to come in 
 contact with Flora's hand in turning the pages 
 of the song. And he thought Flora was more 
 friendly than she ought to have been. Besides 
 which, she had hardly noticed his entrance; in
 
 180 Souls of Passage 
 
 fact, she had included his father and himself in 
 her welcome, and he felt that he ought to have 
 received some special notice. 
 
 But Flora was a little offended at being left 
 all day without any notice of such intention, and 
 she had had, for the first time, a vague jealousy 
 of Fame. She believed Fame had been in the 
 Lapwing with them, while she had not even 
 been asked to share their sail. And her deep, 
 almost instinctive, doubt of Alan was evidenced 
 by her making inquiry about Fame in the pro 
 vost's presence. She felt, whether she acknowl 
 edged the feeling or not, that Alan could not 
 deceive her if his father was present ; and she was 
 not sure of him otherwise. So as soon as the 
 nonsensical song was over she asked : 
 
 "Did you take Fame with you? She said she 
 would be here to-day, and she has not kept her 
 promise." 
 
 "No," answered Alan; "we did not take any 
 one with us." 
 
 "Did you see her this morning?" 
 
 "For a short time. She was going to give us 
 a lunch, but I did not let her. We lunched on 
 the boat." 
 
 "I wonder she did not come up here." 
 
 "I heard her father tell her not to leave the 
 house. He said something about his papers 
 lying loose."
 
 Whither? Wherefore? 181 
 
 At this point the provost left the room, and 
 Mrs. Mackenzie shortly after called her son into 
 the dining-room. Dinner was ready for them, 
 and Alan was not loth to go. He divined the 
 jealous feeling that had prompted Flora's in 
 quiries, and he was ashamed before his own soul. 
 Yet he was hungry, and he ate heartily and 
 silently, the laughing and talking in the parlor 
 pricking him like pins the while; but when his 
 appetite had been satisfied he said he had a tired 
 headache and needed sleep, and so made his 
 escape from circumstances which, that night, he 
 did not care to oppose or control. 
 
 The provost nodded understandingly to his 
 son. He thought Macrae was at the bottom of 
 his averseness to company as he undoubtedly 
 was in a great measure and he said to his wife, 
 "Alan has a fine spiritual nature, Marian ; Macrae 
 has been talking to-night, I have told you before 
 in what manner, and Alan was much impressed." 
 
 "I am not sure if such talk is good for Alan 
 I don't believe it is," she answered. "Calvin 
 ism is the best of anchors for a lad like Alan. He 
 needs something solid and sure to tie to, and 
 Calvinism won't let him float on this and that 
 tide of feeling and supposition; it fastens him 
 to a rock." 
 
 "Is it well to be fastened?" 
 
 "It is over-late to settle that question to-night,
 
 1 82 Souls of Passage 
 
 Robert; and I am going to send the lassies off 
 to their bed. Go there yourself, and get a good 
 sleep; I'm not caring for you to sit half the night 
 wide-awake and dreaming." 
 
 The next three days were wet and stormy; 
 no one could leave the house, but they were 
 happy days to Alan. In them he more than 
 recovered his ground with Flora, and when they 
 wearied of talking about themselves they re 
 verted with ever-increasing interest to Macrae's 
 faith in reincarnation. Flora had many personal 
 reasons for accepting it; indeed, she declared 
 that her whole life at Dunbrack had been one 
 of recollection; that the house was familiar to 
 her; that she could feel the tragedies to which 
 certain rooms had been witnesses; that she knew 
 the men and women whose pictured faces re 
 mained in it; that she loved some and feared 
 and hated others, and was conscious that they 
 belonged to her, and she to them. Many strange 
 experiences, hitherto hidden in her heart, she 
 revealed to Alan; and when she found that he 
 thoroughly understood and believed her, she 
 loved him for it with the highest love in her 
 nature. 
 
 And never before had Alan been so much in 
 love with the girl he had chosen for his wife. He 
 lost at times all power and all desire to hide his 
 affection for her under that guise of familiar
 
 Whither ? Wherefore ? 183 
 
 friendship which had hitherto been sufficient; 
 and Mrs. Mackenzie said to Jessie she was very 
 sure all their light-hearted daffing and serious 
 talking would end in standing before a minister, 
 and getting a house of their own. 
 
 Jessie would not admit this likelihood. She 
 thought the bad weather would account for it. 
 "What could young people do for amusement, 
 shut in the house together, but make love after 
 some fashion?" she asked, adding, "Alan wasters 
 everything he has, even his heart love. Don't 
 set him thinking of marrying just yet, mother; 
 one wedding in a twelvemonth is enough, even 
 for a provost of Glasgow. But I will say this 
 much, if Fame Macrae does not interfere, I am 
 pretty sure we shall count Flora in our family. 
 I am not opposed to it, neither is James." 
 
 "Your father is anxious for it, and I am think 
 ing Alan could easily seek further and fare 
 worse." 
 
 "Well, mother, everything in its season. This 
 bridal is not bespoken yet let alone other 
 reasons." 
 
 "It is just uncommon likely, though. I have 
 seen things, and I am not dull in the uptake." 
 
 "What about contingencies, mother? You 
 must always take them into account; and Fame 
 is a very strong contingency." 
 
 "You are a far, forecasting woman, Jessie.
 
 184 Souls of Passage 
 
 I don't think Fame is a contingency at all. 
 Fame will marry Shaw." 
 
 "Fame hates Shaw." 
 
 "That is neither here nor there. She is in the 
 power of the charmer or the snare of the 
 fowler, if you think that best and she has not 
 the strength to step outside of it." 
 
 "I think you are wrong; but what for are we 
 talking about possibilities when there are cer 
 tainties enough to keep us busy?" 
 
 "Well, then, let it all go for a passing remark. 
 When is James coming?" 
 
 "Not until the day before our marriage; and 
 he wants to leave as soon as the ceremony is 
 over." 
 
 "Ceremony ! It is little of that you are having 
 the service and a bit of breakfast and not half 
 a dozen to break the bride cake with you. I 
 hope when Alan marries he will be understand 
 ing the meaning of 'ceremony' better." 
 
 Then Alan came whistling into the room. 
 He had his hat in his hand, and said he was 
 going to the boat, and might not be home to 
 dinner." 
 
 "Where is your father?" asked Mrs. Mac 
 kenzie. 
 
 "He is gone with Macrae to see his head 
 shepherd, Ivan Crieff. They will talk all day. 
 Ivan is a strange creature."
 
 Whither? Wherefore? 185 
 
 "However, Alan did not go to the Lapwing. 
 Before he reached her pier some one touched 
 him on the shoulder. It was Shaw McDuff, and 
 Alan felt it was Shaw McDuff, though he pre 
 tended to be astonished. 
 
 "I want to speak to you particularly, Mr. 
 Mackenzie," he said; "will you come into my 
 poor house?" 
 
 " 'Mr. Mackenzie' and 'your poor house.' 
 What do you mean, Shaw? I am going on the 
 water, will you come with me?" 
 
 "No. I have a question or two to ask you." 
 Then they went into Shaw's "poor house," and 
 as soon as they were seated Shaw took from 
 his pocket-book a piece of paper Alan recognized 
 only too well. "When can you pay this?" he 
 asked a little peremptorily. 
 
 "It is not due yet, Shaw. You said it could 
 stand until the end of September." 
 
 "It was due on the twentieth of August. I 
 made a foolish promise, which circumstances 
 compel me to retract. I want the money for 
 investment, and I want it now." 
 
 "I have not got it to give you. But I shall 
 have it before the end of September." 
 
 "That will not suit me. The note is drawn 
 on Robert Mackenzie and Company. It is over 
 due. Robert Mackenzie is here, why not ask 
 him to meet it at once?"
 
 1 86 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Father is here for a holiday. He is trying 
 not to speak or even think of money. I should 
 be very sorry to intrude business on him at 
 present." 
 
 "Two hundred pounds cannot be 'business' to 
 Robert Mackenzie and Company. If you do not 
 like to ask him for it, I have no such scruples." 
 
 "Shaw, you must not ask him. I beg you, as 
 a particular favor, to wait a little longer. If I 
 knew where to find Harry Seaford, he owes me 
 three hundred pounds, and would doubtless 
 pay it." 
 
 "Harry Seaford owes you three hundred 
 pounds? That is strange." 
 
 "I loaned him the money when he went to 
 France last spring. I have not seen him since, 
 nor have I heard from him for eight or ten 
 weeks." 
 
 "I can tell you where to find him. He is at 
 Colonel Forfar's. You might ride over to Forfar 
 Lodge; it is only thirty miles and a good road 
 all the way." 
 
 "I will do so, but promise me that you will 
 not trouble my father while I am away." 
 
 "My proposal implies that. I hope, at least, 
 you consider me a gentleman." 
 
 "Why are you asking me for the money now, 
 Shaw? You said of your own good will it could 
 stand until the end of September that if I paid
 
 Whither ? Wherefore ? 187 
 
 you before leaving Dunbrack it would be all 
 right. Of course, I have not thought of the 
 matter since that promise. I was very much 
 obliged to you for it, and I am certainly much 
 astonished at the withdrawal of the favor." 
 
 "There have been some things in your behav 
 ior that I also have been astonished at; for 
 instance, your interference with Miss Macrae." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean what I say. You have been trying 
 to steal Miss Macrae's affection from me by your 
 blandishments and cajoleries. I have watched 
 you. I told you I was engaged to her, and yet 
 you go on interfering." 
 
 "I was not aware that a woman's love could 
 be stolen. And if I could steal it, I wouldn't 
 have it. You do Miss Macrae, as well as myself, 
 great injustice; and although it is not my way to 
 speak of things so strictly personal, I will, under 
 the circumstances, tell you a fact which may 
 convince you of the foolishness of your accusa 
 tion. I was engaged to another lady before I 
 ever had the pleasure of meeting Miss Macrae." 
 
 "A Glasgow lady?" 
 
 "No; a foreigner." 
 
 "Oh h h! I heard about that from Will 
 Gilbraith an Italian singer he said you were 
 crazy about her." 
 
 ".Will Gilbraith has my permission to talk
 
 1 88 Souls of Passage 
 
 about his own love affairs," said Alan in a 
 passion that was entirely assumed, but which 
 effectively put an end to a very delicate cate 
 chism. "If Seaford is at Forfar Lodge," he 
 continued, "I will go and see him. I will return 
 home at once and prepare for the visit." 
 
 Then Shaw became conciliating. He consid 
 ered that Alan would probably be three days 
 from home, during which time Flora and Fame 
 would be dependent on his society. The oppor 
 tunity was too promising to be thrown away for 
 a few soft words, so he put the note back in his 
 pocket-book, saying, "I do not wish to annoy 
 you unnecessarily, Alan. But I really want the 
 money, and I should judge, from what I saw of 
 Seaford, that he has plenty of cash to pay his 
 debts. At any rate, I will give you a week to 
 see what you can do with him." 
 
 "Thank you! I will do the best I can, and 
 that as soon as possible." 
 
 Then Alan returned to Dunbrack, dressed 
 himself for the long ride, and with some plausible 
 story of an invitation just received from Seaford, 
 started on his disagreeable journey. He was 
 very angry at Shaw's violation of his promise, 
 and understood that he had practically sent him 
 out of his way. But it was one of those wrongs 
 that prudence counsels patience for; and he 
 reflected as he rode drearily over the hills that
 
 Whither? Wherefore? 189 
 
 all the world pursue their own interests at their 
 neighbor's charges, and that nobody is pleased 
 but somebody complains of it. 
 
 "He will be at Dunbrack as soon as he thinks 
 I am half a mile away, and will very likely tell 
 them I asked him to take my place. He is quite 
 capable of the lie." This was not the worst of 
 Alan's reflections; he had the feeling that he was 
 going on a fool's errand Seaford might have 
 been there, and left; or he might never have been 
 there; or if there, he might be unable to pay him. 
 Men did not usually carry three hundred pounds 
 in their pockets; and then he turned heartsick 
 as he asked himself, "If any of these things 
 happen what am I to do?" 
 
 He had not settled that question when he 
 reached Forfar Lodge. He found Seaford there, 
 but he was as poor as he had been when he 
 borrowed the money; and he was quite displeased 
 at being "dunned for a paltry three hundred 
 pounds," which, he reminded Alan, had been 
 "voluntarily loaned him without any set time for 
 repayment." And Alan knew this statement was 
 correct. It was really the price he had paid for 
 his introduction to the fashionable club and set 
 to which Seaford belonged; and he felt acutely 
 the meanness of the position in which he had 
 been compelled to place himself. 
 
 And Seaford's attitude evidently set his stand-
 
 190 Souls of Passage 
 
 ing and welcome at the Forfar's. He was 
 certainly treated with courtesy, but that was a 
 poor thing in comparison with the hearty greet 
 ing that generally awaited his visits. The men 
 were not of his caste; they were of the army or 
 the nobility, and did not think much of the son 
 of a provost of Glasgow. The women looked 
 more favorable on the handsome young man, 
 but that did not increase his popularity with the 
 male element; and throughout all there was an 
 atmosphere which quite prevented him from 
 doing himself justice. He was mortified at his 
 social failure and bitterly annoyed at the offended 
 manner in which Seaford had taken his "dun 
 ning;" and he realized that night the folly of 
 lending money he had lost his three hundred 
 pounds and also the friendship he had thought 
 to buy with them. 
 
 One night in such unsympathetic quarters 
 was quite plenty for Alan, and though the morn 
 ing brought every indication of a severe storm, 
 he would not accept the civility which thought 
 "he had better remain under cover." On the 
 contrary, he was glad to get from under the 
 Forfar roof and among the hills. The rain and 
 the wind suited his angry, chagrined mood. It 
 was not more against him than his friends had 
 been. Shaw had designedly sent him to meet 
 the cool civility of the Forfars and the lordly
 
 Whither? Wherefore? 191 
 
 disdain of Seaford. And he readily imagined 
 the kind of conversation which was really taking 
 place among the men in the smoking-room. 
 
 "I owe the fellow three hundred pounds, and 
 he is cad enough to follow me about the High 
 lands for it the trading instinct; hereditary, 
 I suppose. His father has made a pot of 
 money." 
 
 "I suppose," drawled Lord Cupar, "he 
 thought it would be a good opportunity to get 
 in with us." 
 
 Then the company included in "us" laughed, 
 and Seaford felt that he owed nothing to himself, 
 and was indeed rather admired for being able 
 to get three hundred pounds out of a provost's 
 son. 
 
 Before noon the storm had become furious; 
 trees were crashing around him, his horse could 
 scarcely keep his feet, and he himself found it 
 difficult to keep his saddle. The wind seemed 
 to blow from every quarter, and he was the 
 solitary human figure in miles of hurricane; 
 while every mile that brought him nearer to the 
 seacoast brought him closer to the heart of the 
 tempest. As the day progressed the pouring 
 rain made the streams he had to cross formida 
 ble; the smaller bridges began to give way, and 
 he knew that it was impossible for him to pro 
 ceed much farther. Fortunately, there was a
 
 192 Souls of Passage 
 
 small inn at no great distance, yet it was only 
 by braving constant dangers from falling timber 
 and rising water that he finally reached its 
 shelter. 
 
 He had come half the distance, and he hoped 
 the storm would spend itself during the night, 
 and allow him to resume his journey on the 
 morning of the following day. But it was after 
 noon before he could venture to do so, and even 
 then it was in defiance of the innkeeper's urgent 
 persuasions not to attempt it. He was "sure 
 that the bridges were down, or unsafe the 
 flooded streams running deep and rapidly and 
 the rain still heavy on the seaboard." 
 
 But these things were as nothing compared 
 with the stress and hurry in Alan's mind. There 
 was now before him such an urgent necessity for 
 the two hundred pounds due to Shaw McDuff 
 that he could think of nothing else, and every 
 moment of delay produced in him a kind of sick 
 impatience. Black clouds trailed across the pale 
 sky, and the ceaseless rain swept in impetuous 
 bursts before blasts of lamentable wind. The 
 storm-beat and storm-felled trees were full of 
 menace; and where the hills were open they were 
 blind with streaming rain. But Alan pushed 
 doggedly on, showing, even in such persever 
 ance, a strength of will in resolve that he was not 
 himself conscious of.
 
 " THE CEASELESS KAIX SWEPT IN IMPETUOUS BURSTS."
 
 Whither ? Wherefore ? 193 
 
 When the sun set there was only the faintest 
 twilight, and the sound of turbulent water 
 courses troubled the night on every side. He 
 remembered then that about a mile from Dun- 
 brack there was a mountain brook always dan 
 gerous after a severe rain-storm, and that if the 
 bridge over the brook had been carried away, he 
 would be compelled to retrace his steps for two 
 miles and take the longer route. At the turning 
 place he hesitated; prudence suggested that he 
 had better select the sure road at first; but he 
 was exceeding weary, and the element of "trust 
 ing to luck," which was a pronounced feature in 
 his character, decided him to try the nearest way 
 home. Besides, this was the very brook over 
 whose placid, silvery waters he had received 
 Flora's promise of love, and he would not believe 
 it could now hold any threat for him. 
 
 When he reached the spot it was nearly dark, 
 and he cautiously felt his way down the slight 
 incline which led to the bridge. It was still 
 there; his horse's fore feet were upon it; he 
 struck the topmost railing with his whip. Then 
 a wild, piercing call arrested him : 
 
 "Master Alan, go back! Go back! The bridge 
 is down in the middle!" 
 
 "Is that you, Earne?" he asked; for he knew 
 Earne's voice, and in the clearer light of the 
 space at the bridge entrance he saw Earne dis-
 
 194 Souls of Passage 
 
 tinctly enough. "Can I not cross, Earne?" he 
 cried. 
 
 "Go back, sir, or you will be drowned!" 
 
 "Thank you for the warning, Earne; I will 
 remember this kindness." To these words there 
 was no reply, but he saw Earne take the road 
 toward the parting of the paths, and he retraced 
 his steps, expecting to join him where the two 
 ways met. But he did not, and after waiting a 
 few minutes he hastened home as quickly as 
 possible. 
 
 His arrival at Dunbrack made a sensation. 
 No one had imagined it possible for a horseman 
 to take the journey in such weather; and at the 
 very moment he entered the dining-room they 
 were wondering how he was spending the time 
 at Forfar Lodge. The family were at dinner, 
 and Alan quickly took his place among them. 
 He was much exhausted and very hungry, and 
 exceedingly glad to be at home and with his 
 kindred again. 
 
 "Indeed," he said with a glow of honest grati 
 tude, "I never should have been here any more 
 in this body but for the love of Earne Macrae. 
 I was just going to cross the bridge at the Deer 
 Pass when he called to me that it was down in 
 the middle, and that if I attempted to cross " 
 
 At this point Alan noticed that every one was 
 looking at him with faces full of amazement and
 
 Whither? Wherefore? 195 
 
 terror; that his mother uttered some excited 
 exclamation, while his father asked in a voice of 
 wondering awe: 
 
 "Who warned you of the broken bridge?" 
 
 "Earne." 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 "It was Earne. I am sure of that." 
 
 "Did you see him?" 
 
 "Yes. I could not mistake his figure and the 
 way in which he lifted his cap as he called above 
 the blast, 'Master Alan, go back! Go back! The 
 bridge is down in the middle!' Besides, I should 
 know Earne's voice under all circumstances. I 
 am as sure it was Earne as I am of my own 
 identity. It was just like Earne, also, to watch 
 for me and warn me. Why do you doubt it?" 
 
 "Earne is dead! He was drowned yesterday. 
 The Lapwing went to the bottom, and Earne 
 with her." 
 
 For a moment Alan looked at his father, 
 wondering, scarce believing, then his hands fell, 
 he grew white as death, and before any one 
 could reach him fell forward, senseless. And 
 when after long efforts he was restored to con 
 sciousness, he came back with such passionate 
 grief as smote every one that heard him with 
 a sense of more than mortal sorrow. 
 
 "Oh, Earne ! Earne !" he cried, "you said you 
 would repay me. Living or dead, you said you
 
 196 Souls of Passage 
 
 would repay me! Oh, my brother! my brother 
 Earne!" 
 
 They comforted and nourished and wept with 
 him, and talked long over the circumstance; and 
 finally Alan was strangely lifted up by the 
 knowledge of such faithful love beyond the 
 depths of the ocean, beyond the shore and shoal 
 of this life; and when he was alone in the night 
 he called Earne by name, and was answered. 
 For if we truly call, we shall be heard; and if we 
 listen, we shall hear.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LIKE AS A FATHER PITIETH HIS CHILDREN. 
 
 WHEN Alan awoke the next morning his sor 
 row and anxiety quickly found him out. Earne's 
 death, the loss of his boat, the two hundred 
 pounds he must get without delay, and at any cost 
 and the urgency of the last dilemma made it the 
 foremost of his deliberations. His thoughts of 
 help naturally went first to his mother ; but though 
 he knew her heart would never fail him, he also 
 knew that she never had any money either to lend 
 or to give. It was one of her small, prideful 
 peculiarities to boast that "she couldn't distract 
 herself with the purse; she looked well after the 
 meat, and the provost, honest man! looked well 
 after the money; never asking the price of any 
 thing, but writing a bit paper that settled all 
 things." 
 
 Alan had heard his mother utter such senti 
 ments a thousand times, and had found out by 
 experience that she always had the will, but never 
 the cash to help his necessities. And he knew also 
 that she would not be satisfied with a simple state-
 
 198 Souls of Passage 
 
 ment of his strait; she would inquire, and argue, 
 and suppose, and advise, and talk over the matter, 
 until, somehow or other, it would permeate the 
 whole house. 
 
 Well, then, there was Jessie. Jessie always had 
 money. She had received from her father at least 
 two extraordinary supplies, and he had no doubt 
 that she could easily let him have the amount if 
 she would. So, soon after breakfast, he sought 
 his sister. She was in one of the upper chambers 
 used as a guest room, and there were fourteen 
 large trunks around her. In these she was pack 
 ing her fine napery, her bridal presents, and her 
 new clothing, making a careful inventory of the 
 contents of each trunk as her orderly hands filled 
 them. As Alan entered she looked up from her 
 list of damask table napkins and asked fretfully : 
 
 "What do you want, Alan?" laying that special 
 stress on the word 'do' which fully indicated her 
 annoyance at being disturbed in work so congenial 
 and important. 
 
 "Give me a few minutes, Jessie. I want to ask 
 you a favor." 
 
 "Now, Alan, if you want any more invitations 
 to my marriage, I tell you that I cannot give them. 
 James says, very truly, that it is no one's affair 
 but our own." 
 
 "It is not that, Jessie. I want you to lend me 
 two hundred pounds."
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 1 99 
 
 "Two hundred pounds! You must be crazy, 
 Alan!" 
 
 "I know you have the money, Jessie. Lend it 
 to me; I am in a great strait." 
 
 "But why should I lend it because you are in a 
 great strait ? A hundred, a thousand people might 
 say that." 
 
 "You have only one brother." 
 
 "And I think he is a very selfish, unreasonable 
 brother to come to me now, at this important time. 
 A girl on the very verge of matrimony needs all 
 the money she can get. Would you like your sis 
 ter to go empty-handed into her husband's 
 house?" 
 
 "Empty-handed!" and Alan waved his hand 
 over the rows of trunks and piles of damask and 
 said, "You know I shall have my quarter's allow 
 ance on the first of October, and then I shall re 
 pay you." 
 
 "You will do nothing of the kind. It would 
 take the most of it ; and I am very sure you have 
 already made other promises for the same time. 
 Why can you not put off till the first of October 
 whoever is now pressing you?" 
 
 "I can't, and that is all about it." 
 
 "Who is this pressing creditor?" 
 
 "Shaw McDuff the insolent " 
 
 "No bad names, Alan ! You have been warned 
 not to trust him often. He is asked to my wed-
 
 2OO Souls of Passage 
 
 ding, and I do hope you will have no quarrel with 
 him." 
 
 "He is a" 
 
 "He is a very proper young man. James 
 thought highly of him." 
 
 "Jessie, dear Jessie, lend me the money ; it will 
 save father, as well as myself, a lot of trouble." 
 
 "I think this is shameful, Alan, bringing your 
 anxieties and wants to me at this time, and trying 
 to frighten me, too, about father;" and then she 
 began to whimper a little, and Alan banged the 
 door, and left her to continue counting her nap 
 kins and tablecloths in peace. 
 
 He felt almost distracted. There seemed now 
 to be no other way but to throw himself on Shaw's 
 mercy; and he went down to the village to seek 
 him. As he approached it, he saw a crowd of 
 men, among whom Shaw appeared to have the 
 authority, going toward the harbor. The pier 
 had been damaged by the storm, and Shaw was 
 dictating what repairs ought to be made, and 
 otherwise exhibiting himself as a man to give 
 orders and have them obeyed. He saw Alan some 
 time before he condescended to notice him, for 
 he knew by his face and carriage that he was com 
 ing not to pay money, but to ask a favor ; and it 
 was with an air of preoccupation and annoyance 
 that he at last granted Alan's request for a few 
 minutes' conversation.
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 201 
 
 "We have had quite a misfortune," he said, 
 with an expression of worry; "the pier is much 
 damaged. It will take two or three hundred 
 pounds to repair it; and the village looks to the 
 McDuffs for everything. Did you find Seaford 
 at Forfar Lodge ?" 
 
 "Yes, but he could not pay me. Indeed, he was 
 offended at my request for payment at a time 
 when, he said, I knew gentlemen had no leisure 
 to think of anything but sport." 
 
 "If he owes you money he ought to have found 
 leisure to pay it. He is a gentleman, and I think 
 would have done so." 
 
 "Do you mean to say I am telling you a man 
 owes me money when he does not owe it ? Here 
 is Seaford's last letter; read it." 
 
 "No ; I will take your word, of course. But I 
 say Seaford's behavior is dishonorable. Gentle 
 men pay their debts. I never owe a penny beyond 
 its due time." 
 
 "Well, Shaw, you are a phenomenal character 
 in that way. I asked my sister this morning to 
 loan me the money, and she would not." 
 
 "I have no doubt she was quite justified in her 
 refusal. She is marrying a poor man also ; but if 
 your sister cannot trust you, why should you ex 
 pect me to do so ?" 
 
 "Well, Shaw, there are good reasons for ex 
 pecting it. I have heard at Forfar's that you
 
 2O2 Souls of Passage 
 
 bought the Lapwing from Lord Reay for four 
 hundred pounds, and I have already paid you six 
 hundred. I think you might wait until the first 
 of October for the other two hundred. You know, 
 also, that the boat has gone to the bottom, the " 
 
 "That by visitation of God; and no wonder, 
 with such a rascal as Earne Macrae on board her. 
 It was worth losing the boat to lose the man." 
 
 "Shaw, I wish both you and myself were wor 
 thy to be named with Earne Macrae. He was the 
 finest gentleman I ever knew, and as he may now 
 be in the very presence of God, I would fear to 
 slander him if I were you." 
 
 "Your remarks are insulting ; and if it was not 
 for the respect I have for other members of your 
 family I would " 
 
 "No threats, Shaw McDuff ! Two can play at 
 that game; and if I make a threat I am apt to 
 make it good." 
 
 "Make your promise to pay me good ; that is as 
 much as I expect from you. If you cannot do so, 
 I will come up to Dunbrack to-morrow and ask 
 Provost Mackenzie for the money. As to what I 
 paid for the Lapwing that is none of your busi 
 ness. But I will tell you how you may extend 
 your credit with me until October." 
 
 "Well, then, how?" 
 
 "If you will promise me during the interval not
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 203 
 
 to speak to Miss Macrae, or to take the least 
 notice of her in any respect, I will promise you not 
 to ask for my money until the seventh of Octo 
 ber." 
 
 "What have I ever done or said that could lead 
 you to think me the unspeakable scoundrel your 
 proposal intimates? I promise you that I will 
 speak to Miss Macrae whenever and wherever I 
 have an opportunity to do so. I am going to see 
 her now." 
 
 "Then I shall see your father early to-morrow 
 perhaps to-night if I find time to leave my 
 duties in the village. It is my opinion the provost 
 will be very much astonished, if not very angry, at 
 the note I hold against Robert Mackenzie and 
 Company. Yes, sir! It is my opinion that this 
 note is one of false pretences. I am doubting ab 
 solutely your interest in the company " 
 
 Then Alan, laughing scornfully in his enemy's 
 face, turned on his heel, and went without any 
 hesitation straight to Macrae's house. He went 
 there to anger Shaw. He knew that Macrae and 
 his father had gone to a point some miles up the 
 coast, where it was thought the tide would cast up 
 Earne's body. And he was not particularly wish 
 ful to see Fame at that time ; at least, not until she 
 came with love-lit eyes and sorrowful face to meet 
 him, and grieve with him, over the loss of Earne
 
 204 Souls of Passage 
 
 and the boat. Then the temptation to linger be 
 side her was very great ; yet, much to Fame's as 
 tonishment, he did not remain with her many 
 minutes ; he said he had some very important busi 
 ness to attend to, and the girl felt his anxiety and 
 worry, and knew that he had told her the truth. 
 
 When he reached Dunbrack he had come to the 
 conclusion to leave a letter for his father, and go 
 himself to Glasgow, and so let the storm break in 
 his absence ; for he knew, being absent, his mother, 
 perhaps even Jessie and Flora, would make all 
 possible excuses for him. Jessie, indeed, would 
 not like a family disruption at the time of her mar 
 riage ; and therefore he could safely count on her 
 influence. 
 
 But he was a thoroughly wretched man, and his 
 miserable face and restless, desponding attitude 
 were quickly noticed by Flora. She laid down her 
 book and went to meet him. Her loveliness, her 
 sympathy, her sweet confidence, brought tears to 
 his eyes, and he tried to force the smile with which 
 he always met her. But he could not, and Flora 
 saw it. 
 
 "My dear Alan," she said, "how unhappy you 
 are! I saw at breakfast that you could hardly 
 swallow. Alan, dear, what is it? Not your 
 boat?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor Earne?"
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 205 
 
 "No. It is well with Earne." 
 
 "Is it money?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And Shaw McDuff?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I thought so. Now, love, having told me this 
 much, I expect you, I beg you, to tell me all 
 everything. Perhaps I can help you." 
 
 "You will blame me too much; and, oh, Flora, 
 how can I bear that?" 
 
 "I will not blame you." 
 
 "You will cast me off!" 
 
 "I will draw you closer to me. I love you, 
 Alan, not because I ever thought you without 
 faults ; I love you faults and all. I have plenty of 
 faults also bad temper and what not. Let me 
 share your anxiety, whatever it is. You say it is 
 money and Shaw McDuff; any evil thing could 
 come from money and Shaw McDuff." 
 
 "Well, Flora, you know that I bought the Lap 
 wing for eight hundred pounds; and I showed 
 you the generous, affectionate letter which father 
 wrote me at the time. He thought that I paid 
 Shaw the whole sum. I did not." 
 
 "Why not, dear?" 
 
 "I owed in Glasgow a bill of two hundred 
 pounds, and it was likely to give me trouble the 
 man needed the money. So I paid Shaw six hun 
 dred pounds, and promised the balance on the fif-
 
 206 Souls of Passage 
 
 teenth of August. I expected before that time to 
 receive a large sum I loaned Harry Seaford last 
 April. But Seaford did not pay me, and Shaw 
 said I was not to worry about it; that if I paid 
 him before we left Dunbrack it was all he desired. 
 So I took no care on the matter until he suddenly, 
 two days ago, demanded his money with a threat 
 to ask father for it." 
 
 "And is that threat so very terrible?" 
 
 "It is far more terrible than you think. In the 
 first place, I promised father never to loan money 
 again, either in the way of friendship or business. 
 I made him a positive promise on this subject, and 
 then in a moment of foolish pride just to show 
 Seaford I could loan three hundred pounds I 
 parted with my whole quarter's allowance, ruined 
 my credit, got myself lots of annoyance and 
 worry, and gained nothing but an invitation to 
 lunch with Seaford at his club." 
 
 "Then, it was to try and get this money you 
 went to Forfar ?" 
 
 "Yes; and Seaford treated me insolently; 
 somehow, he made me feel as if I was a consum 
 mate cad in asking for it. I never had a more 
 painful social experience. But I deserved it for 
 breaking my promise to father. All he said to me 
 about the folly and misery of lending money has 
 come true."
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 207 
 
 "Well, Alan, the case is, of course, bad enough ; 
 but I am sure it is not beyond your father's help 
 and forgiveness. Go to him at once and do not 
 make yourself ill over what can be remedied." 
 
 "If I could get the money from any one else I 
 would far rather do so. I cannot bear to shadow 
 father's last days of rest. He has been so 
 happy here, I cannot tell him of my unfaithful 
 ness. I asked Jessie to let me have two hundred 
 pounds until the first of October, but she would 
 not." 
 
 "How could she refuse you! I know she has 
 the money. If I had it, I should be the happiest 
 girl in the world to let you use it for so kind and 
 thoughtful a purpose; but I have only seventy- 
 five pounds a quarter, and I spent nearly every 
 pound of my last allowance in buying wedding 
 presents for Jessie. But I do not think uncle will 
 be very hard on you." 
 
 "Oh, Flora, I have the worst part to tell you. I 
 gave Shaw a note on Robert Mackenzie and Com 
 pany, and that is a thing I ought not to have done 
 a thing which I solemnly promised father I 
 never, never would do again." 
 
 "You had done it before?" 
 
 "Once." 
 
 "And it is a wrong thing to do ?" 
 
 "Yes, a a a dishonorable thing."
 
 208 Souls of Passage 
 
 "I see. You have no money in Robert Mac 
 kenzie and Company's business?" 
 
 "Not a penny." 
 
 "You drew a bill, then, on your father's love, 
 and not on your own resources?" 
 
 "That is what I did." 
 
 "Why did you do it?" 
 
 "Foolish pride again, Flora. I wanted Shaw to 
 think I did have an interest in my father's business 
 that I was the 'company' of the concern. He 
 thought so at the time, but this morning he 
 taunted me with the circumstance, and really ac 
 cused me of giving a note under false pretences." 
 
 "What did you answer?" 
 
 "Not a word. I left him." 
 
 "I am glad of that. Alan, let me go and tell 
 your father. It will be hard for you to make such 
 a confession, and I can say more for you than you 
 dare to say for yourself. I have no fear of Uncle 
 Robert. I cannot lend you the money, but I am 
 sure I can put this wretched affair all right. May 
 I try?" 
 
 "I am so miserable ! I am so utterly miserable ! 
 so ashamed of myself! Oh, Flora, if you could 
 only feel for one moment the agony this confes 
 sion causes me the agony I have felt for two 
 long dreadful days and nights !" 
 
 "My dear Alan, if you are between two evils, it 
 is wise and right to choose the least. Is it not bet-
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 209 
 
 ter to trust your father's love than ask Shaw Mc- 
 Duff for his scornful pity or forbearance ? He will 
 constantly make you feel your position. Go to 
 your father and you may laugh at your enemy. 
 Or, may I go for you? Let me go." 
 
 After much persuasion Alan agreed to trust the 
 wretched business to Flora's intercession, and they 
 sat and talked over the circumstance in every pos 
 sible light until summoned to lunch. Mackenzie 
 had not returned, and Alan's and Flora's anxiety 
 lest Shaw should interview him before matters 
 could be explained was so great that neither of 
 them could eat. In fact, Alan looked so ill that 
 Mrs. Mackenzie was alarmed and sure that he was 
 on the verge of a serious sickness. Jessie under 
 stood the reason of his pallor and loss of appetite, 
 but she kept her own counsel. She was sorry for 
 her brother, but she knew that he generally found 
 a way out of his financial troubles, and she was 
 certain it was only one of Alan's chronic embar 
 rassments. It was too near her wedding to sanc 
 tion or induce family differences, and she made 
 Alan understand that he had nothing to fear from 
 her speaking of his money perplexities. 
 
 He was not grateful for this assurance, and 
 with some offence Jessie told him so; but the 
 young man was indifferent ; his anxiety swallowed 
 up all other feelings. The one cry in his heart 
 was, "Oh, God, that it were possible to undo
 
 2io Souls of Passage 
 
 things done!" And it did not at this hour com 
 fort him to remember the great saying that Flora 
 had urged upon him as full compensation for his 
 failure to hide his fault, "Woe unto those whose 
 sins are successful!" He thought really it would 
 have been better if, this time, at any rate, his sin 
 had been successfully carried through. 
 
 And as trouble is great or little by comparison, 
 he felt that if he could only know surely that his 
 father had returned home unaware of his wrong 
 doing if Flora or himself might be the one to 
 confess it the shame and sorrow would be more 
 bearable. The very idea of Shaw presenting the 
 note to his father made him heart-sick. How 
 could he bear it ? All the energy of his hopes and 
 despair and passionate longing was set to this one 
 desire that no stranger might become his ac 
 cuser, and of all strangers not Shaw! Oh, not 
 Shaw! He thought he could endure any other 
 form this evil might take. 
 
 After three hours of such misery as turns the 
 hair gray, Flora came to tell him that the provost 
 had returned home. He could not form the ques 
 tion which his eyes asked her, and she made haste 
 to add : "I am sure he has not seen Shaw. He is 
 troubled about Earne; they have not found his 
 body. As soon as he has eaten let me speak to 
 him, Alan. He will go into the garden with his 
 cigar, and I will follow him."
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 211 
 
 He nodded sadly and cast down his eyes, and 
 she understood that it was best to leave him alone. 
 The misery he was suffering was salutary ; she did 
 not wish to make it less, but if it could be short 
 ened, how glad she would be ! And at this hour 
 she never once asked herself what effect the dis 
 covery of her lover's moral weakness would have 
 on her affection for him. She loved Alan, she saw 
 him suffering, and the only idea that possessed her 
 was to obtain some relief for his suffering as 
 quickly as possible. 
 
 Every moment that the provost sat leisurely eat 
 ing and talking of poor Earne and Macrae seemed 
 interminable to her. Never before had he so loi 
 tered and lingered over a dinner plate ; and if Shaw 
 should come while he was sitting there ! The con 
 tingency made her quiver. She could have cried 
 out aloud against it. The lighting of the provost's 
 cigar and his aimless saunter about the dining- 
 room, talking of the storm and its ravages, was 
 the acme of the unconscious man's unreasonable 
 ness to poor Flora's excited feelings. Never be 
 fore had he been so slow and loitering. She could 
 finally endure the delay no longer, for she heard 
 some movement of horse's feet in the courtyard. 
 It might be Shaw ! 
 
 "Dear Uncle Robert," she said, "do come into 
 the garden to smoke. I want to talk to you. I 
 have something very particular to say."
 
 212 Souls of Passage 
 
 "I am a little tired to-day, Flora," he answered, 
 "but I cannot refuse my little lassie's request, par 
 ticularly as she hardly ever asks me to do anything 
 to pleasure her. I will come, dear ; certainly I will 
 come." He was putting on his cap as he said 
 these words, and the next moment they were 
 walking down the broad-flagged avenue that led 
 among the boxwood to the hazel lane. She took 
 him in this direction purposely; she wished Alan 
 to see that, so far at least, Shaw had not inter 
 fered with his right to confession. 
 
 "What is it, my dear, you wish to say to me?" 
 asked the provost. "There is to be a wedding ; is 
 it money ?" 
 
 "Oh, no, uncle. It is something much more 
 precious than money; it is love I want; love so 
 noble, so heavenly, that it must come from God's 
 heart straight into your heart; and I think it is 
 already there already waiting for the one who 
 wants it." 
 
 The provost partly understood at once. A feel 
 ing of mingled anger and sadness assailed him 
 even before he could conjecture a cause for it. He 
 looked down into the lovely, anxious face at his 
 side, and asked almost in a whisper : 
 
 "Is it Alan?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. He is breaking his heart for having 
 disobeyed you. I cannot bear to see his misery 
 for I love him. I love him dearly."
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 2 1 3 
 
 "He is not worthy of such love, I fear." 
 
 "Which of us is worthy of love?" 
 
 "Tell me all, Flora. Hide nothing. Let me 
 know the worst." 
 
 And Flora obeyed the request. She told the 
 story with bitter tears, with sweet little pleas and 
 apologies, with a final reminder that Alan was 
 here for a purchase, and that she longed to help 
 him "buy the truth" he had been sent to buy. "He 
 is paying tears and heart-sorrow at this moment," 
 she added; "but that is not enough; we must 
 throw love into the balance." 
 
 As she spoke the provost leaned against a large 
 birch -tree and threw his cigar away. Every force 
 in his nature was needed for the struggle within 
 him. And sweet, and clear, and not to be mis 
 understood three lines he had read he knew not 
 where went singing, singing, singing through 
 his soul : 
 
 "Through sins of sense, perversities of will, 
 Through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame and ill, 
 Thy pitying Eye is on thy creature still." 
 
 And as Flora stood silently watching, and he 
 stood silently listening, there came to him that one 
 wondrous glance of God, that touch of His pitying 
 love, that so enlarges the human heart that it can 
 deny all, and part with all, so that it may do the 
 will of the Father in heaven. And he said softly
 
 214 Souls of Passage 
 
 to Flora, "Where is Alan, my dear?" and she 
 answered, "He is in the large parlor;" and he 
 said then, "Come, let us go to him." 
 
 They went back to the house without a word 
 more, and Flora gently opened the door of the 
 room in which Alan was waiting the result of her 
 intercession. And the young man was in a deep 
 sleep. Exhausted by mental suffering, he had 
 thrown himself on the sofa, and his angel had 
 understood that "it was enough," and had given 
 unto him the most refreshing cup that mortality 
 can drink of. They watched him a few moments 
 and then Flora went away ; she wished every one 
 to know that Alan was asleep and must not be 
 awakened; and thus she provided the privacy 
 necessary for the meeting between father and son. 
 
 The handsome face of Alan was calm as that of 
 a sleeping babe, and only his pallor and deep un 
 consciousness told of the terrible strain through 
 which he had passed. And his father sat motion 
 less watching him, his heart full of that love which 
 God calls "the fulfilling of the law." Then 
 thoughts beyond his own thoughts were given 
 him, and he comprehended the divine justice 
 that large, benignant justice which, seeing all and 
 understanding all, excuses, acquits, and pardons 
 without anger and without reproach. 
 
 In about half an hour Alan awoke ; wide awake, 
 as one who suddenly recalls something important.
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 2 1 5 
 
 And his father stood up and looked at him. Then 
 a single word bridged the space between them : 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 The next moment the provost had seated him 
 self by his erring son ; and words not to be inter 
 preted, tears that angels witnessed, explained all 
 and forgave all. It was the experience of a mo 
 ment, as all such experiences if they be vital and 
 soulful must be. For between the sinner and the 
 one sinned against there is a great gulf which 
 must be passed at a bound, if it is to be passed at 
 all. No explanations come before such God-like 
 pardon ; love forgives all before it knows all ; it re 
 stores to favor before it asks for submission. 
 
 Alan's head was on his father's shoulder, his 
 hand in his father's hand, as he told frankly and 
 without reserve the faults which disobedience and 
 vanity had led him into. And the provost under 
 stood how easily the entanglement had come; he 
 divined the man Seaford, and how he had played 
 upon his son's youthful egotisms and social aspira 
 tions. He read as in a book the selfish cunning of 
 Shaw McDuff in flattering Alan into a disgrace 
 ful contract, and then wounding and insulting him 
 in every way that his envy and jealousy could 
 dictate. He let Alan empty his heart of all its sor 
 row and shame, and then said : 
 
 "You must keep a sturdy porter before the door 
 of your life, Alan, in the future one that will not
 
 2i 6 Souls of Passage 
 
 open to every comer. I thought you would learn 
 up here how much grander and sweeter is nature's 
 companionship than the restless, feverish contact 
 of cities and mankind. I see that I have been 
 wrong. I know now that you are here to fight the 
 battle of life and not to shirk it. But even your 
 humiliating experience has its lesson ; learn from 
 it that in certain cases money demoralizes even 
 the giver or the lender. Both you and Seaford are 
 the worse for that unfortunate loan, and instead 
 of breeding kindness it has bred contempt and dis 
 like. Now I want you to face the world, to share 
 in the work of the world, to learn your weak 
 points, and grow strong in conquering them." 
 
 "I desire with all my heart to do right, father, 
 but the moment I am in temptation I fall." 
 
 "That is a common experience, Alan. The flesh 
 striveth against the spirit; but remember, also, 
 that the spirit striveth against the flesh; and the 
 spirit, being in contact with God, is far the migh 
 tier. You have, then, the spirit to help all your in 
 firmities if you ask for its help. I am going to 
 send you to London to take charge of the business 
 there. You will consult with James Crawford 
 about the office, and Hill and Hislop will give you 
 all the necessary legal counsel. I shall put honor 
 and credit in your power, and expect you to realize 
 them. I believe you will." 
 
 "I will try to do so, father I will indeed !"
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 217 
 
 "I trust you ; the more so that I see one of the 
 sweetest and loveliest of women trusts you also. I 
 think it is a good sign for your future that Flora 
 is willing to share it with you. And I am not 
 insensible to the restraint you have both shown in 
 keeping your engagement secret until a fitting 
 time came for its disclosure. But now, Alan, you 
 must earn the right to Flora's esteem before you 
 ask for her public avowal of it. Tell her what I 
 propose, and promise her to come in one year with 
 an honorable, untarnished record and ask for her 
 hand." 
 
 "My good father ! I will do all you advise." 
 "Now, my dear son, 'die that you may be born.' 
 This is the great secret, Alan, of the soul's pas 
 sage through earth life. Or, as the Divine One 
 said, 'Let the dead past bury its dead.' As far as 
 I am concerned, this past of yours is buried. 
 Smile and be happy. When Shaw McDuff comes 
 to make trouble he will find his occupation gone. 
 All you have to do is to 
 
 " 'Stand up in virtue of holy pain, 
 And guard you well from guilt again.' " 
 
 Then they went out of the parlor together, and 
 Flora, watching anxiously for the result of the 
 meeting, saw them pass through the hall, their 
 faces calm and happy, and the father's arm thrown 
 affectionately across his son's shoulder. How de-
 
 2i 8 Souls of Passage 
 
 lighted she was ! She had been walking anxiously 
 about the upper corridor, and at every movement 
 looking over the balusters to see if there was a 
 sign of reconciliation. And when her hope was 
 realized, and the two men so lovingly linked 
 passed under her vision, she fled to her room smil 
 ing, and sat down to let the clouds of care and fear 
 blow off her soul. 
 
 "It is all right, dear," she said to her favorite 
 picture. "It is all love, dear ; and I think I know 
 how the angels feel when they have made happi 
 ness. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall 
 be called the children of God. Is not that a won 
 derful thing, Lady Sara ? Were you ever a peace 
 maker? My poor dear, you lived in times of 
 hatred and war, how could you know the joy that 
 I now feel?" 
 
 In a little while she began to dress herself beau 
 tifully for the evening meal. She wished Alan to 
 see that she thought him well worth her waving 
 hair and prettiest blue silk robe, with its soft lace 
 and pale ribbons. And she brought from her room 
 a joyous temper so catching that even Jessie, wor 
 ried and wearied with her day's work and her in 
 abilities, felt its influence and said cheerfully : 
 
 "How lovely you are to-night, Flora! You 
 look so joyous; what good thing has come to 
 you?" 
 
 "I am joyous," she answered ; but neither of the
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 219 
 
 two women understood yet that the springs of 
 outward joy lie deep within; that only strong 
 hearts are joyous hearts, nimble, sure of them 
 selves through all trials; gay, smiling with im 
 mortality. 
 
 Alan also had dressed himself with unusual 
 care. He had never under any circumstances 
 looked handsomer. And when Flora entered the 
 room he was there to meet her ; to say with love's 
 sweet glances and kisses what words could not 
 stumble over. He told her he thought himself the 
 most fortunate of mortal men, and Flora said he 
 made her the happiest of mortal women. Then 
 Jessie and Mr. Mackenzie entered, and Jessie, 
 feeling the bright atmosphere, explained it to her 
 self by the remark, "How lovely you are to-night, 
 Flora !" And then Mrs. Mackenzie looked with a 
 careful, kindly criticism at the girl and asked : 
 
 "What is the matter with you, lassie ? You are 
 the very portrait of happiness. You are as gay as 
 a lark and as fresh as a new-blown daisy." 
 
 And ere the words were finished in rushed 
 Fame, the odor of the forest and the breath of the 
 sea all about her. She had on a bright scarlet 
 gown, making her bewildering beauty, her arch, 
 dreamy, incalculable nature remarkably obvious. 
 She filled the room with her magnetic charm, so 
 that even her father, who accompanied her, seemed 
 to become a part of her personality. Whence had
 
 22O Souls of Passage 
 
 come this girl's spirit ? On its way it had possessed 
 itself of singular traits. 
 
 Mackenzie was much delighted to see his friend. 
 He put him at his right hand, and the dinner be 
 came a festival. But all through it the watchful 
 father was very mindful of his son. He continu 
 ally appealed to him; he delighted in honoring 
 and praising him; he half offended Jessie by his 
 demonstrative affection. But she said to herself, 
 "It is just the Great Parable over again. Alan has 
 gone to his father as I advised him to do and 
 father is killing the fatted calf about the matter. 
 I wish James was here. I think he would say I 
 had done right." 
 
 Dinner was nearly finished in fact, Alan and 
 Flora and Fame were cracking walnuts, and many 
 a little quip and joke with them when Shaw Mc- 
 Duff entered. He had plenty of time to notice 
 Alan sitting between the two girls, the three heads 
 almost touching in merry rivalry to obtain some 
 singularly large and peculiarly formed nut. Mrs. 
 Mackenzie and Jessie were making coffee, and the 
 provost and his friend discussing the best kind of 
 boat for Hebridean waters. Every one appeared 
 to be so perfectly happy, and yet without his com 
 pany, that Shaw was annoyed and offended by 
 this lack of interest, after so many weeks' experi 
 ence of his social value. He bowed and said he 
 had supposed dinner would have been over; and
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 221 
 
 Mrs. Mackenzie and Jessie made much of him, 
 while Alan and the girls went on with their mimic 
 struggle, and Macrae looked steadily out of the 
 window as if lost in thought. Then the provost 
 rose, saying : 
 
 "What can I do for you, Mr. McDuff ? I have 
 your message about business." 
 
 "Perhaps, sir, if we went into a private room it 
 might be better." 
 
 "Not at all. You cannot possibly have any 
 business with me that my family may not hear 
 and share." 
 
 "That is not certain. I think that your son 
 would prefer that our business was private." 
 
 "Nothing of the kind," replied Alan, looking 
 up, but still keeping Fame's right hand, which held 
 the disputed nut. "Whatever you have to say to 
 my father, Shaw, you can say right here and right 
 now." 
 
 "Oh, indeed ! You have changed your opinion 
 since morning ; then you did not wish your father 
 to know the business I come here about." 
 
 Alan did not answer; he resumed his contest 
 for the nut, and Fame passed it to Flora, and there 
 was so much quiet mirth that Shaw could endure 
 his position no longer, and he said bluntly, taking 
 the note from his pocket : 
 
 "Your son is owing me money, sir money 
 that ought to have been paid on the fifteenth
 
 222 Souls of Passage 
 
 of last month; and I am not trusting him any 
 longer." 
 
 "But this note is drawn on Robert Mackenzie 
 and Company." 
 
 "That is the question, sir. It is drawn, as I 
 believe, on " 
 
 "It is drawn upon Robert Mackenzie and Com 
 pany, and should have been presented for payment 
 at the proper time." 
 
 "Your son was afraid of my presenting it to 
 you." 
 
 "I think not," said the provost. "Alan is a little 
 extravagant, but he knows Robert Mackenzie and 
 Company will honor his demands. Sit down until 
 I draw a check ; it will only take me a few minutes. 
 Alan tells me it is the balance on the Lapwing. 
 Permit me to say that one hundred per cent, profit 
 is not a lawful, let alone a friendly transaction." 
 
 "Permit me to say, sir, that there is nothing un 
 lawful in the transaction, and that it was a busi 
 ness proceeding, and not an affair of friendship." 
 
 Then the provost left the room, and Macrae 
 neither moved nor spoke, but Alan and the girls 
 continued their daffing in a sort of subdued, whis 
 pering manner particularly offensive to the jealous 
 McDuff; while Jessie's little civilities and Mrs. 
 Mackenzie's offer of a cup of coffee did not make 
 more endurable the neglect and constraint of the 
 situation. It was the indifference that hurt Shaw.
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 223 
 
 When Alan left the table and threw himself into 
 the particularly delightful lounging chair Shaw 
 had generally occupied, and Flora and Fame sat 
 down on each side of him, and all the sweet famili 
 arities of their relationship were in evidence, 
 Shaw hated the smiling, happy, rather haughty- 
 looking young man. He was sure he had told 
 some plausible, untruthful version of their busi 
 ness with each other ; and yet he perceived plainly 
 that Alan's position was unassailable and that 
 nothing he could say would injure it. 
 
 Fame's behavior hurt him most of all. She 
 looked that night, even to his self-admiring eyes, 
 perfectly ravishing; she provoked him with her 
 saucy oblivion of his presence and her piquant 
 advances toward Alan; in fact, no two girls ever 
 tacitly and without premeditation so completely 
 carried out a little drama for idealizing one lover 
 at the expense of the other. 
 
 The provost was not absent ten minutes, but 
 it looked an hour to every one in the room but the 
 three players and Macrae. Mrs. Mackenzie was 
 ignorant of Shaw's unkindness to Alan, and felt 
 as if she was encouraging some gross inhospital- 
 ity. Jessie was still mindful of any vacant place 
 at her wedding breakfast, and not at all sure that 
 Shaw deserved the contemptuous treatment he 
 was receiving; and Macrae, refuging himself in a 
 height above Shaw McDufFs comprehension, had
 
 224 Souls of Passage 
 
 forgotten his existence. So that it was a relief 
 when the provost returned with a slip of paper in 
 his hand representing two hundred pounds of the 
 Bank of Scotland's issue. 
 
 "You will stay and spend the evening with us, 
 Mr. McDuff," said Mrs. Mackenzie. She had an 
 anxious desire to make things more pleasant ; and 
 Jessie added her share to this motive by informing 
 Shaw when Mr. Laidlaw was coming. But all 
 such efforts fell unmeaningly into the contradic 
 tory atmosphere. Besides, Shaw, glancing at 
 Alan, had met his smiling stare of inquiry and 
 Fame's insolent look of triumphant scorn ; and he 
 was not inclined to fight single-handed two men 
 and two women so inimical to him. 
 
 "But I have my two hundred pounds," he 
 thought, and he made a little demonstration with 
 the paper in answer to his thought ; and then, find 
 ing that Mackenzie and Macrae had resumed their 
 conversation as if he was not present, he said in 
 that high-pitched voice which always interpreted 
 his worst temper : 
 
 "Provost Mackenzie, I am feeling much obli 
 gated to you for honoring what you had no 
 necessity to honor ; and " 
 
 "Sir, I always feel it both a necessity and a 
 pleasure to honor my son's drafts." 
 
 "Drafts on your patience and forbearance."
 
 Like as a Father Pitieth his Children 225 
 
 "On my purse. Go on, Macrae, I am hearing 
 you and I am hearing no one but you." 
 
 Then Shaw, turning to Alan, said, "Your father 
 has shouldered your discredit, Alan Mackenzie, 
 and paid the money you were owing me ; but there 
 is another debt between us, and I will have pay 
 ment from you only. Don't forget that !" 
 
 Fame laughed disdainfully at these words, and 
 said, "You need not remember it a moment, Alan. 
 Shaw McDuff's threats break no bones." And to 
 this contemptuous assertion the young man passed 
 through the door. He clanged it furiously behind 
 him, but did not make noise enough to shut out 
 the taunting laugh of Fame, which rang in his 
 ears all the way down the mountain, filling his 
 heart with an intolerable sense of defeat and dis 
 dain.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MONEY AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 THE bridegroom was coming, and Dunbrack 
 Castle put on her festival air to meet him. At 
 the last, Mr. Laidlaw had decided to spend a few 
 days in advance of the ceremony with the family, 
 and every one was glad of it. But the active 
 enmity of Shaw troubled Jessie and Mrs. Mac 
 kenzie; they deprecated any overt quarrel enter 
 ing the household at this time, and Shaw had 
 been a favorite with the minister. Jessie was 
 inclined to throw the whole blame on Alan, but 
 the provost insisted that Shaw himself was alone 
 to blame, and that, furthermore, he thought 
 Shaw McDuff undesirable company for either 
 young men or young women. 
 
 "What you say may be true or not true," 
 answered Mrs. Mackenzie, "but Shaw is not 
 a safe man to quarrel with and that will be 
 seen and heard tell of." 
 
 "Buff and nonsense! He cannot fire the 
 heather, my sheep crop, and Macrae has no
 
 Money and Marriage 227 
 
 occasion to fear him; as for the lassie, Fame, she 
 can take the best of care of herself." 
 
 "I may be wrong, but I have heard that the 
 McDuffs hold a tight grip on Macrae's land; if 
 so, neither of the men is liable to let go." 
 
 "Macrae is not fearing the McDuffs; and 
 Fame evidently has some secret power over 
 them. She flites and flouts them continually, 
 and dares them to take a step against her father. 
 Forbye, Macrae has sold me Deer Mountain, 
 and he has the money for it; you need not worry 
 about Macrae." 
 
 "Indeed, Robert, I think I may begin worry 
 ing anent ourselves. What for are you buying 
 a mountain? Is there no other foolish way to 
 fling good money out of your pocket? I have 
 heard tell of many ridic'lus ways of spending 
 siller, but buying a mountain beats them all." 
 
 "Marian, when you know more you will speak 
 wiser. Just at this hour you are in the dark, and 
 I am not ready to show you that buying this 
 mountain is a fine investment. There will be 
 a lot of money made out of it; forbye, it lies sib 
 to Dunbrack, was once part of Dunbrack, and 
 is necessary to the estate as a grazing ground, 
 either for sheep or game. I think you may trust 
 me, Marian; it is not my way to spend money 
 foolishly." 
 
 "I can trust you fine, Robert. Now I must
 
 228 Souls of Passage 
 
 go to Jessie; she is like summer lightning this 
 morning all a-quiver. It is a God's mercy we 
 have only one daughter to marry." 
 
 "I am going down to Macrae's, and we are 
 for the hills; but I will be home in time for 
 dinner." 
 
 "Now, Robert, don't you be forgetting that 
 promise. James is coming to-night, and he will 
 be expecting you to welcome him on the thresh 
 old; and Jessie takes as personal any slight to 
 James." 
 
 The provost made the promise again, and 
 then went to his friend with that willing step 
 which is always rapid and cheerful. The gray 
 old house had taken on for him a look of 
 friendliness; its door stood wide open, and the 
 ancient room into which he stepped, though 
 steeped in the personality of the family, seemed 
 pleasant and familiar to him. He was at home 
 in its atmosphere of long-past days; there was 
 a dream in every faded chair for him, and as 
 soon as he entered the place he was insensibly 
 stilled and disposed to silence and reflection. 
 
 But this morning the house was invaded by an 
 insurgent and alien spirit; as soon as he entered 
 it he heard Shaw McDuff speaking in the tone 
 of a man who demands or insists. Mackenzie 
 only smiled. He felt sure Macrae had the means 
 in every respect to "best" his enemy; and Fame's
 
 Money and Marriage 229 
 
 scornful laughter was the answer of a woman 
 defiant and sure of her ability to defy. He 
 opened the door of the inner room and con 
 fronted the opposing parties. Macrae smiled 
 and nodded. "Come in, friend," he said; "there 
 is nothing here to hide, nothing to fear, nothing 
 to be ashamed of." 
 
 "I think there is a great deal to be ashamed 
 of," said Shaw, turning to Mackenzie. "For 
 two weeks I have come here every day to collect 
 money due to my father. Of course, we hate 
 to foreclose a mortgage on an old friend and 
 neighbor, but " 
 
 "Friend!" said Fame angrily; "pray, who 
 gave the McDuffs permission to call themselves 
 a 'friend' of the Macrae? Neighbor you may be, 
 but that is not our fault; and as for foreclosing 
 the mortgage, you would have done that long 
 ago if foreclosing had been to your interest. I 
 have told you to bring the deed and we would 
 lift the mortgage. Do you think I will suffer 
 my father to pay you a thousand pounds without 
 delivery of the deed? I will not. Bring the 
 paper and you shall have the money." 
 
 "That condition is just and right," said the 
 provost. "My friend has money to lift the mort 
 gage, Mr. McDuff; suppose you go home for 
 the paper, and I will remain here and be witness 
 to the payment of the money."
 
 230 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Then Shaw turned to the door, and Fame 
 opened it with a laugh. "Go get the deed," she 
 said, "and you shall have your money to the last 
 farthing. And then, thank God! we may brush 
 your footsteps forever from our door stone." 
 
 "You shall pay for this impertinence " 
 
 "You have already a debt of the same kind 
 against Alan Mackenzie. We shall have to give 
 you long credit; every one knows that you are 
 indifferent to insults, though keen as a sleuth 
 hound after gold. Very well, run for the deed, 
 and you shall have the money it calls for. Make 
 haste, Shaw McDuff; you must have it handy 
 unless the deil has run away with it." 
 
 She spoke with such impetuous haste and 
 temper that her father's appealing "Fame! 
 Fame!" was quite lost in the passionate tide of 
 her words; and Mackenzie was not disposed to 
 interfere between the beautiful, angry girl and 
 her opponent. And as soon as Shaw had passed 
 beyond the garden gate she turned to the two 
 men with a laugh that was half a sob, exclaim 
 ing: 
 
 "There, I have had my say!" 
 
 "It might have been a dangerous 'say,' Fame. 
 Thank God ! I have now the money to cancel 
 both debt and threat." 
 
 "I did not know you had the money; but, all 
 the same, you were in no danger. I did not
 
 Money and Marriage 231 
 
 speak like a foolish woman; I knew beyond a 
 doubt that McDuff had lost all power over you." 
 
 "I meant to tell you yesterday about the 
 money* Fame, but you were at Dunbrack all 
 day, and this morning Shaw was here as soon 
 as you came from your room. But how could 
 McDuff have lost all power over me?" 
 
 "Well, father, I have a confession to make. I 
 told Shaw to go and get the deed; he can never, 
 never get that deed. It is as far beyond him as 
 well, as I am;" and she looked steadily at 
 Mackenzie as she made this statement, and 
 smiled with delight. 
 
 "But I do not understand you, Fame," said 
 Macrae. "I owe the money, and of course I will 
 pay it." 
 
 "Of course you will pay what you owe, dear 
 father, but I did not know you had the money, 
 and I was not going to have you put out of 
 house and home before Tom and Hector had 
 the thousand pounds here." 
 
 "I have been selling Deer Mountain to our 
 good friend Mackenzie. It belonged at the first 
 to Dunbrack, and the land has only gone to its 
 own. I am a free man once more, Fame; and 
 it is sixteen years I have been in bondage to the 
 McDuffs. Now I am in a strait until the money 
 is paid; yet I suppose it is right to have the deed 
 I made void."
 
 232 Souls of Passage 
 
 "The paper is necessary, Macrae," said the 
 provost. 
 
 "And the paper is here," said Fame with a 
 sigh of satisfaction. "I am keeping it myself; 
 and it is a long search and a useless search Shaw 
 will be making for it; and if he could be finding 
 it, no good whatever to him." 
 
 "How did you get the paper, Fame?" asked 
 Macrae anxiously. 
 
 "I was not stealing it, father; it was poor 
 Earne that brought it to me." 
 
 "Then Earne was stealing it?" 
 
 "Earne was finding-it. I will tell you. McDuff 
 met Earne the day after the trial about the nets 
 Peter McDuff himself and he said, 'Earne, 
 there will be a warrant here to-night for you. 
 I am going to have Gill McDufFs drowning 
 looked into. I am thinking you murdered him,' 
 frightening the poor boy, of course; but Earne 
 took it for gospel truth, and he got into the big 
 tree that is by Peter's window, and watched the 
 old man. And he saw him looking over a long 
 paper, and was sure it was the warrant. So he 
 waited until he saw where Peter put it; then, 
 when he left the room, it was not troubling 
 Earne in the least to open the drawer and get 
 the paper. He took it to the Lapwing and took 
 the Lapwing out to sea, until he could find out 
 what they were going to do with him; after
 
 Money and Marriage 233 
 
 which he intended to give the warrant to the fire 
 or the water." 
 
 "But no warrant was taken out for Earne that 
 I know of," said Macrae. 
 
 "There was no warrant. The paper Earne 
 took was the deed mortgaging our house to 
 Peter McDuff. Poor Earne ! He was not long 
 in finding out that the paper was not befriending 
 the Macrae, and he brought it to me the next 
 morning, and said it was about the Macrae's 
 house, and so it was myself that ought to be 
 taking care of it at least, he brought part 
 of it." 
 
 "But, Fame, you ought to have told me this 
 circumstance long ago," said Macrae. 
 
 "As I was saying, father, it was only part of 
 the paper. Earne thought it would be best and 
 safest to tear off your name and the McDuff's 
 name and the seals. And when I said, 'Why did 
 you tear away the names, Earne?' he answered, 
 'It will be a contract with the devil against the 
 Macrae, for those big red seals are the devil's 
 seals; and I put them in the fire; and I put the 
 McDuff's name in the fire with them; but the 
 Macrae's name I did not burn, I am keeping it 
 for myself.' And we made a secret of it, and I 
 promised Earne that I would never, never tell 
 what he had done to his hurt or to the hurt of 
 the Macrae; and he trusted me and believed in
 
 234 Souls of Passage 
 
 me. And I was glad of the paper, and thanked 
 him fifty times and gave him my hand to kiss, 
 and he was more happy than if he had found a 
 gold mine. And I was happy also; I knew the 
 money would be paid as soon as you could sell 
 land or Hector send the thousand pounds 
 paper or no paper and until that day came I 
 had Shaw McDuff at my defiance; and ever since 
 I have been thanking Earne for the comfort he 
 brought me; and if Earne had been alive to-day 
 fire could not have burned this story out of me. 
 No, indeed ! The McDuffs are seeking the paper 
 at this moment, no doubt, each one blaming the 
 other; the old man snapping his fingers and 
 muttering Gaelic oaths, and Shaw stamping 
 about in his black rage and cursing in his heart, 
 as if God was not reading the heart and knowing 
 every word a dumb devil says as well as a railing 
 one. It is a very pretty mystery play, father; do 
 take some pleasure out of it." 
 
 While they were talking Shaw returned. He 
 said the mortgage had been taken to their law 
 yer's office; but, he added, "we are wanting the 
 money for investment at once; and the deed can 
 make little difference. The Macrae has been 
 trusted and obliged in various ways for nearly 
 twenty years, and now that it is in his power to 
 oblige us, we feel that he ought to do it."
 
 Money and Marriage 235 
 
 "Very good, Mr. McDuff," said the provost, 
 "but it is the general practice to secure the void 
 contract upon payment of the sum loaned." 
 
 "If the contract should be lost or stolen," said 
 Fame, "you will remember we have offered you 
 the money. You can have no further claim for 
 interest, for the principal is waiting on your 
 delivery of the proper paper." 
 
 "Lost or stolen!" exclaimed Shaw, with a 
 sudden apprehension of the truth. "Ah, then, 
 you know it !" 
 
 "I do not tell all I know." 
 
 "If it has been stolen, Earne Macrae stole it." 
 
 "Then it will be at the bottom of the sea. And, 
 pray, what of your one thousand pounds?" 
 
 "Earne was always a thief, and you " 
 
 "It is to God that you are now accusing 
 Earne; and God will not be believing you. He 
 knew the heart of the poor fisher, and He is 
 knowing your heart, too, Shaw McDuff think 
 of that and keep still about Earne Macrae." 
 
 Shaw turned from her with an impatient ges 
 ture. "Macrae," he said, "you have the money 
 now, and there is no reason why you should not 
 oblige my father by paying it. If you can't 
 trust my father's word and hand, you have your 
 friend Mackenzie here; he can witness the trans 
 action."
 
 236 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Patience, Shaw ! I will pay your father." 
 
 "I am not believing you have any money, 
 Macrae," Shaw answered scornfully. "You are 
 as poor as poverty you have no money!" 
 
 "I have five thousand pounds in the Bank of 
 Scotland. I am sorry you are not believing me; 
 and if I were as poor as poverty, I am still a 
 Highland gentleman." 
 
 "If you have five thousand pounds and are 
 a Highland gentleman, pay the one thousand 
 pounds you owe the McDuffs. I am not believ 
 ing you own a penny piece! You are poor as 
 poverty !" 
 
 "Shaw, you cannot play either upon my pride 
 or my temper. I will not pay you money because 
 you taunt me. This is my house, allow me to 
 have peace in it." 
 
 "It is just as likely our house. If you can pay 
 the mortgage " 
 
 "If you can bring the deed, I can pay the 
 mortgage." 
 
 "That is fair and business-like," said Mac 
 kenzie. "Mr. McDuff, your position here is 
 both unbusiness-like and ungentlemanly." 
 
 "I will make you all sorry and ashamed," cried 
 Shaw. 
 
 And Fame answered with a provoking laugh, 
 "Shaw, do not threaten. When you are calm 
 it will make you sick with fright to remember
 
 Money and Marriage 237 
 
 the threats you made when you were angry. 
 Look to your threats and tie them up, or they 
 will bring you into trouble." 
 
 "Miss Macrae, let me remind you that once 
 you were very proud of my attentions to you." 
 
 "I tread all such memories under my feet." 
 
 "And that your father has had favors from us 
 that ought to make him confounded " 
 
 Then Macrae rose. He was trembling with 
 suppressed passion, and Mackenzie took him 
 aside; but Fame turned on his tormentor like 
 an angry lioness. 
 
 "Shaw McDuff," she said, "you slander by 
 nature and by custom, just as ill dogs bark. 
 Nature went about a wicked piece of work when 
 she made a man like you. Go to your own place, 
 you are not worthy to breathe in this house." 
 
 "Your ill words will not kill me, Fame, 
 though I dare say you would like to do so." 
 
 "I would not. I would think scorn to let out 
 such a contemptible spirit." 
 
 "Mr. McDuff, we have no further business at 
 this time," said the provost. "When you bring 
 the paper you will receive your money." 
 
 "You have nothing to do with this affair, sir," 
 answered Shaw. 
 
 "I have. I am the representative of my friend 
 Macrae." Then he took Macrae's arm, and they 
 went out of the room together.
 
 238 Souls of Passage 
 
 "They have run away from me," said Shaw 
 scornfully, turning to Fame. "Now," he asked 
 peremptorily, "where is the paper you said had 
 been stolen?" 
 
 "I said nothing of the kind. I only 'supposed' 
 it might have been lost or stolen." 
 
 "My heart tells me you know all about it." 
 
 "Your heart, or what passes for your heart, 
 always told you lies; for instance, when it told 
 you that I was ever proud of your attentions. 
 The very idea !" 
 
 "As for Alan Mackenzie " 
 
 "You are hoarse with barking at Alan's good 
 qualities and good fortune." 
 
 "Hang Alan Mackenzie!" 
 
 "Shaw McDuff first; that would only be the 
 barest justice." 
 
 "You shall repent this morning's work." 
 
 "When the moon drops millstones." 
 
 "You will die for love of me yet." 
 
 "I will die for a dog first." 
 
 "You think you are wonderfully witty." 
 
 "A girl needs all her wit when she is talking 
 with a knave and a fool." And at this moment 
 she had a splendor of beauty that made Shaw's 
 love for her flame like fire. He was silent for 
 a moment, and then he went impetuously to her, 
 put his hand upon her shoulders, and said with 
 uncontrollable emotion :
 
 J1E WENT TO HER ANIJ PUT HJS HANU O.N HER SUOULUER.'
 
 Money and Marriage 239 
 
 "Fame! Fame! let all this pass and be for 
 given. I love you! I love you to distraction! 
 Love me a little, and I promise you that this 
 thousand pounds shall never more trouble you 
 or your father." 
 
 "I am not selling a thousand pounds' worth 
 of my love; and my father wishes to pay what 
 he owes, and I wish him to pay it. A favor 
 from the McDuffs would be a chain round our 
 lives." 
 
 "For all that, listen to me. I am in mortal 
 earnest. I love you in spite of all that has come 
 and gone, and you do love me !" 
 
 "I do not. I shall never forgive your inter 
 ference with Gillian Grant and others also." 
 
 At this point Alister Macrae, a young man in 
 the employ of the family, entered the room; he 
 said his chief would be at the house of Peter 
 McDuff the following morning at ten o'clock 
 with witnesses and the money; and "would the 
 young gentleman be civil enough to let the 
 matter drop until that time?" he asked. 
 
 While the message was being delivered Fame 
 left the room. She found her father and his 
 friend ready for a walk, and they bid her "put on 
 her hat and they would go with her as far as 
 Dunbrack;" and as she feared another encounter 
 with Shaw, she was glad of the protection of 
 their society. At Dunbrack Fame was very
 
 240 Souls of Passage 
 
 welcome, there were many little odds and ends 
 to do or to finish, and Jessie was not as practical 
 as usual. How could she be practical when she 
 conceived it to be her duty constantly to remind 
 herself and others that she was spending "the 
 last days of her girlhood"? She had passing fits 
 of sentiment about her "girlhood's days;" all her 
 fourteen trunks were packed and directed to her 
 future residence, and she stood and looked at 
 them, and cried a little, and was very affectionate, 
 and rather wearisome amid all the many duties 
 there were to attend to; the more so, as Mrs. 
 Mackenzie was a little off her serene balance, 
 and worried and fretted, and inwardly dreading 
 the next three days. 
 
 However, there was nothing to dread. James 
 Laidlaw was too happy to be captious or even 
 argumentative. He was, indeed, so occupied 
 with his lovely bride that he let assertions and 
 opinions greatly at variance with his own con 
 victions pass without denial or with very short, 
 curt opposition. For Macrae had been talking 
 on his favorite subject, the talk having arisen 
 from his anxiety to pay at once the mortgage 
 on his house. "I want to be feeling the old 
 home my very own," he said. "I might trouble 
 McDuff as he has troubled me, but what would 
 I be gaining? I would rather put him out of 
 the house he has no friends in dead or alive."
 
 Money and Marriage 241 
 
 "Do you think, sir," asked Alan, "that souls 
 out of the flesh still take an interest in their old 
 home?" 
 
 "Why not?" inquired Macrae. "It is this 
 intuitive feeling that is at the bottom of the 
 popular respect we are all paying to families who 
 have lived for centuries in the same dwelling. 
 Such old houses are knowing their own; and 
 their own are knowing, sweetly and fully, the 
 meaning of the word 'home.' Let us be taking, 
 for example, the Macraes, the Mackenzies, and 
 the Dunbracks. Through bodily processes that 
 have been going on and on and on they have 
 sprung from the Ross land around us. They 
 are all of them sons and daughters of the soil; 
 and there will be a great and inherited sympathy 
 between them and the soil. They are loving 
 well, as they ought to do, the land of their 
 birth." 
 
 "Then you think, Ian," asked Mackenzie, 
 "that the reincarnating soul comes back prefera 
 bly to its own people and place?" 
 
 "I think, Robert, that the attractions and 
 relationships which this pronounced element 
 must have upon the spiritual nomad will be con 
 sidered and not ignored by the infinite wisdom 
 and love which guides that never-resting essence 
 from one carnal experience to another; always 
 willing it onward and upward to Himself."
 
 242 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Then the Macraes may have come back for 
 many generations to the old gray house on the 
 seashore?" 
 
 "They may, every generation stepping a little 
 upward. Fergus Macrae, the first bare-armed 
 thane who led our clan to war and rapine, had 
 many traits that still linger in our family. Thank 
 God ! we are different men and women from the 
 wild pagan Macraes of those early centuries, but 
 we are Macraes stiil." 
 
 "Still, sir, reincarnated souls must often go 
 into strange families," said Alan. 
 
 "I am not denying that, Alan; but I think 
 they are easily to be known. They have no 
 family tastes or resemblances; they are the black 
 sheep, the genius, the unmanageable member, 
 who runs counter to every family tradition, 
 because their souls have no such traditions. 
 They are in the family, but not of it; and they 
 have come into it because infinite love and wis 
 dom discerned in that special household the 
 conditions necessary for that soul's education or 
 trial or discipline." 
 
 "This idea virtually implies the idea of original 
 sin," said Mackenzie. 
 
 "Yes; and also of original goodness. Children, 
 as every one knows, are born into this world 
 good as well as evil, clever as well as ignorant. 
 For each soul is coming to reincarnation with
 
 Money and Marriage 243 
 
 the absolutely just measure of good or evil forces 
 which its previous incarnations have developed. 
 Now, you will be understanding that to have 
 acquired evil tendencies in previous lives is to be 
 born under an evil destiny; and to have acquired 
 good tendencies is to have the happy lot of the 
 writer of the Book of Wisdom, who says of 
 himself, 'Being good, I come into a body un- 
 denled.' " 
 
 As this conversation had been progressing, 
 Jessie and Laidlaw joined the group and stood 
 listening. But for once the minister was not 
 eager to deny or controvert. Jessie's sweet 
 loveliness and affection, the happy hopes of 
 their near bridal, with its many considerations, 
 were so vital and so delightful that it was difficult 
 for him to enter into other subjects. He did 
 really feel that for this once love might inno 
 cently put aside duty. So when Alan briefly 
 restated Macrae's positions and asked Mr. Laid 
 law what he thought of them, the minister 
 answered a little impatiently: 
 
 "I consider the whole subject of reincarnation 
 one of God's secrets. He has not revealed it to 
 us in His Word. We have no means of finding 
 out whether or not we have lived before. Moral 
 ity does not compel us to find it out. It is not 
 possible for us to find it out. We are not to be 
 punished for not finding it out; and I am very
 
 244 Souls of Passage 
 
 doubtful if it would be lawful to pray that the 
 truth regarding this idea might be revealed 
 to us." 
 
 He pronounced these opinions with the posi 
 tive air of one having authority, and it was 
 beautiful to watch Jessie's admiration. She 
 resolved from that moment never again to in 
 quire into the mysteries of past or future; and 
 she led her beloved away to a quiet corner, where 
 they could discourse of their marriage and of 
 those comfortable, world-like events which are 
 natural to the common tongue of every man. 
 
 But it was easy to excuse Laidlaw's dictation 
 at this time; the men smiled at him and at each 
 other; and when he was beyond hearing Macrae 
 said, "We will set down nothing Laidlaw said 
 to-night against him. He is a lover, and a wise 
 lover is just the most foolish of mortals. If he 
 had been in a natural condition, I would have 
 shown him that if reincarnation is the secret of 
 God, it is an open secret to those who have 
 reached a point where they desire to look into it. 
 I would have shown him that His Word is not 
 without revelation on this subject. Robert, 
 Alan, it is the older Scripture written inefface- 
 ably on every soul that comes into this world to 
 be 'continually fashioned,' even while to mortal 
 ken there appears to be no seed of goodness in 
 them." -
 
 Money and Marriage 245 
 
 During this conversation Fame and Flora 
 were in a quiet corner of a small parlor adjoining 
 the dining-room. Both girls were weary and 
 depressed. Flora had been sympathizing con 
 tinually with Jessie and her "girlhood's days" 
 and her bridal responsibilities, and Fame had 
 torn herself to pieces nervously in her quarrel 
 with Shaw. 
 
 "Father is talking of lives before and lives 
 beyond," she said fretfully; "and, goodness 
 knows, one life is hard enough to wear away." 
 
 "Don't you believe your father, Fame?" 
 
 "Sometimes I know he is right, and then 
 sometimes I think his ideas cannot be universally 
 true; for I am well acquainted with people who 
 are not worthy of one life, let alone many lives. 
 Yes, I am thinking of Shaw McDuff." 
 
 "God has infinite patience with such souls, 
 Fame." 
 
 "Very good, but I am only Fame Macrae, and 
 I have not infinite patience. But to-morrow! 
 to-morrow ! we shall be free of the McDuffs, and 
 then I can say what I like to them and of them." 
 
 "I don't think you have suffered much from 
 restraining yourself about them, Fame. I wish 
 Jessie was not so much worried about Shaw's 
 vacant place. I do believe she would gladly 
 welcome him, if uncle would permit him to be 
 present. I cannot understand her; but, then,
 
 246 Souls of Passage 
 
 human sympathy is so narrow she probably does 
 not understand me." 
 
 "Father was saying a few days ago that even 
 such a great man as Thomas Carlyle had little 
 sympathy and still less understanding of other 
 great men. He thought Tennyson and Burns 
 and even Shakespeare would have done better if 
 they had written in prose; and he asked Dickens 
 one day, 'When are ye goin' to do some wark?' ' 
 
 The next day there was a welcome pause in 
 events. All was ready; the house was decked 
 with heather and asters and the berries of the 
 mystical rowan tree, and the wedding garments 
 to the last bow and comb and pin were laid out. 
 In the morning Mackenzie and Macrae went 
 down to the village and finished "more amicably 
 than previous events foreshadowed" the McDuff 
 affair. Peter offered his hand at the close of the 
 business to Macrae, and after a short, silent 
 struggle with himself Macrae took it. Shaw 
 did not appear, and Shaw was the only discord 
 in Jessie's wedding harmony. The place reserved 
 for him at the bride's breakfast was still empty, 
 and an empty place was said to presage ill 
 fortune. 
 
 "Not that I am the least superstitious," Jessie 
 constantly affirmed, "yet I do wish there had 
 been no quarrel with Shaw just at this time. I 
 think it was very thoughtless in Alan." It
 
 Money and Marriage 247 
 
 fretted her below all her pleasant things and all 
 her happy expectations. 
 
 In the afternoon Alan, Flora, and Fame wan 
 dered off among the pines. There were many 
 pleasant resting places in their balmly shadows, 
 and they finally sat down on the brown ground 
 and talked in happy, confidential fashion on 
 many subjects. Suddenly they heard a peal of 
 joyous laughter, a rippling, hearty laugh that 
 made Fame draw her brows together and listen 
 with curious intentness. "There is some one in 
 the wood," she said; and they all rose, and as 
 they did so two young men came with swinging 
 steps down the narrow path. Flora stepped 
 aside, Fame blushed and flushed and trembled 
 like a leaf in a high wind, and Alan said in a tone 
 of annoyance : 
 
 "It is Harry Seaford." 
 
 "And Gillian Grant," added Fame in a whisper 
 to Flora. 
 
 The next moment they were standing in a 
 group, laughing, chatting, and holding each 
 other's hands. Seaford was eloquently regretful 
 about Alan's dangerous ride through the storm. 
 He expressed the greatest sorrow at the whole 
 event, and expressed it so well that Alan felt 
 compelled to accept the apology, and, moreover, 
 was pleased to accept it. They sat down again, 
 and for an hour were so happy that Alan, in the
 
 248 Souls of Passage 
 
 rebound of his anger toward Seaford, and his 
 instant liking for Grant, asked both young men 
 to return to Dunbrack, stay all night, and take 
 part in the wedding festival of the morrow. 
 
 Seaford said they were on their way to join 
 Lord Caithness, whose yacht would put into 
 Morandaroch that afternoon for them. 
 
 "But," said Grant, "I shall desert Lord Caith 
 ness without a scruple. I cannot resist a wed 
 ding, and I am delighted at the good fortune 
 that has brought me the invitation." 
 
 ".Well, then, all the more I must keep our 
 engagement with Caithness," said Seaford; "and 
 I will tell him what an irresistible temptation 
 has found you out, Grant." 
 
 "Do so; he would have cast anchor here for 
 a month or two if it had overtaken him. Tell 
 him that." 
 
 Then Alan proposed that they should all walk 
 with Seaford to the village, and the offer was 
 enthusiastically accepted. Alan, Flora, and Sea- 
 ford led the way; Grant and Fame followed at 
 a rather wide distance but all were on the little 
 pier as the Caithness yacht came into harbor. 
 Then they went on board and had some refresh 
 ments and a very merry time over it, and finally 
 watched the yacht out to sea, Seaford and Caith 
 ness standing bareheaded in the sunshine to
 
 Money and Marriage 249 
 
 receive and return the waving adieus of their 
 late companions. 
 
 It was getting near the dinner hour, and they 
 turned homeward. No one had mentioned 
 Shaw, but perhaps all were thinking of him; and 
 thoughts call on events; so, then, it was little 
 wonder that they saw Shaw McDuff coming 
 straight toward them. 
 
 "He will surely turn aside," said Flora to 
 Alan. "He will certainly not like to meet Grant 
 now." But Alan shook his head, for he knew 
 well that Shaw would not turn aside for any one. 
 Nor did he. He stalked straight forward with 
 his head up and his hand on the spot where his 
 ancestors had worn their dirks. He had outlived 
 the custom of the ready weapon, but not the 
 impulse to use it. With glowering, passionate 
 gaze he met them; staring boldly, blushlessly, 
 and insolently into the faces he hated. Alan 
 bent his head to Flora, and Fame and Grant 
 were occupied entirely with each other. No one 
 seemed to notice the offensive young man. He 
 had been intimate with Alan, and Alan no longer 
 knew him. He had been a familiar friend of 
 Flora's, and she ignored his presence. He had 
 rather patronized Grant while he was yet under 
 age, had stayed in his home, and taught him 
 a great deal about grouse and deer; and Grant
 
 250 Souls of Passage 
 
 now passed him without a look; nay, he even 
 managed to infuse into his total indifference the 
 scorn he felt for a man who could lie for his own 
 ends without scruple and without mercy. 
 
 It was well this meeting was passing and tran 
 sient and on the public street, for in the few 
 moments covering it Shaw drank a cup that 
 could only be mingled in hell hatred, revenge, 
 murder were rioting in his heart. Fame's laugh 
 hurt him like a sword thrust, and Flora's cool 
 oblivion set the blood in his veins racing and 
 boiling with ungovernable rage. He was sure 
 Fame and Grant were talking of him and of the 
 lie which he had told to separate them. He was 
 sure that Alan was defaming him to Flora, and 
 that Flora believed all he chose to tell her; 
 so, though the outward man passed them in a 
 fiendish silence, the inner man was venting his 
 diabolical disappointment in short, furious asser 
 tions, emphasized, as was usual with him under 
 great emotion, by the quick sa! sa! of the angry 
 Highlander. 
 
 "This is all because we wanted our money 
 sa! sa! That despicable young scoundrel would 
 have cheated me out of two hundred pounds! 
 Fame's father is just as bad a pair of rogues 
 the McDuffs were too many for them and 
 the McDuffs, thank glory, have their money! 
 Let them laugh! Sa! sa! sa! Let them sneer!
 
 Money and Marriage 251 
 
 Who cares? I am not eating out of their cup 
 no, indeed! I would poison it if I could I'll 
 make Dunbrack too hot for them yet see if 
 I don't! And, worst of all, that cool, insolent, 
 unseeing minister this morning ! He, too ! Sa! 
 He, too, sa! In Mackenzie's and Macrae's 
 company I was not there to him the proud, 
 egotistical, opinionative pedant that he is I was 
 to be this and that at his wedding, and I am 
 nothing, worse than nothing! Confound the 
 whole crowd ! I wish Dunbrack would turn into 
 a furnace and burn the last bone of them !" 
 
 Such thoughts are poison to the heart that 
 nurses them, and they did affect for a while those 
 to whom they were directed. A certain stillness 
 and sadness insinuated itself into the joyous 
 atmosphere of the four happy hearts, but no evil 
 is long potent against the power of love. Before 
 Dunbrack was reached Shaw had been quite 
 forgotten, and they were talking happily of the 
 coming winter and the prospects it offered for 
 continuing their companionship. 
 
 And seldom has an unexpected visitor found 
 such welcome as awaited young Grant. Jessie 
 looked upon him as specially sent to avert any 
 ill fortune that might have come from a missing 
 wedding guest; and, indeed, Grant was well able 
 to make himself acceptable to all his entertainers. 
 He was respectful to his elders ana sympathetic
 
 252 Souls of Passage 
 
 and good-natured with those of his own age. 
 Macrae already liked him; and the Mackenzies 
 were desirous to gain the good-will of a family 
 so distinguished and so neighborly as the Grants. 
 So, then, the advent of Gillian was a peculiar 
 pleasure, and there was a distinct exhilaration 
 in the house of Dunbrack because of his coming. 
 Certainly Jessie had a right to be in her brightest 
 mood, for this last evening of her "girlhood's 
 days" was the most delightful of the many de 
 lightful evenings the past summer had witnessed. 
 
 She was even ungrateful enough to say con 
 fidentially to Flora that she was glad Shaw 
 McDuff had no longer a place in their home 
 circle. He was so hard to please, so touchy, so 
 ready to feel and to show offence; but this gay, 
 good-tempered, handsome Gillian Grant thought 
 only of others and of what he could do to pleas 
 ure others. "I am afraid," she continued, "Shaw 
 would have brought me dissension or bad luck 
 of some kind, but nothing but good can come 
 from such a godsend as young Grant." And 
 perhaps Jessie only voiced clearly something of 
 the sentiment that was in every heart. 
 
 At last, at last, it was Jessie's bridal day. The 
 good girl had her usual good fortune. The 
 weather was all that could be wished; the ar 
 rangements were so perfect that there was 
 neither hurry nor delay. Events fitted into
 
 Money and Marriage 253 
 
 events precisely as they had been ordered. Even 
 the messenger sent to Loch Grant for Gillian's 
 dress-suit arrived with it before any one had 
 begun to feel anxious for its arrival, and the 
 whole house was as calm and devoid of worry or 
 excitement as if it was an ordinary Sabbath 
 morning. 
 
 At ten o'clock the village minister who was 
 to perform the ceremony arrived. He found 
 the bridegroom and the two Mackenzies and 
 Ian Macrae and Grant chatting comfortably 
 together in the large parlor, and he sat down 
 and joined in the conversation. Not even the 
 bridegroom was restless, for he had the most 
 profound confidence that all his bride's arrange 
 ments would be without flaw or hindrance. And 
 precisely as the clock struck eleven the provost 
 left the room, but returned immediately with 
 his daughter on his arm. Very fair, exquisitely 
 robed, the sweetest image and ideal of a minis 
 ter's bride was Jessie Mackenzie at this impor 
 tant hour of her destiny. And her lover was 
 worthy of her. He took her with solemn vows 
 and pure and true affection into his life, and 
 then they turned with radiant faces to meet 
 together the joys and sorrows of the years they 
 were to share. 
 
 Before two o'clock Jessie had left her family 
 and her home forever; the mirth incident to her
 
 254 Souls of Passage 
 
 departure was over, and a breath of sadness went 
 through the partly deserted house. No one 
 could quite get the better of the feeling. Mrs. 
 Mackenzie shut herself in her room, the provost 
 and his friend Macrae went off to the hills for 
 awhile. Not all the brave show of merrymaking 
 could hide the still sense of "bereavement" that 
 was present. The family, as yet unbroken, had 
 that day lost a member; and there was a melan 
 choly pain in all the places where Jessie had left 
 her image and her memory. 
 
 "If one could only be lovers forever and ever, 
 and put marriage out of consideration, how 
 happy we might be," said Fame. "What did 
 Jessie get married for? She had everything her 
 heart could desire." 
 
 "I think," answered Flora, "that women have 
 an innate consciousness that marriage is neces 
 sary to their salvation I mean, its trials and 
 experiences, and so on." 
 
 "I think, at any rate, they know that it makes 
 them more interesting," said Grant. 
 
 "More interesting!" cried Fame; "what non 
 sense !" 
 
 "Oh, but it does," continued Grant; "marriage 
 is greater than love, just as Penelope is greater 
 than Nausika. Marriage, not love, is the acme 
 of life. At least, I think so."
 
 Money and Marriage 255 
 
 "But there is such a thing as Platonic love," 
 said Fame; "I have heard of it." 
 
 "And it is Platonic nonsense," answered 
 Gillian with a merry laugh. "Love is life; I have 
 loved, I have lived; I do love, I am living; and 
 if I love and am loved I would defy any ill 
 fortune to make me miserable." Then he looked 
 at Fame, and her splendid eyes lengthened and 
 languished with the love that was brooding in 
 her heart. 
 
 But Alan said not a word. He looked from 
 Fame to Flora, and as his eyes met hers, he felt 
 in their clear, candid light a revelation of love 
 that was for him and him only; and with self- 
 reproaching thoughts uttered in his heart the 
 wisest and tenderest of household prayers: 
 
 "Grant that I may be saved from offences 
 against my own affections."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FAME MAKES A CONFESSION. 
 
 A FEW days after Jessie's marriage the provost 
 returned to Glasgow, and the house in some mys 
 terious way became permeated with that restless 
 sense of coming change which infects even birds 
 of passage just before their migration. For all 
 changes have a certain melancholy ; we are leaving 
 something behind us, and that something is part 
 of ourselves. Autumn, with its pensive odor of 
 decay, its dreamy daylights and sad twilights, had 
 taken full possession; the moors were no longer 
 purple, the woods no longer green, and the moun 
 tains turned iron gray, and standing in austere 
 shadows looked stupendous. 
 
 Mrs. Mackenzie was now eager to return to her 
 city home; but it was no light work to "put the 
 house away" for the winter. And she would have 
 no help but her Cousin Thrift's, who, she said, 
 "had her wits about her and no lovers to turn 
 them topsy-turvy." In reality she wanted the 
 young people to have the full pleasure of these last
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 257 
 
 days. It made her happy to see them go off to the 
 woods and come home with arms full of bronzing 
 ferns. She liked to have them gather round the 
 dinner-table, hungry and tired and full of what 
 they had seen and heard tell of. 
 
 Perhaps Fame was not quite as much at Dun- 
 brack as formerly; for Grant went often to Ma 
 crae's, and Fame had a more selfish and exacting 
 nature than Flora ; she liked Grant best when she 
 had him entirely to herself. But Alan was not 
 sorry for this arrangement. Fame's ready resig 
 nation of his attentions and his society was not a 
 flattering thing ; and he perceived clearly that her 
 fancy for himself had been light and evanescent 
 as a dream. Grant had awakened her, and she 
 was his princess beyond doubt or recall. And 
 when all excuses and prior claims had been al 
 lowed, it was a kind of desertion Alan did not 
 like; he felt that he would have run the risk of 
 temptation if he might have received with it a 
 little of that flattering balm which women usually 
 administer to lovers who have had their day. 
 
 However, these thoughts troubled only the sur 
 face of his life ; Flora was life itself to him. He 
 was not sorry when they were left to wander 
 alone, and hand in hand sometimes very silently 
 climb to the highest point of Dunbrack Moun 
 tain, to watch the young ravens on the gray 
 precipice, croaking and playing queer antics with
 
 258 Souls of Passage 
 
 each other; or to admire the handsome cock 
 grouse strutting proudly with their mates, their 
 red combs and beautiful brown plumage glistening 
 in the sun. Sometimes they went to the grave 
 yard where the faithful Earne's cast-off mortality 
 had been laid. They put late flowers, and heather, 
 and ferns on the lonely mound, and talked about 
 his true heart, and wondered in what blest isle of 
 God his spirit tarried. Alan had ordered a shaft 
 of white marble to mark the spot, but in the mean 
 time the oar which his strong arm had once plied 
 stood upright at the head of the grave, and kept 
 his name fresh in eyes that yet wept for him. 
 
 Every day the coming change was more in evi 
 dence. Large trunks cumbered the halls, the fine 
 furniture was shrouded in white linen, and there 
 was that unavoidable relaxation of order and dis 
 cipline which accompanies disruption of any kind. 
 Alan felt all that this change meant for him. It 
 was not that he must leave Dunbrack, he was to 
 leave home altogether. He was to go to a strange 
 city and to unusual and important duties. He 
 was to miss constantly the cheering love and 
 encouraging presence of Flora, and for the first 
 time in his life he was to stand alone. But he was 
 really anxious to stand. 
 
 For this very reason he frequently during these 
 last days sought the society of Macrae. His 
 stately antique sincerity, the entire genuineness of
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 259 
 
 his character, had won the heart of his young dis 
 ciple. He confided to him his hopes and his as 
 pirations, and was invariably lifted up by his 
 counsels. For Macrae highly approved the pro 
 vost's plans for his son, and when Alan described 
 his intentions and the work before him he 
 answered him enthusiastically in the stirring prac 
 tical Hebraic counsel : 
 
 "Get thee forth into their midst, and whatso- < 
 ever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy 
 might." 
 
 "I shall be alone," said Alan; "there will be no 
 one to help or advise me." 
 
 "God is for you ; He is always on your side if 
 you are having the faintest desire to do better. 
 He is always willing your uttermost salvation. 
 Are you able to imagine any greater strength for 
 moral improvement than this?" 
 
 "I shall have a constant fight with my weak, 
 ignoble tendencies." 
 
 "You will be finding out that the only way to 
 fight them is to replace them with nobler ones. 
 Moreover, remember this, if your vices do not die 
 while you live, if they survive you, they will be 
 born again with you. Conquer them now; you 
 have a good opportunity; perhaps a far more 
 favorable one than you may have if you leave their 
 conquest to some future time or life." 
 
 "Then what is the first step to be taken?"
 
 26 o Souls of Passage 
 
 "Tell me this : if you were a sculptor and had 
 some old clay which you wished to make into a 
 new form, what is the first thing you would be 
 doing?" 
 
 "I would, of course, first consider what kind of 
 a new form I wished to make man, woman, 
 child, or animal." 
 
 "Just so. Then, if you are wishing to change 
 your old character for one nobler and higher, you 
 will first of all set before your imagination and 
 your will the lofty, pure ideal you wish to realize 
 within your own soul." 
 
 "And what next, sir?" 
 
 "Then you will be protecting this ideal in your 
 heart of hearts, shielding it by daily prayer and 
 keeping it out of danger that is, out of tempta 
 tion and you will soon be finding your ideal 
 growing to a reality." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "Yes. Can you make a single grain of wheat 
 grow ? You cannot. All you can do is to prepare 
 the conditions under which wheat will grow. In 
 like manner you cannot grow a single grace within 
 you, but the grace will be growing of itself if you 
 furnish the proper soil, and the soil is your life. It 
 will be a foolish thing to be talking and dreaming 
 of some great ideal if you do not let it nourish 
 itself by your life. Love, justice, truth, knowl 
 edge, are not objects for study or thought; no,
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 261 
 
 indeed! they must become part of our very life; 
 we must nourish them in our souls by living in 
 harmony with their great principles." 
 
 "If one has an evil passion and cannot control 
 it, how can it best be resisted, sir ?" asked Alan. 
 
 "You will not be able to resist what you cannot 
 control no, indeed!" 
 
 "Then, how can control be gained ?" 
 
 "You can never annihilate a passion, but you 
 can, as I said before, lead it into higher channels. 
 If you do not do this it will grow and grow till it 
 becomes stronger than your will or your reason. 
 But listen to me, Alan ; you can displace a wicked 
 passion by a virtuous one; just as superstition is 
 displaced by knowledge, greed by generosity, 
 weakness of will by sturdy resolves inflexibly and 
 unflinchingly carried out." 
 
 "And there is always prayer to help." 
 
 "Take care what you mean by that," said Ma 
 crae with emphasis. 
 
 "Do you not believe in prayer ? Oh, yes you do ! 
 I know you do." 
 
 "I believe that there is not one single instance in 
 the history of man in which true prayer has failed. 
 If any one has not obtained what they asked, it 
 only proves that they were not knowing how to 
 pray." 
 
 "What is true prayer?" sighed Alan. "Who 
 knows ?"
 
 262 Souls of Passage 
 
 "I will tell you. It is not only words, it is also 
 works. The gods do help those who help them 
 selves ; for prayer is the lifting up of the soul to 
 the highest ideal it has. Our ideal will not come 
 down to us ; we are to rise up by prayer and good 
 works to it. Yes, indeed ! How else are we to be 
 come conquerors of our lower selves and step 
 higher toward God ?" 
 
 "I am not sure I understand." 
 
 "Think one moment, Alan. If you take into 
 your mind any thought it will grow and grow till 
 it will needs express itself in words and actions. 
 If you think wrong of a person, and encourage 
 that thought, soon you will say wrong of him, 
 and it will not be long till you do him wrong. For 
 if you wish to call up a wicked spirit, you need 
 not go in search of him, you will only be requiring 
 to permit him to come that is, if an evil thought 
 enters the soul, and you take its claims into your 
 consideration, you give it a promise, you induce it 
 to remain, and it will urge and urge its claim until 
 it is granted. .Is not this so?" 
 
 "I know it is." 
 
 "Well, then, a good thought is far more mighty. 
 Let it enter your soul, take all its claims into your 
 consideration, guard it with prayer, feed it with 
 holy aspirations, and let it work in you and 
 through you its perfect work. Thus a man's acts 
 express his thoughts, they are his writing in the
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 263 
 
 Book of Life. And such prayer never failed and 
 never will fail." 
 
 These were the great facts which underlay all 
 their conversations, and Alan accepted as much of 
 them as he was able at that time to assimilate. 
 Certainly they stimulated and strengthened that 
 intensive life which strikes root downward, and 
 these last days of pale sunshine and cool, short 
 twilights were to Alan days of large horizons, 
 days in which he realized that in its relation to 
 what is to be hereafter there is no human business 
 or occupation which is not awful and sacred 
 the work given us to do, our portion in the days 
 of our vanity, our discipline, and our task. 
 
 At length the very last day of their sojourn at 
 Dunbrack came. Alan spent a couple of hours with 
 Macrae, and on his way home walked to the pier 
 to see if the little steamer which was to carry back 
 to Glasgow their belongings had arrived. He 
 found her just casting anchor, and turned quickly 
 home to superintend the removal of the luggage 
 to her deck. On his way up the mountain he met 
 Fame, and they walked to the castle together. The 
 trees were bare and the road ankle deep in leaves, 
 and there was a slight frost on the ground. Fame 
 was unusually silent, but she was "all there;" and 
 in some way known to women and generally 
 natural to them she managed to put a distance 
 between Alan and herself that it was impossible
 
 264 Souls of Passage 
 
 for him to cross. He could not say a word of ad 
 miration or love to her, and he was not sorry for 
 this condition, but he imagined Fame might ex 
 pect him to do so. On the contrary, she compelled 
 him to wonder whether he really ever had made 
 love to her; whether he really ever had kissed 
 those lips, at once so smiling and so forbidding. 
 He would not have been astonished if Fame had 
 positively denied it. He was half inclined to 
 tempt her to do so. He looked at her reproach 
 fully, and she was quite unconscious of his griev 
 ance. He tried talking sentimentally, and asked 
 her if she yet remembered what delightful walks 
 they had in the moonlit garden ; and she answered 
 with a pretty enthusiasm : 
 
 "Oh, yes! And in the wood! and on the sea 
 shore! Oh, it was all charming! The happiest 
 time of my life ! And I am going to Glasgow this 
 winter, and father is going with me ; how nice it is 
 to have a little money to spare !" 
 
 "And a little love to spare also," said Alan at a 
 venture, trying to pique her into some acknowl 
 edgment. 
 
 "Oh, dear me, no," she answered with disdain. 
 "Who wants the 'sparings' of love?" 
 
 Then Alan thought, "Flora has told her of our 
 engagement," and he said no more ; but he kicked 
 the fallen leaves with his walking stick until Fame 
 said:
 
 Fame Makes n. Confession 265 
 
 "What have the leaves done to you ? Are you 
 forgetting how pleasant was their rustle and their 
 shadow when the sun was hot ? I don't like such 
 ingratitude." And Alan was kept safely busy de 
 fending himself from this charge until they 
 reached the castle. 
 
 He left Fame at the parlor door, and he left her 
 with a burning and indignant heart, angry at 
 women in general, and very angry at Fame in 
 particular. "Her eyes had a look in them that 
 checked me on every side," he muttered. "It was 
 her fault, too. What unreliable, provoking 
 creatures women are ! As for Fame, she is over 
 fond of Fame to love any man as he ought to be 
 loved and I'm not caring I'm not caring a 
 penny piece: there is Flora dear, sweet, lovable 
 Flora! I am well content with my womanly 
 Flora, and I'm rather sorry for Grant running 
 after such a will-o'-the-wisp as Fame Macrae." 
 
 While Alan was relieving his wounded pride by 
 such reflections and assertions Fame sought her 
 friend. She was not in the "put by" parlors, but 
 she found her in the upper room which was 
 specially her own. This apartment was still cosey 
 and comfortable. There was no furniture in it of 
 any financial value, Flora having chosen nearly 
 every piece from the ancient belongings of her 
 own family. The little tent bed had been safe for 
 two generations in the Dunbrack garret, and it
 
 266 Souls of Passage 
 
 would be quite as safe neatly spread in Flora's 
 own room. The tapestry chairs, and the old cab 
 inet, and the case of drawers, and the faded work- 
 table of Lady Sara these things could defy both 
 time and thieves; and they stood in their usual 
 comfortable order about the pleasant, restful 
 place. There was a bright, blazing fire of ash logs 
 in the open hearth, and Flora sat before it with a 
 book in her hand. She was delighted to put it 
 down and welcome her friend. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you, Fame!" she cried. 
 "This sense of going away makes the days so long. 
 I was thinking of you, and wondering how soon 
 you would come, and half afraid Gillian would get 
 hold of you before I did." 
 
 As she said these friendly words she was unty 
 ing Fame's hat and helping her to remove her 
 mantilla, and setting her a chair on the hearth-rug 
 beside her own. 
 
 "I have very good and very important news to 
 tell you, dear Flora," said L'ame with a very im 
 portant air. "What do you think ? We are going 
 to Glasgow ; father and I are both going. Father 
 had a letter this morning from Mr. Mackenzie, 
 and he says he can let us have a pretty home for 
 the winter at a rent so small i- is not worth think 
 ing about. And father was pleased at the offer, 
 and we are going to Glasgow in a month." 
 
 "I know the house, Fame. I heard uncle speak
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 267 
 
 of it a very pretty place near Kelvin Grove. It 
 belongs to his old friend Bailie Brodie, who is go 
 ing to the south of France with his sick daughter. 
 I am glad about it so very glad, Fame." 
 
 "It is quite a providence, Flora, because I shall 
 have a great deal to do this winter, for I am to be 
 married in the spring." 
 
 "I expected that news, Fame. Any one could 
 see that Gillian and you were intended for each 
 other. Such a good-hearted, handsome fellow! 
 And how dearly he loves you !" 
 
 "Well," answered Fame, "he does nothing but 
 tell me so; and I do think we were intended for 
 each other, because even Shaw McDufFs malice 
 could not part us. How Shaw will blaze and 
 shiver when he hears of our marriage ! I am not 
 sorry for him, not at all. He once told me I had 
 been 'proud of his attentions.' Fancy that ! Now 
 some day I shall be Lady Grant, and that will be a 
 position to be proud of ; because the Grants are a 
 fine old Highland family, almost as ancient and 
 historic as the Macraes." 
 
 "And so you are really to be married in the 
 spring ? And to Gillian, after all ? I am so glad 
 for you." 
 
 "Gillian spoke to my father yesterday; they 
 had a long talk, and Gillian told me that father 
 kissed him when it was over, and called him his 
 'dear son.' Moreover, he said I would be having
 
 268 Souls of Passage 
 
 every foot of the Macrae land, and that a part of it 
 had once been the Grants' land, and so, very likely, 
 land and lady were going home. You know how 
 father would say these things ? Gillian came back 
 to me with tears in his eyes, and I am sure father 
 will have the best of sons in Gillian." 
 
 "And you the best of husbands." 
 
 "I am sure of that. When we meet in Glasgow 
 we shall arrange about the wedding and buy my 
 wedding clothes. I am to have a very fine cere 
 mony. Lady Grant is desiring it and Gillian 
 also." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I am feeling that it would not be right to go 
 against their wishes, especially as it is my wish 
 likewise," and Fame laughed happily as she added, 
 "Will you believe that I lay awake hours last night 
 dressing myself as a bride ? I decided the matter a 
 dozen times, and then considered it afresh. That 
 was because I had not you to help me. You know 
 I always leave the decisive word to you." 
 
 "You managed the decisive word about Gillian 
 without my help, Fame." 
 
 "That is different. Nobody can choose a hus 
 band for a girl but the girl who has to live with 
 him. At the beginning of our acquaintance you 
 thought Shaw would make a very suitable hus 
 band for me." 
 
 "When I knew Shaw better I changed my
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 269 
 
 opinion. You would never have submitted to 
 him. You could not have controlled him. You 
 would have made both yourself and him miser 
 able." 
 
 "It is more than likely I would have made Shaw 
 miserable, but as for myself, I should have been 
 finding a kind of happiness in that occupation." 
 
 "You are talking against yourself and without 
 reason. But what is the use in speculating on 
 what 'might have been' ? What is to be is so much 
 nicer." 
 
 "Yes, it is; but Shaw was not the only 'might 
 have been.' I was very much in love with Alan 
 for a little while at least, I thought I was. Did 
 you never notice it ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Of course, when Gillian came I knew it was 
 but a passing fancy, and I made no scruple of let 
 ting Alan see at once that when the true lover 
 arrived it was time to stop playing at love." 
 
 During this speech Flora was making a des 
 perate effort to keep control of herself ; and to the 
 strong heart sorrow is spiritual force and swift 
 ness. She rallied all her powers, and as Fame 
 went carelessly on, stinging her with every word, 
 she sat vaguely smiling and looking into the fire. 
 But interiorly she was listening to the voice she 
 never disobeyed, "Be still! Be still! For Alan's 
 sake be still! For your own sake be still!"
 
 270 Souls of Passage 
 
 So, though she was suffering, she made no sign. 
 And Fame was not watchful nor even suspicious. 
 Besides, she was full of her own interesting af 
 fairs, and just at present a little proud of her own 
 importance. Gillian told her she was the most 
 bewitching woman in the world, and she was in 
 clined to believe Gillian. Her father petted and 
 blessed her, and Lady Grant had sent her a very 
 valuable ring and a message of love and welcome. 
 She was going to triumph over Shaw and all her 
 acquaintances; perhaps, indeed, a little bit over 
 Flora. For though Flora was her chief friend, be 
 ing engaged makes a difference in a girl's friend 
 ships; the engaged girl assuming tacitly, either of 
 right or custom, a superiority over the girls not 
 yet bespoken. 
 
 So Fame was not mindful of Flora's feelings; 
 she had during the last two weeks began to think 
 of things only as they affected herself ; and when 
 she spoke of Alan and being in love with him, she 
 never took Flora into her consideration. Having 
 made her confession, "I was very much in love 
 with Alan for a little while," etc., she stooped for 
 ward and replaced a log that had fallen, and then 
 looked at Flora for her answer to it. 
 
 And by this time Flora stood guard over her 
 self ; whatever was yet to be told her she would 
 hear to the last word ; her mouth was closed and a
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 271 
 
 little stern, and her eyes were fixed intently on the 
 fire ; but Fame took these signs as indicative either 
 of a doubt as to her exact truthfulness or else of 
 disapproval, perhaps of contempt. She was a lit 
 tle offended, and she said plainly : 
 
 "You need not look as if you did not believe 
 me, Flora; I was in love with Alan, and more, 
 Alan was in love with me is yet, for that matter. 
 He wanted to say sweet things to me an hour ago 
 as we came through the wood, but I would not let 
 him." 
 
 "It was wrong of Alan. He knew you were 
 engaged, I suppose." 
 
 "Father was sure to tell him this morning; they 
 were a long time together; however, Alan has a 
 good opinion of himself." 
 
 "Has he?" 
 
 "You talk as if you did not care about things ; 
 and I am sure you know that men never can and 
 never will believe they have lost their influence 
 over a girl they once have influenced. Then they 
 get the habit of saying nice things, and they say 
 them, even if they don't want to say them." 
 
 "Do you think Alan does that ?" 
 
 "I am certainly thinking so. He imagined I 
 was expecting him to say sweet things this morn 
 ing. I was not ; I very soon made him feel, 'No 
 thank you, sir.' '
 
 272 Souls of Passage 
 
 "But I don't think I understand you properly, 
 Fame. Do you mean me to infer that Alan has 
 been accustomed to say sweet things to you?" 
 
 "I am not meaning you to 'infer' anything about 
 it. I am telling you plain and straight that Alan has 
 been making love to me ever since that night we 
 walked in the garden and you would not go with 
 us; that night when Shaw insisted on me going 
 home with him and I would not go." 
 
 "I remember it was just after Shaw had said 
 you were engaged to him." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why did you not tell me this before, Fame ?" 
 
 "Well, it is my nature to like a secret, and it 
 seemed also to be Alan's. Then we were all 
 tongue-tied by Jessie's affairs. I was, however, 
 often on the point of telling you, but if ever I did 
 turn the conversation to Alan you always grew 
 silent and indifferent. You never would talk of 
 him, and sometimes I thought you did not like 
 him, and sometimes I thought perhaps you liked 
 him too much." 
 
 "Too much? Oh, no!" 
 
 "I mean that you liked him more than he liked 
 you ; and that you felt this dear Flora, I hardly 
 know how to express my meaning, but indeed it is 
 only a kind one." 
 
 "I know. It is my fault, I dare say." 
 
 "You see, Flora, Gillian appeared then to be
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 273 
 
 such a failure in love, and Shaw was a failure of 
 another kind, and I did not want to talk about 
 Alan until I was sure he was also not going to be 
 a failure. I am glad now that I was keeping my 
 own counsel, for Alan was, after all, but a half- 
 and-half kind of a lover. You can see yourself he 
 never made the slightest effort to dispute Gillian's 
 claim on me. I wonder you noticed nothing, for 
 Jessie told me several times not to be minding a 
 word Alan said to me ; and once Mrs. Mackenzie 
 looked very queerly at me and said, 'You'll be re 
 quiring to take care what way you're stepping, 
 Miss Macrae; one thing leads to another, and 
 especially one kiss to another.' And I knew then 
 that she had seen Alan kiss me, and that she was 
 putting this and that together." 
 
 "Poor Alan ! Has he quite lost your favor?" 
 
 "I am not angry at him at all. I like him. He 
 can't help making love. I used to wonder if he 
 was not making love to you whenever I was away 
 from Dunbrack." 
 
 "You need not have wondered for an instant. 
 If you had asked me, I should certainly have told 
 you the truth." 
 
 "Somehow, one expects nothing positive from 
 Alan. But you can never be angry with him. I 
 shall invite him to my wedding. He will come 
 and be the merriest of all the guests." 
 
 "I suppose he 'will. Fame, do you feel this
 
 274 Souls of Passage 
 
 room very hot ? I have a sick headache. Is it the 
 fire ? Please open the window. I hope I am not 
 going to be ill " and she moved unsteadily 
 toward the bed, and slipped down prone and faint 
 among its pillows. 
 
 "Flora ! Flora ! What is the matter ?" 
 "Nothing nothing at all wait a little." 
 In a few minutes she asked Fame to go and 
 make her a cup of tea, and Fame went eagerly 
 about it. Then the poor, heartbroken girl wrung 
 her hands and moaned like a creature in mortal 
 pain. And yet she knew that she must not now 
 fail herself ; she must rally all her forces and bear 
 Fame's chatter to the last moment; for the one 
 intolerable thing would be to have Fame to have 
 any one know of her lover's unfaithfulness to 
 her. 
 
 Fortunately Fame did not stay very much 
 longer; as soon as she saw Flora recovering she 
 proposed sleep as the best restorative, and Flora 
 eagerly accepted her advice. This arrangement 
 gave her a few hours of solitude, and it is in soli 
 tude and in the secret haunts of the spirit that the 
 healing springs take their rise. Alone she found 
 them out, and when dinner time came she was not 
 only able to face Alan, but was quite sure in her 
 own mind of the course she ought to take. It was 
 a gloomy meal, which no one seemed to enjoy. 
 Mrs. Mackenzie was tired and a little fretful. So
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 275 
 
 many things had not happened as she had ex 
 pected them to happen; and the household cares 
 had worn her nervously out. She excused herself 
 as soon as the meal was over, and leaving Thrift 
 in charge of the final arrangements, went to her 
 room. 
 
 "You look so tired, mother," said Alan, "and I 
 am thinking this moving house twice a year is a 
 bad thing." 
 
 "There will be a good as well as a bad side to 
 everything, Alan ; the great point is to find it out. 
 And, Flora, you be to remember the feckless feel 
 ing you had this afternoon, and give yourself a 
 good sleep." 
 
 "I will," she answered pleasantly. "I shall be 
 all right in the morning." 
 
 Alan was smoking comfortably by the fireside, 
 and as soon as Mrs. Mackenzie had said her final 
 "good-night" he rose and pushed his chair beside 
 Flora. She did not oppose this advance, but when 
 he would have taken her hand, she said : 
 
 "Alan, I have something to tell you some 
 thing to ask you. Understand that I shall take 
 your word before the word of any other person. 
 You have been accused to me; if you deny the 
 accusation I. shall accept your denial as the truth 
 and act in accord with it. If you are guilty, I 
 think you have so much honor as to say so. Fame 
 told me this afternoon that you have been making
 
 276 Souls of Passage 
 
 love to her. Did she speak the truth or was it only 
 a little bit of Fame's vanity ? Tell me, Alan." 
 
 Then Alan threw his cigar into the fire, and his 
 face flushed till it was hot and red as flame. He 
 hesitated, for nothing but the truth would come to 
 his mind; and the truth was so hard to tell. In 
 fact, he remained silent so long that Flora said sor 
 rowfully : 
 
 "I see it is the truth. Oh, Alan ! Alan !" 
 
 "Flora ! dear Flora ! it is the truth, and yet it is 
 not the truth. There is only one truth in this mat 
 ter, and that is that never have I ceased to love you 
 for a moment since you promised to be my wife. 
 I cannot excuse myself; if you cannot imagine 
 and allow for my temptation there is no one else 
 to plead for me. I have been weak, but not false. 
 Oh, no, not false to you. You pleaded with father 
 for me, now plead with your own heart for me." 
 
 "I have done so. I acknowledge that I also am 
 to blame. When you wished to make public our 
 love and our engagement, I would not let you do 
 so. I might have known that a concealed love 
 breeds sorrow or wrong of some kind. If our love 
 had been known Fame would never have tempted 
 you with those bewitching ways that subjugate 
 men so readily I have watched her with Grant 
 and I can understand the influence and glamour 
 she threw over you. I am not blaming Fame ; she 
 did not know how far she was wronging me."
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 277 
 
 "When she was present." 
 
 "Yes, I know. I have thought of these things, 
 Alan ; and, as I told you, I blame myself most of 
 all. But you are going to London, and you will 
 meet many beautiful girls; and I will not be any 
 hindrance to your freest choice. I give you back 
 your promise in its fullest sense. I do not wish to 
 be kept in your heart by simply shutting me in 
 there. As I have not had the power to bind your 
 wandering fancy, it is likely we have made a mis 
 take and I am not the woman you ought to marry. 
 Give yourself the freedom to find this out ; and if 
 at the end of two years you can come honestly to 
 me and say, 'I love you better than any woman in 
 the world, and I feel that I can love you for life 
 and for death, for weal and for woe,' then I will 
 never doubt you more. I will be yours forever." 
 
 "It is a hard sentence, Flora, but I deserve it 
 and I will come at the end of it and say I love 
 you." 
 
 "Then all shall be as it was. In the meantime 
 the world must not see any change in our relation 
 ship to each other. Your father knows I love you, 
 but it is a secret in his own breast; your mother 
 and Jessie may suppose it; Fame does not even 
 suspect it. I do not think our love should be the 
 subject of either pity or sympathy or intercession." 
 
 "You will forget me. You will take your love 
 from me. I shall be the most forsaken of men."
 
 278 Souls of Passage 
 
 "I will not forget you. I will never take my 
 love from you. The promise I made you will 
 stand while moons rise and set and waters run to 
 the sea." 
 
 "With this promise I can bear all and conquer 
 all." 
 
 And she really did trust in him. Taking into her 
 consideration the concealment of their love as the 
 first wrong step, she understood how easily this 
 concealment had bred temptation, and how potent 
 a temptation Fame must have been. Nor did she 
 underestimate the pride of rivalling Shaw, and of 
 winning from him the girl he had so falsely 
 claimed. She saw also, when she looked back over 
 the past summer, that she herself had often 
 thrown her lover into temptation, and she felt 
 compelled to confess to her own heart, "I am not 
 innocent." 
 
 And with this self-accusation there came for her 
 lover pity, and love, and faith, and finally a glow 
 of pride in him, as she reminded herself that not 
 even for her love had he lied; and that further 
 more he had taken his guilt on his own shoulders 
 and scorned to blame Fame, or in any way to 
 screen or excuse his wrong-doing under the 
 ancient plea of the man "The woman beguiled 
 me." And there was hope, invincible hope, in 
 these reflections; they robbed wrong and disap-
 
 Fame Makes a Confession 279 
 
 pointment of all their bitterness, and she fell 
 asleep smiling to the song they sang to her. 
 
 And into Alan's shame and sorrow she infused 
 the same strong hope for the future, and he left 
 her presence full of those noble determinations 
 which can say courageously and with inviolate 
 purpose, 
 
 "Yet though no light be left, nor bird now sing 
 As here I turn, I'll thank God, hastening, 
 That the same goal is still on the same track."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FAME IS MARRIED. 
 
 IN a short time the provost's family were again 
 settled in their Glasgow home. And Mrs. Mac 
 kenzie was specially happy in this return to what 
 she called "regular civilized life." Her large, 
 lofty rooms, with their splendidly solid furniture, 
 and the gleaming of the coal fires on the bright 
 steel hearths, on the Russian leather and crimson 
 damask, and dark oak or rosewood, filled her heart 
 with the atmosphere and sense of home. And she 
 looked and spoke as the very genius of the place 
 should do. The Glasgow air and the Glasgow 
 manner was in all her ways and speech, she 
 held herself with more dignity, feeling that here 
 with the great lamps bearing the city's arms be 
 fore her fine doorsteps and the ladies of the 
 municipality paying her homage she was in very 
 deed the wife of Robert Mackenzie, provost of the 
 great city of Glasgow. 
 
 Still, there was a woful sense of Alan's absence 
 through the stately dwelling. She had often
 
 Fame is Married 281 
 
 grumbled at his careless, hasty ways, at his habit 
 of "tossing up" tidy rooms, at his noisy steps, his 
 singing and whistling, his irregular hours and his 
 late rising, but oh, how glad she would have felt 
 had these trials not been taken from her! She 
 constantly worried her husband to bring them 
 back. 
 
 "I'm not caring for anything now, Robert. 
 Alan is away and the town is empty to me, and the 
 house is like Sunday from week's end to week's 
 end. Bring the lad home again. What for are 
 you banishing him to a town like London in the 
 very winter, with fogs thicker than your morning 
 porridge, and folks that are all stranger folks to 
 him ? What has the lad done to be served in such 
 a like way?" 
 
 "Alan is very happy in London. I had a good 
 letter from him this morning. There it is; read 
 it." 
 
 "I will not. I don't want to read letters from 
 him. I want my lad himself; and Flora may 
 laugh and sing as much as she likes, I am know 
 ing well she is wanting him also. The very ser 
 vants are missing him, and asking, 'When is Mr. 
 Alan coming back?' And I am not going to be 
 surprised if Ann Fife throws up her place alto 
 gether ; for she says there is no pleasure in cooking 
 anything now that Mr. Alan is not here either to 
 praise or ban it ; for it is well known to Ann that
 
 282 Souls of Passage 
 
 you havena any more skill than a baby about a 
 meal's meat." 
 
 "I will give her a shilling now and then; that 
 will do as well as Alan's praise or banning." 
 
 "And what will you give to Flora? You can't 
 offer her money, and the lassie is pining, or I 
 am no judge of love-sick women." 
 
 "You are all wrong, Marian. Flora is not the 
 girl to pine after any man." 
 
 "Provost, when you are densely ignorant on a 
 subject I would keep whist on it; and you are 
 simply an ignoramus anent love and women. 
 Flora is fretting for Alan. You may take my 
 word or leave it, but you can't make it anything 
 but a true word." 
 
 "Well, then, you must all of you take a few 
 months' fretting you, and Flora, and the huzzies 
 in the kitchen likewise. Alan has gone to London 
 for a year, and he is going to stay in London for 
 a year or there will be changes not yet thought 
 of. Give some new dresses in the kitchen, and I 
 dare say Gilbert Stuart will soon take Flora's 
 mind off Alan Mackenzie." 
 
 "Provost! provost! Gilbert Stuart put our 
 Alan to the wall ! Not he nor twenty like him. It 
 passes all believing." 
 
 "What passes all believing?" 
 
 "The stupendous foolishness of a wise man
 
 Fame is Married 283 
 
 meddling with things he knows nothing about. I 
 want you to bring Alan home again." 
 
 "I'll not do it, Marian. Where is Jessie? One 
 would think you had neither chick nor child left 
 you." 
 
 "I have not. Jessie's married. Is there any 
 occasion to specify more reasons? That takes in 
 all and sundry. Jessie is so set up with her hus 
 band and her house she has clean forgotten she 
 ever had a mother or a home." 
 
 "She will get over that." 
 
 "I'm not looking for things impossible, provost. 
 I have heard what other mothers say. I thought 7 
 was to be the exception to the rule; all mothers 
 think that, and all of them get the buff and the 
 buffet alike. If it wasna that mothers are prom 
 ised salvation for child-bearing, who would be a 
 mother? There would be no earthly compensa 
 tion for the pain, and the care, and the cast-away 
 love." 
 
 "Tut, tut, Marian! Jessie is happy. Let that 
 content you." 
 
 "It is gey hard for a mother to reach that 
 height, Robert. I want Alan back." 
 
 "Alan will marry, too, some day." 
 
 "Say that. I am not doubting it, neither am I 
 doubting he will always be mother's boy. That is 
 the differ. A girl is weak, and she lets he.r bus-
 
 284 Souls of Passage 
 
 band absorb her whole nature; a girl is never just, 
 she gives all to the feeling that pleases her most ; 
 but a man is just, first of all ; he never forgets the 
 mother that bore him and nursed him at her 
 breast; if she be a good mother, she will be 
 'mother' to his last moment. And a man is 
 stronger than a woman ; it is very seldom he lets 
 any woman make him over to please herself. You 
 have not let me do that to you, Robert, not by a 
 long heft ; and though Alan is weaker than you, he 
 is strong enough to rob neither wife nor mother, 
 no, nor yet father of the love due them. I want 
 you to bring Alan back to me." 
 
 "Well, well, in good time in good time." 
 
 "No time but now is a good time. I want him 
 home for the New Year." 
 
 "He cannot come. That is enough said, and I 
 have not another word on the subject." 
 
 Then the anxious mother went to Flora. Flora 
 was always ready to talk about Alan, and his 
 mother's longings were never tiresome to her. 
 For she was really fretting about her lover. Very 
 grave doubts as to the wisdom of his father's 
 course, and also of her own course, constantly as 
 sailed her. The divine Son of Man had dictated 
 the very opposite way. He had judged it best for 
 the weak not to be thrown into the way of tempta 
 tion ; and Alan had been, as it were, set in the very
 
 Fame is Married 285 
 
 midst of circumstances requiring the strongest 
 will and the most rigid self-discipline. Was it 
 fair ? Was it kind ? If he fell, whose fault would 
 it be? Would his father, would she herself be 
 innocent? So often she had heard Ian Macrae 
 say that beautiful, weak souls were sent to the 
 homes and households of strength that they might 
 be helped upward, steadied, and guided, borne 
 with, and forgiven even until seventy times seven ; 
 making invincible, never-failing love their con 
 stant creditor ; so that by all means they might not 
 fail to "buy the truth" or the special virtue they 
 had been sent to purchase. And they had sent 
 Alan out from them, alone into the market-places 
 of Vanity Fair, and told him he was there to ob 
 tain the very virtues in which it was notoriously 
 wanting. 
 
 Indulging such thoughts and regrets, it was 
 natural for Flora to come gradually more and 
 more into sympathy with Alan's mother; and 
 equally natural that this community of feeling was 
 the very soil necessary for a sincere affection to 
 root and grow in. So that day by day Flora 
 became dearer and dearer to Mrs. Mackenzie, 
 more necessary to her happiness, and more pleas 
 ant in her sight. Jessie had always been just and 
 moderately affectionate to her; and her marriage 
 made no visible difference in their friendship. She 
 returned from her bridal journey soon after the
 
 286 Souls of Passage 
 
 provost's family were settled in their Glasgow 
 home, and no one could deny that she scrupulously 
 paid the anise and cummin of a daughter's duty as 
 she conceived it. Every fine day she visited her 
 mother, and if she showed any want of sympathy 
 in her old home and relations, she was not herself 
 conscious of it. She had always objected to Alan's 
 residence in London, and she was naturally 
 pleased that her mother and Flora had realized the 
 wisdom of her objections. 
 
 "James disapproved of the plan from the first," 
 she said one day when they were talking of the 
 matter; "and James is seldom wrong; he has a 
 native sagacity about things that is not easily 
 equalled." 
 
 "We all know that James is infallible, Jessie," 
 answered Mrs. Mackenzie, "but I am thinking 
 James never rightly knew Alan. And a man can 
 not advise where he does not know." 
 
 "On general principles he can, mother; and on 
 general principles it is unwise to go into tempta 
 tion. I was saying to James this morning mother, 
 what a grand thing and what a proper thing it 
 would be if you could persuade father to come and 
 'sit under' James. It would just be the making of 
 St. John's Kirk." 
 
 "Jessie Laidlaw, I am astonished at you," 
 answered Mrs. Mackenzie with some anger. "My 
 grandfather and grandmother, my father and my
 
 Fame is Married 287 
 
 mother also, sat in the old Ram's Horn Kirk; I 
 was baptized in it ; I was married in it ; Alan and 
 yourself were baptized in it, and I and your father 
 have sat under Dr. Micklehose for twenty-nine 
 years. Do you think I will leave my kirk and my 
 minister at this hour of my life? You be to re 
 member, Jessie, all that my kirk is to me." 
 
 "It seems, at least, to be more to you than 
 your daughter," said Jessie in a tone of sad re 
 proach. 
 
 "Well, well, it seems that James Laidlaw was 
 more to you than your mother," was the answer 
 with an equal tone of reproach. 
 
 "Suppose, aunt," said Flora, with apparent un 
 consciousness of the little tiff, "suppose you 
 invited the first sewing circle to your house. 
 James could announce it next Sabbath." 
 
 "That would be a very good thing, Flora," said 
 Jessie. " 'The first sewing circle of the season 
 will meet at Provost Mackenzie's such a date,' and 
 so on. What do you say, mother ? It would make 
 quite a stir in our kirk." 
 
 "If it pleasures you, Jessie, you be to have your 
 way, my dear. We have been wanting to ask Dr. 
 Livingston to the house, and he might give us his 
 famous lecture in the evening about Asia Minor. 
 Mrs. MacLaren was saying it had a wealth of fine 
 poetry in it ; and he is a very popular young man 
 just now."
 
 288 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Mother, that would be a splendid thing! Can 
 James speak of it next Sabbath Day ?" 
 
 "I see nothing to hinder." 
 
 "James will be so gratified, and the ladies of 
 St. John's will be proud, indeed, to have an in 
 vite into the provost's house. It is real good of 
 you, mother, and I am sure it will be a precious 
 time." 
 
 "I wish Alan was here. As to poetry, there's 
 few can recite as he can. The dear lad !" 
 
 "I wish he was here," said Jessie. "It is per 
 fectly ridiculous of father sending him to Eng 
 land. What will he learn there worth the learn 
 ing ? I only hope he does not come back an Epis 
 copalian. James thinks he is in great danger be 
 cause of his sensuous nature ; he says he is not the 
 young man to be allowed fire to play with." 
 
 "Your father knows well what he is doing, 
 Jessie. It is not many people that would find 
 Provost Mackenzie 'perfectly ridic'lous,' and 
 Alan is no fool. If there is fire in his road he will 
 be knowing enough to keep out of the draught of 
 the blaze. Neither you nor James need to spend 
 an anxious hour for Alan; his mother's prayers 
 will be aye building a wall between him and all 
 danger." 
 
 "I saw a notice of James's Sabbath sermon in 
 the North Briton," said Flora, and Jessie was glad 
 of the interruption. It gave her an opportunity
 
 Fame is Married 289 
 
 to get out of a dilemma with a little flourish of 
 trumpets for her husband; and so home with the 
 good news about the sewing circle. 
 
 In such occupations and society the first weeks 
 of the winter passed. The provost was smiling 
 and happy, and often dropped remarks specially 
 intended to satisfy Flora concerning Alan, with 
 out drawing attention to that fact; and now and 
 then, meeting her alone in the halls or the parlors, 
 he would say, "Alan sends more than a month's 
 messages, dear. He is well and doing well. A 
 good boy, my dear !" And they would smile into 
 each other's eyes and pass on, both of them pleased 
 and comforted. 
 
 One morning shortly before Christmas a letter 
 arrived from Morandaroch announcing the near 
 arrival of Fame and her father. It must be con 
 fessed that it gave Flora no pleasure. In fact, she 
 had begun to doubt and dislike Fame; and these 
 are feelings that grow with little to sustain them. 
 Try as she would, she could not believe that Fame 
 had been absolutely ignorant of the relationship 
 between herself and Alan. A girl so clever and 
 observant must have noticed many little things 
 which could hardly fail to arouse, at least, sus 
 picion. It was true Fame had never made the 
 slightest allusion to this suspicion, but Flora did 
 not consider this reticence a point in her favor. 
 "She wished to be thought ignorant in order to
 
 290 Souls of Passage 
 
 excuse herself if the affair was discovered under 
 unfortunate circumstances." 
 
 This was the decision Flora came to, and she 
 reflected also that it was not until Grant appeared 
 Fame played the role of confidence in her. Grant 
 was the more desirable lover, and so she threw 
 over Alan and made her confession. And Flora 
 thought the confession a bit of unnecessary treach 
 ery to Alan. There was no need to make it, 
 except the personal need of exalting her own 
 charm over men, and the still more dubious one 
 of wounding her through Alan. Yes, she came at 
 last to believe that Fame had designedly told her 
 of Alan's lapse out of a spirit entirely mean and 
 envious. 
 
 Her letter, therefore, was not welcome. She 
 felt all the triumph of its tone. It really read thus 
 to her: "Alan has gone to London because he 
 could not bear to meet me with Grant. He could 
 not bear to see me married 'to another' and am 
 I not going to make a splendid alliance? and do 
 you not wish you were equally fortunate? and 
 surely I am a little sorry for you!" Something 
 like these ideas ran through Flora's mind all the 
 time she was reading the gay, boastful little letter. 
 
 "How soon are they coming, Flora?" asked 
 Mrs. Mackenzie. 
 
 "In three days." 
 
 "When is Fame to be married ?"
 
 Fame is Married 291 
 
 "In April. Then they are going to France, 
 Germany, Italy, Greece, Palestine perhaps, in 
 deed, to the North Pole. Fame has the world at 
 her feet, and is inclined to send it spinning." 
 
 "I am glad Alan never fancied the lassie. She 
 is a dangerous bit of beauty. She will rule or rate 
 any man." 
 
 "I thought Alan admired her very much." 
 
 "So he did, but admiration is not love. No, in 
 deed! Thank God for the same. Alan admired 
 Kitty Derenzy, and to my certain knowledge 
 though I never said a word about it he went 
 night after night to Glover's Theatre to see her 
 dance; but as for loving the lassie and wanting 
 to take her into his home and heart, I don't believe 
 he ever thought of such a thing. There were sun 
 dry others. I never bothered myself about them. 
 I would be almost ready to say that the lad had 
 some pure, true love that keepit the door of his 
 heart against all pretenders." 
 
 However, when Fame really came in person she 
 put aside all doubts and dislikes. She was so full 
 of life and love and hope and joy that her presence 
 was contagious; people caught her spirit and 
 helped her, and admired her, and whether they ap 
 proved or not, gave her not only their sympathy, 
 but their active personal assistance. 
 
 So the dark, dismal days of winter went merrily 
 enough. The provost was a great deal with his
 
 292 Souls of Passage 
 
 friend, and Fame was a great deal at the provost's. 
 And when young Grant arrived on the scene it 
 required all the influence of the Mackenzies to 
 keep events in a reasonable groove. But at length 
 the great day, to which all the days for many 
 months had come and gone, arrived, and the 
 church of St. Mary's was filled with a fashionable 
 crowd to witness the transformation of Miss 
 Euphamia Macrae into Mrs. Gillian Grant. And 
 she was so lovely in her bride gown, and Grant 
 was so happy and so manly, and Sir Archibald 
 Grant and Lady Grant so proud of their handsome 
 daughter-in-law, that the whole audience caught 
 fire from their enthusiasm. Never had St. Mary's 
 been so full of that joyous feeling which is the 
 result of a happy multitude its rustling of fine 
 dresses, its movements of pleasure, its soft sighs 
 and whispers and almost inaudible laughter and 
 never had the rapture and beauty of bride and 
 groom seemed more worthy of the sympathy and 
 congratulation they received. The wedding 
 breakfast was given at the provost's house, and 
 then the newly married pair went off to France, 
 Spain, Germany, Greece, etc. sure of one thing, 
 however, that whatever the world called the place 
 of their abiding, they knew it as Paradise. 
 
 Of course Alan had been invited to the wed 
 ding, but he had not been present ; and when the
 
 Fame is Married 293 
 
 stir and excitement of Fame's marriage were over 
 Flora felt a want and loneliness that was indescrib 
 able. One wet, dripping day, when all outside 
 and inside was doleful and depressing, she met the 
 provost in the hall. He was looking for his um 
 brella, and she went to help him. Something 
 lonely in his face touched her keenly, and she 
 asked softly as she put it into his hand : 
 
 "Must he stay longer away, uncle?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear." 
 
 "I want to see him." 
 
 "So do I." 
 
 "It is my birthday next Tuesday. He could get 
 here." 
 
 "No, no, he must thole it out." 
 
 But that night the provost, when he gathered 
 his family for the evening exercise, passed by the 
 chapter that was in order, and said, "We will read 
 this night the fourteenth chapter of the second of 
 Samuel unto the fifteenth verse. She knew, then, 
 that the father's heart was turning over with 
 abounding love the thought of bringing home his 
 banished again; and when he clasped her hand 
 that night it was as if his heart touched her heart, 
 and they both beat together. 
 
 A few days after this confidence the provost 
 asked her one morning to call at his office about 
 three o'clock. "I want you to come alone," he
 
 294 Souls of Passage 
 
 said. "This is an affair relating entirely to your 
 self. Come by yourself." 
 
 "Very well," she answered ; and a strange, wild 
 hope concerning Alan haunted her heart all morn 
 ing, and made her sing she knew not what joyous 
 snatches of old and new melody. About three 
 o'clock Flora stepped into Robert Mackenzie's of 
 fice, and was immediately taken to his private 
 room. There were two other gentlemen with him, 
 and Flora was a little astonished to find one of 
 them was Mr. Crawford, her lawyer and the man 
 ager of her affairs. The other stranger she had 
 never seen before, but he proved to be the chief 
 partner of Lockhart Brothers, lawyers in the 
 Canadian city of Toronto. She was a little afraid, 
 and her thoughts instantly went to her lover. Had 
 he been doing something wrong? Was her help 
 needed ? She sat down sick and silent, and looked 
 at the three men talking and exchanging mys 
 terious-looking papers. 
 
 The provost very soon explained matters. "My 
 dear Flora," he said, "you passed last Tuesday the 
 age your father fixed for your majority. These 
 gentlemen will now deliver to you their trust of 
 your estates in England and in Canada. In 
 Canada your property has nearly doubled its value 
 since your father bought it; more than this can 
 be said of his Chicago interests; and the Eng 
 lish securities, which have been in Mr. Craw-
 
 Fame is Married 295 
 
 ford's hands, are all at par, or very nearly so. 
 We have been going over your affairs together, 
 my dear, and we find you a very wealthy young 
 woman." 
 
 She sat very quiet during this address, trying 
 to collect her thoughts, to calm her excitement, 
 and not suffer any one to see that sudden accession 
 to great wealth threw her off her balance. With 
 respectful attention she listened to what Mr. 
 Crawford and Mr. Lockhart had to say; made an 
 appointment to meet them on the following after 
 noon regarding the continuance of their manage 
 ment; and then with a few grateful words for 
 their honorable care of her interests she took 
 leave of them. They were astonished at her wis 
 dom and self-restraint. 
 
 "I expected a scene," said Mr. Lockhart, "and 
 she made no more ado about one hundred 
 thousand pounds than if I had been handing her a 
 bawbee. I expected to be asked the why and the 
 wherefore of this, that, and the other, and she says 
 naething but 'Thank you, sir, and will you name 
 an hour for the morrow?' A wonderful lassie! 
 She's as prudent as Angus Dunbrack himself, and 
 I needna say mair than that. It implies a' things 
 convenient and commendable." 
 
 Just as soon, however, as Flora reached the 
 street all the woman in her asserted itself. She 
 was trembling from head to feet, everything
 
 296 Souls of Passage 
 
 seemed to waver before her vision, she could not 
 walk, she could hardly realize her own person 
 ality. She wanted most of all sympathy, and who 
 but Alan's mother could give it to her? But in 
 half an hour she was at home with her happy 
 news. Mrs. Mackenzie was in her room, and 
 when Flora hastily entered it she saw her sitting 
 with her feet on the fender, softly crying to her 
 self. 
 
 "Oh, aunt!" she exclaimed, as she stooped to 
 kiss her face, "oh, aunt, I have such great news 
 to tell you !" 
 
 "Is Alan coming home?" 
 
 "Yes, aunt ; I have been to see my trustees. I 
 am of age, you know, and I find that I am very 
 rich ; and what can I do with my money but marry 
 Alan, and let him guide it for me ?" 
 
 "My dear lassie ! Marry Alan !" 
 
 "Alan and I have been engaged nearly a year, 
 and now and now I am going to ask uncle to 
 send for him. For, aunt, what good will money 
 do me without Alan ?" 
 
 "You dear, dear lassie! Say 'mother' to me, 
 and I will take you into my heart this very mo 
 ment." 
 
 And Flora said "mother," and they sat down to 
 gether, and talked of the wonderful thing that had 
 come to her, and were quite forgetful of such an 
 interference as time until the provost came for his
 
 Fame is Married 297 
 
 dinner, and found Flora still sitting with her hat 
 on her head and her hand in the clasp of Alan's 
 happy mother. 
 
 But every joy must have its shadow, it would 
 want substance if it had it not; and the shadow 
 in this joy was the provost's fixed determination 
 not to call Alan home at once. "He is in the very 
 middle of a large business transaction," he said; 
 "it is a plan of his own conceiving and his own 
 management, and I will not cheat the lad out of 
 the profit and honor it is going to bring him. He 
 is doing fine. Let him alone, you two unreason 
 able women, you! Your cup is full. Why will 
 you want it to run over, specially when the wastry 
 will be just Alan and Alan's future? No; you be 
 to bide the right time. I will not set you a wrong 
 time to Alan's loss. Not I !" 
 
 The next morning Flora said at the breakfast 
 table, "I am going to see Ian Macrae. He will be 
 glad to rejoice with us, I know." 
 
 "But he left for Morandaroch yesterday," said 
 the provost. 
 
 "That is so," added Mrs. Mackenzie. "I for 
 got to tell you, Flora, that he called to see you on 
 Wednesday when you were away with Jean 
 Laird." 
 
 "Well, then, we shall meet soon at Moranda 
 roch." 
 
 "I hope so," continued the provost, "but he is
 
 298 Souls of Passage 
 
 very sick, 'just waiting to be dissolved,' he says. 
 And his heart could not be satisfied wanting the 
 old home, and the sound of the sea at its doors. 'I 
 shall be going out of the gate I came in by, if it be 
 God's will,' he said ; 'I am thinking it will be the 
 widest and the easiest.' ' 
 
 "Had he heard from Fame lately?" 
 
 "Not for three weeks, but he was making no 
 complaint about that. 'She has gone to her own 
 kindred,' he said to me; 'she has gone home. I 
 am not doubting it a moment.' ' 
 
 "It is well he can comfort himself with such 
 thoughts," said Mrs. Mackenzie. "I am not 
 understanding the like." 
 
 "It is his belief that Fame came to him for in 
 struction, and that the seed sown by Ian Macrae 
 will grow and flourish and spread far and wide 
 among the Grants and others. He counts little of 
 his own love and care, and thinks, perhaps, Fame's 
 spirit could find no other or no better way back to 
 Grant than through the heart and home of Ma 
 crae ; and if so, it was God's way, and so then God 
 bless her. He is an unselfish soul as any I ever 
 met or even imagined." 
 
 "Say that he is right, yet Fame has no call to 
 forget the wise, tender old man who loves her so 
 much." 
 
 "She has only forgotten for a little while," said
 
 Fame is Married 299 
 
 Flora, "and just at this time much may be for 
 given her." 
 
 "Perhaps she will hardly forgive herself when 
 it is too late to make atonement," said the provost. 
 "Her conscience " 
 
 "Conscience ! What is conscience, uncle ?" 
 
 "My dear Flora, it is nothing else and nothing 
 less than a direct message from our divine inner 
 sufferer and prisoner. It is the power within us 
 knowing by its own native wisdom the right and 
 wrong of any moral question we are doubtful 
 about, and giving judgment instantaneously and 
 unmistakably in a voice so low it may easily be 
 stifled, but also so clear that it is impossible to 
 misunderstand it." 
 
 "I remember now that I heard Ian Macrae once 
 say that when conscience speaks then the soul is 
 before the tribunal of its own divinity; and that 
 for one brief moment the warning or directing 
 voice is heard." 
 
 "That is the thought, and a right noble one," 
 answered the provost. "I wish that we could all 
 live to it, even as Ian Macrae does. For I am 
 sure that he constantly and habitually allows his 
 higher inner self to whisper to his lower mortal 
 self in that divine voice we call conscience. Mo 
 ment by moment it prompts him to good deeds, 
 fills his heart with a divine compassion, and makes
 
 300 Souls of Passage 
 
 all his aspirations pure, wise, and above all, unsel 
 fish/' 
 
 "We could not do it, Robert. Macrae is a man 
 by himself." 
 
 "We ought to try and do it, Marian; it is 
 the very task set every human soul, for it is 
 only by living constantly with our higher self, 
 and yielding a loving, willing obedience to 
 its commands, that our struggling, sinning, 
 suffering human personality becomes one with 
 its divine author and so at last wins its im 
 mortality." 
 
 "I am thinking, Robert, that Dr. Micklehose 
 would be holding a kirk session over you if he 
 heard the words you were just saying." 
 
 "He would do nothing of the kind, Marian. 
 Many a thought comes into a good man's heart 
 and head he does not cry aloud in the pulpit. The 
 doctor and I have had many spiritual confidences 
 there isn't any great gulf between us a good 
 man's religion goes far deeper, and higher, and 
 wider than his creed." 
 
 "Robert ! whatever are you talking about?" 
 
 "I am only saying that creeds are good school 
 masters ; and all of us need to go to school at the 
 beginning of life ; but sooner or later, if this world 
 has not silenced the divine man within us, we be 
 gin to think out and to work out with fear and 
 trembling, but yet with heavenly hope, what the
 
 Fame is Married 301 
 
 apostle calls 'our own salvation.' It is a great 
 thing, Marian, to ask with the jailer, 'What shall 
 I do to be saved ?' but it is a far grander thing to 
 ask with Paul, 'Lord, what wilt thou have me to 
 do?"'
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ALAN AND FLORA. 
 
 IN a short time the Mackenzies followed Ian 
 Macrae to Morandaroch. Their sail was a very 
 pleasant one, but all were compelled to compare it 
 with that of the past year. Then Jessie and Alan 
 had been with them ; now Jessie was married and 
 Alan far off in the heat and hubbub of London. 
 The provost did his best to supply Alan's place, 
 but one personality can never quite stand for an 
 other; and Flora missed Alan continually. She 
 missed him more at fair Dunbrack. It was all 
 well to send for architects and be collecting 
 granite and building materials, and to plan and 
 talk over the enlargement and beautifying of the 
 dear old place, but Flora knew that nothing would 
 be positively decided on until Alan had expressed 
 his wishes and his opinions. 
 
 She had always felt a strong attachment to 
 Dunbrack, even when there as a visitor ; now that 
 it was her very own, her home, as it had been the
 
 Alan and Flora 303 
 
 home of her kindred, a great love for the gray old 
 dwelling, with its martial courtyard and its shad 
 owy garden, took possession of her. She had a 
 constant sense of companionship in its rooms, and 
 this sense was sometimes so strong that she felt 
 the very presence of the pictured chiefs and 
 women that had lived in them before her. In some 
 occult way, also, her mind was impressed by them. 
 Often she decided on the changes for a certain 
 room, and then felt that her intentions could not 
 be carried out. There was no sympathy with 
 them from those beyond. Nevertheless, talk and 
 speculation regarding what was to be done passed 
 pleasantly many a wet day and many a quiet 
 evening. 
 
 The provost lingered at Dunbrack far beyond 
 his intention. He could not leave his friend Ian, 
 whose soul that strange, fluttering, restless 
 essence was ready to depart. It was the falling 
 of a withered leaf whether he lived or died from 
 day to day last days suffused with a serene and 
 sacred glow. And yet withal a little anxious as 
 those going a long journey may be he sat in the 
 door of his home, waiting for the King's mes 
 senger. It was now that the provost noticed many 
 traits in his friend that had not struck him be 
 fore, and one of these was his extreme urbanity 
 and respect for the poorest and most ignorant of 
 the men and women with whom he came in con-
 
 304 Souls of Passage 
 
 tact. It was so remarkable that Mackenzie could 
 not help speaking of it to him, and Ian lifted his 
 face, and the fiery flash in his eyes gave to the 
 words he said a still graver import : 
 
 "Robert! my friend Robert, the poorest fisher 
 man that goes out in his boat to sea is having a 
 majestic antiquity that we must respect. If you 
 will only be thinking of it, how wonderful it is ! 
 For far off in the eternal mind of God that poor 
 man had his place from everlasting. Before the 
 world was he lay there with God's goodness round 
 about him, the object of a transcending, unfath 
 omable love. Yes, indeed! so long as there has 
 been a God, so long has that man's soul been the 
 object of God's knowledge and care. It will be 
 no wonder, then, that God is so patient with sin 
 ning souls ; no wonder that He thought them wor 
 thy of the incarnation of His only begotten son 
 Jesus Christ." 
 
 "You make the love of God a very near thing, 
 Ian." 
 
 "I am not making it more than it is, Robert. 
 Nearer to God are we than to our father and 
 mother. He besets us, guards us behind and be 
 fore ; and we can never get away from the home 
 of His right hand." 
 
 "Yet how constantly we disobey and grieve 
 Him!"
 
 Alan and Flora 305 
 
 "There will be one thing that grieves Him most 
 of all it is when we deliberately look His com 
 mandments in the face, and then break them. Ah, 
 that is a great sin against a great love ! Think of 
 it, Robert! He is bidding His angels rejoice, not 
 because He has made a new world, but because 
 one sinful man or woman has come repenting to 
 His loving heart to be forgiven. Oh, the height, 
 and depth, and length, and breadth of such divine, 
 abounding love!" 
 
 "If we are partakers of this divine love, Ian, it 
 must surely show itself in our lives, but how shall 
 we know it?" 
 
 "Always we can be knowing it by one thing, 
 Robert the overflowing of ourselves upon 
 others. This is the divine side of love, not what 
 we are doing for ourselves, but what we are doing 
 for others." 
 
 "Ah, Ian, but when a man is in the world, and 
 doing the business of the world, how can he take 
 counsel of the eternal? Business, science, and 
 many other things must claim his care and atten 
 tion." 
 
 "Well, then, Robert, there is no human occupa 
 tion that is not awful and sacred when you think 
 of it in its relation to what is to be hereafter. You 
 are day by day sowing in this incarnation what 
 you will be reaping in your next one. So, then,
 
 306 Souls of Passage 
 
 whatever your business or your occupation, it is 
 the work given you to do, your task in the days of 
 your vanity. Whether it be ruling a city, or plant 
 ing a field, or casting the net and the line, or serv 
 ing an unjust master, it is your task, your discip 
 line, and can be wrought in such a way as to gain 
 our good Master's 'well done,' and also His dis-. 
 tinct advancement from the use of one talent to 
 three to five to ten talents for you will be 
 noticing that the promotion as taught in Jesus 
 Christ's parable is according to what we do with 
 the talents that is, with the opportunities given 
 us." 
 
 "But a man must take pleasure in his work, 
 give his mind to it, how else could he do it prop 
 erly?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed! Diligent in business, rejoicing 
 in his works if they be lawful and good works 
 that is the command; but you will be doing no 
 work the worse for remembering that the smallest 
 thing you do has an eternal significance. If you 
 do what is right, you will know it; if you do 
 wrong, the unfallen angel within you will not fail 
 to bear witness of your sin; and if you will be 
 listening to that voice it is not far out of the right 
 road you will be going, Robert." 
 
 It was a strange thing to go at this time into 
 the lonely dwelling of Macrae, and see and feel 
 how the departure of one soul had affected it.
 
 Alan and Flora 307 
 
 When Fame dwelt there, her very presence had 
 thrown a glamour over the worn furniture, and 
 faded hangings, and dim pictures. No one no 
 ticed them as shabby; they seemed a very fitting 
 background for the girl's bright beauty and vivac 
 ity; but the pale, grave man in their midst lent 
 them nothing by contrast, and their dull, out 
 worn look was pathetically in keeping with his 
 perilously delicate, almost luminous face, and the 
 frail, lucid body, which looked, indeed, as if it 
 had already been clothed with that spiritual body 
 of which we have such blessed revelation. No one 
 now thought of material surroundings in Ian Ma 
 crae's presence ; for this world lay at his feet like a 
 cast-off sandal. 
 
 Coming from his house one evening, the pro 
 vost met Peter McDuff. There had been nothing 
 on Mackenzie's part that might interrupt the 
 courtesy which their business relations had neces 
 sitated; and Mackenzie was, moreover, under the 
 spell of Macrae's teaching; he offered his hand 
 frankly, and Peter was too wise to refuse it. 
 
 "How is our friend ?" he asked. "I am hearing 
 from more than one that he is not long for this 
 world. It will be hard for him to leave it just as 
 soon as he had got out of the trouble and the care 
 of it." 
 
 "He does not feel it hard," answered Macken 
 zie; "to die is gain for Macrae."
 
 308 Souls of Passage 
 
 "Just so! But when a man has married his 
 daughter and paid his debts he sits easy. Well, 
 well, he was a weakly creature these past 
 years, though strong and masterful enough in 
 his young days. How is the new Lady of Dun- 
 brack? We were hearing this and that of her 
 great fortune. It is a lying world, and perhaps 
 nothing to it." 
 
 "Only one hundred thousand pounds to it, and 
 the most of that in securities bound to double 
 themselves," answered the provost a little proudly. 
 "Miss Dunbrack is a very great heiress." 
 
 "And all of it will be out of the brain of Angus 
 Dunbrack ! He was a clever laddie when he was 
 at school. He could best any of us, even in them 
 days." 
 
 "Yet he thought you bested him about Dun- 
 brack." 
 
 "I am knowing it. He was a suspicious crea 
 ture. A man has to be careful if he would make 
 money. This is a hard world, and very few 
 manage to get their own share of the land, and the 
 gold, and the honor of it. You'll be giving my 
 compliments to the young lady. My son Shaw 
 will be rejoicing with her. He has been in Edin 
 burgh. It was only last night he got home, 
 and it was he that was bringing the news with 
 him. I was doubting it myself, but am glad to
 
 Alan and Flora 309 
 
 hear it is true. And she will be building, I see, 
 and making improvements. Just so ! That is the 
 way, Mackenzie. The fathers gather the gold and 
 the children scatter it. Just so! But thanks to 
 the Best ! I have a son that is no spender." 
 
 "Good-morning, sir," replied Mackenzie, and 
 the uncomfortable meeting was over. 
 
 McDuff had kept his temper through it, and 
 he congratulated himself on the circumstance; 
 but he showed no such self-control when he en 
 tered the parlor of his home and found Shaw sit 
 ting there, reading a novel. 
 
 "You're a braw, braw lad," he cried contemptu 
 ously, "to be letting two rich lasses slip through 
 your fingers. I'm sick and ashamed of you ! Do 
 now what you say, and take up with the law ; the 
 women are over many for you. Here is that girl 
 of Angus Dunbrack's with one, yes two, hundred 
 thousand pounds in her hand, and you couldn't 
 win the hand with such a fee in it ! And there 
 was Fame Macrae, that you let Grant steal away 
 from you ! Read your novels. If you can't make 
 love, you can read how other men were making 
 it. I'm fairly ashamed of you !" 
 
 "Keep your temper, father. It is neither wise 
 nor healthy for a man as old as you are to be giv 
 ing way to passion; you will be having a fever, 
 and then doctor's bills, and what not."
 
 3 1 o Souls of Passage 
 
 "One hundred thousand pounds growing to 
 two hundred thousand." 
 
 "I am not believing a word of it." 
 
 "You were seeing it yourself in the Edinburgh 
 papers." 
 
 "Newspapers lie." 
 
 "Mackenzie himself was telling me the same 
 thing, and that not twenty minutes ago." 
 
 "Very clever in Mackenzie to keep such news to 
 himself and his son. Remember that it was you 
 that made inquiries, and were told that Miss Dun- 
 brack had three hundred a year. Blame yourself. 
 Indeed, I may well blame you, for I could have 
 loved that girl without a penny piece; and there 
 was a time when I could have won her. Blame 
 yourself, father. As for that young scoundrel 
 Alan" 
 
 "Mind what you are saying, Shaw. There are 
 words that will be costing more than you can 
 
 afford sc and the rest of the letters is an 
 
 actionable word." 
 
 "Alan Mackenzie is a " 
 
 "Sc ! Say so. But what will you be 
 
 making by saying it? And what will you 
 be losing? Robert Mackenzie has the fight 
 in him, and I am not doubting but that he 
 will handle the law as cleverly as his father did the 
 dirk." 
 
 "Is the young cub here ?"
 
 Alan and Flora 3 1 1 
 
 "I am not knowing. Hamish will find that out 
 for you." 
 
 "He need not. I shall go back to Edinburgh. 
 There is a good card in my hand, but I must play 
 it in Edinburgh." 
 
 "A good card ! What is it, Shaw ?" 
 
 "I shall not tell you just yet what it is. Secrecy 
 is the mother of success." 
 
 "A good card ! A ten of diamonds, Shaw ?" 
 
 "Say a queen." 
 
 "Good boy ! Good boy ! Any man of sense will 
 be telling you that it is as easy to love a rich 
 woman as a poor one. I was sorely left to myself 
 one summer day, and I married for beauty I 
 have been rueing it ever since." 
 
 "Sir, my mother was a lady." 
 
 "Right, Shaw, she was. And she has gone to 
 a better world. And if you have a good card in 
 Edinburgh, go there and play it." 
 
 "I am going. Say to any one asking after me 
 I have gone on business of my own. I shall not 
 
 stop in Morandaroch to have that young sc 
 
 Mackenzie pass me with his dropped eyes and air 
 of contempt and the heiress he has played for on 
 his arm. I hope Shaw McDuff knows enough to 
 leave a field he has lost." 
 
 A few days after this conversation the provost 
 received a letter which appeared to give him some 
 anxiety. "I ought to go to Glasgow to-night,
 
 312 Souls of Passage 
 
 Marian," he said, "there is some business I should 
 look after myself." 
 
 "Is Alan in it?" 
 
 "Alan has nothing to do with it." 
 
 "Well, then, provost, you be to stay right here. 
 I am not going to be left Flora and me two lone 
 women, and not a man on the place, if robbers 
 should come, as it is likely they would. There is 
 no business more important than myself and 
 Flora. We just can't and won't be left, and that 
 is the sum total of the matter." 
 
 "What do you say, Flora?" asked the provost, 
 turning to the lovely woman standing at the open 
 window. And then Flora said a few very unex 
 pected words : 
 
 "I say, father, that we could be left easily and 
 safely if you would send for Alan to take your 
 place." 
 
 "That is it !" cried Mrs. Mackenzie. "That is 
 just it ! Send for Alan in your place, Robert, and 
 we can be left well enough. Flora, you are a wise 
 young woman. If you were a man, I would say 
 you were a very Daniel. Now, provost, you have 
 got your ultimatum." 
 
 "I said I would not send for Alan till the year's 
 end. He has just finished as fine a piece of busi 
 ness in our Turkish trade as any man in London 
 could have accomplished. Can't you let him alone
 
 Alan and Flora 313 
 
 when he is doing well? You are never satisfied. 
 I hope I may be allowed to keep my word; my 
 word is of some consequence to me." 
 
 "Your word and the Turkish trade is not every 
 good thing in life, Robert. We just cannot and 
 will not be left in this sequestered-like place; it 
 wouldn't be kind or right. It would be a thing to 
 make a story of. I will never submit to it." 
 
 "You see, father," continued Flora, "there is 
 an idea that my fortune is in gold pieces, and that 
 there are boxes and boxes of them hid in the castle. 
 And really I am at my wit's end about my letters, 
 Last Saturday I had to write from morning to 
 night, so that I might not break the Sabbath Day ; 
 and the tables are full of designs and estimates, 
 and how can I decide on any course until Alan 
 comes ? It would be an insult to him. If I should 
 do so, he is just the man to bid me 'good-by,' and 
 I would not respect him, if he did not. We ought 
 to have things settled as soon as possible. I want 
 the work begun, and so does mother; don't you, 
 dear?" 
 
 "Of course I do. Any one in their five senses 
 would want it begun." 
 
 "And we cannot begin without Alan, can we, 
 mother?" 
 
 "Nobody with any heart in their bosom would 
 think of such a thing."
 
 3 1 4 Souls of Passage 
 
 "And Alan ought to be written for at once ?" 
 "This very hour." 
 
 "You see, father, what it comes to. If we talk 
 until to-morrow it will not come to anything dif 
 ferent. Dear father," kissing him, "won't you 
 write for Alan ?" 
 
 "My dear lassie, I will not writ for Alan, but I 
 cannot hinder you from writing any letter you 
 like." 
 
 "I said I would not write. Is not my word as 
 important as yours ?" 
 
 "No o, I think it is not. A woman is allowed 
 by use and custom certain privileges in matters of 
 love and marriage, and to say no for yes, and yes 
 for no, and I won't for I will, and I will for I 
 won't, is one of them. Your mother has practised 
 this kind of logic on me ever since I knew her. I 
 never take her to task for it," and rising 
 with these words and kissing his wife, he went 
 quickly out of the room, and so put an end to the 
 argument. 
 
 "You will write, Flora?" 
 
 "I will think about it, mother." 
 
 "Listen to your heart, Flora, and think of the 
 poor lad in the heat, and fogs, and noise, and sick 
 ness, and work, and worry of London in this 
 weather; and the grouse ready to eat, and the 
 heather in bloom, and the red deer lying upon the 
 mountains. I could not help crying this very
 
 Alan and Flora 315 
 
 morning when I went through the hall and saw 
 his shooting cap hanging on the rack and his rid 
 ing whip lying so naturally across it. And there's 
 his dog, too. Whenever I see the creature he is 
 looking at me with the same question in his eyes, 
 'When is he coming home?' Oh, Flora, you be to 
 write, my dear. If you love me, you be to write to 
 Alan and bring him home." 
 
 The end of such loving, eager pleading may 
 be easily divined. It came even sooner than either 
 Flora or Mrs. Mackenzie had thought possible; 
 for after a careful consideration of all circum 
 stances, they came to the conclusion that it must 
 be Monday night before he could reach Dunbrack, 
 even if all events worked together for that end. 
 So they set their heart on Monday, and the 
 good news was spread through the house and 
 the village, and even the dog in his lonely 
 kennel heard it, and, perhaps, better than any 
 one understood the precise time of Alan's 
 home-coming. For on Sabbath morning he was. 
 so loud and insistent that the provost ordered him 
 to be set free. "He is sick," he said, "and 
 if loosed will go to the hills and find the medicine 
 he wants." 
 
 But he did not go to the hills, for as the family 
 were driving to church they met him on the way. 
 He was told to go back home, but he only went 
 behind the carriage ; and very soon his loud bark
 
 3 1 6 Souls of Passage 
 
 of joy and his frantic bound forward revealed 
 what he was waiting on the road for. Alan was 
 there, and in another moment the happy man was 
 in the carriage, and the equally happy women 
 were looking into his handsome face and clasping 
 his hands. 
 
 "I am neither hungry nor thirsty nor dusty, 
 mother," he said, when she proposed to return 
 home with him, "and I want to go to kirk. It is 
 just the place I want to go." 
 
 This meeting, controlled by the reticences of the 
 Scotch Sabbath and the Scotch character, was not 
 by any means a demonstrative one ; but the speech 
 is so little, and the eyes are so eloquent, and the 
 clasp of the hand is so eloquent, that in a moment 
 or two, without any spoken words, all was under 
 stood and all forgiven. He went into the kirk at 
 Flora's side, they sang from the same psalm 
 book, they knelt clasping each other's hand, and 
 in that sweetly solemn communion renewed 
 with tenderest thoughts the vows that the moon 
 and the silver brook had witnessed more than a 
 year before. 
 
 Dunbrack was now the home of the purest and 
 highest happiness, and the provost could not leave 
 it. He sent the very thought of business packing. 
 There was too much joy to run away from, and he 
 counted not the cost of staying. Besides, he really
 
 " THEY SANG J-'KOM THE SAME 1'SALM BOOK,"
 
 Alan and Flora 317 
 
 thought himself necessary to his two dear children 
 at this time. In the glory of their renewed love 
 they had such extravagant views of life, they 
 would have built a palace in those wild hills. 
 Their ideas of home were so splendid, their pur 
 poses so wide, their hopes and plans for the future 
 so glorified by love as to be quite prodigal and 
 even impracticable. But it was all the purest de 
 light, and the provost and his wife lived over the 
 joy of their own love-making in the gladness of 
 their son's most fortunate espousals. 
 
 After two weeks of charming planning and 
 consultations the provost resolved to return to 
 Glasgow, but was detained at the last moment by a 
 message from Macrae. He never hesitated, but 
 went straight to his friend. He found him at the 
 very gate of heaven, smiling, serene, full of ra 
 diant hope ; his voice sweet and hollow, like muf 
 fled music from some mysterious distance ; and on 
 his face 
 
 "the look of one 
 To whom glad news is sent 
 From the far country of his home 
 After long banishment." 
 
 Lying there on the border of being, where life 
 hardly draws breath, he clasped Mackenzie's hand 
 and said, "Stay with me now, Robert!" and oh,
 
 318 Souls of Passage 
 
 the clinging, tremulous gentleness in the pleading 
 words ! 
 
 "Unto death, dear Ian, I am here." 
 
 "Men do not die. We shall not all sleep, but 
 we shall all be changed."* 
 
 "You are content to go, Ian ?" 
 
 "I am like the pilgrim, 'I feel the bottom, and it 
 is good.' I am only returning the divine part of 
 me to the Divine who gave it." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "The sun that knows its setting will know its 
 rise again. I am feeling already through this 
 poor, perishing flesh shoots of my immortality." 
 
 "And you have no fear ?" 
 
 "Fear is lost in faith. I die that I may be born. 
 If I did not know that I should be a most forlorn 
 pilgrim. I was once reading of a great viking 
 who asked a wise man, 'What is life?' And the 
 wise man answered, 'It is like a bird that flies out 
 
 *Apart from Macrae's invincible faith in immortality, it 
 is to be noted that Highlanders never speak of the departed 
 as "dead." Dr. Stewart says, in his "West Highlands," 
 that he gave great offence by asking the daughter of a 
 friend, "When did your father die?" "Brutes alone," she 
 answered angrily, "die, and when they die are dead. Human 
 beings do not die, and are not to be spoken of as dead. 
 They depart, they go, they change, they sleep, if you like, 
 but they don't die and can never be spoken of as dead." 
 The phraseology in which the death of human beings, as 
 distinct from brutes, as expressed in Gaelic, invariably im 
 plies continued existence.
 
 Alan and Flora 319 
 
 of the dark through a hall full of light, out into 
 the darkness again.' Oh, no! We are, indeed, 
 souls of passage, but we know whence we come 
 and where we are going. It is not out of the dark 
 and into the dark. We come from God, who is 
 our home; He guides us through the lighted hall 
 of life, and brings us safely back to Himself. 
 They who have loved the Father of their spirits in 
 life will be rinding no difficulty in going to Him 
 when life is over. But not alone shall I go ; there 
 are friends waiting for me ; they will see that I do 
 not tarry or tremble through boundless space and 
 countless constellations." These words, spoken 
 with long intervals and ever-increasing weakness, 
 were very near the last. Just before dawn he 
 cried with a strange, glad strength, "I am going 
 now I have long been eager for rest." A solemn 
 pallor spread over his face, a dying breath flut 
 tered through the room, and Ian was gone gone 
 away farther than human thought could follow 
 him. A sudden feeling of alienation, a sense of 
 incalculable distance was now between them, and 
 Mackenzie was keenly sensitive to it; but he 
 waited until the great silence and the unchanging 
 outline beneath the coverlet told him visibly the 
 truth of their separation. 
 
 The sun was then shining brightly, the ocean 
 breaking solemnly almost at the threshold; there 
 were some fishermen just putting out to sea, and
 
 320 Souls of Passage 
 
 there was a faint sound of rowers striking the 
 waves in harmony; but around and above all a 
 sense of noble repose that was not of this world. 
 Walking thoughtfully through the village, he met 
 Shaw McDuff driving in a very splendid carriage 
 with a handsome, middle-aged woman. Then he 
 remembered that Peter had been boasting round 
 the countryside that "his son Shaw was going to 
 marry a widow lady whose money could not be 
 counted by the ordinar tables of addition; more 
 over, a lady of the noble family of Farquarson." 
 And though Mackenzie's heart was beating to the 
 most tender and solemn thoughts, he looked at the 
 lady and at the haughty young man reclining at 
 her side, and knew that, for once, Peter's boasting 
 had truth in it. And this strange meeting of 
 death and life moved him very much, and he was 
 thinking of it and of two lines of Milton's, which 
 Macrae had once quoted to him on some such oc 
 casion : 
 
 "What if earth be but the shadow of heaven and things 
 
 therein, 
 Each to the other like more than on earth is thought?" 
 
 when he met Alan coming down the mountain. 
 "He is gone, father?" 
 "Yes." 
 "At what time ?"
 
 Alan and Flora 321 
 
 "I do not know. He was here, and when I 
 looked again his soul had flitted away. Good 
 men dying whisper to their souls to go, and they 
 vanish from bodies unseen. Macrae has now 
 'tasted of the powers of the world to come/ ' 
 
 "I had a long talk with him two days ago, but 
 I wish now that I had called yesterday." 
 
 "You had a long talk? What did he say to 
 you?" 
 
 "He spoke of the happiness that had come into 
 my life, and asked me what I was going to do with 
 it ? Then I told him all Flora's and my own plans 
 for the good of the people around us, and he asked 
 again, 'But for yourself, what ?' And I said I was 
 going to read the classics carefully and study 
 chemistry, because I had a great wish to find out 
 some of its secrets. And he answered me 
 strangely." 
 
 "How did he answer you ?" 
 
 "He told me to remember that my higher self 
 was 'clothed in a coat of skin,' and 'crucified in 
 the bonds of the flesh,' and that the most brilliant 
 intellectuality would not remove me from the 
 animal plane to the safety of spiritual existence. 
 He told me that the personal ego depended on the 
 higher for its promise of eternal life. He told me 
 I must develop spiritually as well as mentally, and 
 so illume this daily life with unselfish deeds that
 
 322 Souls of Passage 
 
 it would remain throughout eternal years a pleas 
 ant memory to my higher self."* 
 f ''That is all logical, Alan; for animal causes 
 cannot be followed by spiritual effects the stream 
 cannot rise higher than its source. What else, 
 Alan?" 
 
 ''He told me that my higher self overshadowed 
 my personal self, and continually struggled to pen 
 etrate and illumine its darkness, and that, there 
 fore, it was my first and greatest duty to help in 
 this birth and growth of spiritual life by yielding 
 a willing and loving obedience and by treasuring 
 every glimmering ray of divine light, even though 
 it took the form of pain or rebuke. He told me to 
 do this with confidence and hope, because no effort 
 is lost; and that soul force, like other forms of 
 force, is always conserved. And there was one 
 thing he said to me as I bade him farewell that I 
 shall never forget 'Remember, Alan, that this 
 soul, this higher self of yours, is like a white bird 
 in your breast. You must carry it through a sin- 
 
 *This thought has been thus well expressed by a late 
 poet: 
 
 "If thou art base and earthly, then despair ; 
 
 Thou art but mortal as the brute that falls. 
 Birds weave their nests, the lion finds a lair, 
 
 Man builds his halls 
 These are but coverts from earth's war and storm, 
 
 Homes where our lesser lives take shape and breath ; 
 But if no heavenly man has grown what form 
 Clothes thee at death?"
 
 Alan and Flora 323 
 
 ful, crowded, impure world ; oh, take care of the 
 bird in your breast ! When the time of your de 
 parture comes, let it go free with unsullied 
 wings.' ' 
 
 They were now approaching Dunbrack, and 
 both father and soon looked at the gray pile and 
 the vast amount of material prepared for its 
 renovation. The father put his hand on his 
 son's shoulder and stayed his steps. "Alan," he 
 said, "you are a very happy man, fortunate and 
 happy." 
 
 "I am, father. I feel it." 
 
 "When are you to be married?" 
 
 "Flora has fixed on some day about Christmas 
 time." 
 
 "Then you will be married in Glasgow ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; in Glasgow." 
 
 "I am glad of it. Your mother was so much 
 disappointed about the simplicity of Jessie's mar 
 riage." 
 
 "Mother is to have all her way about our 
 marriage. She and Flora have arranged all to 
 please themselves, and I surely think the invita 
 tions will fill the old Ram's Horn Kirk. Of course, 
 James is to assist Dr. Micklehose. Mother is de 
 termined to have a ceremony worthy of the bride 
 and her great fortune and also of you and of 
 your honorable position, dear father." 
 
 "She is right, Alan. I am with mother in her
 
 324 Souls of Passage 
 
 desire. You have every cause to be proud and 
 happy in your bride and you love her, Alan?" 
 
 "More than I can say, sir. I loved her when I 
 first saw her. I shall love her forever." 
 
 "It is a soul love, then, and you two are one." 
 "We two together shall wear through the ages, 
 Flora and I. I look for no long parting even by 
 death. We two, Flora and I, we shall wear 
 through the ages together."
 
 A LITTLE SEQUEL. 
 
 THESE events happening so far away and so 
 long ago were strangely brought to the remem 
 brance of some still living who had knowledge of 
 them by two newspaper paragraphs which ap 
 peared almost at the same date in the year 
 A.D. 1899. The first was a biographical notice of 
 the death of Shaw McDuff, M.P. for Hotham. It 
 referred briefly to his birth at Morandaroch, his 
 creditable passage through the University of Glas 
 gow, and his marriage to the widow of a well- 
 known wealthy banker. And after enumerating 
 the various political and social clubs of which he 
 was a member, the many companies to which he 
 gave his name and direction, the charities he 
 patronized, his dwellings in Surrey and London, 
 and his fine modern castle at Morandaroch, and 
 his notable amount of public spirit, it concluded 
 thus: 
 
 "Mr. McDuff was in the House on Monday, 
 where, as a prominent member of the Opposition, 
 he assailed with his usual virulence the member 
 for Middleboro, Mr. Alan Mackenzie, who re-
 
 326 Souls of Passage 
 
 ceived the attack with the serene imperturbability 
 which is customary with that gentleman. After 
 his philippic, Mr. McDuff visited the Reform 
 Club, dined with a number of his party, and sub 
 sequently made what his friends consider one of 
 the finest of his speeches against the government. 
 It was his last speech. He had a stroke during the 
 night, and did not rally from it. Mrs. McDuff 
 died some years ago, but he leaves two sons to in 
 herit his great wealth Captain Alexander Mc 
 Duff of the Gordon Highlanders and Walter Mc 
 Duff, Q.C., a well-known member of the Scottish 
 Bar." 
 
 It was easy for the initiated to read between 
 these lines the comfortable, respectable fortune of 
 Shaw McDuff; and while the thoughts evoked 
 were yet fresh in memory, another notice in a 
 London society paper almost completed the story 
 of the lives with which McDuff had been asso 
 ciated. It related in somewhat glowing colors, as 
 if the relation was personal and pleasant, the mar 
 riage of the Honorable Sara Dunbrack Allison to 
 Cecil, Earl of Loudan. This account said the 
 marriage took place at Dunbrack Castle, and the 
 ceremony was performed by the venerable Dr. 
 James Laidlaw, of Glasgow; the bride, whose 
 parents were dead, being given away by her 
 grandfather, Alan Mackenzie, M.P. Following 
 this statement was a long list of noble guests, with
 
 A Little Sequel 327 
 
 whom this story has nothing to do ; but in this list 
 there were three names that stood out with the 
 light of other days on them Lady Euphamia 
 Grant, an old friend of the family; Mrs. James 
 Laidlazv, the great-aunt of the bride, and Mrs. 
 Alan Mackenzie, her grandmother. 
 
 So, then, after fifty years Alan and Flora were 
 still souls of passage, winging their flight together 
 to the very verge and shoal of life. Had they kept 
 the white bird in their breasts unsullied as they 
 passed through the city and the wilderness? If 
 so, then surely Alan's prophecy will be faithful 
 and true, and they two shall wear through the 
 ages together.
 
 
 
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