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A 
 
 DAUGHTEB OF HETH 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM BLACK 
 
 " If Jacob take a wife of the laughters of Heth, such as these 
 which are of the daughters >f the )&tv\, wh..t good s'aal'. ti/ life 
 do me ? " 
 
 NEW AND HE VISED EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK: HARPER AND BROTHERS 
 
 1892 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWE3 AND 90N3, LIMITED; 
 3TAMFORD 3TRRET AXD CHARIXO CR093. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 I have long wished to place before the public an edition of 
 these novels of mine which should have at least the mechanical 
 merit of uniformity. Also I had in contemplation, especially 
 with regard to the earlier volumes, a large measure of re-shaping 
 and re-writing ; so that books composed amid stress and turmoil 
 might gain something from the comparative leisure of later years. 
 But this wider project I found impracticable. For one thing, it 
 would have taken a few lifetimes to accomplish; then again, it 
 was just possible that a certain freshness and rudeness of touch 
 might have been ill replaced by a nicer precision. Nevertheless 
 in many minor ways these pages have now been thoroughly 
 revised; verbal and other inaccuracies have been corrected; 
 crooked places have been made straight; conversations condensed; 
 while a considerable number of those little playfulnesses which 
 the printer somehow mysteriously manages, when one is not watch- 
 ing, to introduce into the text, have been removed. It only remains 
 for me, in submitting this new series to the reading public, to 
 express my deep sense of gratitude for the constant favour and 
 kindness I have already and for so long a time experienced at 
 their hands. 
 
 W. B. 
 London, January, 1892. 
 
 26402 L 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 Microsoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/daughterofhethOOblacricJj 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 
 
 FAG J 
 
 I. — Coquette's Arrival ...... 1 
 
 II. — Coquette's Religion . . , 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 III. — A Penitent .... 
 
 
 
 
 14 
 
 IV. — An unexpected Visitor . . 
 
 
 
 
 22 
 
 V. — Coquette's Music . . 
 
 
 
 
 28 
 
 VI. — Earlshope .... 
 
 
 
 
 S6 
 
 VII. — The Crucifix .... 
 
 
 
 
 42 
 
 VI II. — Saltcoats .... 
 
 
 
 
 47 
 
 IX.— Coquette's Promise . 
 
 
 
 
 55 
 
 X. — The Schoolmaster . 
 
 
 
 
 60 
 
 XI. — A Meeting on the Moor . 
 
 
 
 
 68 
 
 XI I. — Coquette's Conquests 
 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 XIII. — A Horoscope . 
 
 
 
 
 81 
 
 XIV. — Sir Peter and Lady Drum 
 
 
 
 
 85 
 
 X V. — A dangerous Adventure . 
 
 
 
 
 94 
 
 X V I. — Coquette leaves Airlie . 
 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 XVII. — Lochfyne. . . . « 
 
 
 
 
 107 
 
 X MIL— Coquette sails to the North . 
 
 
 
 
 113 
 
 X I X. — Coquette discourses . 
 
 
 
 
 121 
 
 X X. — Letters from Airlie 
 
 
 
 
 126 
 
 X X I. — Coquette is troubled . , 
 
 
 
 
 184 
 
 XXII. — On the Seashore . • 
 
 
 
 
 141 
 
 XXIII. — Coquette begins to fear . 
 
 
 
 
 , 14»; 
 
 XXIV. — Touching certain Problems 
 
 
 
 
 151 
 
 XXV.— Coquette's Presentiments 
 
 
 
 
 157 
 
 XXVI.— Confession at last . . , 
 
 
 
 
 168 
 
 XXVII. — Loin de France 
 
 
 
 
 , 170 
 
 XXVIII. — After many Days • • 
 
 
 
 
 , 176 
 
 XXIX. — Coquette's Dreams . 
 
 
 
 
 181 
 
 XXX.— On the Way . 
 
 
 
 
 . 188 
 
 XXXI. — An awful Visitor . • 
 
 
 
 
 . 193 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XXXII. —In the Springtime .... .201 
 
 XXXIII. — Over the Moor . . 
 
 
 
 . 204 
 
 XXXIV. — Lord Earlshope's Cave . 
 
 
 
 . 210 
 
 XXXV. — The Nemesis of Love 
 
 
 
 . 215 
 
 XXXVI.— The last Day at Airlie . 
 
 
 
 . 221 
 
 XXXVII.— Coquette in Town . 
 
 »_ < 
 
 
 . 226 
 
 XXXVIII. — All about Kelvin-side 
 
 
 
 . 233 
 
 XXXIX. — Lady Drum's Dinner-party 
 
 
 
 . 238 
 
 XL. — The Kosebud . 
 
 
 
 . 245 
 
 XLI. — TnE Whaup becomes anxious . 
 
 
 
 . 250 
 
 XLII. — At the Theatre . . , 
 
 
 
 . 255 
 
 XLIII. — Coquette is told . . 
 
 
 
 . 262 
 
 XLIV. — Coquette's Forebodings . 
 
 
 
 . 271 
 
 XLV. — A Legend op Earlshope . 
 
 
 
 . 274 
 
 XL VI. — The Minister's Publisher. 
 
 
 
 . 280 
 
 XLVII. — An Apparition. 
 
 
 
 . 287 
 
 XLVIII. — Earlshope is invaded 
 
 
 
 . 291 
 
 XLIX. — Coquette's Song 
 
 
 
 . 295 
 
 L. — Coquette foksakes her Friend 
 
 
 
 . 800 
 
 LI. — A Secret of the Sea 
 
 
 
 . 309 
 
 LII. — Consent .... 
 
 
 
 . 313 
 
 LI II. — The pale Bride . . , 
 
 
 
 . 320 
 
 LIV. — Husband and Wife . 
 
 
 
 . 326 
 
 LV. — The Churchyard on the Moor 
 
 
 
 . 333 
 
A DAUGHTER OF HETH 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 coquette's arrival. 
 
 The tide of battle had flowed onward from the village to 
 the Manse. The retreating party, consisting of the Minis- 
 ter's five sons, were driven back by force of numbers, 
 contesting every inch of the ground. Hope had deserted 
 them ; and there now remained to them but the one chance 
 — to reach the fortress of the Manse in safety, and seek the 
 shelter of its great stone wall. 
 
 The enemy numbered over a dozen ; and the clangour 
 and clamour of the pursuit waxed stronger as they pressed 
 on the small and compact body of five. The weapons on 
 both sides were stones picked up from the moorland road ; 
 and the terrible aim of the Whaup — the eldest of the 
 Minister's boys — had disfigured more than one mother's son 
 of the turbulent crowd that pursued. He alone — a long- 
 legged Herculean lad of eighteen — kept in front of his 
 let renting brothers, facing the foe boldly, and directing his 
 swift, successive discharges with a deadly accuracy of curve 
 upon the noses of the foremost. But his valour was of no 
 avail. All seemed over. Their courage began to partake of the 
 recklessness of despair. Nature seemed to sympathise with 
 this disastrous fate : and to the excited eyes of the fugitives 
 it appeared that the sun was overcast — that the moor 
 around was blacker and more silent than ever — and that the 
 far stretch of these:!, with the gloomy hills of Arran, had 
 grown dark as if with a coming storm. Thus does the 
 
 B 
 
2 .. A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 human mind confer an anthropomorphic sentiment on all 
 things, animate and inanimate : a profound observation 
 which occurred to Mr. Gillespie, the Schoolmaster, who, 
 being on one occasion in the town of Ayr, when horse- 
 racing or some such godless diversion w T as going forward, 
 and having, in a very small and crowded hostelry, meekly 
 enquired for some boiled eggs, was thus indignantly 
 remonstrated with by the young woman in charge : " Losh 
 bless me ! Do ye think the hens can remember to lay eggs 
 in all this bustle and hurry ! " 
 
 Finally, the retreating party turned and ran — ignomini- 
 ously, pell-mell — until they had gained the high stone wall 
 surrounding the Manse. They darted into the garden, 
 slammed the door to, and barricaded it ; the Whaup 
 sending up a peal of defiant laughter that made the solemn 
 echoes of the old-fashioned house ring again. Outside this 
 shriek of joy was taken as a challenge ; and the party on the 
 other side of the wall returned a roar of mingled mockery 
 and anger which was not pleasant to hear. It meant a 
 blockade and bombardment ; with perhaps a fierce assault 
 when the patience of the besiegers should give way. But 
 the Whaup was not of a kind to indulge in indolent 
 security when his enemies were murmuring hard by. In an 
 incredibly short space of time he and his brothers had 
 wheeled up to the wall a couple of empty barrels, and across 
 these was hurriedly thrown a broad plank. The Whaup 
 filled his hands with the gravel of the garden walk, and 
 jumped up on the board. The instant that his head 
 appeared above the wall, there was a yell of execration. He 
 had just time to discharge his two handf uls of gravel upon the 
 besiegers, when a shower of stones was directed at him, and 
 he ducked his head. 
 
 " This is famous ! " he cried. " This is grand ! It beats 
 Josephus ! Mair gravel, Jock — mair gravel, Jock ! " 
 
 Now, in the Manse of Airlie, there was an edition of 
 Josephus' works, in several volumes, which was the only 
 profane reading allowed to the boys on Sunday. Conse- 
 quently it was much studied — especially the plates of it ; 
 and one of these plates represented the siege of Jerusalem, 
 with the Romans being killed by stones thrown from the 
 wall. No sooner, therefore, had the Whaup mounted on the 
 
COQUETTE'S ARRIVAL. 3 
 
 empty barrels, than his brothers recognised the position. 
 They were called upon to engage in a species of warfare 
 familiar to them. They formed themselves into line, and 
 handed up to the Whanp successive supplies of stones and 
 gravel, with a precision they could not have exceeded had 
 they actually served in one of the legions of Titus. 
 
 The Whaup, however, dared not discharge his ammunition 
 with regularity. He had to descend to feints ; for he was in 
 a most perilous position, and might at any moment have had 
 his head rendered amorphous. He therefore from time to time 
 showed his hand over the wall ; the expected volley of stones 
 followed ; and then he sprang up to return the compliment 
 with all his might. Howls of rage greeted each of his 
 efforts ; and, indeed, the turmoil rose to an extraordinary 
 pitch. The besiegers were furious. They were in an open 
 position, while their foe was well intrenched; and no man 
 can get a handful of gravel pitched into his face, and also 
 preserve his temper, llevenge was out of the question. 
 The sagacious Whaup never appeared when they expected him : 
 and when he did appear, it was an instantaneous up and 
 down, giving them no chance at all of doing him- an injury. 
 They raved and stormed ; and the more bitterly they 
 shouted names at him, and the more fiercely they heaped 
 insults upon him, the more joyously he laughed. The noise, 
 without and within, was appalling ; never, in the memory 
 of man, had such an uproar resounded around the quiet 
 .Manse of Airlie. 
 
 Suddenly there was a scared silence within the walls, and 
 a rapid disappearance of the younger of the besieged. 
 
 " Oh, Tarn, here's fa it her I " cried one. 
 
 But Tarn — elsewhere named the Whaup — was too excited 
 to hear. He was shouting and laughing, hurling gravel and 
 stones at his enemies, when 
 
 When a tall, stern-faced, grey-haired man, who wore a 
 rusty black coat and a white neckcloth, and who bore in his 
 hand, ominously, a horsewhip, walked firmly and sedately 
 across the garden. The hero of the day was still on the 
 barrels, taunting his foes, and helping himself to the store 
 of ammunition which his colleagues had piled upon the 
 plank. 
 
 "Who's lang-leggit now? Where are the Minister's 
 
 b 2 
 
4 A DA UGHTEk OF HETH. 
 
 chickens now ? Why dinna you go and wash your noses in 
 the burn ? " 
 
 The next moment the Whaup uttered what can only be 
 described as a squeal. He had not been expecting an 
 attack from the rear ; and there was fright as well as pain 
 in the yell which followed the startling cut across the legs 
 which brought him down. In fact, the lithe curl of the 
 Avhip round his calves was at once a mystery and a horror ; 
 and he tumbled rather than jumped from the plank, only to 
 find himself confronted by his father, whose threatening 
 eye and terrible voice soon explained the mystery. 
 
 " How daur ye, sir," exclaimed Mr. Cassilis, " how daur 
 ye, sir, transform my house into a Bedlam ! For shame, 
 sir, that your years have brought ye no more sense than to 
 caper wi' a lot of schoolboys. Have ye no more respect for 
 yourself — have ye no more respect for the college you have 
 come home from — than to behave yourself like a farm- 
 callant, and make yourself the byword of the neighbourhood ? 
 You are worse than the youngest in the house " 
 
 " I didn't know you were in the Manse," said the Whaup, 
 wondering whither his brothers had run. 
 
 "So much the worse — so much the worse," said the 
 Minister, severely, " that ye have no better guide to your 
 conduct than the fear o' being caught. Why, sir, when 
 I was your age, I was busier with my Greek Testament than 
 with flinging names at a wheen laddies ! " 
 
 " It was mair than names, as ye might hae seen," remarked 
 the Whaup, confidently. 
 
 Indeed, he was incorrigible, and the Minister turned 
 away. His eldest son had plenty of brains, plenty cf 
 courage, and an excellent physique ; but he could not be 
 brought to acquire a sense of the proper gravity or duties of 
 mimhood, nor yet could he be prevailed on to lay aside the 
 mischievous tricks of his youth. He was the terror of the 
 parish. It was hoped that a winter at Glasgow University 
 would tame down the Whaup ; but he returned to Airlie 
 worse than ever, and formed his innocent brothers into a 
 regular band of marauders, of whom all honest people were 
 afraid. The long-legged daredevil of the Manse, with his 
 boldness, his cunning, and his agility, left neither garden, 
 nor farmyard, nor kitchen alone. Worthy villagers were 
 
COQUETTE'S ARRIVAL, 5 
 
 tripped up by bits of invisible twine. Mysterious knocks 
 on the window woke them at the dead of night. When 
 they were surprised that the patience of their sitting hen 
 did not meet with its usual reward, they found that chalk 
 eggs had been substituted for the natural ones. Their cats 
 came home with walnut-shells on their feet. Stable doors 
 were unaccountably opened. Furious bulls were found 
 lassoed, so that no man dare approach them. The work of 
 the Whaup was everywhere evident — it w r as always the 
 Whanp. And then that young gentleman would come 
 quietly into the villagers' houses, and chat pleasantly with 
 them, and confide to them his great grief that his younger 
 brother, Wattie — notwithstanding that people thought him 
 a quiet, harmless, pious, and rather sneaking boy — was 
 such a desperate hand for mischief. Some believed him ; 
 others reproached him for his wickedness in blaming his 
 own sins upon the only one of the Minister's family who 
 had an appearance of Christian humility and grace. 
 
 When the Minister had gone into the house, the Whaup 
 • — in nowise downcast by his recent misfortune, although he 
 still was aware of an odd sensation about the legs — mounted 
 once more upon the barrels to reconnoitre the enemy. He 
 had no wish to renew the fight ; for Saturday was his 
 father's day for study and meditation ; no stir or sound 
 was allowed in the place from morning till night ; and 
 certainly, had the young gentlemen of the Manse known 
 that their father was indoors, they would have let the 
 village boys rave outside in safety. Cool and confident as 
 he was, the Whaup did not care to bring his father out a 
 second time ; and so he got up on the barricades merely for 
 the sake of information. 
 
 The turmoil had evidently quieted down, partly through 
 the ignominious silence of the besieged, and partly through 
 the appearance of a new object of public attention. The 
 heads of the dozen lads outside were now turned towards the 
 village, whence there was seen coming along the road the 
 Minister's dog-cart, driven by his ancient henchman, 
 Andrew Bogue. Beside the driver sat some fair creature in 
 fluttering white and yellow — an apparition that seldom met 
 the vision of the inhabitants of Airlie. The Whaup knew 
 that this young lady was his cousin from France, who was 
 
6 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 now, being an orphan, and having completed her education, 
 coming to live at the Manse. But who was the gentleman 
 behind, who sat with his arm flung carelessly over the bar, 
 while he smiled and chatted to the girl, who had half tinned 
 round to listen to him ? 
 
 " Why, it is Lord Earlshope," said the Whaup, with his 
 handsome face suddenly assuming a frown. "What busi~ 
 ness has Earlshope to talk to my cousin ? " 
 
 Presently the gentleman let himself down from the dog- 
 cart, took off his hat to her who had been his companion, 
 and turned and went alon^ the road a°:ain. The dosf-cart 
 drove up to the door. The Whaup, daring his enemies to 
 touch him, went out boldly, and proceeded to welcome the 
 new-comer to Airlie. 
 
 " I suppose you are my cousin," he said. 
 
 " I suppose I am," said the young girl, speaking with an 
 accent so markedly French that he looked at her in astonish- 
 ment. But then she, in turn, regarded him: for a moment 
 with a pair of soft dark eyes, and he forgot her accent. He 
 vaguely knew that she had smiled to him ; and that the 
 effect of the smile was rather bewildering — as he assisted her 
 down from the dog- cart, and begged her to come in through 
 the garden. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 coquette's religion. 
 
 The Whaup was convinced that he had never seen upon 
 earth, nor yet in his Sunday-morning dreams of what 
 heaven might be like, any creature half so beautiful, and 
 bewitching, and graceful, as the young girl who now walked 
 beside him. Yet he could not tell in what lay her especial 
 charm ; for, regarding her with the eye of a critic, the 
 Whaup observed that she was full of defects. Her face was 
 pale and French-looking ; and, instead of the rosy bloom of 
 a pretty country lass, there was a tinge of southern sun over 
 her complexion. Then her hair was in obvious disorder — 
 some ragged ends of silky brown, scattered over her forehead 
 in Sir Peter Lely fashion, being surmounted by a piece of 
 yellow silk ribbon ; while there were big masses behind that 
 
COQUETTE'S RELIGION. 7 
 
 only partially revealed a shapely neck. Then her eyes, 
 though they were dark and expressive, had nothing of the 
 keen and merry look of your bouncing country belle. Nor 
 was there anything majestic in her appearance ; although, 
 to be sure, she walked with an ease and grace which gave 
 even to an observer a sense of suppleness and pleasure. 
 Certainly, it was not her voice which had captivated him ; 
 for when he at first heard her absurd accent, he had nearly 
 burst out laughing. Notwithstanding all which, when she 
 turned the pale, pretty, foreign face to him, and when she 
 Bald, with a smile that lit up the dark eyes and showed a 
 glimpse of pearly teeth — " It rains not always in your 
 country, then ? " — he remarked no stiffness in her speech, 
 but thought she spoke in music. He could scarcely answer 
 her. He had already succumbed to the spell of the soft eyes 
 an 1 the winning voice that had earned for this young lady, 
 when she was but four yeai*3 of age, the unfair name of 
 Co [uette. 
 
 " Do you know Lord Earlshope ? " he said, abruptly. 
 
 She turned to him with a brief glance of surprise. 
 It seemed to him that every alteration in her manner 
 — and every new position of her figure — was an improve- 
 ment. 
 
 " That gentleman who did come with us ? No ; I do not 
 know him." 
 
 " You were talking to him as if you did know him 
 very well," said the YVliaup, sternly. He was beginning 
 to suspect this cousin of his of being a deceitful young 
 ]> raon. 
 
 •• I had great pleasure of speaking to him. lie speaks 
 French — he is very agreeable.* 1 
 
 Look here," said the Whan]), with a Budden knitting of 
 his brow, v 'I won't have you talk to Earlshope, if VvHi live ia 
 this bouse. Now, oiind I " 
 
 "What ! " she cried, with a look of amused wonder, " I do 
 think you are jealous of me already. You will make me — 
 what is it called ? wmitetue. Is it not a lark ! " 
 
 She smiled as she looked at her new cousin. The Whaup 
 at to recall German legends of the devil appearing in the 
 shape of a beautiful woman. 
 
 "Ladies in this country don't use expressions like that," 
 
8 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 said he ; adding scornfully, " If that is a French custom, 
 you'd better forget it." 
 
 " Is it not right to say ' a lark ? ' " she asked, gravely. 
 " Papa used to say that, and mamma and I got much of our 
 English from him. I will not say it again, if you wish." 
 
 " Did you call it English ? " said the Whaup, with some 
 contempt. 
 
 At this moment the Minister came out from the door of 
 the Manse, and approached his niece. She ran to him, took 
 both Ms hands in hers, and then suddenly, and somewhat to 
 his discomfiture, kissed him ; while in the excitement of the 
 moment she forgot to speak her broken English, and 
 showered upon him a series of pretty phrases and questions 
 in French. 
 
 " Dear me ! " he observed, in a bewildered way. 
 
 " She is a witch," said the Whaup to himself, standing 
 by, and observing with an angry satisfaction that this 
 incomprehensible foreigner, no matter what she did or said, 
 was momentarily growing more graceful. The charm of her 
 appearance increased with every new look of her face, with 
 every new gesture of her head. And when she suddenly 
 seemed to perceive that her uncle had not understood a word 
 of her tirade — and when, with a laugh and a blush, she 
 threw out her pretty hands in a dramatic way, and gave ever 
 so slight a shrug with her small shoulders — the picture of 
 her confusion and embarrassment was perfect. 
 
 " Oh, she is an actress — I hate actresses ! " said the 
 Whaup. 
 
 Meanwhile his cousin recovered herself and began to 
 translate into stiff and curious English (watching her pro- 
 nunciation carefully) the rapid French she had been pouring 
 out. But her uncle interrupted her, and said — 
 
 " Come into the house first, my bairn, and we will have 
 the story of your journey afterwards. Dear me, I began to 
 think ye could speak nothing but that unintelligible Babel 
 o' a tongue." 
 
 So he led her into the house, the "Whaup following ; and 
 Catherine Cassilis, whom they had been taught by letter to 
 call Coquette, looked round upon her new home. 
 
 She was the only daughter of the Minister's only brother, 
 a young man who had left Scotland in his teens, and never 
 
COQUETTE'S RELIGION. 9 
 
 returned. Ho had been such another as the Whaup in his 
 youth, only that his outrages upon the decorum of bis 
 native village had been of a somewhat more serious kind. 
 His family were very glad when he went abroad; and 
 when they did subsequently hear of him they heard no good. 
 Indeed, a very moderate amount of wildishness became 
 something terrible when rumoured through the quiet of 
 Airlie ; and the younger Cassilis was looked on as the 
 prodigal son, whom no one was anxious to see again. At 
 length the news came that he had married some foreign 
 woman — and this put a climax to his wickedness. It is true 
 that the captain of a Greenock ship, having been at St. 
 Nazaire, had there met Mr. Cassilis, who had taken his 
 countryman home to his house, some few miles further along 
 the banks of the Loire. The captain carried to Greenock, 
 and to Airlie, the news that the Minister's brother was the 
 most fortunate of men. The French lady he had married 
 was of the most gracious temperament, and had the sweetest 
 looks. She had brought her husband a fine estate on the 
 Loire, where he lived like a foreign prince, not like the 
 brother of a parish minister. They had a daughter — an elf, 
 a fairy, with dark eyes and witching ways — who lisped 
 French with the greatest ease in the world. Old Gavin 
 Cassilis, the Minister, heard, and was secretly rejoiced. He 
 corresponded, in his grave and formal fashion, with his 
 brother ; but he would not undertake a voyage to a country 
 that had abandoned itself to infidelity. The Minister 
 knew no France but the France of the Revolution time ; 
 and so powerfully had he been impressed in his youth by 
 t lie stories of the worship of the Goddess of Reason, that, 
 while the ancient languages were as familiar to him as his 
 own, while he knew enough of Italian to read the Inferno, 
 and had mastered even the technicalities of the German 
 theologians, nothing would ever induce him to study 
 French. It was a language abhorred — it had lent itself to 
 th" most monstrous apostacy of recent times. 
 
 The mother and father of Coquette died within a few 
 hours of each other, cut off by a fever which was raging 
 over the south of France ; and the girl, according to their 
 wish, was sent to a school in the neighbourhood, where she 
 remained until she was eighteen. She was then transferred 
 
io A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 to the care of her only living relative — Mr. Gavin Cassilis, 
 the parish Minister of Airlie. She had never seen anything 
 of Scotland or of her Scotch relations. The life that 
 awaited her was quite unknown to her. She had no dread 
 of the possible consequences of removing her thoroughly 
 southern nature into the chiller social atmosphere of the 
 north. So far, indeed, her journey had been a pleasant 
 one ; and she saw nothing to make her apprehensive of the 
 future. She had been met at the railway station by the 
 Minister's man, Andrew ; but she had no opportunity of 
 noticing his more than gloomy temperament, or the scant 
 civility he was inclined to bestow on a foreign jade who 
 was dressed so that all the men turned and looked at her as 
 though she had been a snare of Satan. For they had 
 scarcely left the station, and were making their way upward 
 to the higher country, when they overtook Lord Earlshope, 
 who was riding leisurely along. Andrew — much as he 
 contemned the young nobleman, who had not the best of 
 reputations in the district — touched his cap, as in duty 
 bound. His lordship glanced with a look of surprise and 
 involuntary admiration at the young lady who sat on the 
 dog-cart ; and then rode forward, and said — 
 
 " May I have the pleasure of introducing myself to Mr; 
 Oassilis' niece ? I hope I am not mistaken." 
 
 With a frankness which appalled Andrew — who considered 
 this boldness on the part of an unmarried woman to be 
 indicative of the licentiousness of French manners — the 
 young lady replied ; and in a few minutes Lord Earlshope 
 had succeeded in drawing her into a pleasant conversation 
 in her own tongue. Nay, when they had reached Earlshope, 
 he insisted that Miss Cassilis should enter the gate and 
 drive through the park, which ran parallel with the road. 
 He himself was forced to leave his horse with the lodge- 
 keeper, the animal having mysteriously become lame on 
 ascending the hill ; but, with a careless apology and a 
 laugh, the fair-haired young gentleman jumped on to the 
 dog-cart behind, and begged Andrew for a " lift " as far as 
 the Manse. 
 
 Andrew thought it was none of his business. Had his 
 companion been an ordinarily sober and discreet young 
 woman, he would nob have allowed her to talk so familiarly 
 
COQ UETTES RELIGION. 1 1 
 
 with this graceless young lord; but, said the Minister's 
 man bo himself, they were well met. 
 
 "They jabbered away in their foreign lingo," said 
 Andrew, that evening, to his wife Leezibeth, the house- 
 keeper, "and I'm thinking it was siccah a language was 
 talked in Sodom and Gomorrah. And he w T as a' smiles, and she 
 was a' smiles; and they seemed to think nae shame o' them- 
 selves, goiu' through a decent country-side. It's a dispensation, 
 Leezibeth ; that's what it is — a dispensation — this hussy 
 coming amang us wi' her French silks and her satins, and 
 her deevlish license o' talkin' like a play-actor." 
 
 "Andrew, my man," said Leezibeth, with a touch of 
 spite (for she had become rather a partisan of the stranger), 
 " she'll no be the only lang tongue we hae in the parish. 
 And what ails ye at her talking, if ye dinna understand 
 it ? As for her silks and her satins, the Queen on the 
 throne couldna set them off better." 
 
 " Didna I tell ye ! " said Andrew, eagerly, " the carnal eye 
 is attracted already. She has cast her wiles owre ye, Leezi- 
 beth. It's a temptation." 
 
 " Will the body be quiet ! " said Leezibeth, with rising 
 anger. "He's fair out o' his wits to think that a woman 
 come to my time o' life should be thinking o' silks and 
 satins for mysel'. 'Deed, Andrew, there's no much fear o' 
 my spending siller on finery, when ye never see a bawbee 
 without running for an auld stocking to hide it in ! " 
 
 Oddly enough, Andrew was at first the only one of them 
 who apprehended any evil from the arrival of the young girl 
 who had come to pass her life among people very dissimilar 
 from herself. The simplicity and frankness of her manner 
 towards Lord Earlshope he exaggerated into nothing short 
 of license; and his "dour" imagination had already 
 perceived in her some strange resemblance to the Scarlet 
 Woman, the Mother of Abominations, who sat on the seven 
 hills and mocked at the saints. Andrew was a morbid and 
 morose man, of Seceder descent ; and he had inherited a 
 tinge of the old Cameronian feeling, not often met with 
 now-a-days. He felt it incumbent on him to be a sort of 
 living protest in the Manse against the temporising and 
 feeble condition of theological opinion he found there. Ee 
 looked upon Mr. Cassilia as little else than a "Moderate ;" 
 
12 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 and even made bold, upon rare occasions, to confront the 
 Minister himself. 
 
 " Andrew," said Mr. Cassilis one day, " you are a rebellious 
 servant, and one that would intemperately disturb the peace 
 o' the Church." 
 
 "In nowise, Minister, in nowise," retorted Andrew, 
 with firmness. " But in maitters spiritual I will yield 
 obedience to no man. There is but one King in Sion, sir, 
 for a' that a dominant and Erastian Estayblishment may 
 say." 
 
 " Toots, toots," said the Minister, testily. " Let the 
 Establishment alone, Andrew. It does more good than 
 harm, surely." «*» 
 
 " Maybe, maybe," replied Andrew (with an uncomfortable 
 feeling that the Establishment had supplied him with the 
 carnal advantages of a good situation), " but I am not wan 
 that would rub out the ancient landmarks o' the faith which 
 our fathers suffered for, and starved for, and bled for. The 
 auld religion is dying out owre fast as it is, but there is still 
 a remnant o' Jacob among the Gentiles, and they are not a' 
 like Mcodemus, that was ashamed o' the truth that was in 
 him, and bided until the nicht." 
 
 It was well, therefore, that this fearless denouncer did not 
 hear the following conversation which took place between 
 the Minister and his niece. The latter had been conducted 
 by Leezibeth to see the rooms prepared for her. With these 
 she was highly delighted. A large chamber, which had 
 served as a dormitory for the boys, was now transformed 
 into a sitting-room for her, and the boys' beds had been 
 carried into a neighbouring hayloft, which had been cleared 
 oat for the purpose. In this sitting-room she found her 
 piano, which had been sent on some days before, and a 
 number of other treasures from her southern home. There 
 were two small square windows in the room ; and they looked 
 down upon the garden, with its moss-grown wall, and, 
 beyond that, over a corner of Airlie moor, and, beyond that 
 again, towards the sloping and wooded country which 
 stretched away to the western coast. A faint grey breadth 
 of sea was visible there ; and the island of Arran, with its 
 peaked mountains grown a pale, transparent blue, lay along 
 the horizon. 
 
COQUETTE'S RELIGION. 13 
 
 "Ye might hae left that music-box in France," said 
 Leezibeth. " It's better fitted for there than here." 
 
 " I could not live without it," said Coquette, with a quiet 
 smile. 
 
 " Then I'd advise ye no to open it the-day, which is a day 
 0? preparation for the solemn services o' the Sabbath. The 
 denner is on the table, miss." 
 
 The young lady went down-stairs and took her place at 
 the table, all the boys staring at her with open mouth and 
 eyes. It was during her talk with the Minister that she 
 casually made a remark about " the last time she had gone 
 to mass." 
 
 Consternation sat upon every face. Even the Minister 
 looked shocked, and asked her if she had been brought up 
 a Roman. 
 
 " A Catholic ? Yes," said Co uictte, Cimply, and yet 
 looking strangely at the faces of the boys. They had 
 i icver before had a Catholic come among them unawares. 
 
 "I am deeply grieved and pained," said the Minister, 
 gravely. " I knew not that my brother had been a pervert 
 bom the communion of our Church " 
 
 "Papa was not a Catholic," said Coquette. "Mamma 
 and I were. But it matters nothing. I will go to your 
 church — it is the same to me." 
 
 " But," said the Minister, in amazement and horror, " it 
 is worse that you should be so indifferent than that you 
 should be a Catholic. Have you never been instructed as 
 to the all- importance of your religious faith ? " 
 
 " I do not know much — but I will learn, if you pleat 
 she said. " T have only tried to be kind to the people 
 around me — that is all. I will learn if you will teach me. 
 1 will be what you like." 
 
 " Her ignorance is lamentable," muttered the Minister to 
 himself ; and the boys looked at her askance and with fear. 
 Perhaps she was a secret friend and ally of the Pope himself. 
 
 But the AVhaup, who had been inclined to show an 
 independent contempt for his new cousin, no sooner saw 
 her get into trouble, than he startled everybody by exclaiming, 
 warmly — 
 
 " She has got the best part of all religions, if she does 
 her best to the people round about her." 
 
H A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Thomas," said the Minister, severely, " you are not 
 competent to judge of these things." 
 
 But Coquette looked at the lad, and saw that his face 
 was burning ; and she thanked him with her expressive 
 eyes. Another such glance would have made the Whaup 
 forswear his belief in the Gunpowder Plot ; and as it 
 was, he began to cherish wild notions about Roman 
 Catholicism. That was the first result of Coquette's arrival 
 at Airlie. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A PENITENT. 
 
 "When, on the Sunday morning, Coquette, having risen, 
 dressed, and come into her sitting-room, went forward to 
 one of the small windows, she uttered a cry of deli gl it. 
 She had no idea that the surroundings of her new home 
 were so beautiful. Outside the bright sunlight of the 
 morning fell on the Minister's garden and orchard — a 
 somewhat tangled mass, it is true, of flower beds and apple 
 trees, with patches of cabbage, pease, and other kitchen 
 stuff filling up every corner. A white rose-tree nearly 
 covered the wall of the Manse, and hung its leaves and 
 blooms round the two windows ; and when she opened one 
 of these to let the fresh air rush in, there was a fragrance 
 that filled the room in a second. 
 
 But far beyond the precincts of the Manse stretched a 
 great landscape, so spacious, so varied, so graduated in 
 hue and tone that her eye ran over it with an ever-increasing 
 delight and wonder. First, the sea. Just over the 
 mountains of the distant island of Arran — a spectral blue 
 mass lying along the horizon — there was a confusion of 
 clouds that let the sunlight fall down on the plain of water 
 in misty, slanting lines. The plain was dark, except where 
 those rays smote it sharp and clear, glimmering in sil\ 
 while a black steamer, a mere speck, slowly crept across the 
 lines of blinding light. Down in the south there was a 
 small grey cloud, the size of a man's hand, resting on the 
 water ; but she did not know that that was the rock of 
 Ailsa. Then, nearer shore the blue sea fringed with white 
 
A PENITENT. 15 
 
 ran into two long bays, bordered by a waste of ruddy sand ; 
 and above tho largest of these great bays she saw a thin 
 lino of dark houses and gleaming slates, stretching from the 
 old-world town of Saltcoats up to its more modern suburb 
 of Ardrossan, where a small fleet of coasting vessels rocked 
 in the harbour. So near were these houses to the water 
 that, from where Co [uette stood, they seemed a black fringe 
 3twork to the land; and the spire of Saltcoats 
 church, rising from above the slates, was sharply defined 
 ast the wide and windy breidtli of waves. 
 "Then inland. Her room looked south; and before her 
 1 the fair and fertile valleys and hills of Ayrshire — 
 undulating heights and hollows, intersected by dark green 
 lines of copse running down to the sea. The red fhr 
 of the Steven-ton ironworks flickered in the daylight ; a 
 mist of blue smoke hung over Irvine and Troon; and, 
 had her eves known where to look, she might have caught 
 rev glimmer of the houses of Ayr. As the 
 white clouds sailed across the sky, azure shadows crept 
 the variegated landscape, momentarily changing its 
 many hues and colours; and while some dark wool 
 id suddenly deepen in gloom, lo ! beside it, some 
 hitherto unperceived corn-field would as suddenly burst out 
 earn of yellow, burning like gold. 
 ill it was on this quiet Sunday morning, that she 
 could hear the "click" of a grasshopper on the warm 
 r] outside, and the hum of a passing bee as it buried 
 If in one of the white roses, and then flew on. Xa • 
 tinued gazing away towards the south, it a to 
 
 her she could hear more. "Was not that the plashing 
 on the sunny coast of France? Was not that 
 ihanting in the small chapel at Le Croisic, out 
 re at the point of land that runs into the sea above 
 tary of the Loire? Her mental vision followed the line 
 running inward — passing the quaint houses and the 
 it building yards of St. Xazaire — and then, as she 
 followed the windings of the broad blue river, - 
 her own home, high up on the bank, overlooking 
 islands on the stream and the lower land and green w< 
 md. 
 "If I had a pair of wings," she said, with a laugi 
 
 ■MOMP 
 
i6 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. . 
 
 would fly ayvay." She had determined she would always 
 speak English now, even to herself. 
 
 She went to her piano and sat down and began to sing 
 the old and simple air that she had sung when she left her 
 southern home. She sang of " Normandie, ma Normandie ; " 
 and the sensitive thrill of a rich and soft contralto voice lent 
 a singular pathos to the air, although she had gone to the 
 piano chiefly from lightness of heart. Now it happened 
 that the Whaup was passing the foot of the stair leading up 
 to her room. At first he could not believe his ears that any 
 one was actually singing a profane song on the Sabbath 
 morning ; but no sooner had he heard " Normandie, ma 
 Normandie ! " than he flew up the stairs, three steps at a 
 bound, to stop such wickedness. 
 
 She did not sing loudly, but he thought he had never 
 heard such singing. He paused for a moment at the top of 
 the stair. He listened, and succumbed to the temptress. 
 The peculiar penetrating timbre of the contralto voice pierced 
 him and fixed him there, so that he forgot all about his well- 
 meant interference. He listened breathlessly, and with a 
 certain amount of awe, as if it had been vouchsafed to him 
 to hear the chanting of angels. He remembered no more 
 that it was sinful ; and when the girl ceased, it seemed to 
 him there was a terrible void in the silence, which was 
 almost misery. 
 
 Presently her fingers touched the keys again. "What was 
 this now that filled the air with a melody which had a 
 strange distance and unearthliness about it ? She had 
 begun to play one of Mozart's sonatas, and was playing ifc 
 carelessly enough ; but the Whauphad never heard anything 
 like it before. It seemed to him to open with the sad 
 stateliness of a march, and he could almost hear in it the 
 tread of aerial hosts ; then there was a suggestion of triumph 
 and joy, subsiding again into that plaintive and measured 
 cadence. It was full of dreams and mystery to him ; he 
 knew no longer that he was in a Scotch Manse. But when 
 the girl within the room broke into the rapidity of the first 
 variation, and was indeed provoked into giving some atten- 
 tion to her playing, he was recalled to himself. He had 
 been deluded by the devil. He would no longer permit this 
 thing to go on unchecked. And it is probable he would at 
 
A PENITENT. 17 
 
 once have opened the door and charged her to desist, but 
 from a sneaking hope that she might play something more 
 intelligible to him than these variations, which he regarded 
 as impudent and paganish — the original melody playing 
 hide-and-seek with you in a demoniac fashion, and laugh- 
 ing at you from behind a corner, when you thought you 
 had secured it. He was lingering in this uncertain way 
 when Leezibeth dashed up the stairs. She saw him stand- 
 ing there, listening, and threw a glance of contempt upon 
 him. She banged the door open, and advanced into the 
 room. 
 
 " Preserve us a', lassie, do ye think what ye're doing ? 
 Do ye no ken this is the Sabbath, and that you're in a 
 respectable house ? " 
 
 The girl turned round with more wonder than alarm in 
 her face. 
 
 " Is it not right to play music on Sunday ? " 
 
 " Sunday ! Sunday ! " exclaimed Leezibeth, who was 
 nearly choking, partly from excitement and partly from 
 having rushed upstairs ; "your heathenish gibberish accords 
 weel wi' sic conduct ! There is nae Sunday for us. We are 
 no worshippers 0' Bel and the Draugon ; and dinna ye tell 
 me that the dochter 0' the minister's brither doesna ken 
 that it is naethiug less than heathenish to turn a sober and 
 respectable house into a Babel 0' a theatre on a Sabbath 
 morning " 
 
 At this moment the Whaup made his appearance, with his 
 aflame. 
 
 " Plenty, plenty, Leezibeth ! " said he, standing out in the 
 middle of the floor. 
 
 " Ma certes," said Leezibeth, turning on her new enemy. 
 '• and this is a pretty pass ! Is there to be nae order in the 
 house because ye are a' won ower by a smooth face and a 
 pair 0' glintin' ecu ? Is the Manse to be tumbled tapsalteery, 
 and made a byword 0' because o' a foreign hussy ?" 
 
 "Leezibeth," said the Whaup, M as BUTe's death, if ye say 
 another word to my cousin, ye'll rang fieein- down that stair 
 quicker than ever ye came up ! Do ye hear ?" 
 
 Leezibeth threw up her hands, and went away. The 
 Manse would soon be no longer fit for a respectahle woman 
 to live in. Singing, and dancing, and play-acting on tli : 
 
 C 
 
1 8 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Sabbath morning — after all, Andrew was right. It would 
 have been a merciful dispensation if the boat that brought 
 this Jezebel to the country had foundered in sight of its 
 shores. 
 
 Then the Whaup turned to Coquette. 
 
 " Look here," said he, " I don't mean to get into trouble 
 more nor I can help. Leezibeth is an authority in the 
 Manse, and ye'll hae to make friends wi' her. Don't you 
 imagine you can play music here or do what ye like on the 
 Sabbath ; for you'll have to be like the rest — gudeness 
 gracious ! what are ye crying for ? — " 
 
 " I do not know," she said, turning her head aside. " I 
 thank you for your kindness to me." 
 
 " Oh," said he, with a tremendous flush of red to his face 
 — for her tears had made him valiant — " is that all ? Look 
 here, you can depend on me. When you get into trouble, 
 send for me. If any man or woman in Airlie says a word to 
 you, by jingo ! I'll punch their head ! " 
 
 And thereupon she turned and looked at him with laughter 
 like sunshine struggling through the tears in her eyes. 
 
 " Is it English — ^ponche save hade ? " 
 
 " Not as you pronounce it," he said, coolly. " But as I 
 should show them, if they interfered wi' you, it's very good 
 English, and Scotch, and Irish all put together." 
 
 On Sunday morning Mi*. Cassilis had his breakfast by 
 himself in his study. The family had theirs in the ordinary 
 breakfast room, Leezibeth presiding. It was during this 
 meal that Coquette began for the first time to realise the fact 
 that there existed between her and the people around her 
 some terrible and inexplicable difference which shut her out 
 from them. Leezibeth was cold and distant to her. The 
 boys, all except the Whaup, who manfully took her part, 
 looked curiously at her. And with her peculiar sensitiveness 
 to outward impressions, she began to ask herself if there 
 might not be some cause for this suspicion on their part. 
 Perhaps she was, unknown to herself, more wicked than 
 others. Perhaps her ignorance — as in this matter of music, 
 which she had always regarded as harmless — had blinded 
 her to the fact that there was something more demanded of 
 her than the simple, and innocent, and joyous life she 
 believed herself to have led. These doubts and anxieties 
 
A PENITENT. 19 
 
 grew in proportion to their vagueness. "Was she, after all, a 
 dangerous person to have come among these religious 
 people ? Andrew would have been rejoiced to know of these 
 agitating thoughts : she was awakening to a sense of 
 Avretchedness and sin. 
 
 Scarcely was breakfast over than a message was brought 
 that Mr. Cassilis desired to see his niece privately. Coquette 
 rose up, very pale. Was it now that she was to have 
 explained to her the measure of her own godlessness, that 
 seemed to be a barrier between her and the people among 
 whom she was to live ? 
 
 She went to the door of the study and paused there, with 
 her heart beating. Already she felt like a leper that stood 
 at the gate3, and was afraid to talk to any passer-by for fear 
 of a cruel repulse. She opened the door, with downcast look, 
 and entered. Her agitation prevented her from speaking. 
 And then, having raised her eyes, and seeing before her the 
 tall, grey-haired Minister seated in his chair, she suddenly 
 went forward to him, and flung herself at his feet, bursting 
 into a wild fit of weeping, and burying her face in his knees. 
 In broken speech, interrupted by passionate sobbing and 
 tears, she implored him to deal gently with her if she had 
 done wrong. 
 
 " I do not know," she said, " I do not know. I do not 
 mean to do wrong. I will do what you tell me — but I am 
 all alone here — and I cannot live if you are angry with me. 
 I will go away, if you like — perhaps it will be better if I go 
 away, and not vex you any more." 
 
 " But you have not vexed me, my lassie — you have done 
 no wrong that I know of," he said, putting his hand on her 
 head. " What is all this ? What does it mean ? " 
 
 She looked up to see whether the expression of his face 
 corresponded with the kindness of his voice. She saw in 
 those worn, grey, lined features nothing but gentleness and 
 affection ; and the ordinary sternness of the deep-set eyes 
 was replaced by a profound pity. 
 
 "T cannot tell you in English — in French I could," she 
 said. "They speak to me as if I was different from them, 
 and wicked; and I donor know in what. I thought you 
 wished to reproach me. I could not bear that. If I do 
 wrong without knowing, 1 will do better if yon will tell me ; 
 
 c 2 
 
20 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 but I cannot live all by myself, and think that I am wicked, 
 and not know. If it is wrong to play music, I will not 
 play any more music. I will ask Lissiebess to pardon me 
 my illness of this morning, which I did not know at all." 
 
 The Minister smiled. 
 
 " So you have been playing music this morning, and 
 Leezibeth has stopped you ? I hope she was not to blame 
 in her speech, for to her it would seem very heinous to hear 
 profane music on the Sabbath. Indeed, we all of us in 
 Scotland consider that the Sabbath should be devoted to 
 meditation and worship, not to idleness and amusement ; 
 and ye will doubtless come to consider it no great hardship 
 to shut your piano one day out o' the seven. But I sent for 
 ye this morning wi' quite another purpose than to scold ye 
 for having fallen through ignorance into a fault, of which, 
 indeed, I knew nothing." 
 
 He now began to unfold to her the serious perplexity 
 which had been caused him by the fact of her having been 
 brought up a Eoman Catholic. On the one hand, he had a 
 sacred duty to perform to her as being almost her sole 
 surviving relation ; but on the other hand, was he justified 
 in supplanting with another faith that faith in which her 
 mother had desired her to remain ? The Minister had been 
 seriously troubled about this matter ; and wished to have it 
 settled before he permitted her to go to church with the 
 rest of his family. He was a scrupulously conscientious 
 man. They used to say of him in Airlie that if Satan, in 
 arguing with him, were to fall into a trap, Mr. Cassilis 
 would scorn to take advantage of any mere slip of the 
 tongue — a piece of rectitude not invariably met with in 
 religious disputes. When, therefore, the Minister saw 
 placed in his hands a willing convert, he would not accept 
 of the conversion without explaining to her all the bearings of 
 the case, and pointing out to her clearly what she was doing. 
 
 Coquette solved the difficulty in a second. 
 
 " If mamma were here," she said, " she would go at once 
 to your chmch. It never mattered to us — the church. The 
 difference — or is it differation is the proper English ?-^\yuk 
 nothing to us ; and papa did not mind. I will go to your 
 church, and you will tell me all what it is right. I will soon 
 know all your religion," she added, more cheerfully, " and I 
 
A PENITENT. 21 
 
 will sing those dreadful slow tunes which papa used to sing 
 — to make mamma laugh." 
 
 " My brother might have been better employed," said the 
 Minister, with a frown ; but Coquette ran away, light- 
 hearted, to dress herself to go with the others. 
 
 The "Whanp was a head taller when he issued from the 
 Manse, by the side of his new cousin, to go down to the 
 little church. He was her protector. He snubbed the other 
 boys. To one of them — Wattie the sneak — he had ad- 
 ministered a sharp cuff on the side of the head, when the 
 latter, on Coquette being summoned into the study, re- 
 marked confidentially, " She's gaun to get her licks ; " and 
 n ow, when the young lady had come out in all the snowy 
 brightness of her summer costume, Wattie revenged himself 
 by murmuring to his companions — 
 
 " Doesna she look like a play-actress ? " 
 
 So the small procession passed along the rough moorland 
 road until they drew near the little grey church and its 
 graveyard of rude stones. Towards this point converged 
 the scattered twos and threes now visible across the moor 
 and down in the village — old men and women, young men 
 and maidens all in their best Sunday "braws." The 
 dissonant bell was sounding harshly ; and the boys, before 
 going into the gloomy little building, threw a last and 
 wistful glance over the broad moor, where the bronzed and 
 the yellow butterflies were fluttering in the sunlight, and the 
 bees drowsily humming in the heather. 
 
 They entered. Every one stared at Coquette, as they had 
 stared at her outside. The boys could not understand the 
 easy self-composure with which she followed the Whanp 
 down between the small wooden benches, and took her place 
 in the Minister's pew. There was no confusion or em- 
 barrassment in her manner on meeting the eyes of a lot 
 of strangers. 
 
 " She's no feared," said Wattie to his neighbour. 
 
 When Coquette had taken her seat, she knelt down and 
 covered her face with her hands. The Whaup touched her 
 arm quickly. 
 
 " Ye must not do that," said he, looking round anxiously 
 to see whether any of the neighbours had witnessed tins 
 piece of Romish superstition. 
 
22 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 That glance round dashed from his lips the cup of 
 pleasure he had been drinking. Quietly regarding both 
 himself and Coquette, he met the eyes of Lord Earlshope ; 
 and the congregation had not seen anything of Coquette's 
 kneeling, for the simple reason that they had turned from 
 her to gaze on the no less startling phenomenon of Lord 
 Earlshope occupying his family pew, in which he had not 
 been seen for years. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 
 
 Coquette did not observe the presence of Lord Earlshope 
 for some time. She was much engaged in the service, which 
 was quite new to her. First of all, the Minister rose in his 
 pulpit and read out a psalm ; and then, under him, the Pre- 
 centor rose, and begun, all by himself, to lead off the singing, 
 in a strong harsh voice which had but little music in it. 
 The tune was " Drumclog ; " and as Coquette listened, she 
 mentally grouped its fine and impressive melody with 
 chords, and thought of the wonderful strength and sweetness 
 that Mendelssohn could have imparted to that bare skeleton 
 of an air. The people groaned rather than sung ; there was 
 not even an attempt at part-singing ; the men merely 
 followed the air an octave lower, except when they struck 
 into quite a different key, and produced such dissonances as 
 are indescribable. If the use of the piano were not entirely 
 proscribed, she promised to herself that she would show the 
 Whaup next morning the true character of that simple and 
 noble air which was being so cruelly ill-treated. 
 
 There followed a long extempore prayer, and another 
 psalm — sung to the plaintive " Coleshill " — and then there 
 came the sermon. She tried hard to understand it, but she 
 could not. It was an earnest and powerful appeal ; but it 
 was so clothed in the imagery of the Jewish prophets — so 
 full of the technical phrases of the Scotch preachers — that 
 she could not follow it. Her English had been chiefly 
 gathered from the free and easy conversation of her father, 
 and even that had been modified by the foreign pronunciation 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 23 
 
 of her mother ; so that such phrases as " the fulfilment of 
 the covenant," "girding up the loins," "awakening unto 
 grace," and so forth, conveyed no meaning to her what- 
 ever. In spite of her best endeavours she found herself 
 dreaming of the Loire — of St. Nazaire, of Guerande, of the 
 salt plains that lie between that town and Le Croisic, and 
 of the Breton peasants in their tragous-bras and wide hats, 
 making their pilgrimages to the church of Notre Dame de 
 Murier. 
 
 The sight of Lord Earlshope had made the Whaup both 
 savage and wicked. He proposed to Wattie to play " Neevie, 
 nee vie, nick-nack " — an offer which "Wattie looked upon as 
 the direct instigation of the devil, and refused accordingly. 
 
 When, at last, Coquette caught the eyes of Lord Earlshope 
 fixed upon her, she was surprised to see him so intently 
 regarding her. There was something wistful, too, in his 
 look ; his face bearing an expression of seriousness she did 
 not expect to find in it. During the brief period in which 
 he talked to her he had left upon her the impression of his 
 being merely a light-hearted young man, who had winning 
 ways, and a good deal of self-confidence. But the fact is, 
 she had paid no very great attention to him ; and even now 
 was not disposed to look upon his fixed gaze as anything 
 beyond a mere accident. She turned her eyes aside ; tried 
 once more to follow the sermon ; and again subsided into 
 dreaming of Bourg de Batz, and the square pools of the salt 
 plains, with the ancient walls of Guerande filling up the 
 horizon of her imagination. 
 
 When the service was over, and they had got outside, the 
 Whaup bundled them off on the road towards the Manse 
 with but little ceremony, taking care that Coquette should 
 be in front. 
 
 " What has changed you ? " she said, in some surprise. 
 " I did think you were good friends with me on coming to 
 the church." 
 
 " Never mind," he said, abruptly ; and then he added, 
 sharply, " Did you see Lord Earlshope there ? " 
 
 " Certainly 1 have seen him." 
 
 " What business had he there ? " 
 
 " People go not to the church for business," she said, 
 with a laugh. 
 
24 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " He has nob been in that pew for years," said the 
 Whaup, gloomily. 
 
 " Perhaps he is becoming a good man ? " she said, 
 lightly, making a careless effort to catch a butterfly that 
 fluttered before her face. 
 
 "He has plenty to alter then," said the Whaup, with 
 frowning brows. 
 
 She looked at him curiously, and laughed. Then she 
 turned to the Whaup's brother. 
 
 " "Wattle, will you run with me to the house ? " 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 " No, I'll no," said Wattie. " Ye are a Eoman, and can 
 get absolution for a' the ill ye dae." 
 
 " I will, an' ye like," said the youngest of the brothers, 
 Dougal, timidly. 
 
 " Come along, then ! " 
 
 She took his hand, and, before Leezibeth or Andrew 
 could interfere, they were fleeing along the rough road 
 towards the Manse, far in front of the others. Dougal, 
 young as he was, was a swift runner ; but the foreign 
 lassie beat him, and was evidently helping him. All at 
 once Dougal was seen to stumble and roll forward. Coquette 
 made a desperate effort to save him, but in vain ; and 
 while he fell prone upon the ground, she was brought nearly 
 on her knees. The little fellow got up, looking sadly at one 
 of his hands, which was sorely scratched with the gravel. 
 He regarded her, too, dumbly ; clenching his lips to keep 
 himself from crying, although the tears would gather in his 
 eyes. In an instant she had overwhelmed him with pitying 
 caresses, and soft French phrases of endearment, while she 
 carefully smoothed his torn hand with her handkerchief. 
 
 " You will come with me to my room, and I will heal it 
 for you." 
 
 She carried him off before the others had arrived ; and 
 washed his hand ; and put cold cream on it ; and gave him 
 a whole box of French chocolate — a dainty which he had 
 never seen before, but which he speedily appreciated. Then 
 she said, 
 
 " Come along, now, and I will sing you something — Alas ! 
 no, I must not open my piano any more." 
 
 It was the first time Dougal had ever heard anybody say 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 25 
 
 " alas ! " — a word which Coquette had picked up from her 
 English books. He began to distrust all this kindness and 
 all these fascinating ways. What Coquette knew of English 
 was more English than Scotch in pronunciation. Now, 
 everybody in Airlie was aware of the curious fact that all 
 actors, and public singers, and such people, generally, as 
 live by their wits, were English ; and an English accent was 
 therefore in itself suspicious. If this young lady in the 
 white muslin dress, with the yellow ribbons in her black 
 hair, was not actually French she was English, which was 
 only a shade less deplorable. Dougal accepted the brown 
 and sweet little balls of chocolate with some compunction, 
 and hoped he was doing no mortal sin in eating them. 
 
 After the "interval," as it was technically called, they had 
 to go to church again, and here Coquette's patience nearly 
 gave way. Nor was the situation rendered less grievous by 
 the Whaup informing her severely that in Airlie there was 
 no such thing as idle walking about on the Sabbath — that 
 the whole of the afternoon she would not even be permitted 
 to go into the garden, but would have to sit indoors and 
 read a "good book." The Whaup was not ill-pleased to 
 have to convey this information : he fancied Lord Earls- 
 hope might be prowling about. 
 
 There was a "tea dinner" at four o'clock, consisting 
 exclusively of cold meats, with tea added. Thereafter, the 
 whole family sat down in solemn silence to their books — the 
 list being the Bible, the Shorter and Longer Catechisms, 
 Hutcheson's Exposition, Dr. Spurstow on the Promise, the 
 Christian's Charter, Bishop Downham on the Covenant of 
 ( I race (these last " printed for Ralph Smith, at the Bible in 
 ( 'ornhiU " ), and Josephus. By tins copy of Josephus there 
 hangs a tale. 
 
 Dougal, remembering that business of the chocolate, came 
 over to Coquette, and whispered — 
 
 "If ye are freends wi' the Whaup, he'll show ye the 
 third vollum 0' Josephus." 
 
 Indeed, the boys manifested the most lively curiosity 
 when the Whaup appeared bearing the third volume of 
 Josephus in his hand. They seemed to forget the sunlight 
 outside, and the fresh air of the moor, in watching this 
 treasure. The Whaup sat down at the table (the Minister 
 
26 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 was at the upper end of the room, in his arm-chair) and 
 the third volume of Josephus was opened. 
 
 Coquette perceived that some mystery was abroad. The 
 boys drew more and more near to the Whaup ; and were 
 apparently more anxious to see the third volume of Josephus 
 than anything else. She observed also that the Whaup, 
 keeping the board of the volume up, never seemed to turn 
 over any leaves. 
 
 She, too, overcome by feminine curiosity, drew near. The 
 Whaup looked at her — suspiciously at first, then he seemed 
 to relent. 
 
 " Have ye read Josephus ? " he said aloud to her. 
 
 " No," said Coquette. 
 
 " It is a most valuable work," said the Minister from the 
 upper end of the room (the Whaup started), " as giving 
 corroboration to the sacred writings from one who was not 
 himself an advocate of the truth." 
 
 Coquette moved her chair in to the table. The Whaup 
 carefully placed the volume before her. She looked at it, 
 and beheld — two white mice ! 
 
 The mystery was solved. The Whaup had daringly cut 
 out the body of the volume, leaving the boards and a margin 
 of the leaves all round. In the hole thus formed reposed 
 two white mice, in the feeding and petting of which he 
 spent the whole Sunday afternoon, when he was supposed to 
 be reading diligently. No wonder the boys were anxious to 
 see the third volume of Josephus ; and when any one of 
 them had done a particular favour to the Whaup, he was 
 allowed to have half an hour of the valuable book. There 
 were also two or three leaves left in front ; so that, when 
 any dangerous person passed, these leaves could be shut 
 down over the cage of the mice. 
 
 They were thus engaged when Leezibeth suddenly opened 
 the door, and said — 
 
 " Lord Earlshope would speak wi' ye, sir." 
 
 Astonishment was depicted on every countenance. From 
 time immemorial no visitor had dared to invade the sanctity 
 of Airlie Manse on a Sabbath afternoon. 
 
 " Show him into my study, Leezibeth," said the Minister. 
 
 "By no means," said his lordship, entering, "I would 
 not disturb you, Mr. Cassilis, on any account. I have 
 
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 27 
 
 merely called in to say a passing word to you, although I 
 know it is not good manners in Airlie to pay visits on 
 Sunday." 
 
 " Your lordship is doubtless aware," returned Mr. 
 Cassilis, gravely, "that it is not any consideration of 
 manners that leads us to keep the Sabbath inviolate 
 from customs which on other days are lawful and praise- 
 worthy." 
 
 "I know, I know," said the young gentleman, good- 
 naturedly, and taking so little notice of the hint as to 
 appropriate a chair ; " but you must blame my English 
 education if I fall short. Indeed, it struck me this morning 
 that I have of late been rather remiss in attending to my 
 duties ; and I made a sort of resolve to do better. You 
 would see I was at church to-day." 
 
 " You could not have been in a more fitting place," said 
 the Minister. 
 
 Mr. Cassilis, despite the fact that he was talking to the 
 patron of the living — Lord Earlshope's father had presented 
 him to the parish of Airlie — was not disposed to be too 
 gracious to this young man, whose manner of conduct, 
 although in no way openly sinful, had been a scandal to the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 " He'll have a heavy reckonin' to settle i' the next worl'," 
 Andrew used to say, " be he lord or no lord. What think 
 ye, sirs, o' a young man that reads licht books and smokes 
 cigaurs frae the rising o' the sun even till the ganging doon 
 o' the same ; and roams about on the Lord's day breaking 
 in a wheen pointers ? " 
 
 The boys looked on this visit of Lord Earlshope as a 
 blessed relief from the monotony of the Sunday afternoon ; 
 and while they kept their eyes steadily directed on their 
 books, listened eagerly to what he had to say. This amuse- 
 ment did not last long. His lordship — scarcely taking 
 any notice of Coquette in his talk, though he sometimes 
 looked at her by chance — spoke chiefly of some repairs in 
 the church winch he was willing to aid with a subscription ; 
 and, having thus pleased the Minister, mentioned that 
 Earlshope itself had been undergoing repairs and re- 
 decoration. 
 
 "And I have no near neighbours but yourselves, Mr. 
 
28 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Oassilis, to see our new grandeur. Will you not pay 
 Earlshope a visit ? What do you say to coming over, the 
 whole of you, to-morrow, and seeing what I have done ? I 
 dare say Mrs. Graham will be able to get some lunch for 
 you ; and I should like your niece — whom I had the pleasure 
 of seeing on her way here — to give me her opinion about 
 an organ that has been sent me from abroad. What 
 do you say ? I am sure the boys will enjoy a holiday 
 in the grounds, and be able to find amusement for them- 
 selves." 
 
 If the Whaup dared to have spoken, he would have 
 refused in indignant terms. The other boys were delighted 
 with the prospect — although they were still supposed to be 
 reading. Coquette merely looked at Mr. Cassilis, apparently 
 without much interest, awaiting his answer. 
 
 Mr. Cassilis replied, in grave and dignified terms of 
 courtesy, that he would be proud to avail himself of his 
 lordship's invitation ; and added that he hoped this re- 
 establishment of the relations which had existed between 
 Earlshope and the Manse in the time of his lordship's father 
 meant that he, the present Lord Earlshope, intended to 
 come oftener to church than had been his wont of late. 
 The hint was conveyed in veiy plain language. The young 
 nobleman, however, took it in good part, and speedily bade 
 them good evening. He bowed to Coquette as he passed 
 her ; and she acknowledged this little manifestation of 
 respect, with her eyes fixed on the ground. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 coquette's music. 
 
 What was this great rushing and whistling noise that 
 filled the girl's ears as the light of the morning — entering 
 by a small window which had no sort of blind or shutter — - 
 fell on her face and opened her confused eyes to its glare ? 
 She had been dreaming of Earlshope. Dreams are but 
 rechauffes of past experiences ; and this ghostly Earlshope 
 that she had visited in her sleep was a French Earlshope. The 
 broad blue Loire ran down a valley in front of it. There 
 were hills for a background which had long terraces of vines 
 
COQUETTE'S MUSIC. 29 
 
 on them. From the windows she could see the steamers — 
 mere dots with a long serpent trail of smoke behind them — 
 creep into the haven of St. Nazaire ; and far over the sea 
 lay the calm summer stillness of a southern sky. 
 
 She awoke to find herself in Scotland. The Manse shook 
 in the wind. There was a roaring of rain on the slates and 
 on the window panes ; and a hissing outside told of the 
 deluge that was pouring a red stream down the moorland 
 road. Fierce gusts from the south-west flew about the house, 
 and howled in the chimney ; great grey masses of cloud, riven 
 by the hurricane, came up from the sea and swept across the 
 moor. The room was cold and damp. When she had 
 partly dressed, she went to the window. Along the horizon 
 there was a thin black line, dull as lead, which was all that 
 was visible of the sea. The mountains of Arran had entirely 
 vanished, and in their place was a wall of grey vapour. 
 Flying before the blast came those huge volumes of smoke- 
 like cloud ; and every now and again their lower edges 
 would be torn down by the wind and hurled upon the moor 
 in heavy, slanting torrents of rain ; w T hile there was a sound 
 of rushing water everywhere ; and the trees and shrubs of 
 the garden bent and shivered in the gleaming wet. 
 
 " No Earlshope for ye to-day," said the Whaup, with ill— 
 disguised glee, when she went down-stairs to breakfast. 
 
 " I am not sorry. What a dreadful chill country ! " said 
 Coquette, who was trembling with cold. 
 
 " Would you like a fire ? " said the Whaup, eagerly. 
 
 11 A fire, indeed ! " cried Leezibeth, as she entered with 
 the tray. "A fire in the middle o' summer ! We have na 
 been brought up to sic luxuries in this pairt o' the 
 country." 
 
 " I am not very cold," said Coquette, sitting down in a 
 OOTlier, and trying to keep herself from shivering. 
 
 The Whaup walked out of the room. He was too angry 
 i o speak. He looked once at Leezibeth on going out, and 
 there was a blaze of wrath in his eyes. 
 
 The Minister came in to breakfast, and they all sat down — 
 all but the AVhatip. 
 
 M Where is Thomas ? " said Mr. Oassilis. 
 
 The reply was a shrill sereani from Leezibeth, who v 
 apparently at the door. At the same moment a wild 
 
30 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 crackling and sputtering of fire was heard overhead ; and as 
 everybody rushed to the passage, it was found that dense 
 volumes of smoke were rolling down, blown by the currents 
 above. Leezibeth had flown up-stairs on first perceiving 
 this smell of burning. There, in Coquette's parlour, she 
 caught sight of the Whaup working like a demon within the 
 pungent clouds that filled the room, blown outwards by the 
 fierce wind coming down the chimney. With another cry 
 of alarm Leezibeth darted into the nearest bedroom, and 
 brought out a ewer of water, which she discharged at the 
 blazing mass of newspapers and lumps of wood that the 
 Whaup had crammed into the small grate. 
 
 " Would ye set fire to the house ? Would ye set fire to the 
 house ? " she cried — and, indeed, it looked as if the house 
 were on fire. 
 
 " Yes, I would," shouted the demon in the smoke, " rather 
 than kill anybody wi' cold ! " 
 
 " Oh, it's that lassie — it's that lassie," cried Leezibeth, 
 " that'll be the ruin o' us a' ! " 
 
 When assistance came, and the fire was finally subdued, 
 both the Whaup and Leezibeth were spectacles to have 
 awakened the ridicule of gods and men. The effect of the 
 deluge of water had been to send up a cloud of dust and 
 ashes with the smoke ; and their respective faces were 
 tattooed so that even Mr. Cassilis — for the first time these 
 many years — burst into a fit of laughter. Even Wattie 
 laughed ; seeing which, the Whaup charged at him, caught 
 him by the waist, and carried him bodily down-stairs and 
 out through the rain to the yard, where he made him work 
 the iron handle of the pump. When the Whaup made his 
 appearance at the breakfast table he was clean ; but both 
 himself and his brother were rather damp. 
 
 Mr. Cassilis severely reprimanded his eldest son ; but he 
 ordered Leezibeth to light a fire in Miss Cassilis' room 
 nevertheless. The wind had somewhat abated now, and the 
 clouds had gathered for a steady downpour. Leezibeth went 
 to her appointed task with bitterness of heart, but she 
 comforted herself with texts. As she stuffed the unconsumed 
 remnants of the Whaup's bonfire into the grate, she uttered 
 a denunciation of the luxury and idleness which were 
 appearing for the first time in a godly house. 
 
COQUETTE'S MUSIC. 31 
 
 " But we," she muttered to herself, " who are the poor o 1 
 this world, rich in faith, and heirs o' the kingdom, maun 
 bide and suffer. We maun e'en be the servants 0' such as 
 this woman that has come amongst us — such as lie upon 
 beds of ivory, and stretch themselves upon their couches, 
 and eat the lambs out of the flock, and the calves out of the 
 midst of the stall ; that chant to the sound of the viol, and 
 invent to themselves instruments of music, like David ; 
 that drink wine in bowls, and anoint themselves wi' the 
 chief ointments : but they are not grieved for the affliction 
 of Joseph." 
 
 Yet even these consolations did not seem quite to allay 
 the irritation of her mind ; for a big torn cat that belonged 
 to the house having approached her elbow too confidently, 
 suddenly received a " skelp " that sent him flying across the 
 room and down the stairs as if the spirits of ten thousand 
 legions of dogs were pursuing him. 
 
 Airlie Manse was destined that day to be given up to what 
 Leezibeth would have called the noise of viols and godless 
 rejoicings. All thought of getting to Earlshope was aban- 
 doned ; and shortly after breakfast Coquette invited Mr. 
 Cassilis and the boys to her sitting-room, promising to play 
 something for them. Custom made the Minister hesitate for 
 a moment. Was not dance music very near dancing, which 
 he regarded as a profane and'dangerous amusement ? 
 
 " I wish to play for you — what you call it ? — the tune of 
 the church yesterday, as it should be sung. Will you hear 
 it from me ? " 
 
 No objection of course could be taken to sacred music. 
 The Minister led the way to the room ; and the boys sat 
 down silently, looking round with curiosity and awe upon 
 the strange bits of foreign adornment and luxury which 
 Coquette had already placed about her chamber. The fire 
 was burning brightly, the rain battering on the panes out- 
 side. Coquette sat down to the piano. 
 
 The Minister did not know at first that he was listening 
 to the old and familiar air of " Drumclog." It seemed to 
 him the cry of a great supplication — sad, yearning, and 
 distant, as if it came from a far hill-side half hidden in 
 mist. It sounded like the softened and various voices of a 
 great multitude made harmonious and pathetic by distance. 
 
3 2 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 But when she smote firmer chords, and, with a resonant and 
 powerful bass, let the clear treble ring out triumphantly, he 
 recognised " Drumclog." It was a song of victory now — the 
 war cry of a host moved by intense religious enthusiasm — 
 there was a joyous thanksgiving in it, and the clear voices 
 of women and children. It seemed to him to represent a 
 tumult of rejoicing — set in measured and modulated music 
 — that rose like one sweet, strong voice. Then again the 
 chords were softened, and the air changed to a wail. He 
 could almost see the far moor, and the dead lying on it, with 
 women wringing their hands, and yet thanking God for the 
 victory. 
 
 " It is wonderful, wonderful," he said, when Coquette had 
 ceased playing, " the power o 1 a dumb instrument to speak 
 such strange things." 
 
 He was surprised to find that this carnal invention of 
 music had awakened such profound emotion within him. 
 He covertly looked to 'see if the girl herself were affected 
 as she had affected him ; but Coquette turned round and 
 said, lightly, " It is a good air, but your church people they 
 do not sing it. They groan, groan, groan all the same air — 
 no singing in parts, no music." 
 
 " But you would make any tune, however bad, sound 
 well," said the Whaup, warmly. " To every one note you 
 give four or five other notes, all in harmony. No wonder it 
 sounds well. It is no test. Play us some of your foreign 
 music, that we may compare it." 
 
 The boys looked at the Whaup with astonishment : he was 
 becoming an orator. 
 
 So she played them the Cujus an imam, and for the first 
 time in its history the Manse of Airlic was flooded with that 
 sonorous music that has entranced the hearts of multitudes. 
 She played them the mystic melodies of the Hochzeitmarsch, 
 and they thought that these also were the expression of a 
 sublime devotional exaltation. Indeed, the boys regarded 
 those pieces with something of awe and fear. There was an 
 unholy smack of organ playing and Romanism about 
 Coquette's performances. Had she not transformed the 
 decent and sober tune of " Drumclog " into a mass, or 
 chant, or some such vague portion of Catholic ordinances ? 
 Wattie was in possession of an ingenious little book on 
 
COQUETTE'S MUSIC. 33 
 
 " Various Forms of Idolatry ; " and — the first plate 
 iv presenting the burning at the stake of a " Popish witch " 
 — he had pointed out to his brothers that the black and 
 profuse hair of the young woman in the flames very much 
 resembled the hair of Coquette. It was but a suggestion ; 
 yet Rabbie, another of the brothers, expressed the belief that 
 there were witches in these days also, that they were 
 emissaries of the " deevil," and that it behoved every one 
 who wished to save his soul to guard against such fiends in 
 disguise, and, above all, never to repeat any charm after 
 them towards twelve of the night. 
 
 Coquette rose from the piano. 
 
 " Who is going to play for me now ? " she said, looking at 
 the boys. 
 
 A loud guffaw ran down the line of them — the notion of 
 a boy being able to play on the piano was irresistibly 
 ludicrous. 
 
 " Have you not learned at theschool ? " she asked. " You 
 must know some pieces to play." 
 
 " Frenchmen may learn to play the piano," said the 
 Whaup, with an air of calm superiority, " but men in 
 this country have something else to do." 
 
 " What is it you do ? " said Coquette, simply, having 
 quite misunderstood the remark. " You play not the piano : 
 is it the violin — the — the flute— one learns here at the 
 school ? " 
 
 " We dinna learn music at the schule, ye gowk," said one 
 of the boys. 
 
 " No, nor manners either," said the Whaup, firing up 
 at the last word. 
 
 At this juncture the Minister gravely thanked Coquette for 
 the pleasure her music had given him, and left the room. No 
 sooner had he gone than the Whaup ordered his brothers to 
 follow. They seemed inclined to show a spirit of insubor- 
 dination. 
 
 " Out every one o 1 ye ! " he cried, " or I'll leather ye in a 
 lump ! " 
 
 This somewhat dictatorial proceeding left him master of 
 the field. So he turned to Coquette, and said — 
 
 "Ye wanted to hear some music. There is but one 
 musician in Airlie forbye the Precentor. I mean Neil the 
 
 D 
 
34 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Pensioner. He's a famous player on the fiddle — an out-and- 
 out player, ye may take my word for't. Will I go and bring 
 him to ye ? " 
 
 " Perhaps he will not come." 
 
 " Oh, I'll bring him," said the Whaup, confidently. 
 
 " But it rains much," said Coquette, looking out on the 
 disconsolate grey landscape, the dripping trees, and the 
 lowering sky. 
 
 The Whaup laughed aloud, as his long legs carried him 
 down the soft red road over the moor towards the village. 
 He was no timid French creature, brought up under fair 
 skies, that he should dread a temporary wetting. When he 
 arrived at Neil Lamont's cottage, the rain was running down 
 his face, and he only blew it from his mouth and flung it 
 from his fingers as he burst into the astonished Pensioner's 
 presence, and bade him bundle up his fiddle and come along. 
 
 The Pensioner, as he was called, was a tall, spare old 
 Highlandman, somewhat bent now, with scanty grey hair, 
 and dazed, mild grey eyes, who had been at Waterloo. He 
 represented at once the martial and musical aspects of Airlie. 
 His narrative of the events of Waterloo had gradually, 
 during many years, become more and more full of personal 
 detail, until the old man at last firmly believed that he 
 himself, in his own proper person, had witnessed the whole 
 of the battle, and been one of the chief heroes of the hour. 
 Napoleon, whom he had never seen, he described minutely ; 
 and the inhabitants of Airlie had learned to picture the rage 
 and mortification visible on the face of the great commander 
 when he saw Neil rushing on to victory over the dead bodies 
 of six French grenadiers, whom the hardy Highlander had 
 overcome. Waterloo had grown to be a great panorama for 
 him ; and he would unroll it at any moment, and name you 
 every object and person in the picture. 
 
 He was the village musician, too, and was in much request 
 at balls, marriages, and other celebrations. The old man 
 was singularly sensitive to music, and the wicked boys of the 
 village used to practise on his weakness. When they saw 
 the Pensioner out walking, they would begin to whistle some 
 military march — "The Campbells are coming," "The Girl I 
 left behind me," or "What's a' the steer, kinnner" — and 
 you could see the Pensioner draw himself up, and go on with 
 
COQUETTE'S MUSIC. 35 
 
 a military swagger, with his head erect. As for his own 
 musical efforts, was there anybody in the west of Scotland 
 who could play "The East Neuk 0' Fife" with such tre- 
 mendous " spunk ? " 
 
 "When the Pensioner was told that he had to play to a 
 young French lady, he was a proud man. 
 
 " Ye will na sink," he observed to the Whaup in his 
 curious jumble of Lowland and Highland pronunciation, 
 "sat I will hurt sa leddy's feelins. No. Our prave regi- 
 ments sent sa French fleein' at Waterloo ; but I will speak 
 jist nae word apoot it. I sweer till't — she will not even pe 
 sinkin I wass at Waterloo." 
 
 Coquette received him graciously ; the old Highlander 
 was respectful, and yet dignified, in return. He gently declined 
 to show her his medal — fearful that the word " Waterloo " 
 would pain her. He would not say a word about his 
 soldiering — was it good manners to insult a beaten foe ? 
 
 But he would play for her. He took his fiddle from its 
 , and sat down, and played her all manner of reels and 
 strathspeys — but no military music. 
 
 " Wha will ken," he whispered significantly to the Whaup, 
 " put sat she will have heard 0' our victorious tunes ? Na, 
 na. Neil Lamont kens how to pehave hinisel' to a leddy." 
 
 And, in return, Coquette sat down to the piano. There 
 was one Scotch air — " Wha'll be King but Charlie " — which 
 her father was particularly fond of. When she struck into 
 that bold and stirring piece of music, with all the agencies 
 of harmonious chords, the old Highlander sat at first ap- 
 parently stupefied. He had never known the majesty and 
 the power that could be lent to the tune which boys played 
 on penny whistles. But as he became familiar with the rich 
 and splendid sounds, he became more and more excited. He 
 time with his foot; he slapped his thigh with his 
 hand ; he kept his head erect, and looked defiance. Sud- 
 denly he seemed to forget the presence of the Whaup, who 
 was s.atcd in a corner; he started to his feet, and began 
 pacing up and down the room, waving the bow of his violin 
 as if it were a sword. Anil all at oin'e Coquette heard behind 
 her the shrill and quavering notes of an old man's voice — 
 
 "Come ower sa he;ither! come a' together 1 
 Come Ronald, an' Tonald, an' a' together ! " 
 
 D 2 
 
36 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 and, when she turned round, the old Highlandman, as one 
 possessed, was marching up and down the chamber, with his 
 head high in the air, and tears running down his withered 
 grey cheeks. 
 
 "Aw, Dyeea!" he cried, as he sank shamefacedly into a 
 chair. " I have never heard sa like o' sat not since sa day I 
 will pe porn I " 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 EARLSHOPE. 
 
 How fair, and fresh, and green looked the grounds of 
 Earlshope on the next day, when Mr. Cassilis and Coquette 
 drew near. The warm sun had come out again, and the air 
 was sweet with the scent of the wet trees. Masses of white 
 cloud still came up from the south, sweeping over the 
 dark, clear blue of the sky ; and the peaks of Arran, set far 
 amid the sea, were pale and faint in a haze of silver 
 light. 
 
 Coquette was merry-hearted. The sunshine seemed to 
 please her as it pleased the butterflies and the bees that w r ere 
 again abroad. As she went down the moorland path, she 
 laughed and chatted with the Minister, and was constantly, 
 out of pure lightness of spirit, breaking into exclamations in 
 her native tongue — on which she would suddenly recall 
 herself with a pout of impatience and resume her odd and 
 quaint English talk. 
 
 The Whaup had been ill-tempered on setting forth ; but 
 the sunlight and the bright life around him thawed his 
 sulkiness, and he became merely mischievous. His brothers 
 perceived his mood, and kept out of his way. He was in 
 the humour for rough practical jokes ; and no one of them 
 wished to be tripped up and sent into the red-coloured 
 " burn " that still ran down between the moor and the road 
 to the little stream in the hollow. 
 
 When they had passed the keeper's lodge, and gone under 
 a winding avenue of trees, they came in sight of the big 
 stone building and the bright green lawn in front of it. 
 They also saw their host seated beside a stone lion, smoking 
 a cigar, and watching the operations of a lad who, mounted 
 
EARLSHOPE. 37 
 
 on the pedestal of a statue of Venus, was busily engaged in 
 giving that modest but scantily clad young woman a coating 
 of white paint. 
 
 " Did you ever see anything so curious ? " he said, when 
 lit' had bade them welcome. " Look at the rude indifference 
 with which he comes over her nose, and gives her a slap 
 on the cheek, and tickles her neck with his brush ! I 
 have been wondering what she would do if she were to 
 come alive — whether she would scream and run away, or 
 rise up in indignant silence, or give him a sound box on 
 the ears." 
 
 " If she were to come alive," said Coquette, " he would 
 be made blind with fear, and she would fly up into the 
 heavens." 
 
 " Et p'ocul in temiem ex oculis evanuit auram" said the 
 ^Minister, graciously, with a smile. He had not aired so 
 much Latin for years. 
 
 They had a walk round the grounds, skirting the not 
 very extensive park, before they turned into the garden. 
 Here everything was heavy with perfume in the sweet, warm 
 air. They went into the hothouses and vineries ; and Lord 
 Earlshope found a bunch of muscatel grapes ripe enough to 
 be cut for Coquette. No sooner had she placed one between 
 her lips than she cried out — 
 
 " Oh, how like to the vine ! I have not tasted " 
 
 She looked at the Minister, and hastily stopped her 
 speech. 
 
 " You have not tasted muscatel grapes in this country," 
 said Lord Earlshope, coming to her relief ; and he looked 
 at her with a peculiar smile, as much as to say " I know 
 you meant wine." 
 
 The boys preferring to remain in the garden (the Whaup 
 walked off by himself into the park, under pretence of 
 seeking a peculiar species of Potent Ma), Lord Earlshope led 
 his two principal guests back to the house, and proceeded to 
 show them its curiosities in the way of pictures, old armour, 
 old furniture, and the like. Coquette got so familiarised to 
 his voice and look that she forgot he was but a distant 
 acquaintance. She did not know that she stared at him 
 while he was talking, or that she spoke to him with a 
 pleasant carelessness which was oddly out of keeping with 
 
38 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 the Minister's grave and formal courtesy. She was 
 not even aware that she was taking note of his appear- 
 ance ; and that, after they had left, she would be able to 
 recall every lineament in his face as well as every tone of 
 his voice. 
 
 Lord Earlshope was a fair-haired, gentlemanly-looking 
 young man of some twenty-six or twenty-eight years of age. 
 He was rather over the middle height, slimly built, and 
 inclined to lounge carelessly. The expression of his eyes, 
 which were large, grey, and clear, varied singularly — at one 
 time being full of a critical and somewhat cold scrutiny, 
 and at other times pensive and distant. He said he had no 
 politics and no prejudices — unless a very definite belief in 
 ■' blood " could be considered a prejudice. 
 
 " It is no superstition with me," he said, with apparent 
 carelessness, to the Minister, as the latter was examining a 
 strange old family tree hung up in the library. " I merely 
 think it imprudent for a man of good family to marry out 
 of his own class. I have seen the experiment made by some 
 of my own acquaintances ; and, as a rule, the result has 
 been disastrous. . . . Disastrous, yes," he went on slowly, 
 with a curious look coming over his face. " Yes, indeed, a 
 disaster " 
 
 But at this moment Coquette came back from the book- 
 shelves, with a large thin quarto in her hands. 
 
 " Look what I have found," she said. " A volume of old 
 chants." 
 
 " It is treasure-trove," said Lord Earlshope, with his face 
 lightening at her approach. " I had no idea there was such 
 a book in the place. Shall we go and try some of them ? 
 You know you promised to give me your opinion of the 
 organ I have had fitted up." 
 
 " I did not promise it, but I will do it," said Coquette. 
 
 He led the way down-stairs to the drawing-room, which 
 they had not yet visited. The tall chamber-organ, a hand- 
 some and richly decorated instrument, stood in a recess, and 
 therefore did not seem so cumbrous as it might otherwise 
 have done. 
 
 " The defect of the organ," said Lord Earlshope, as he 
 placed the music for her, " is that the operation of blowing 
 the bellows is performed in sight of the public. You see, 
 
EARLSHOPE. 39 
 
 I must fix in this handle, and work it while you are 
 playing." 
 
 " You must get a screen," she said, " and put a servant 
 there." 
 
 " While you are playing," he said, " I could not let any- 
 body else assist you even in so rude a fashion." 
 
 Coquette laughed and sat down. Presently, the solemn 
 tones of the organ were pealing out a rich and beautiful 
 chant — full of the quaint and impressive harmonies which 
 the monks of old pondered over and elaborated. If Mr. 
 Cass i lis was troubled by a suspicion that this noble music 
 of distinctly Roman Catholic or idolatrous origin, that 
 doubt became a certainty when, at the end of the chant, 
 there came a long and wailing "Amen ! " rolled out by the 
 organ's deep voice. 
 
 " You play excellently — you must be familiar with organ 
 playing," said Lord Earlshope. " It is not every one who 
 knows the piano who can perform on an organ." 
 
 " At home the old cure used to let me play in the church," 
 she said — with her eyes grown suddenly distant and sad. 
 She had remembered that her home no longer lay away 
 down there in the south, where life seemed so pleasant. 
 
 " Come," said Lord Earlshope, " I hear Sandy about to 
 ring the bell for luncheon. Shall we go into the room at 
 once, or wait for the boys ? " 
 
 " They will have their luncheon off your fruit trees, I am 
 afraid," said Mr. Cassilis. 
 
 Nevertheless, the boys were sent for, and arrived, looking 
 rather afraid. The Whaup was not with them ; no one 
 knew whither he had gone. 
 
 Lord Earlshope's household was far from being an 
 usive one ; and Mr. Cassilis' boys found themselves 
 waited on by two maid-servants who were well known to 
 them as having !>een made the subject of many tricks ; 
 while Sandy, his lordship's valet, butler, courier, and 
 general factotum — a tall and redheaded Scotchman, who, 
 by reason of his foreign travels, had acquired a profound 
 contempt for everything in his own country — approached 
 ^Iiss Cassilis with a lofty air, and, standing behind her at 
 some little distance from the table, extended a bottle of 
 Chablis so as to reach her glass. 
 
40 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Miss Cassilis," said Lord Earlshope, " what wine will 
 remind yon most of the Loire ? " 
 
 It had been her own thought, and she looked up with a 
 quick and grateful smile. 
 
 " My father left me a fail* assortment of Bordeaux 
 wines " he said. 
 
 " But no vin ordinaire ? " she interposed, with another 
 bright glance. 
 
 "I must go myself to get you that," he answered, 
 laughing, " Sandy does not know how to manufacture it." 
 
 Before she could protest he had left the room, and in a 
 few minutes he had returned with a bottle in his hand, and 
 with the air of a conjuror on his face. He himself filled 
 her glass, and Coquette drank a little of it. 
 
 " Ah ! " she cried, clasping her hands, " I think I can 
 hear old Nannette talking outside, and the river running 
 underneath us ; it is like being at home — as if I were at 
 home again ! " 
 
 She fondled the glass as if it were a magical talisman 
 that had transported her over the sea, and would have to 
 bring her back. 
 
 "I must taste some of that wizard wine," said the 
 Minister, with a humorous smile — and the boys stared 
 with wonder to hear their father talking about drinking 
 wine. 
 
 " Pray don't, Mr. Cassilis," said their host, with a laugh. 
 " It is merely some new and rough claret to which I added 
 a little water — the nearest approximation to vin ordinaire I 
 could think of. Since your niece is so pleased with the 
 Earlshope vintage, I think I must ask you to let me send 
 her a supply to the Manse. It is quite impossible you can 
 get it elsewhere, as I keep the recipe in my own hands." 
 
 " And this is French bread ! " said Coquette, startled out 
 of her good manners by perceiving before her a long, 
 narrow, brown loaf. 
 
 " Have I been so fortunate as to create another surprise ? " 
 said Lord Earlshope. "I telegraphed for that bread to 
 Glasgow, if I must tell you all my housekeeping secrets." 
 
 It soon became clear that the indolent young man, having 
 nothing better to do, had laid his plans to get a thoroughly 
 French repast prepared for Coquette. Every little dish that 
 
EARLSHOPE. \l 
 
 was offered her — the red mullet, the bit of fowl, the dry 
 boiled beef and thick sauce, the plate of salad — was another 
 wonder and another reminiscence of the south. Why, it 
 was only a few days since she had arrived in Scotland, and 
 yet it seemed ages since she had sat down to such another 
 pretty French breakfast as this practically was. She sipped 
 her via ordinaire, and toyed with the various dishes that 
 were offered her — accepting all, and taking a little bit of 
 each for the very pleasure of " thinking back " — with such 
 evident delight that even Mr. Cassilis smiled benignantly. 
 The boys at the Manse — like other boys in Scotland — had 
 been taught that it was extremely ignominious to experience 
 or exhibit any enjoyment in the vulgar delights of eating 
 and drinking ; but surely in the pleased surprise with which 
 Coquette regarded the French table around her, there was 
 little of the sensuous satisfaction of the gourmand. 
 
 She was altogether delighted w T ith this visit to Earlshope. 
 As they went back to the Manse, she was in the most 
 cheerful of moods, and fairly fascinated the grave Minister 
 with her quaint, broken talk. She never ceased to speak of 
 the place — of its grounds, its gardens, its books, and what 
 not — even to the brightness of the atmosphere around it ; 
 until Mr. Cassilis asked her if she thought the sky was blue 
 only over Earlshope. 
 
 " But I hope he will not send the wine — it was a — what 
 you call it ? — joke, was it not ? " she said. 
 
 " A joke, of course," said Mr. Cassilis. " "We are very 
 proud in this country, and do not take presents from rich 
 people." 
 
 " But I am not of your country," she said, with a laugh. 
 " If he sends his stupid vin ordinaire, he sends it to me ; and 
 I will not drink it — you shall drink it all. Did he say he is 
 coming over to see you soon ? " 
 
 " Well, no," replied the Minister ; " but since the ice is 
 broken, nothing is more likely." 
 
 The phrase about the ice puzzled Coquette much : when 
 it had been explained to her, they had already reached the 
 Manse. But where was the Whaup ? Nobody had seen 
 him. 
 
4 2 A DA UGHTER OF HETH 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CRUCIFIX. 
 
 " I AM going to sea," said the Whaup, suddenly presenting 
 himself before Coquette. She looked up with her soft dark 
 eyes, and said — 
 
 " Why you go to sea ? " 
 
 " Because," said the Whaup — evidently casting about for 
 an excuse — " because the men of this country should be a 
 seafaring race, as their forefathers were. We cannot all be 
 living in big towns, and becoming clerks. I am for a 
 hardier life. I am sick of staying at home. I cannot bear 
 this idling any more. I have been down to the coast ; and 
 when I smell the salt air, and see the waves come tumbling 
 in, I hate to turn my face to the land again." 
 
 There was a sort of shamefaced enthusiasm in the lad's 
 manner ; and Coquette, as she again regarded him, perceived 
 that, although he believed all he had said, that was not the 
 cause of his hasty determination. Yet the boy looked every 
 inch a sailor — the sun-brown hair thrown back from his 
 handsome face, and the clear light shining in his blue eyes. 
 
 " There is something else," said the girl. " Why you say 
 nothing of all this before ? Why do you wish to become a 
 sailor all at once ? " 
 
 " And, if I must tell you," said he, with a sudden fierce- 
 ness, " I will. I don't choose to stay here to see what I 
 know will happen. You are surprised ? Perhaps. But 
 you are a mere child. You have been brought up in a 
 French convent, or some such place. You think everybody 
 in the world is like yourself, and you make friends with any- 
 body. You think they are all as good and as kind as your- 
 self ; and you are so light-hearted, you never stop to think 
 or to suspect. Enough ; you may go on your way, in spite 
 of warning ; but I will not remain here to see my family 
 disgraced by your becoming the friend and companion of a 
 man like Lord Earlshope." 
 
 He spoke warmly and indignantly ; and the girl rather 
 
THE CRUCIFIX. 43 
 
 cowed before him, until he uttered the fatal word 
 " disgrace." 
 
 " Disgrace ! " she repeated, and a quick light sprang to 
 her eyes. " I have disgraced no one, not any time in my 
 life ! I will choose my own friends, and I will not be 
 suspicious. You are worse than the woman here : she 
 wants me to believe myself bad and wicked. Perhaps I am 
 — I do not know — but I will not begin to suspect my 
 friends of being bad. If he is so bad, why does your father 
 go to his house ? " 
 
 "My father is as simple as you are," said the "Whaup, 
 contemptuously. 
 
 " Then it is only that you are suspicious ? I did not 
 think it of you." 
 
 She looked hurt and vexed ; and a great compunction 
 filled the heart of the "Whaup. 
 
 " Look here," he said, firmly (and in much better English 
 than was customary with him), " you are my cousin, and it 
 is my business to warn you when you are likely to get into 
 trouble. But don't imagine I am going to persecute you. 
 No. You may do as you please. Perhaps you are quite 
 right. Perhaps it is only that I am suspicious. But, as 
 you are my cousin, I don't wish to stand by and see what is 
 likely to happen ; and so I am going away. The sea will suit 
 me better than a college life, or a doctor s shop, or a pulpit." 
 
 Coquette rose from her seat, and began to walk up and 
 down the room, in deep distress. 
 
 " I must go," she said ; " it is I who must go. I bring 
 wretchedness when I come here — my friends are made 
 miserable — it is my fault. I should not have come. In 
 France I was very nappy ; they used to call me the peace- 
 maker at school ; and all the people there were cheerful and 
 kind. Here I am wicked — I do not know how — and the 
 cause of contention and pain. Ah, why you go away 
 because of me ! " she suddenly exclaimed, as she took his 
 hand, while tears started to her eyes. " It does not matter 
 to me if I go — I am nobody ; I have no home to break up. 
 I can go away, and nobody the worse." 
 
 "Perhaps it is the best thing you can do," he said, 
 frankly. " But if you go, I will go with you — to take care 
 of you." 
 
U A DAUGHTER OF BETH. 
 
 Coquette laughed. 
 
 " You are incomprehensible," she said. " Why not take 
 care of me here ? " 
 
 " Will you give me that duty ? " he asked, calmly. 
 
 " Yes," she said, with a bright smile, " you shall take care 
 of me as much — as much as you can." 
 
 " Mind, it is no joke," said he. " If I resolve to take care 
 of you, I will do it ; and anybody interfering " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence. 
 
 " You will fight for me ? " she said, putting her hand on 
 his arm, and leading him over to the window. " Do you 
 see those clouds away over the sea — how they come on, and 
 on, and go away ? These are the moods of a man — his 
 promises — his intentions. But overhead do you see the 
 blue sky ? — that is the patience of a woman. Sometimes 
 the clouds are dark— sometimes white — but the sky is always 
 the same : is it not ? " 
 
 " Hm ! " said the Whaup, with a touch of scorn, " that is 
 the romantic stuff they teach you at your French school, is 
 it ? It is very pretty, but it isn't true. A man has more 
 patience and more steadfastness than a woman. What you 
 meant was, I suppose, that whatever I might be to you, you 
 would always be the same to me. Perhaps so ! We shall 
 see in a few years. But you will never find any difference 
 in me — after any number of years — if you want somebody to 
 take your part. You may remember what I say now after- 
 wards." 
 
 "I think I could always trust you," she said, looking 
 rather wistfully at him with those dark eyes that he had 
 almost ceased to regard as foreign and strange. " You have 
 been very good to me since I came here." 
 
 " And I have found out something new for you," he said, 
 eagerly — so glad was he to fix and establish those amicable 
 relations. " I hear you were pleased because Lord Earlshope 
 had French things for you to eat and drink ? " 
 
 "Yes — I was pleased," she said, timidly, and looking 
 down. 
 
 " But you don't know that there is a town close by here as 
 like St. Nazaire as it can be : would ye not like to see that ? " 
 
 " It is impossible ! " she said. 
 
 " Come and see," he replied. 
 
THE CRUCIFIX 45 
 
 Coquette very speedily discovered that the Whaup, refusing 
 to accept of Lord Earlshope's invitation, had gone off by 
 himself on a visit to Saltcoats ; that he had fallen in with 
 some sailors there ; that he had begun talking with them of 
 France and of the French seaports ; and that one of the men 
 had delighted him by saying that on one side the very town 
 he was in resembled the old place at the mouth of the Loire. 
 Of course Miss Coquette was in great anxiety to know where 
 this favoured town was situated ; and would at once have 
 started off in quest of it. 
 
 " Let us go up to your parlour, and I will show it to you," 
 said the Whaup. 
 
 So they went up-stairs, and went to the window. It was 
 getting towards the afternoon ; and a warm light from the 
 south-west lay over the fair yellow country, with its dark 
 lines of hedge and copse, its ruddy streaks of sand, and the 
 distant glimmer of a river. Seaward there was a lowering 
 which presaged a storm ; and the black line of the Saltcoats 
 houses fronted a plain of water winch had a peculiar light 
 shining along its surface. 
 
 "That is the town," said the Whaup, pointing with a 
 calm air of pride to Saltcoats. 
 
 "I see nothing but a line of slates, and a church that 
 seems to stand out in the sea," said Coquette, with some 
 disappointment. 
 
 " But you must go down to it to find the old stone wall, 
 and the houses built over it, and the pier and harbour " 
 
 "Ah, is it like that ? " cried his companion, clasping her 
 hands. "Is it like St. Nazaire ? Are there boats? — and 
 an old church ? — and narrow streets ? Oh, that we go there 
 now ! " 
 
 *• Would you rather see that than drink Lord Earlshope's 
 rin ordinaire ? " said the Whaup, with a cold severity. 
 
 " Pah ! " she cried, petulantly. " You do give me no 
 peace with your Lord Earlshope ! I wish you would fight 
 him, not frighten me with such nonsense. I will believe 
 you are jealous — you stupid boy ! But if you will take me 
 to St. Nazaire — to this place — I will forgive you everything, 
 and I will — what can I do for you ! — I will kiss you — I will 
 sew a handkerchief for you — anythin 
 
 The Whaup blushed very red, but frowned all the same. 
 
46 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " I will take you to Saltcoats," said he ; " but we in this 
 country don't like young ladies to be so free with their 
 favours." 
 
 Coquette looked rather taken down, and only ventured to 
 say, by way of submissive apology — 
 
 " You are my cousin, you know." 
 
 They were about to slip out of the house unperceived, 
 when Leezibeth confronted them. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, Miss, but I would like to hae a word 
 wi' ye," she said, in a determined tone, as she blocked up 
 their way. 
 
 The Whaup began to look fierce. 
 
 " It is seventeen years come Michaelmas," said Leezibeth, 
 in set and measured tones, " since I cam' to this house, and 
 a pious and God-fearing house it has been, as naebody will 
 gainsay. We who are but servants have done our pairt, I 
 hope, to preserve its character ; though in His sight there 
 are nae servants and nae masters, for he poureth contempt 
 upon princes, and causeth them to wander in the wilderness, 
 and yet setteth the poor on high from affliction, and maketh 
 him families like a flock. I wouldna distinguish between 
 master and servant in the house ; but when the master is 
 blind to the things of his household, then it would ill become 
 an honest servant, not afraid to give her testimony " 
 
 " Leezibeth," said the Whaup, " your talk is like a crop o' 
 grass after three months' rain. It's good for neither man 
 nor beast, being but a Hash 0' ivater." 
 
 " As for ye, sir," retorted Leezibeth, angrily, " it was an 
 ill day for ye that ye turned aside to dangle after an idle 
 woman " 
 
 " As sure as daith, Leezibeth," said tb,e Whaup, in his 
 strongest vernacular, "I'll gar ye gang skelpin' through 
 the air like a splinter if ye dinna keep a civil tongue in 
 your head ! " 
 
 " But what is it all about ? " said Coquette, in deep 
 dismay. " What have I done ? Have I done any more 
 Avrong ? I know not — you must tell me " 
 
 " And is it not true, Miss," said Leezibeth, fixing her 
 keen grey eye on the culprit, " that ye daur to keep a 
 crucifix — the symbol of the Avoman that sits on seven hills — 
 right aboon your head in your bed ; and have introduced 
 
THE CRUCIFIX. 47 
 
 this polluting tiling into an honest man's house, to work 
 wickedness wi', and set a snare before our feet ? " 
 
 "I do not know what you mean by seven hills, or a 
 woman," said Coquette, humbly. " I thought the cross was 
 a symbol of all religion. If it annoys you, I will take it 
 down, yes — but my mother gave it to me — I cannot put it 
 away altogether. I will hide it, if it annoys you ; but I 
 cannot — surely you will not ask me to part with it alto- 
 gether " 
 
 " You shall not part with it," said the Wliaup, drawing 
 himself up to his full height. " Let me see the man or 
 woman who will touch that crucifix, though it had on it the 
 woman o' Babylon herself ! " 
 
 Leezibeth looked dazed for a moment. It was almost 
 impossible that such words should have been uttered by the 
 eldest son of the Minister ; and for a moment she was 
 inclined to disbelieve the testimony of her ears. Yet there 
 before her stood the lad, tall, proud, handsome, with his 
 eyes burning and his teeth set. And there beside him stood 
 the witch-woman who had wrought this perversion in him 
 — who had come to work destruction in this quiet fold. 
 
 u I maun gang to the Minister," said Leezibeth, in 
 despair. " Andrew and I maun settle this maitter, or else 
 set out, in our auld age, for a new resting-place." 
 
 " And the sooner the Manse is rid of two cantankerous 
 old idiots the better ! " said the Whaup. 
 
 Leezibeth bestowed upon him a glance more of wonder 
 and fear than of anger, and then went her way. 
 
 " Come ! " said the Whanp to his companion. M We maun 
 run for it, or we shall see no St. Nazaire this night." 
 
 Then Coquette, feeling very guilty, found herself 
 stealing away from the Manse, led by the Minister's dare- 
 devil son. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 BALTOOATS, 
 
 The two fugitives fled from the Manse, and crossed over 
 the moor, and went down to the road leading to Saltcoats, 
 in very diverse moods. The Whanp made light of the 
 
48 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 affair of the crucifix, and laughed at it as a good joke. 
 Coquette was more thoughtful, and a trifle angry. 
 
 " It is too much," she said. " I am not in the habit to 
 make enemies, and I cannot live like this — to be looked at 
 as something very bad. If I do not know the feelings of 
 your country about music, about Sunday, about religion 
 — and it seems even a crime that I shall be cheerful at times 
 — why not tell me instead of to scold ? I will do what 
 they want, but I will not be treated like a child. It is too 
 much — this Leesiebess, and her harsh voice, and her 
 scolding. It is too much — it is not bearable— it is a beastly 
 shame ! " 
 
 " A what ? " said the Whaup. 
 
 " A beastly shame," she repeated, looking at him rather 
 timidly. 
 
 The Whaup burst into a roar of laughter. 
 
 " Is it not right ? " she said. " Papa did use to say that 
 when he was indignant." 
 
 " Oh, it is intelligible enough," said the Whaup, " quite 
 intelligible ; but young ladies in this country do not say such 
 things." 
 
 " I will remember," said Coquette, obediently. 
 
 The Whaup now proceeded to point out to his companion 
 that, after all, there was a good deal to be said on the side 
 of Leezibeth and her husband Andrew. Coquette, he said, 
 had given them some cause to complain. The people of the 
 Manse — whom Coquette took to represent the people of the 
 country — were as kind-hearted as people anywhere else ; but 
 they had their customs, their beliefs, their prejudices, to 
 which they clung tenaciously, just like people elsewhere ; and, 
 especially, in this matter of the crucifix, she had wounded 
 their feelings by introducing into a Protestant Manse the 
 emblem of a religion which they regarded with horror. 
 
 " But why is it that you regard any religion with horror ? " 
 said Coquette. " If it is religion, I do think it cannot be 
 much wicked ! If you do bring some Protestant emblem 
 into my Catholic church I shall not grumble — I would say, 
 we all believe in the one God — you may have a share of my 
 bench — you may pray just beside me — and we all look to 
 the one Father who is kind to us." 
 
 The Whaup shook his head. 
 
SALTCOATS. 49 
 
 " That is a dangerous notion ; but I cannot argue with 
 you about it. Everything you say, everything you do, is 
 somehow so natural, and fitting, and easy, that it seems it 
 mist be right. It is all a part of yourself, and all so 
 perfect that nobody would have it altered, even if you were 
 wrong." 
 
 " You do say that ? " said Coquette, with a blush of 
 pleasure. 
 
 "That sort of vague religious sentiment you talk of 
 would be contemptible in anybody else, you know," said the 
 Whaup. frankly — " it would show either weakness of reason- 
 ing or indifference ; but in you it is something that makes 
 people like you. Why, I have watched you again and 
 again in the parlour at the Manse ; and whether you let 
 your hand rest on the table, or whether you look out of the 
 window, or whether you come near the lire, you are always 
 
 y and graceful. It is a gift you have of making yourself, 
 without knowing it, a picture. "When you came out just 
 now, I thought that grey woolly shawl round your shoulders 
 was pretty ; and since you have put it round your head, it 
 is quite charming. You can't help it. And so you can't 
 help that light and cheerful way of looking at religion, and 
 of being happy and contented, and of making yourself a 
 pleasure to the people round about you." 
 
 Oo [uette began to laugh ; and the Whaup came to an un- 
 comfortable stop in the midst of his rapid enthusiasm. 
 
 "When you talk like that," she said, "I think I am 
 again in France, I am so gay-hearted. You approve of me, 
 t luii ? " she added, timorously. 
 
 Approve of her ! Was it possible that she could care for 
 his approval ? And in what language could he express his 
 opinion of her save in the only poetry familiar to Airlie 
 Manse ? — " The King's daughter is all glorious within : 
 her clothing is of wrought gold. She shall be brought unto 
 the King in raiment of needlework : the virgins her com- 
 panions that follow her shall be brought unto thee. With 
 gladness and rejoicing shall they be brought: they shall 
 enter into the King's palace." Only, this King's daughter 
 was without companions — she was all alone — and the Whaup 
 wondered how this pure and strange jewel came to be 
 dropped in the centre of a Scotch moor. 
 
 E 
 
So A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 The wind was blowing hard from the south-west — the 
 region of rain. Arran was invisible ; and in place of the 
 misty peaks there was a great wall of leaden-grey sky, from 
 the base of which came lines and lines of white waves, 
 roaring in to the shore. Coquette drew her thick plaid more 
 closely around her, and pressed on ; for St. Nazaire now lay 
 underneath them — a dark line of houses between the sea 
 and the land. 
 
 " What is that woman," said Coquette, looking along the 
 road, "who stands with the flowers in her hand, and her 
 hair flying ? Is she mad ? Is she Ophelia come to 
 Scotland ? " 
 
 Mad enough the girl looked ; for as they came up to her, 
 they found her a bonnie Scotch lassie of sixteen or seventeen, 
 who sobbed at intervals, and kept casting tearful glances all 
 around her. She carried in one hand her bonnet, in the 
 other a bunch of flowers ; and the wind that had scattered 
 the flowers, and left but a remnant in her hand, had also 
 unloosed her nut-brown hair, and blown it in tangled masses 
 about her face and neck. She stood aside, in a shamed 
 way, to let the strangers pass ; but the Whaup stopped. 
 
 " "What is the matter wi' ye, lass ? " said he. 
 
 " I had my shoon and stockings in my bundle," she said, 
 while the tears welled up in her blue eyes, " and I hae 
 dropped them out ; and I canna gang back the road to look 
 for them, for I maun be in Saltcoats afore kye-time." 
 
 " What does she say ? " asked Coquette. 
 
 " She has only lost her shoes and stockings, that's all," 
 said the Whaup. 
 
 " But it is bad enough for her, I dare say." 
 
 In an instant Coquette had out her purse — a dainty little 
 Parisian thing, in mother-of-pearl, with filagree work round 
 it — and taken therefrom two Napoleons. 
 
 " Here," she said, going forward to the girl, " you must 
 not cry more about that. Take my little present, and you 
 will buy more shoes and more stockings for yourself." 
 
 The girl eyed the money with some dismay ; and probably 
 wondered if this was not a temptress who had suddenly 
 appeared to offer her gold, and who spoke with a strange 
 sound in her voice. 
 
 " Dinna be a sumph ! " said the Whaup, who could talk 
 
SALTCOATS. 51 
 
 broadly enough when occasion demanded. "Take the 
 money the leddy offers ye, and thank her for't." 
 
 The girl accepted the foreign-looking coins, and seemed 
 much distressed that — like the peasantry of Scotland in 
 general — she did not know how to express the gratitude she 
 felt Her thanks were in her eyes, and these spoke elo- 
 quently. But, just as her benefactors were moving on, a 
 man came along the road with something dangling from 
 !iis hands. Great was the joy of the girl on perceiving that 
 he had found her lost property ; and, when he had come up 
 and delivered the things to her, she advanced with the 
 money to Coquette. 
 
 " Thank ye, mem," said she. 
 
 " Won't you keep the money, and buy something for your 
 little brothers and sisters, if you have any ? " 
 
 This offer was declined, with just an inkling of pride in 
 the girl's manner ; and the next instant she was hurrying to 
 Saltcoats as fast as her bare feet could cany her. 
 
 Now, this incident had delayed the two runaways much 
 longer than they suspected; and, when they got down to 
 Saltcoats, they were much later than they dreamed. Indeed, 
 they never looked at the town clock in passing, so satisfied 
 Were they that they had plenty of time. 
 
 " This is not like St. Nazaire," said Coquette, decidedly. 
 
 " You have not seen it yet," returned the Wnaup, just as 
 confidently. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards Coquette and he stood upon the 
 shore. The long bay of Saltcoats, sweeping round from the 
 far promontory of Troon, fronted a heaving, tumbling mass 
 of white-crested waves, that came rolling onward from under 
 a great leaden breadth of sky ; and, as they gazed out on 
 this wintry-looking sea, they had on their right hand the 
 grey stone wall of the town, which projected into the water, 
 with here and there a crumbling old house peeping over it. 
 The church spire rose above the tallest of the houses, and 
 aided the perspective — so much so that it was almost 
 possible to imagine that the site of the building had been 
 chosen by one who had studied the picturesque opportunities 
 of the place. 
 
 " It is St. Nazaire in winter ! " cried Coquette, her voice 
 half lost in the roar of the waves. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you ? " triumphantly shouted the "VVhaup, 
 who had never seen St. Nazaire, but only knew that, on this 
 side, Saltcoats looked singularly like a little French walled 
 town. " Now will you come and see the harbour ? " 
 
 But she would not leave. She stood there, with her shawl 
 fluttering in the fierce wind, and with her slight form scarcely 
 able to withstand the force of the hurricane, looking out on 
 the rushing white crests of the waves, on the black line of the 
 town perched above the rocks, and on the lowering western 
 sky, which seemed to be slowly advancing with its gloom. 
 There was no sign of life near them — not even a sailor on 
 the watch, nor a ship running before the gale — nothing but 
 the long and level shore, and the great wild mass of waves, 
 which had a voice like thunder far out beyond the mere 
 dashing on the beach. 
 
 " Imagine what it would be," she said, " to have one you 
 loved out in a fearful storm, and for you to come down here 
 at night to hear the savage message that the waves bring. It 
 would make me mad. You will not go to sea ? " she added 
 suddenly, turning to him with an urgent pleading in her face 
 and her voice. 
 
 "No — of course not," he said, looking strangely at 
 her. 
 
 "Was it possible, then, that this vague determination of his 
 had lingered in her mind as a sort of threat ? Did she care 
 to have him remain near her ? 
 
 " Come," said he, " we must hurry, if you mean to look at the 
 harbour and the old ruins at the point. Besides, I want you 
 to rest for a minute or two at an inn here, and you shall see 
 whether there is no vin ordinaire in the country except 
 at Earlshope." 
 
 " Earlshope — Earlshope," she said. " Why do you talk 
 always of Earlshope ? " 
 
 The Whaup would not answer, but led her back through 
 the town, and stopped on their way to the harbour at the 
 Saracen's Head. Here Coquette had a biscuit and a glass of 
 claret ; and was further delighted to perceive that the window 
 of the room they were in looked out upon a very French- 
 looking courtyard of stone, surrounded by a high wall which 
 appeared to front the sea. 
 
 " It is St. Nazaire in winter," she repeated ; " the grey 
 
SALTCOATS. 53 
 
 stones, the windy sea, the chill air. Yet how dark it 
 In comes ! " 
 
 Indeed, when they had resumed their journey, and gone 
 out to the point heyond the little harbour, the gale had 
 waxed much more fierce. They passed through the ruins of 
 what seemed an ancient fortress on to the rocks, and found 
 themselves alone in front of the sea, which had now become 
 of a lurid green. It was, in fact, much lighter in colour than 
 the sombre sky above ; and the grey-green waves, tumbling 
 in white, could be seen for an immense distance under this 
 black canopy of cloud. The wind whistled around them, 
 and dashed the spray into their blinded eyes. The wild- 
 ness of the scene — the roaring of wind and sea around — 
 produced a strange excitement in the girl ; and while 'she 
 clung to the "VVhaup's arm to steady herself on the rocks, she 
 laughed aloud in defiance of the storm. At this moment a 
 glare of steel-blue light Hashed through the driving gloom 
 in front of them ; and almost simultaneously there was a 
 rattle of thunder overhead, which reverberated far and long 
 among the Arnui hills. Then came the rain ; and they could 
 hear the hissing of it on the sea before it reached them. 
 
 " Shall we make for the town ? " cried the Whaup, 
 " or shelter ourselves in the ruins ? " 
 
 He had scarcely spoken when another wild glare burst 
 before their eyes, and made them stagger back ; while the 
 rattle of the thunder seemed all around their ears. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " said Coquette, for her companion did 
 not speak. 
 
 " I think not," said the Whaup ; " but my arm tingles up 
 to the elbow, and I can scarcely move it. This is close work. 
 We must hide in the ruins, or you will be wet through." 
 
 They went inside the old building ; and crept down and sat 
 mute and expectant under Coquette's outstretched plaid. All 
 around them was the roaring of the waves, with the howling 
 of the gusts of wind and rain ; and ever and anon the rough 
 stone walls before them would be lit up by a Hash of blue 
 lightning) which stunned their eyes for several seconds. 
 
 " This is a punishment that we ran away/ 1 said Coquet 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said the Whaup. " This storm will wreck 
 many a boat ; and it would be rather hard if a lot of sailors 
 should be drowned merely to give us a drouking," 
 
54 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " A wetting, such as we are likely to get. Indeed, I don't 
 think there is much use in stopping here ; for it will soon be 
 so dark that we shall not be able to get along the rocks to 
 the shore." 
 
 This consideration made them rise and leave at once ; and 
 sure enough it had grown very dark within the past half- 
 hour. Night was rapidly approaching as they made their 
 way through Saltcoats to gain the road to Airlie. Nor did 
 the storm abate one jot of its fury ; and long before they 
 had begun to ascend towards the moorland country, the 
 Whaup was as wet as though he had been lying in a river. 
 Coquette's thick plaid saved her somewhat. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " she said. " They will be very 
 angry, and this time they have reason." 
 
 " I shouldn't care whether they were angry or not," said 
 the Whaup, " if only you were at home and in dry clothes." 
 
 " But you are wetter than I am." 
 . " But I don't care," said the Whaup, although his teeth 
 were chattering in his head. 
 
 So they struggled on, in the darkness, and wind, and 
 driving rain, until it seemed to Coquette that the way under 
 foot was strangely spongy and wet. She said nothing, 
 however, until the Whaup exclaimed, in a serious voice — 
 
 " We are off the road, and on the moor somewhere." 
 
 Such was the fact. They had got up to the high land 
 only to find themselves lost in a morass, with no means of 
 securing the slightest guidance. There was nothing for it 
 but to blunder on helplessly through the dark, trusting to 
 find some indication of their whereabouts. At last they 
 came to an enclosure and a footpath ; and as they followed 
 this, hoping to reach the Airlie road, they came upon a 
 small house, which had a light in its windows. 
 
 " It is Earlshope Lodge," said the Whaup. " And there 
 are the gates." 
 
 " Oh, let us go in and beg for some shelter," said Coquette, 
 whose courage had forsaken her the moment she found they 
 had lost their way. 
 
 " You may," said a voice from the mass of wet garments 
 beside her, " you may go in, and get dry clothes, if you like ; 
 but I will not." 
 
COQUETTE'S PROMISE. 55 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 coquette's promise. 
 
 " Good morning, Miss Cassilis," said Lord Earlshope, as he 
 met Coquette coming over the moorland road. " I hear you 
 had an adventure last night. But why did not you go into 
 the lodge and get dried ? 
 
 " Why ? " said Coquette — " why, because my cousin Tom 
 and I were as wet as we could be, and it was better to go on 
 straight to the Manse without waiting. Have you seen him 
 this morning ? " 
 
 " Your cousin ? No." 
 
 " I am looking for him. I think he believes he is in dis- 
 grace at the Manse, and has gone off for some wild mischief. 
 He has taken all his brothers with him ; and I did hear him 
 laughing and singing as he always does when he — how do 
 you call it ? — when he breaks out." 
 
 " Let me help you to look for him," said Eurlshope. 
 u I am sure he ought to be proud of your solicitude, if any- 
 thing is wanted to make him happier than he is. How 
 thoroughly that handsome lad seems to enjoy the mere 
 routine of living ! " 
 
 "You talk as if you were an old man," said Coquette, 
 with one of her bright laughs. "Do not you enjoy 
 living ?" 
 
 " Enjoy it ? No. If the days pass easily, without much 
 bother, 1 am contented ; but happiness docs not visit a man 
 who looks upon himself as a failure at twenty-seven." 
 
 " I do not understand you," said Coquette, with a puzzled 
 air. 
 
 " You would provoke me into talking about myself, as if I 
 were a hypochondriac. Yet I have no story — nothing to 
 amuse you with." 
 
 "Oh, I do wish you to tell me all about yourself," said 
 Coquette, with a gracious interest. " Why you remain by 
 yourself in this place ? Why you have no companions — no 
 occupation ? You are mysterious." 
 
 " I am not even that/' he said, with a smile. " I have 
 
56 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 not even a mystery. Yet I will tell you all about myself, if 
 you care to hear, as we go along. Stop me when I tire 
 you." 
 
 So her companion began and told her all about himself 
 and his friends, his college life, his relations, his acquaint- 
 ances, his circumstances — a rather lengthy narrative, which 
 need not be repeated here. Coquette learned a great deal 
 during that time, however, and saw for the first time Lord 
 Earlshope in a true light. He was no longer to her a care- 
 less and light-hearted young man, who had made her 
 acquaintance out of indolent curiosity, and seemed inclined 
 to flirt with her for mere amusement. He was, in his own 
 words, a failure at twenty-seven — a man whose extremely 
 morbid disposition had set to work years ago to eat into his 
 life. He had had his aspirations and ambitions ; and had 
 at length convinced himself that he had not been granted 
 the intellect to accomplish any of his dreams. What 
 remained to him ? 
 
 " I was not fit to do anything," he said, " with those 
 political, social, and other instruments that are meant to 
 secure the happiness of multitudes. All I could do was 
 to try to secure my own happiness, and help the philanthro- 
 pists by a single unit." 
 
 " Have you done that ? " said Coquette. 
 
 " No," he rejoined, with a careless shrug, " I think I have 
 failed in that, too. All my life I have been cutting open 
 my bellows to see where the wind came from ; and if you 
 were to go over Earlshope, you would discover the remains 
 of twenty different pursuits that I have attempted and 
 thrown aside. Do you know, Miss Cassilis, that I have 
 even ceased to take any interest in the problem of myself — 
 in the spectacle of a man physically as strong as most men, 
 and mentally so vacillating that he has never been able to 
 hold an opinion or get up a prejudice to swear by. Even 
 the dullest men have convictions about politics ; but I am a 
 Tory in sympathy and a Eadical in theory, so that I am at 
 war with myself on pretty nearly every point. Sometimes 
 I have fancied that there are a good many men in this 
 country more or less in my condition ; and then it has 
 occurred to me that an invasion of England would be a good 
 thing " 
 
COQUETTE'S PROMISE. 57 
 
 "All, you would have something to believe in then — 
 something to fight for ! " said Coquette. 
 
 "Perhaps. Yet I don't know. If the invaders should 
 happen to have better educational institutions than England 
 — as is very likely — oughtn't I to fight on their side, and 
 wish them to be successful, and give us a lesson ? England, 
 you know, owes everything to successive invasions ; for the 
 proper test of the invader's political institutions was whether 
 they could hold their own in the country after he had 
 planted his foot there. But I have really to leg your 
 pardon. I must not teach you the trick of following every- 
 thing to the vanishing point. You have the greatest of 
 earthly blessings ; you enjoy life without asking yourself 
 why." 
 
 " But I do not understand," said Coquette, " how I can 
 enjoy more than you. Is it not pleasant to come out in the 
 sunshine like this, after the night's rain, and see the clear 
 sky, and smell the sweet air ? You enjoy that " 
 
 "I cannot help wondering what appetite it will give 
 me." 
 
 Coquette made an impatient gesture with her hands. 
 
 " At least you do enjoy speaking with me here on this 
 pleasant morning ? " 
 
 " The more we talk," he said, " the more I am puzzled by 
 the mystery of the difference between you and me. Why, 
 the passing of a bright-coloured butterfly is an intense 
 pleasure to you ! I have seen you look up to a gleam of 
 blue sky, and clasp your hands, and laugh with delight. 
 Evcrv scent of a flower, every pleasant sound, every breath 
 of sunshine and air, is a new joy to you ; and you are quite 
 satisfied with merely being alive. Of course, it is an 
 advantage to be alive ; but there are few who make so much 
 of it as yon do." 
 
 "You think too much about it," said Coquette; "when 
 you marry some day, you will have more practical things to 
 think of, and you will be happier." 
 
 At the mention of the word marriage a quick look of 
 annoyance Beamed to pass across his face; but she did not 
 notice it, and he replied lightly, 
 
 " Marriages are made in heaven, Miss Cassilis ; and I am 
 afraid they won't do much for me there." 
 
58 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Ah ! do not you believe in heaven ? " she said, and the 
 brown eyes were turned anxiously to his face. 
 
 " Do not let us talk about that," said he, indifferently ; 
 " I do not wish to alienate from me the only companion I 
 have ever found in this place. Yet I do not disbelieve in 
 what you believe, I know. What were you saying about 
 marriage ? " he added, with an apparent effort ; " do you 
 believe that marriages are made in heaven ? " 
 
 " I do not know," replied Coquette ; " the people say that 
 sometimes." 
 
 "I was only thinking," remarked Lord Earlshope, with 
 an apparently careless laugh, " that if the angels employ 
 their leisure in making marriages, they sometimes turn 
 out a very inferior article. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 Coquette was not a very observant young person — she 
 was much too occupied with her own round of innocent 
 little enjoyments ; but it did strike her that her companion 
 spoke with a touch of bitterness in his tone. However, 
 they did not pursue the subject further, for, much to their 
 surprise, they suddenly stumbled upon the Whaup and his 
 brothers. 
 
 The boys were at a small bridge crossing the stream that 
 ran down from Airlie moor ; and they were so intent upon 
 their own pursuits that they took no notice of the approach 
 of Coquette and her companion. Lord Earlshope, indeed, 
 at once motioned to Coquette to preserve silence ; and, 
 aided by a line of small alder and hazel bushes which grew 
 on the banks of the rivulet, they drew quite near to the 
 Minister's sons without being perceived. 
 
 Coquette was right : the Whaup had "broken out." 
 Feeling assured that he would be held responsible for all 
 the crimes of yesterday — the affair of the crucifix, the 
 clandestine excursion to Saltcoats, and the mishaps that 
 accrued therefrom — the Whaup had reflected that it was as 
 well to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. When Coquette 
 and her companion came in sight of him, he was fulfilling 
 the measure of his iniquities. 
 
 What had moved him to vent his malignity on his 
 younger brother Wattie must remain a mystery — unless it 
 was that Wattie was the "best boy" of the Manse, and, 
 further, that he had shown an enmity to Coquette ; but at 
 
COQUETTE'S PROMISE. 59 
 
 this moment Wattie was depending from the small bridge, 
 his head a short distance from the water, his feet held 
 close to the parapet by the muscular arms of the Whaup, 
 while one of the other boys had been made an accomplice to 
 the extent of holding on to Wattle's trousers. 
 
 " Noo, Wattie," said the Whaup, " ye maun say a sweer 
 before ye get up. I'm no jokin', and unless ye be quick, 
 yell be in the water." 
 
 But would Wattie, the paragon of scholars, the exemplar 
 to his brothers, imperil his soul by uttering a " bad word ? " 
 Surely not ! Wattie was resolute. He knew what punish- 
 ment was held in reserve for swearers ; and preferred the 
 colder element. 
 
 " Wattie," said the Whaup, " say a sweer, or ye'll gang 
 into the burn, as sure as daith ! " 
 
 X 1 » ; Wattie would rather be a martyr. Whereupon — the 
 bridge being a very low one — the Whaup and his brothel's 
 dipped Wattie a few inches, so that the ripples touched his 
 head. Wattie set up a fearful howl ; and his brothers 
 raised him to his former position. 
 
 "Now, will ye say it ? " 
 
 " Deevil ! " cried Wattie. " Let me up ; I hae said a 
 sweer." 
 
 The other brothers raised a demoniac shout of triumph 
 over this apostacy ; and the Whaup's roars of laughter had 
 nearly the effect of precipitating Wattie into the stream in 
 downright earnest. But this backsliding on the part of 
 their pious brother did not seem to the tempters sufficiently 
 serious. 
 
 "Ye matin say a worse sweer, Wattie. ' Dce'iT is no 
 bad enough." 
 
 " I'll droon first ! " said Wattie, whimpering in his 
 distress, "and then ye'll get your paiks, I'm thinking." 
 
 Down went Wattie's head into the burn again ; and this 
 time he was raised with his mouth sputtering out the 
 contents it had received. 
 
 " I'll say what ye like — I'll say what ye like ! D — n ; is 
 that bad enough ? " 
 
 With another unholy shout of derision, Wattie was raised 
 and set on the bridge. 
 
 " Noo," said the Whaup, standing over him, " let me tell 
 
60 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 you this, my man. The next time ye gang to my 
 faither, and tell a story about any one o' us, or the next 
 time ye say a word against the French lassie, as ye ca' her, 
 do ye ken what I'll do ? I'll take ye back to my faither by 
 the lug, and I'll tell him ye were swearin' like a trooper 
 down by the burn ; and every one o' us will testify against 
 ye. Ma certes, my man, I'm thinking it will be your turn 
 to consider paiks. My faither has a bonnie switch, Wattie 
 — a braw switch, Wattie ; and what think ye he'll do to his 
 well-behaved son that gangs about the countryside swearin' 
 just like a Kilmarnock carter ? " 
 
 Coquette held out her hand to her companion. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, " and I do thank you for bringing 
 me here." 
 
 Lord Earlshope perceived that he was dismissed, but 
 did not know why. He was not aware that Coquette 
 was trembling lest she should be seen in his forbidden 
 company. 
 
 " Shall I see you to-morrow ? " he said, as he took her 
 hand. 
 
 "When it is fine I do always go out for a walk after 
 breakfast," she said lightly ; and so they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Coquette would have given much to have recalled these 
 words. She felt that they implied a promise ; and that if 
 she kept her promise she would find herself hampered by the 
 weight of a secret. Now, the girl abhorred every sort of 
 restraint that interfered with the natural cheerfulness and 
 lightness of her heart ; and no sooner had Lord Earlshope 
 disappeared, than she began to dread this thing that she had 
 done. Why had he asked her to meet him ? Why did not 
 he come to the Manse ? And while she stood irresolute, 
 wondering how she could free herself from the chains that 
 seemed likely to bind her, the Whaup and his brother made 
 a dash at the place of her concealment. 
 
 " Hillo ! " cried her cousin Tom, " how did you come 
 here ? '* 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER. 61 
 
 "I came in search of you," she said, glancing 
 nervously round to see that Lord Earlshope was out of 
 Bight, 
 
 And you were spying on us, were you ? " said the 
 Whaup, with a laugh. 
 
 " Why do you ill-treat your brother so ? " she said. 
 
 " It is no ill-treatment," he said, in his best English. 
 " It is the execution o' a sentence passed on him last night 
 by the Avhole of us. We are the Vehmgericht of this neigh- 
 bourhood, Miss Coquette, and when any one injures you 
 appeal to us. You have only to name him and we ham- 
 string his cattle, set fire to his barns, and seize himself and 
 poll out his teeth. Eh, boys ? " 
 
 There was a general chorus of assent. 
 
 " But you must not call me by that name any more," said 
 the young lady, with a blush. 
 
 " Not Coquette any more ? I shall withdraw the name 
 when I see you don't deserve it," said the Whaup, with 
 cool insolence. It was clear he had " broken out." 
 
 The Whaup now dismissed his brothers, and proceeded to 
 escort Coquette back across the moor. He explained, how- 
 ever, that he did not think it advisable for him to go into 
 the Manse just then. 
 
 k Why ? " said Coquette. " I told Mr. Cassilis all about it 
 — he does not think you to blame." 
 
 " That means," said her companion, " that you took the 
 blame on yourself. But you only know the half." 
 
 With which the Whaup broke into another fit of laughter. 
 When he had recovered, he told her the story. That morning, 
 on issuing out, he heard Andrew and Leezibeth talking 
 about his cousin in a not very complimentary fashion, and 
 at once determined on revenge. There was an outhouse in 
 which were kept garden utensils, coals, and various other 
 things, and this outhouse had a door which was occasionally 
 obstinate. Now the Whaup seeing Andrew at the far end 
 of the garden, informed him that Mr. Cassilis wanted a 
 spade brought to him ; and Andrew muttered "by and by." 
 Meanwhile, the Whaup made his way to the outhouse, 
 opened the door, and shut himself in. Two or three minutes 
 afterwards, Andrew came and lifted the latch. The door 
 would not open. He shoved and shook ; it would not open 
 
62 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 — for the simple reason that the Whaup, who could see 
 through a chink, had his foot against it. At last, Andrew, 
 obviously very angry, retired a few yards — made a race — 
 and threw the whole of his weight upon the door. There 
 was a crash, a stumble, a cry, and then a great pealing 
 shriek of merriment as the Whaup jumped out of the place, 
 leaving Andrew lying among a heap of tumbled pitchforks 
 and hand-barrows. The door had yielded so easily that 
 Andrew had precipitated himself upon the floor of the out- 
 house, and now lay groaning. 
 
 " I don't know what he said," remarked the Whaup, as he 
 recounted the adventure with great glee, " but it didna 
 sound to me like the Psalms of David." 
 
 " Tom," said his cousin, " you are a wicked boy. Why 
 do you not give up these school jokes ? You are tall and 
 strong enough to be a man : why you behave as if you were 
 at school ? " 
 
 The Whaup was not in a repentant mood. 
 
 " I'm only half and between," said he. " I am a man 
 some days — a boy others. You can't expect me to change 
 all at once, Miss Coquette." 
 
 " You must net call me that name," said she. " It is not 
 fair — I am not Coquette." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said he. " When did you see Lord Earls- 
 hope ? " 
 
 " This morning," said she, with a pout. 
 
 The Whaup was instantly sobered. 
 
 "Was Earlshope at the Manse ? " he asked, coldly. 
 
 Now was the time for Coquette to make a full confession. 
 Indeed, she had admitted having seen Lord Earlshope that 
 morning for the very purpose of telling the Whaup all about 
 her half-promise, and so relieving her mind from its burden 
 of secresy. But as she looked at him, she saw that his face 
 had grown implacable. She had not the courage to tell 
 him. She said, in a timid way — 
 
 " He met me as I was coming to look for you, and walked 
 a bit of the way with me." 
 
 " How far ? " 
 
 Coquette drew herself up somewhat. 
 
 " You have not the right to ask me such questions." 
 
 " I understand now," said the Whaup, calmly, " how you 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER. 63 
 
 looked caught when I found you at the bushes, and why you 
 turned to look over the mcor. I daresay he had come there 
 with you, and sneaked away " 
 
 " Sneaked ! — sneaked ! " said Coquette, warmly (although 
 she only guessed at the meaning of the word), " I do not 
 know what it is ; but Lord Earlshope is not afraid to be 
 seen. Why should he be ? What is wrong in his going 
 with me there ? And you think I do not know what is right 
 for me to do ? " 
 
 " Ah, well," said the Whaup, with an air of resignatiou. 
 " I give you up. I see you are just like other women." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Coquette, angrily, though 
 she kept her eyes down. 
 
 " Nothing of any importance," said the Whaup, with a 
 forced carelessness. " You profess you were doing what was 
 right and fitting ; but you have not explained why you 
 should have sent Earlshope away — after all, he is a man, 
 and would not have sneaked off except at your bidding — 
 or why you carefully hid from the whole of us that you had 
 just left him. What was the reason of all that concealment 
 and hypocrisy ? " he added, with a touch of indignation. 
 " I know you were doing no wrong — I have no fear in that 
 way for one that bears the name of Cassilis. But why 
 make the pretence of having done wrong ? Why try to 
 hide it ? Isn't that very woman-like ? — isn't that very 
 deceitful ? — and I thought you were something different 
 from other women." 
 
 She was nearly confessing the truth to him — that she had 
 resorted to this unfortunate bit of concealment merely 
 because she was afraid of him. But she knew that if she 
 made this admission she would probably break down ; and, 
 as she would not show any such symptom of weakness, she 
 merely replied to him, with an air of proud indifference — 
 
 " I cannot help it, if I am a woman." 
 
 Thereafter, dead silence. The two walked across the 
 moor, some little distance apart, without uttering a word. 
 When they reached the Manse, Coquette went to her own 
 room and shut herself up, feeling very stern, determined, 
 and wretched. 
 
 The Whaup, on the other hand, rendered desperate, re- 
 solved to deliver himself up into the hands of justice. He 
 
64 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 walked into his father's study in order to impeach himself 
 and demand punishment (the Whaup felt that banishment 
 from Airlie would almost have been welcome then), but Mr. 
 Cassilis was outside in the garden. When the Whaup at 
 length perceived his father aud approached him, he found 
 that the Schoolmaster was seeking an audience. 
 
 The Schoolmaster was a short, stout, red-haired man, with 
 horn-rimmed spectacles. He had a bushy red beard, and 
 held his head well drawn back ; so that, but for his defective 
 stature, he would have looked a person of importance. How- 
 ever, Nature, not generous as regards inches, had been kinder 
 to him in his voice, which was deep aud sonorous ; and it 
 was the especial pride of Mr. iEneas Gillespie — Schoolmaster, 
 Parish Clerk, and Grand Aumoner of Airlie — that he spoke 
 a species of idiomatic English superior to the talk of the 
 common people his neighbours. It was only on rare 
 occasions that he forgot himself, and relapsed into the 
 familiar and expressive phraseology of the district. 
 
 " It is a fine — I might even say a beautiful — morning," 
 he observed to Mr. Cassilis, as he came up. 
 
 " A beautiful morning, indeed," said the Minister. 
 
 At this moment the Whaup made his appearance, and was 
 at once saluted by the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Come along, young man," he said, in his stately tones, 
 " we may ask your aid, or, as I may say, your assistance, in 
 this matter. Mr. Cassilis, may I inquire of you what is 
 your opinion of the present Lord Earjshope — by which, I 
 mean, do you think him a fit companion for one o' your 
 household ? " 
 
 The Schoolmaster planted himself before the Minister, and 
 fixed the glare of his horn-rimmed spectac^s on him. 
 
 "The question, is a wide one, Mr. Gillespie," said the 
 Minister, with a smile. " I do not think we ought to set 
 ourselves up in judgment upon our neighbours who may 
 have been brought up under different lights from ours, and 
 may surprise us at times, I admit, by their conduct. Nor 
 would it be fitting for them who try to walk according to the 
 Word to cut themselves off from all communication with 
 people who are less particular — for these might benefit by 
 example and the kindly teaching of acquaintanceship." 
 
 Mr. Gillespie shook his head. 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER. 65 
 
 " I would nob interfere with your section of the public 
 duties of this parish," observed the Schoolmaster. " You are 
 the arbiter of morals and conduct, while I do my humble 
 best — my endeavour, as I may say — with the education of 
 our joint charge. But if ye will let me remark, sir, that we 
 may be too easy with our judgment, and encourage ungodli- 
 ness by associating therewith. For I would ask ye, Mr. 
 Cassilis, if we are to draw no line between the good and the 
 bad, what is the good — what is the good, as I may say — of 
 being good ? " 
 
 The Whaup grew very red in the face, and " snirted " with 
 laughter. 
 
 "There are, Mr. Cassilis," continued the Schoolmaster, 
 without pausing for an answer, "there are those who err 
 knowingly, and should not be encouraged ; there are those 
 who err in ignorance, and should be informed. Of these 
 last, by way of example, is Mrs. Drumsynie, the wife of a 
 carter in Dairy, who was taken home on Tuesday last with a 
 broken leg. Now, this woman had so far misconstrued the 
 workings of Providence, as I may say, that when her husband 
 was brought in to her on a shutter, she exclaimed, ' I thank 
 the Lord we will get something out o' the Society at last ' — 
 meaning the Benefit Society, of which I am the secretary. 
 This woman, as I judge, was not to be taken as an irreverent 
 or wicked woman, but as one suffering from — or labouring 
 under, as I may say — a misapprehension." 
 
 " I perceive, Mr. Gillespie," said Mr. Cassilis, gravely, 
 " but ye were observing ? " 
 
 " I am coming to the point, sir. And I think I cannot do 
 better than premise with a simple statement of fact. At this 
 moment, or instant, as I may say, your niece is out walking 
 alone with Lord Earlshope." 
 
 The Whaup's face flushed with something else than 
 laughter this time — when he saw the object of the School- 
 master's visit. 
 
 " Ye may premise what ye like," said the lad, indignantly, 
 " but that's a doggont lee ! " 
 
 " Thomas ! " cried the Minister, " ye shall answer for this 
 afterward." 
 
 But the Whaup was determined to have it out with his 
 enemy. 
 
 F 
 
66 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " At this moment, or instant, as I may say," he remarked 
 (and the Schoolmaster dared scarcely believe he was listening 
 to such insolence from a boy whom he had many a time 
 thrashed), " Mr. Cassilis's niece is in this house, and not with 
 Lord Earlshope at all. And suppose she had been, what 
 then ? Is it a crime for a girl even to speak to him if she 
 meets him ? Is it worse than for an old man to come spying 
 and telling tales ? And if an honest woman must not walk 
 with Earlshope, would an honest man sit down at his table ? 
 And who was it, Mr. Gillespie, proposed Lord Earlshope's 
 health at the last tenantry dinner ? " 
 
 This was a deadly thrust ; and, having delivered it, the 
 Whaup walked off. He was angry that he had been goaded 
 into defending Lord Earlshope ; but his zeal in the cause of 
 Coquette had carried him beyond such considerations. He 
 looked up at her window rather sadly as he passed. 
 
 " I suppose I shall be sent to Glasgow for this," he said to 
 himself ; " and she does not know it was done for her sake." 
 
 The Schoolmaster and the Minister were left looking at 
 each other. 
 
 " I am apprehensive of that lad's future," remarked the 
 Schoolmaster, "if he gives way to such unruly gusts of 
 passion, and betrays the symptoms — the evidences, I might 
 even say — of a lawless and undisciplined mind." 
 
 " We will leave that for the present, Mr. Gillespie," said 
 the Minister, rather impatiently. " I will examine his con- 
 duct later on. In the meantime, you have something to say 
 about my niece." 
 
 " She may be in the house ," began the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " She is in the house," said the Minister, decisively. 
 " None of my boys has ever been known to tell a lie." 
 
 " At all events, Mr. Cassilis, with my own eyes did I see 
 her walking with that young man. That is all I have to say. 
 I leave it to you to judge whether such conduct is becoming 
 to one who may be regarded, or considered, as your daughter; 
 or, indeed, whether it is safe for herself. "We have a duty — 
 an obligation, I might even call it — to consider how our 
 actions look in the eyes of our neighbour, so as not to offend, 
 but to walk decently and uprightly " 
 
 " Mr. Gillespie," said the Minister, interrupting him some- 
 what rudely, " you may depend on it that my niece has no, 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER. 67 
 
 clandestine relations with Lord Earlshope. It is not many- 
 days since they met each other for the first time. I have no 
 doubt that when you saw them together it was but a chance 
 meeting. You would not have them fly from each other ? " 
 
 The Schoolmaster shook his head. He was beginning a 
 serious discourse on the duties of " professors," when the 
 .Minister was forced to remind his visitor that this was the 
 1 norning on which he began his studies for the succeeding 
 Sabbath, and that he would be obliged to postpone further 
 mention of the matter at present. 
 
 " "We may return to it again at a more convenient season," 
 said the Schoolmaster, as he took his leave, "seeing the 
 importance of one in your position, Mr. Cassilis, being 
 above reproach in all your ways and actions in this 
 parish." 
 
 All that day, and all that evening, Coquette was very 
 silent, proud, and miserable. Once only she saw theWhaup ; 
 hut he went away from her in another direction. It was 
 understood in the Manse that something serious with regard 
 to the Whaup was in the wind. For more than an hour in 
 the afternoon he was in his father's study ; and when he 
 came out, he spent the rest of the day in looking over his live 
 pets — he supported a considerable stock of animals — and 
 visiting his favourite haunts in the neighbourhood, just as if 
 he were going away. 
 
 Next morning Coquette met him at breakfast ; he did not 
 sj>eak to her. If he had even said good morning, she fancied 
 she would have burst into tears and begged his forgiveness, 
 and told him all that oppressed her. But again, as she saw 
 him silent and reserved — grave, indeed, far beyond his wont 
 — she put it down to pride ; and then she in her turn grew 
 proud, and closed her lips with an inflexible air, and felt 
 supremely wretched. 
 
 Some little time after they had dispersed from the break- 
 fast table, the Whaup saw Coquette cross the courtyard, with 
 her small hat and shawl on. When she perceived him, she 
 walked rather timidly to him, and said, 
 
 " I am going for a walk ; I shall be glad if you will come 
 with me." 
 
 " Where are yon going ? " he asked, coldly. 
 
 " In the direction I went yesterday. I promised to go ; 
 
 F 2 
 
68 A DAUGHTER OF HETH 
 
 I do think it likely I shall meet Lord Earlshope, that is why 
 I want you to come with me." 
 
 " You promised to meet him, and now ask me to join ; no, 
 thank you. I should be the third wheel of the cart." 
 
 He turned and went away. She looked after him. A few 
 minutes before she had resolved she would not go for this 
 walk ; she would rather break that slightly-given promise. 
 But when she saw him go away like that, her Bps were again 
 pressed proudly and determinedly together ; and she raised 
 the latch of the green gate and passed out into the moorland 
 road. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A MEETING ON THE MOOR. 
 
 " I am very miserable," said Coquette, struggling bravely 
 to restrain her tears. 
 
 " You miserable ? " cried Lord Earlshope, whom she met 
 before she had gone five hundred yards from the Manse. 
 " It is impossible ! I do not think you have the capacity to 
 be miserable. But what is the matter ? Tell me all about 
 it." 
 
 It was a dangerous moment for the exhibition of kindness. 
 She felt herself an exile from the Manse, and receiving 
 comfort and sympathy from a stranger. 
 
 She told him her story, rapidly, and in French. To have 
 the burden of a foreign tongue removed was in itself a con- 
 solation to her ; and she found inexpressible relief in being 
 able to talk fully and freely about all her surroundings at 
 the Manse — about her relations with a number of people so 
 unlike her in temperament and bringing-up — about these 
 present circumstances which seemed to be conspiring to goad 
 her into some desperate act. 
 
 Earlshope listened patiently and attentively, deeply inter- 
 ested, and yet inclined to smile sometimes. 
 
 " I should laugh at all that," said he, when she had finished, 
 " because I am a man ; and men are indifferent to these 
 delicate considerations chiefly because they can avoid them. 
 If a man dislikes the people he is among, he has merely to 
 go away. But a woman is very dependent on the temper 
 
A MEETING ON THE MOOR. 69 
 
 and disposition of those around her ; and you especially 
 seem almost without resource. You have no other re- 
 latives ? " 
 
 " No," said Coquette. 
 
 " No lady-friend with whom you could stay ? " 
 
 " Many — many with whom I should like to stay," said 
 the girl, " but they are all in France ; and I have been sent 
 here. Yet you must not misunderstand what I do say. I 
 do not dislike my relatives. My uncle is a very good man, 
 and very kind to me. My cousin, I do think, is more than 
 kind to me, and ready to incur danger in defending my 
 faults. The other people cannot be angry with me ; for I 
 have done them no harm. Yet everything is wrong — I do 
 not know how. At this moment I know myself very guilty 
 in coming to see you ; and I should not have come but that 
 Cousin Tom would not speak to me." 
 
 "I think Cousin Tom has been quarrelling with you 
 about me," said Earlshope. 
 
 He spoke very quietly, and with rather an amused air ; 
 but Coquette was startled and a little alarmed. She did not 
 wish her companion to know that he had anything to do 
 with what had occurred. 
 
 " Now," said Lord Earlshope, " it would be a great pity if 
 I were the cause of any of your troubles. You see I have 
 no companions here — you have not many. It seemed to me 
 that we might often have a very pleasant chat or walk 
 together ; but I must not be selfish. You must not suffer 
 anything on my account ; so, if your friends at the Manse 
 are inclined to mistake our brief acquaintanceship, let it 
 cease. I do not like to see you as you are. You are 
 evidently out of sorts, for you have never laughed this 
 morning yet — nor run off the road — nor paid the least 
 attention to the sunlight or the colours of the sea out yonder. 
 I should far prefer looking at you from a distance as an entire 
 stranger — if I could see you, as you usually are, fluttering 
 about like a butterfly, enjoying the warmth, and the colours, 
 and light around you, without a care, and quite unconscious 
 how perfectly happy you are." 
 
 As Coquette heard these words, uttered in a cruelly calm 
 and kindly voice, she became afraid. What was this 
 strange aching sense of disappointment that filled her heart ? 
 
70 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Why was it that she contemplated with dismay a proposal 
 which he had clearly shown would secure her happiness and 
 peace ? She was miserable before ; she was ten times more 
 wretched now. 
 
 He did not seem to notice any alteration in her expression 
 or manner. They had got to the crest of a hill from which 
 the line of the coast was visible ; with a plain of sunlit sea 
 beyond ; and Arran lying like a great blue cloud on the 
 horizon. A faint haze of heat filled the south ; and the 
 distant Ailsa Craig was of a pearly grey. 
 
 Coquette's companion uttered an exclamation. 
 
 " Do you see that yacht ? " said he, pointing to a vessel 
 which the distance rendered very small — a schooner yacht 
 with her two masts lying rakishly back, and her white sails 
 shining in the sun, as she cut through the green water with 
 a curve of white round her prow. 
 
 " It is a stunning little boat," said Coquette simply, 
 returning to the English which she had picked up from her 
 father. 
 
 Lord Earlshope did not laugh at her blunder as the 
 Whaup would have laughed. He merely said — 
 
 " She has been lying at Greenock to be overhauled and 
 set to rights ; and I telegraphed to have the name altered 
 as well. The first time you go down to Ardrossan you will 
 find lying there a yacht bearing the name — Coquette." 
 
 " Do you know," said Coquette, breaking at last into a 
 smile, " everybody did use to call me that ? " 
 
 " So I heard from one of your cousins the other day," 
 said her companion. 
 
 " And you called the boat for me ? " she said, with a look 
 of wonder. 
 
 " Yes ; I took the liberty of naming it after your pet 
 name — I hope you are not angry with me ? " 
 
 " No," she said, " I am very well pleased — very much — 
 it is a very kind compliment to do that, is it not ? But you 
 have not told me you had a yacht." 
 
 " It is one of my abandoned amusements. I wanted to sur- 
 prise you, though ; and I had some wild hope of inveigling 
 Mr. Cassilis, yourself, and your cousin into going for a 
 day or two's cruise up some of the lochs — Loch Fyne, Loch 
 Linnhe, or some of these. It would have been pleasant for 
 
A MEETING ON THE MOOR. 71 
 
 you, I think, as you don't know anything of the West High- 
 land lochs and mountains. The scenery is the most varied 
 of any I have ever seen, and more picturesque in the way of 
 colour. You can have no idea of the wildness of the 
 northern sunsets ; and of late I have been picturing you 
 sitting on deck with .us in the* twilight — the stillness of 
 the place — the calling of the wild-fowl — the dense and 
 mysterious darkness of the mountains in the glow of cold, 
 clear light. Do you think Mr. Cassilis would have gone ? " 
 
 " I do not know," said Coquette. 
 
 She was becoming hard and obdurate again. He had 
 spoken of his project as a thing of the past. It was no 
 longer possible ; but the mere mention of it had filled 
 Coquette with a wistful longing. It would have been 
 pleasant indeed to have gone away on this dream-like 
 Lrsion, and wandered round the lonely islands, and up 
 the great stretches of sea-lochs of wdiich her father had 
 many a time spoken to her when she was a child. Never- 
 theless, since her companion had chosen to give up the 
 proposal, she would not ask him to reconsider his resolve. 
 They were about to become strangers : well and good. 
 
 " I must go back now," she said. 
 
 ] Ie looked at her with some surprise. 
 
 " Have I offended you by telling you what I had been 
 dreaming about ? After all, it was but a fancy — and I beg 
 your pardon for not saying first of all that I was far from 
 sure that you yourself would go, even had I persuaded Mr. 
 Cassilis." 
 
 " No, you have not offended me," said Coquette. " Your 
 thought was very kind. But I am sorry it is all over." 
 
 " I see I have not brought you peace of mind yet," he 
 said, gently. " You are not Miss Cassilis — may I say that 
 you are not Coquette? — this morning. What can I do for 
 yon ? I wish you would talk to me as if I were your elder 
 brother, and tell me if there is anything in which I can help 
 you. Shall I go up to the Manse and hint to Mr. Cassilis 
 that — that — well, to tell you the truth, I should be at a loss 
 to know what to hint." 
 
 He smiled ; but she was quite grave. 
 
 " There is nothing," she said. " They are very good to 
 me — what more ? Do not let us talk of it any more. Let 
 
72 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 us talk of something else. "Why do you never go in your 
 yacht ? " 
 
 " Because I lost interest in it, as I lost interest in a dozen 
 other things. Steeple-chasing was my longest-lived hobby, 
 I think, for I used to be rather successful. Eiding nine 
 stone six, with a five-pound saddle, I had a pretty fair share 
 of luck." 
 
 " And now you only read books, and smoke, and fell trees 
 in the cold weather to make you warm. What books ? 
 Romances ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and the more improbable the better." 
 
 " You get interested ? " 
 
 " Yes : but not in the story. I read the story and try to 
 look at the brain of the writer all the time. Then you 
 begin to wonder at the various notions of the world these 
 various heads have conceived. If I were a physiologist, I 
 should like to read a novel, and draw a picture of the author 
 gathered from the colouring and sentiments of his book." 
 
 "That is all so very morbid," she said. "And in your 
 poetry, too, I suppose you like the — ah, I cannot say what I 
 mean." 
 
 "But I understand all the same," he said, laughing ; 
 " and I am going to disappoint you, if you have formed a 
 theory. I like old-fashioned poetry, and especially the 
 lyrics of the old dramatists. Then poetry was as wide as 
 life itself, and included everything that could interest a 
 man. A writer was not afraid to talk of everyday experi- 
 ences, and was gay, or patriotic, or sarcastic, just as the 
 moment suited. But don't you think the poetry of the 
 present time is only the expression of one mood — that it is 
 permeated all through with sadness and religious melan- 
 cholia ? What do you say, Mr. Cassilis ? " 
 
 The abrupt question was addressed to the Minister. 
 Coquette had been walking carelessly onward, with her eyes 
 bent on the ground ; and had not perceived the approach of 
 her uncle. When she heard the sudden termination of 
 Earlshope's disquisition on poetry, she looked up with a 
 start, and turned pale. The Minister's eyes she found fixed 
 upon her, and she dared not return that earnest look. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Lord Earlshope ? " said Mr. Cassilis, 
 looking calmly at both of them. 
 
A MEETING ON THE MOOR. 73 
 
 " I was victimising your niece, whom I had the good 
 fortune to meet, with a sermon on modern poetry," said Lord 
 Earlshope, lightly ; " and, as she seemed to pay no attention 
 to me, I appealed to you. However, the subject is not an 
 enticing one — as Miss Cassilis apparently discovered. 
 Which way are you walking ? Shall we join you ? " 
 
 The deep-set eyes of the Minister, under the shaggy eye- 
 brows, were closely regarding the speaker during the 
 utterance of these words. Mr. Cassilis was satisfied — so far 
 as Lord Earlshope was concerned. No actor could have 
 been so obviously and wholly at ease — the fact being that 
 the young man did not even suspect that he had become an 
 object of suspicion. He had not inveigled the Minister's 
 niece into a secret interview ; on the contrary, he had, 
 mainly by chance, met a pleasant and pretty neighbour out 
 for her morning walk, and why should he not speak to her ? 
 
 But when the Minister turned to Coquette he found a 
 different story written on her face — a story that caused him 
 some concern. She appeared at once embarrassed and 
 distressed. She said nothing, and looked at neither of 
 them ; but there was in her eyes (bent on a bit of heather 
 she was pulling to pieces) an expression of constraint and 
 disquiet, which was plainly visible to him, if not to Lord 
 Earlshope. 
 
 " If you will relieve me from the duties of escort," said 
 the latter to Mr. Cassilis, "I think I shall bid you both 
 good morning, as I have to walk over to Altyre Farm and 
 back before luncheon." 
 
 So he parted from them, Coquette not daring to look up 
 as he shook hands with her. She and the Minister were left 
 alone. 
 
 For a minute or two they walked on in silence ; and it 
 seemed to Coquette that the hour of her deepest tribulation 
 had come. So bright and happy had been the life of this 
 young creature that with her to be downcast was to be 
 miserable : to be suspected was equivalent to being guilty. 
 Suspicion she could not bear ; secrecy seemed to suffocate 
 her ; and she had now but one despairing notion in her 
 head — to escape and fly from this lonely northern region into 
 which she had been sent — to get away from a combination 
 of circumstances that appeared likely to overwhelm her. 
 
74 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Uncle," she said, " may I go back to France ? " 
 
 " My child ! " said Mr. Cassilis, in amazement, " what is 
 the matter ? Surely you do not mean that your short stay 
 with us has been disagreeable to you ? I have noticed, it is 
 true, that you have of late been rather out o' sorts, but 
 judged it was but some temporary indisposition. Has any- 
 thing annoyed you — have you any cause of complaint ? " 
 
 " Complaint ? " she said ; " when you have been so kind 
 to me ! No, no complaint. But I do think I am not good 
 enough for this place — I am sorry I cannot satisfy, although 
 I put away all my pictures, and books, and the crucifix, so 
 that no one can see. But I am suspected — I do hear them 
 talk of me as dangerous. It is natural — it is right, perhaps 
 — but not pleasant to me. Just now," she added, desperately, 
 " you think I did promise to meet Lord Earlshope, and you 
 did come to take me home." 
 
 " Had you not promised ? " said the Minister, looking 
 steadily and yet affectionately at her. 
 
 For a second the girl's lip trembled ; but the next moment 
 she was saying rapidly, with something of wildness in her 
 tone and manner — 
 
 " I did not promise ; no. But I did expect to see 
 him — I did hope to see him when I came out ; and is it 
 wrong ? Is it wrong for me to speak to a stranger, when I 
 do see him kind to me, in a place where there are not many 
 amiable people ? If it is wrong, it is because Lord Earlshope 
 is not suspicious, and hard, and ill-judging, like the others. 
 That is why they do say ill of him ; that is why they 
 persuade me to think ill of him. I do not ; I will not. 
 Since I left France I did meet no one so courteous — so 
 friendly — as he has been. Why can I talk to him so easily ? 
 He does not think me wicked because I have a crucifix that 
 my mother gave me — that is why we are friends ; and he 
 does not suspect me. But it is all over. "We are not to be 
 friends again ; we may see each other to-morrow ; we shall 
 not speak. Shall I tell Leesiebess ? — perhaps it will please 
 her ! " 
 
 She spoke with an angry and bitter vehemence, that was 
 strangely out of consonance with her ordinary serenity of 
 demeanour. The Minister took her hand gently in his, 
 saying nothing at all, and led her back to the Manse. 
 
COQUETTE'S CONQUESTS. 75 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 coquette's conquests. 
 
 There ensued a long period of rain — day after day 
 breaking sullen and cold, with a perpetual drizzle falling 
 from a grey and cheerless sky. There were none of the 
 sharp and heavy showers which a south-west gale brings, 
 with dashes of blue between ; but a slow, fine, wetting rain, 
 that rendered everything humid and limp, and hid the far- 
 off line of the sea and the mountains of Arran behind a 
 cm-tain of mist. 
 
 Perhaps it was the forced imprisonment caused by the 
 rain that made Coquette look ill ; but, at all events, she 
 grew so pale and listless that even the boys noticed it. All 
 her former spirits were gone. She was no longer interested 
 in their sports ; and taught them no more new games. She 
 kept much to her own room, and read at a window. She 
 read those books which she had brought with her from the 
 sunny region of the Loire ; and when she turned from the 
 open page to look out upon the wet and misty landscape all 
 around, she came back again with a sigh to the volume on 
 her knee. 
 
 Lord Earlshope never came near the Manse ; perhaps, she 
 thought, he had left the country. The only communication 
 she had with him was on the day following their last 
 meeting. She then sent him a note consisting of but one 
 line, which was — " Please do not call your boat Coquette" 
 This missive she had entrusted to her cousin Wattie, who 
 delivered it, and returned with the answer that Lord Earls- 
 hope had merely said " All right." Wattie, however, broke 
 the confidence reposed in him ; and told his brothers that 
 he had been sent with a message to Earlshope. The Whaup 
 profited by this intelligence ; but punished Wattie all the 
 same ; for on that night, Coquette heard murmurings and 
 complainings underneath her window. She looked out. 
 There was some starlight ; and she could indistinctly see 
 a figure in white moving in the garden underneath that 
 building, the upper storey of which, originally a hay-loft, 
 
76 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 had been transformed into a dormitory for the boys. The 
 cause of the disturbance soon became apparent. After the 
 boys had undressed, the Whaup had wheedled or compelled 
 Wattie into making a rush to the garden for some fruit. 
 He had then taken advantage of his position to pull the 
 ladder into the loft, by which mean device his brother was 
 left standing below in his night-shirt. In vain Wattie 
 petitioned to be let up to his bed. With his teeth chattering 
 in his head, he entreated that at least his trousers might be 
 flung down to him ; but he was not relieved from punishment 
 until the Whaup had administered a severe lecture to him 
 on the shabbiness of betraying a lady's confidence. 
 
 " I'll never do't again, as sure's I'm here ! " said Wattie, 
 who was feebly endeavouring to mitigate his sufferings by 
 balancing himself on his toes — a feat in which he naturally 
 failed. 
 
 " Since it is no likely to rain," said the Whaup, looking 
 spitefully at the clear star-lit sky, " there is little use 
 in keeping ye there, so ye may hae the ladder — ye sneak ! " 
 
 The Whaup never spoke to Coquette about that letter ; 
 but it was the occasion of his prolonging the estrangement 
 which he had sternly decided upon. He deliberately ignored 
 her presence. He would not complain of her keeping up 
 what he imagined to be a clandestine correspondence ; neither 
 would he take any steps to put an end to it. He contented 
 himself with thinking that if ever there should be necessity 
 for confronting Earlshope personally, and altering matters 
 that way, there would be one person in the Manse ready to 
 adventure something for the sake of Coquette. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was at this time, and it was through the 
 Whaup's instrumentality, that Coquette achieved her first 
 great victory in Airlie — a success which was but the 
 beginning of a strange series of successes, and fraught with 
 important consequences to her. It all fell about in this 
 way. First, the Whaup relented. When the rain began, 
 and he saw his French cousin mope and pine indoors — 
 when he saw how she was growing languid and listless, and 
 still strove to be cheerful and amiable to those around her, 
 his resolve broke down. By insensible degrees he tried to 
 re-establish their old relations. He showed her little 
 attentions, and performed towards her small acts of thought- 
 
COQUETTE'S CONQUESTS. 77 
 
 fulness and kindness, which she was not slow to acknowledge. 
 Re was not impudently and patronisingly good to her as he 
 had been ; there was a certain restraint over his approaches ; 
 but she met them all with that simplicity of gratitude which 
 the dark eyes and the sweet face could so readily and 
 effectually express when her imperfect English failed her. 
 And the Whaup no longer corrected her blunders with his 
 old scornful impatience. 
 
 One morning there was a temporary cessation of the rain. 
 
 "Why don't you go down and return the Pensioner's 
 visit ? " said the Whaup to Coquette. 
 
 " If you please, I will go." 
 
 For the first time for many a day these two went out of 
 the Manse together. It was like a revival of old times 
 — though the Whaup would not have believed you had you 
 told him how short a space Coquette had actually lived in 
 A irlie. The cold and damp wind brought a tinge of colour 
 to the girl's cheeks ; the Whaup thought he had never seen 
 her look so pleasant and charming. 
 
 While Coquette lingered in the small garden of the 
 cottage, the Whaup went up to the door and told the 
 Pensioner who had come to see him. 
 
 " Cot pless me ! " he hastily exclaimed, looking down 
 at his legs. "Keep her in sa garden till I change my 
 breeks 
 
 "What for ? " said the Whaup. 
 
 " Dinna ye see sey are tartan ! " cried Neil, in an excited 
 whisper, " and sa French canna stand sa tartan." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said the Whaup. " She won't look at your 
 trousers." 
 
 " It is no nonsense, but very good sense whatever," said 
 the Highlandman ; " it wass two friends o' mine, and they 
 went over to France sa very last year, and one o' them, sey 
 took his bags and his luggage, and sey pulled sis way and 
 sat way, and sey will sweer at him in French — but he will 
 not know what it wass said to him — and sey will take many 
 things from him, mirover, and he will not know why. But, 
 said I to him, * Tonald, w T ill you have on your tartan plaid 
 round your shoulders ? ' And says he, * I had.' And said 
 I to him, * Did you will no ken how sa French canna stand 
 sa tartan ever since Waterloo ? ' " 
 
78 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 The Pensioner ran inside, and speedily re-appeared in 
 plain grey. Then he came oufc, and bade Coquette welcome 
 with a dignified courtesy that surprised her. 
 
 " You would not come to see me, so I have come to see 
 you," she said to the old man. 
 
 "It wassna for the likes o' me to visit a letty," said 
 Neil. 
 
 He dusted a chair with his sleeve, and asked her to sit 
 down. Then he put three glasses on the table, and brought 
 out a black bottle. He filled one of the glasses and offered 
 it to Coquette. 
 
 " She canna drink whisky ! " said the.Whaup, with a rude 
 laugh. 
 
 " It is sa rale Lagavulin," said Neil, indignantly, " and 
 wouldna harm a flee." 
 
 Coquette put the glass to her lips, and then placed it on 
 the table. 
 
 " Ye may drink it up, mem," said Neil. " Do ye ken 
 that ye can drink sa goot whisky until ye stagger, and it 
 will do ye no harm in sa morning ? I do pelieve it is sa 
 finest sing in the world's universe — a gran' good stagger as 
 ye will go home in sa night." 
 
 " You have been in battle ? " said Coquette, by way of 
 changing the conversation. 
 
 " Oh, yes, mem," said Neil, looking desperately un- 
 comfortable. " It wass — it wass — it wass in a war." 
 
 " Have you been in more than one war ? " she asked. 
 
 "No, mem — yes, mem," stammered Neil, in great em- 
 barrassment, as he glanced to see that his tartan trousers 
 were well shoved under the bed ; " but it is of no matter 
 how many wars. It will pe all over pefore you were porn — 
 never mind about sa wars." 
 
 " I hear you were at Waterloo ? " said Coquette, innocently. 
 
 The Pensioner jumped to his feet. 
 
 " Who wass it tellt you of Waterloo ? " said he, in great 
 indignation. " I never heard sa like ! It wass a shame — 
 and I would not take a hundred pounds and forget mysel' 
 like sat. And you will be blaming us Hielanders for what 
 we did — and we did a goot teal there — but there wass others 
 too. There wass English there too. And the French — sey 
 fought well, as every one o' us will tell ye ; and I wouldna 
 
COQUETTE'S CONQUESTS. 79 
 
 sink too much o't ; for maype it isna true sat Napoleon 
 died on sa island. Didna he come pack pefore ? " 
 
 Having offered Coquette this grain of comfort, Neil hastily 
 iped from the subject by getting his violin and beginning 
 to screw up the strings. 
 
 " I have been learning a lot of your Scotch airs," said 
 Coquette, " and I have become very fond of some of them — 
 the sad ones especially. But I suppose you prefer the lively 
 duos for the violin." 
 
 "I can play sem all every one together," said Neil, 
 proudly. "I do not play sem well, but I know all our 
 music — every one." 
 
 " You play a great deal ? " 
 
 " No," said Neil, fondling his violin affectionately, " I do 
 not play sa fiddle much, but I like to be aye playing." 
 
 There was a touch of pathos in the reply which did not 
 escape the delicate perception of his guest. She looked at 
 the old man, at his scanty grey hair and dazed eyes, and 
 was glad that he had this constant companion to amuse and 
 interest him. He did not like to play much — to make 
 a labour of this recreation ; but he liked to have the whine 
 of the tight strings always present to his ear. 
 
 He played her a selection of his best airs, with many an 
 apology. He chatted about the tunes too, and told tales 
 concerning them, until he was as familiar with the young 
 lady as though he had known her a lifetime ; and she was 
 laughing at his odd stories more than she had laughed for 
 many a day. At last she said — 
 
 " That ' Flowers of the Forest ' is a beautiful air, but you 
 want it harmonised. Will you come up to the Manse now, 
 and I will play it for you? I have been trying it much 
 lately." 
 
 S:> the Pensioner walked up to the Manse with them ; and 
 soon found himself in Coquette's parlour. His hostess 
 remembered how she had been received, and went into the 
 room adjoining for a second or two. "When she returned 
 there was a small bottle in her hand. 
 
 " This is some French brandy which my old nurse gave 
 me when I left, in case I should be ill at sea ; you see I 
 have not even opened the bottle." 
 
 The "Whaup got a corkscrew and a glass, and soon had 
 
80 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 half a tumblerful of the brandy to offer to Neil. The 
 Pensioner looked at it, smelt it, said " Slainte ! " and 
 — to the horror of Coquette — gulped it down. The 
 next moment his face was a mass of moving muscles — 
 twisting and screwing into every expression of agony, while 
 he gasped and choked, and could only say, " Water ! — 
 water ! " But when the Whaup quickly poured him out a 
 glass of water he regarded it at arm's length for a second, 
 and then put it away. 
 
 "No," he said, with his face still screwed up to agony 
 pitch, " I can thole." 
 
 Coquette did not understand what had happened ; but 
 when her cousin, with unbecoming frankness, explained to 
 her that the Pensioner would rather " thole " (or suffer) the 
 delicious torture in his throat than spoil it with water, she 
 was nearly joining in the Whaup's impudent mirth. 
 
 But the brandy had no perceptible effect on Neil. He 
 sat and listened sedately to the music she played ; and it 
 was only when his enthusiasm was touched that he broke 
 out with some exclamation of delight. At length the old 
 man left — the Whaup also going away to those exceptional 
 studies which had been recently imposed on him as a 
 condition of his remaining at Airlie. 
 
 Coquette sat alone at the piano. The grey day was 
 darkening to the afternoon ; and the rain had begun again 
 its wearisome patter on the pane. She had French music 
 before her — bright and laughing songs of the bygone and 
 happy time — but she could not sing them. Almost un- 
 consciously to herself, she followed the wanderings of her 
 fancy in the dreamland of that old and plaintive music that 
 she had recently discovered. Now it was " The Lowlands 
 o' Holland " ; again it was " Helen of Kirkconnell " ; 
 again it was " Logan Braes " that filled the room with 
 its sadness ; until she came back to " The Flowers of the 
 Forest." She sang a verse of it — merely out of caprice, to 
 see if she could master the pronunciation — and just as she 
 had finished the door was opened, and Leezibeth stood there. 
 
 Coquette turned from the piano with a sigh : doubtless 
 Leezibeth had appeared to prefer some complaint. 
 
 The woman came up to her and said — with the most 
 painful shamefacedness clouding her look — 
 
COQUETTE'S CONQUESTS. 81 
 
 " Will ye sing that again, Miss, if it is no much trouble 
 to ye ? Maybe ye'll no ken that me and Andrew had a boy 
 — a bit laddie that dee'd when he was but seven years auld 
 — and — and he used to sing the * Flowers o' the Forest ' 
 afore a' the ither songs, and ye sing it that fine that if it 
 didna mak a body amaist like to greet " 
 
 She never ended the sentence ; but the girl sang the 
 rest of the song ; and the woman stood silent, with her 
 eyes turned to the grey evening outside. And from that 
 day Leezibeth was the slave of Coquette. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A HOROSCOPE. 
 
 Events were marching on at Airlie. Leezibeth came to 
 Coquette, and said — 
 
 " Sir Peter and Lady Drum came back frae Edinburgh 
 last night." 
 
 Coquette remained silent, and Leezibeth was astonished. 
 Was it possible the girl had never heard of Sir Peter and 
 1/idy Drum ? 
 
 " And I saw my lady this morning, and she is coming to 
 see you this very afternoon," said Leezibeth, certain she had 
 now effected a surprise. 
 
 " Who are they ? " said Coquette. " Are they Scotch ? 
 I do not wish to see any more Scotch." 
 
 " Ma certes ! " said Leezibeth, firing up suddenly ; but 
 presently she said, in a voice more gentle than Coquette had 
 ever heard her use — "Ye'll maybe like the Scotch folk yet, 
 Miss, when ye hae time to understand them; and Lady 
 Drum is a grand woman — just anextraordinar' woman ; and 
 I told her a' about ye, Miss, and she w T as greatly interested, 
 as I could see ; and I made bold, Miss, to say that ye were a 
 bit out o' sorts the now, and if my lady would but ask ye 
 ower to Oastle Cawmil, and let ye hae some company niair 
 fitted to ye than us bodies about the Manse, it might cheer 
 ye up a bit, and bring some colour to your cheek." 
 
 Coquette was really surprised now. Could it be Leezibeth, 
 her enemy, who was speaking in this timidly solicitous 
 fashion ? 
 
82 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " It is very good of you- 
 
 " Oh, we are no so bad as ye think us," said Leezibeth, 
 plucking up courage. " And there is Scotch blood in your 
 ain veins, Miss, as anybody can see — for the way ye sing they 
 Scotch songs is just past believin' ! " 
 
 From Coquette's sitting-room Leezibeth went straight to 
 the Minister's study. 
 
 " I have come to speak to ye, sir, about Miss Cassilis." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the Minister impatiently, " I wish ye 
 would let my niece alone, Leezibeth ! " 
 
 But the Minister was no less astonished than Coquette 
 had been when Leezibeth unfolded her tale, and made it 
 apparent that she had come to intercede for the young 
 French girl. Leezibeth stood at the door, and announced it 
 as her decision that the Minister was bound to see to his 
 niece's health and comfort more effectually than he had 
 done. She spoke, indeed, as if she dared the Minister to 
 refuse. 
 
 " And Sir Peter and my lady are coming here," continued 
 Leezibeth, " for I met them as they were going over to 
 Earlshope, and my lady spoke to me about Miss Cassilis, and 
 will doubtless ask her to visit her. Not only maun she visit 
 Castle Cawmil, but she maun stay there, sir, until the change 
 has done the lassie good." 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this, Leezibeth ? " said the 
 Minister. " Has she bewitched you ? Yesterday you would 
 have said of her, i She is a Samaritan, and hath a devil.' 
 Now she has become your Benjamin, as it were. What will 
 Andrew say ? " 
 
 " Let the body mind his peas and his pittawties, and no 
 interfere wi' me," said Leezibeth, with a touch of vigorous 
 contempt. 
 
 Nevertheless, Leezibeth had a conversation with her 
 husband very shortly after, and was a good deal more 
 cautious in her speech than was customary with her. When 
 Andrew came into the kitchen to have his dinner, she said — 
 
 "Andrew, my man, I'm thinkin' we dinna understand 
 they Romans. Could ye but see the gude books that that 
 lassie has wi' her, and see her read a bit o' one o' them 
 every night and every mornin' — indeed, I'm thinkin', 
 Andrew, the Romans maun be a kind o' religious folk, after a'." 
 
A HOROSCOPE. 83 
 
 Andrew said " Hm ! " and went on with his broth. 
 
 " I wonder," continued Leezibeth, regarding her husband 
 with some apprehension, " whether there is ony harm in the 
 bit pictures she has. It's my opeenion she doesna worship 
 them — as if they were a graven eemage — but has them, 
 maybe, to jog her memory. Ye ken, Andrew, that there was 
 a gran' difference atween the gowden calf that the children o' 
 Israel made and the brazen serpent that the Lord commanded 
 Moses to lift up in the wilderness." 
 
 " "Whatever is the woman at ? " muttered Andrew to him- 
 self, over his plate. 
 
 "The serpent was only a sign and a symbol, the for- 
 shadowin' what was to come ; and surely Moses kenned 
 what he was doin' and didna transgress. Now, Andrew, if 
 the Romans — children o' wrath as they are — have a bit 
 cross or a crucifix only as a sort 0' remembrance, there is 
 maybe no so muckle harm in it." 
 
 Andrew dropped his spoon into the broth, and sat bolt 
 upright in his chair. 
 
 "Am I listenin' or drcamin', woman ? What evil spirit 
 is it that has put these things into your mouth, and linked 
 \v wi' them whaus feet are set in hell? Are ye clean 
 daunert, woman, that ye should come as an apologist for 
 Bach folk, and tread the blood o' the covenant under foot ? 
 Nae won dcr they have their crucifixes and their picture — 
 for it is a judgment upon them that they maun look upon 
 Him whom they have pierced, and mourn their lost condition. 
 And it is this lassie that has done it a', as I said frae the 
 first. T was a sad day for us that she came to Airlie ; the 
 Man-' I. as never been itsel' since then. Yet never did I 
 think to hear such words from a woman well brought up as 
 ye have been; and it fears me to think what will be the 
 end o't." 
 
 " Bless me ! " said Leezibeth, testily, " I only asked for 
 your opeenion." 
 
 M And my opeenion is," said Andrew, " that the time is 
 Doming when ye will see this woman in her true colours, 
 and she will no longer he a snare to the feet o' them that 
 would walk decently and uprightly. Ye hae been lead awa 1 
 by the tempter, Leezibeth, and the fair things o' the world hae 
 been set before ye, and the kingdoms thereof, and your eyes 
 
 G 2 
 
84 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 are blinded. But there will come a day — and that soon — 
 when this Manse will see a change, and her that has entered 
 it will be driven forth to seek another people. Dinna be 
 beguiled in the meantime, Leezibeth. The end is comin 1 , 
 and her pictures and her crucifixes will not save her then." 
 
 " What do ye mean, Andrew ? " said his wife, who was 
 nearly in tears. " I am sure the lassie has done no wrong. 
 I declare my heart feels for her when I see her sittin' by the 
 window, a' by herself, looking out at naething, and a fair 
 ivecht o' weariness and patience on her face. If she had a 
 mother, now, to look after her and speak to her " 
 
 " And how long is it," said Andrew, " since ye hae taen 
 this interest in her ? How did she cast her wiles ower ye ? " 
 
 Leezibeth did not answer. She was thinking of the vague 
 and dreadful future which Andrew had been prophesying. 
 
 u Let her alone — leave her to hersel'," said Andrew. " I 
 warn ye against this woman, Leezibeth, as I hae warned the 
 Minister, though he would tak nae heed, and leaves her wi' 
 a' her idolatrous implements free to work destruction in the 
 midst o' a decent and God-fearing house. Yet in time this 
 will be changed ; and we will have to cast out the serpent. 
 * I will hedge up thy way with thorns, and make a wall, that 
 she shall not find her paths. And she shall follow after her 
 lovers, but she shall not overtake them, and she shall seek 
 them, but shall not find them.' " 
 
 " Who is that you are talking about ? Is it my cousin ? " 
 said the Whaup, naughtily, as he suddenly stood before them. 
 He had come into the kitchen in order to get some glue for 
 a " dragon " which he was making for a younger brother, 
 and had heard the latter end of Andrew's bitter forecast. 
 
 As for Leezibeth, she had turned aside in deep distress. 
 Her newly awakened sympathy for the girl was rudely 
 troubled by these sinister anticipations of her husband ; 
 and she did not know what to think of them. But 
 Andrew, who had for the moment forgotten his broth, was 
 looking up when he saw the Whaup unexpectedly appear. 
 The old man's face, which was severe enough as he spoke, 
 assumed a deep frown on his seeing his enemy ; he was 
 evidently annoyed at being " caught," and yet determined 
 to brave it out. 
 
 "Why, you can't eat your dinner without stopping to 
 
A HOROSCOPE. 85 
 
 talk spite and scandal ! " said the Whaup, with a curl of his 
 lip. "Can't you leave that to women? And a pretty 
 Daniel you are, with your prophecies, and your judgments, 
 and your warnings ! — but if you will be a Daniel, by 
 Jingo ! I'll make this house worse to you than any den of 
 lions ever you were in in your life ! " 
 
 The Whaup went out and summoned a secret conclave of 
 his brothers. The Vehmgericht met in the hay-loft. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SIR PETER AND LADY DRUM. 
 
 Coquette, sitting quietly in the general parlour, the 
 Minister being busy with his reading, heard voices in the 
 hall, and one of them startled her. Indeed, she suddenly 
 put her hand to her heart, having felt a quick flutter, as of 
 pain ; and a tinge of colour came to her pale face. The 
 next moment Leezibeth announced Sir Peter and Lady 
 Drum, and Lord Earlshope ; and these three entered the 
 room. 
 
 Sir Peter was a short, stout, rosy-cheeked, and fair- 
 liiiired man, who wore a suit of light grey, and had a big 
 diamond ring on his finger. There was a pleasant ex- 
 pression in his face ; a frolicsome look in his eyes ; and his 
 talk, which was as often as not a monologue addressed to 
 himself, was interrupted by his humming snatches of gay 
 airs, addressed to the window, or the fireplace, or the 
 picture at which he chanced to be looking. On this 
 occasion, however, he had duties to perform ; he went 
 briskly forward to shake hands with the Minister ; he was 
 introduced to Coquette ; and then, and with some merry 
 little remark, he led forward his wife to the young girl. 
 
 Coquette found herself confronted by a most striking- 
 looking woman — one who might have sat for a picture of 
 a threat lady of the last century. Lady Dram was a 
 till, elderly, upright person, with a keen face which was 
 yet kindly in the severity of its features, and with a fine 
 Lead of grey hair, elaborately arranged. Lady Drum was 
 widely known in the neighbourhood for her inflexible 
 judgments on people's conduct, her generous but scrapu- 
 
86 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL 
 
 lously calculated aid to all who were in heed, and her skill 
 in medicine, which she loved to practise ; and it was a 
 popular mystery how this stately and imposing lady could 
 have married the gay little gentleman who was now her 
 husband. Yet they agreed remarkably well, and seemed to 
 have a mutual esteem for each other. She bore with great 
 equanimity his perpetual jokes, his ceaseless and rambling 
 talk, his irrelevant tunes and airs ; while he was fond to 
 address her as his " jewel," and declare that she had saved 
 his life twenty times with her physic. Of all the families in 
 the county the Drums were the only people whom Lord 
 Earlshope was ever known to visit ; and his regard and liking 
 for the grave and noble-looking lady of Castle Cawmil had 
 even led him to permit himself to be dosed and doctored 
 upon occasions. Sometimes they corresponded ; and the 
 contents of Lady Drum's letters chiefly consisted in 
 motherly advice about the use of flannel in spring time, 
 and the great virtues of some new herb she had discovered. 
 As for Sir Peter, Earlshope seldom saw him when he 
 visited Castle Cawmil. Sir Peter was anywhere — every- 
 where — but in his own house. He flitted about the 
 country, enjoying himself wherever he went ; for the 
 number of his friends was legion ; while Lady Drum 
 attended to her poultry-yard and her patients at home. 
 
 Coquette found fixed upon her a pair of severe and 
 scrutinising eyes ; but there was something in the appear- 
 ance of the tall, grey-haired woman which she could not 
 help admiring and even liking. When she spoke — which 
 she did in a grave and deliberate fashion, with a consider- 
 ably marked Scotch accent — her voice had all the softness 
 which her features lacked. 
 
 " I hope you will find Airlie a pleasant place," said Lady 
 Drum, still retaining Coquette's hand. 
 
 " Dull — dull — dull," said Sir Peter, looking out of the 
 window, and humming to himself. " Very dull — very dull 
 — very dull. Ha, ha ! Hm, hm ! Ha, ha ! " 
 
 "And we shall hope to see you often at Castle Cawmil," 
 continued Lady Drum. 
 
 " I thank you," said Coquette, simply, but making no 
 promise. 
 
 Lady Drum at once turned to the Minister. 
 
SIR PETER AND LADY DRUM. S7 
 
 " Your housekeeper has been telling me that your niece 
 is very much in want of a change. I can see it. The web 
 weather has kept her indoors. She wants to be sent out 
 into the air, with companions and amusement; and I 
 would even recommend a little tansy or, perhaps, gentian 
 root. If she were with me for a week or two I might try 
 the Caribbean cinchona, which has proved an excellent 
 tonic within my own experience ; but as for horse-chestnut 
 bark, which some prefer to use, I do not hold wi' that in 
 any case. Lord Earlshope will tell ye, Mr. Cassilis, that 
 the Caribbean cinchona " 
 
 "Did me a world of good," said Lord Earlshope. 
 " Indeed I was quite ashamed to get well so rapidly, and 
 deprive my amiable physician of the chance of watching the 
 effects of her cure. In fact, I got so ridiculously well that 
 I had no occasion to drink any of the coltsfoot wine that 
 Lady Drum was good enough to send me. Shall I transfer 
 it to you, Miss Cassilis, when you become one of Lady 
 Drum's patients ? " 
 
 " I will take it — if it is nice," said Coquette. 
 
 Lady Drum did not like this way of treating the subject, 
 especially as her husband was moving about the room from 
 place to place, and humming a series of reflections on 
 physic generally, which interfered with the dignity of the 
 situation. 
 
 " Fine thing, physic — grand thing, physic — hm ! hm ! — 
 old woman comes and gets her physic, and sixpence; — Inn, 
 ha ! — drinks the sixpence, and flings away the physic — with 
 a * God bless all doctors — if possible.' Hm, hm ! hm, hm ! 
 ha, ha ! Capital garden that of yours, Mr. Cassilis — 
 capital — too much like a wilderness, perhaps. Got the old 
 pony in the stables yet — old Bess with the swallow-tail ? 
 Itemember how the Hielandman thought the flicht o' a 
 swallow was like a squint lum ? " 
 
 " What is that ? " said Earlshope. 
 
 " Untranslatable — untranslatable," carolled Sir Peter. 
 "'Bekass it wass a crookit flue.' More untranslatable 
 still, isn't it ? "\\ r e must be going, my lady." 
 
 But my lady had got into a very confidential chat with 
 Coquette, and had even aired a few French phrases to show 
 that she had been used to polite accomplishments in her 
 
8S A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 youth. She had been to Paris, also ; had seen the Place de 
 la Bastille ; and considered herself profound in the history 
 of the capital. Their talk, nevertheless, was chiefly of Airlie, 
 and of Coquette's experiences there. 
 
 " I did like the place better when I came here," said the 
 girl. " Much better. Yet, it is pretty, you know — when 
 there is sun, and it is not cold. It is always the same thing 
 at Airlie — the same place, the same people, the same things 
 to do each "day. That is tiresome when one is indoors in the 
 rain — when one is out in good days there is variety. If you 
 will let me visit you, I shall be joyous — joyful — no, I mean 
 I shall be glad to visit you and see you. And will you come 
 to Airlie often ? I have no lady-friend in this country, you 
 know — only my uncle and the boys — and if you will be 
 so kind to come and see me, it will be a great pleasure to 
 me." 
 
 " But I am an old woman," said Lady Drum. " I should 
 be a poor companion for you." 
 
 " But I have always lived with old people," said Coquette, 
 somewhat too bluntly ; "I do like old people better than 
 young." 
 
 Lady Drum was puzzled. Why did this young creature 
 talk so sadly, and show none of the liveliness and hope 
 natural to her age ? Surely, with her graceful and well- 
 formed figure, her clear dark eyes, and the healthy red of her 
 lips that were obviously meant to laugh, she ought to have 
 plenty of spirit and life ? Lady Drum had never seen the 
 true Coquette— the Coquette to whom every day was a 
 holiday, and every incident in it a glad experience ; but 
 she half divined that the pale, pretty, dark-eyed girl who 
 sat beside her, and who had an ease of manner which was 
 the perfection of simplicity, was not strung up to her natural 
 pitch of health and enjoyment. Lady Drum had never 
 heard Coquette laugh in the open air, or sing to herself in 
 the garden ; but she had a suspicion that the beauty of the 
 girl's face was paler than it ought to be. 
 
 " Quassia ! " said Lady Drum suddenly, and Coquette 
 looked startled ; but presently the other said — " No. We 
 must try something else first. Castle Cawmil would be 
 tiresome just now, with an old woman like me in it. By 
 and by, my lassie, you must come and see me when I have 
 
SIR PETER AND LADY DRUM. 89 
 
 got together some young folks ; and we shall have half the 
 gentlemen in Ayrshire fighting for the first quadrille." 
 
 " Is there dancing at your house ? " said Coquette, with 
 interest. 
 
 " Dancing ! Yes, as much dancing as young lassocks 
 like you should have — wha will not be persuaded to take 
 any other sort o' exercise." 
 
 " I was told it was evil here," said Coquette, remember- 
 ing certain of Leezibeth's orations. 
 
 " Evil ! evil ! " said Lady Drum. " If there was much 
 evil in it, it wouldna set its foot within my doors. But 
 then, ye see, Miss Cassilis, this is a minister's house, and a 
 minister must be discreet— no to give offence, as it were." 
 
 She turned to Lord Earlshope, who had been conversing 
 with the Minister. "Lord Earlshope, do ye mind that you 
 pressed me to make use of your yacht when occasion 
 suited ? " 
 
 " Certainly I do," said Earlshope. " She is quite at 
 your service — always ; and just at present she is in capital 
 cruising order. Do you propose to take Miss Cassilis for a 
 run up some of the lochs ? " 
 
 "Indeed, it was the very thing I was thinking of," said 
 Lady Drum. 
 
 " Then you have only to drive to Ardrossan any day you 
 choo3e, and give Maxwell his sailing orders. He is a steady 
 old fellow, and will take every care of you." 
 
 Coquette listened mutely, with her eyes fixed on the 
 ground. Lord Earlshope, then, proposed that she and Lady 
 Drum should go by themselves ? — she did not think it very 
 civil. 
 
 " I had some notion of asking Mr. Cassilis to form a pirty 
 and go for a short cruise, but I dismissed it as chimerical. 
 Perhaps you will be more successful if you try." 
 
 "Now tell me," said Lady Drum, with a business-like air, 
 " how many you can take on board." 
 
 " Why, half the population of Airlje, or thereabouts. But 
 there is one very grand state-room which you ladies could 
 share between you ; and as for your gentlemen friends, you 
 might ask as many as had been accustomed to the exigencies 
 of yachts — myself among the number, I hope. As for Sir 
 Peter " 
 
90 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " cried Sir Peter, gaily. " No yachting for 
 me — sleeping in a hole — washing out of a tea-cup — wet to 
 the skin all day — ha, ha ! hm, hm ! ha, ha ! No yachting 
 for me — off to Peebles on Tuesday — then back to Edinburgh 
 the week after — my lady may go if she likes." 
 
 " Mr. Cassilis, may we reckon on you ? " said Lady Drum, 
 severely ignoring her husband's volatility. " Your niece 
 demands some change of the kind ; and I have entered 
 into a contract long ago with Lord Earlshope about the 
 yacht." 
 
 " You need not be frightened by what Sir Peter says," 
 observed Lord Earlshope, with a smile. " On board a sixty- 
 ton yacht you are not put to such dreadful inconveniences. 
 Shall I add my entreaties to those of Lady Drum ? If you 
 could get away from your duties for a week or two, it would 
 be a pleasant holiday at this season ; and, if you like, I will 
 go with you for a few days, to see you all comfortably 
 settled." 
 
 There was positively a blush on the pale grey face of the 
 Minister. The notion of taking a holiday for the mere 
 purpose of pleasure was quite startling to him — had, in fact, 
 something uncanny about it. If the proposal, indeed, had 
 not been made in the first instance by Lady Drum — whose 
 decision as to matters of propriety was law throughout the 
 district — he would not even have considered it for a 
 moment. 
 
 " 1 cannot give an answer out-of-hand," he said, gravely, 
 and yet with some hesitation. " Doubtless it is a tempting 
 and a kind offer ; but there are other obligations binding on 
 us than our own wishes " 
 
 " Now, Mr. Cassilis," said Lady Drum, " have you not 
 mentioned to me that you greatly hoped for some opportunity 
 of giving young Mr. M'Alister your pulpit for the day — 
 an honour that he has fairly set his heart on ? " 
 
 " But I should like to be present to witness his trial," said 
 the Minister, fighting against himself. 
 
 "Ye may trust him — ye may trust him," said Lady Drum, 
 decisively. "He is as safe as an auld horse with blinders 
 on. No fear o' him alarming the congregation wi' new 
 doctrine — he hasna spunk enough to be dangerous." 
 
 This somewhat doubtful testimony to the intellectual 
 
SIR PETER AND LADY DRUM. 91 
 
 qualifications of the young man carried some weight, evi- 
 dently, and Mr. Cassilis then turned to his niece. 
 
 " Catherine," said he, solemnly, " you have heard Lady 
 Drum's proposal — would it please you to go ? " 
 
 " Oh, very much," said Coquette, " if — if my cousin could 
 also go." 
 
 The Minister stared : how had the Whaup come to be of 
 such consequence ? 
 
 11 Do you mean my friend Tom ? " said Lord Earlshopc. 
 " Why, of course he can go. There is nothing to hinder 
 him." 
 
 Coquette was very grateful ; and though she did not put 
 her gratitude into words, there was a brighter look on her 
 face than had been there for many a day. The Minister 
 said he would consider the matter ; and — if he saw that his 
 duties to his parishioners would not suffer — he hoped to be 
 able to take his niece on this voyage of health. 
 
 When the visitors had gone, Coquette went outside to look 
 for the Whaup. She found him in the garden — inclined to 
 resume his attitude of hostility on account of this appearance 
 of Earlshope at the Manse. 
 
 " Tom," she said, " I do wish to speak to you — to ask 
 why you avoid me — when you were my good companion for 
 a long time. Why should we quarrel ? " 
 
 " Quarrel ! " said the Whaup — as if he scorned the idea of 
 his bothering himself to quarrel with anybody — "I haven't 
 quarrelled ; I haven't time to quarrel. But I suppose you 
 are come to be penitent and all that ; and probably you will 
 cry. I don't like to see you cry ; so I'll make friends at 
 once if you like." 
 
 " Is that how you do make friends in Scotland ? " said 
 Coquette, with a laugh in her eyes, — " standing a yard off — 
 looking fierce — and speaking harsh." 
 
 "Oh, I will kiss you, if you like," said the Whaup, 
 bluntly, and he advanced for that purpose. 
 
 " No," said Coquette, with the least change of manner — 
 and yet that delicate alteration in her tone and look 
 protected her as though with a wall of iron. " I did not 
 ask you. But I have something to say of very much 
 importance — oh ! such great importance ! And I wish you 
 to be kind as you once were — but I am afraid on this day. 
 
92 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 It is too cold — too dull. On a clear day you would say 
 yes." 
 
 " Don't talk so much, but tell me what it is," said the 
 Whaup. He was warding off, rudely, the insidious attacks 
 of his too pretty cousin. 
 
 " It is proposed we all go with Lord Earlshope's yacht on 
 a long voyage round the Islands — your papa and Lady 
 Drum, and me, too ; and it depends if you will go that I 
 will go." 
 
 " I go ! " said the "Whaup, with a burst of laughter. " In 
 Earlshope's yacht ! You must be mad ! " 
 
 " If you do not go, I will not go," said Coquette, simply. 
 
 " Perhaps it is better you shouldn't go," said the Whaup. 
 
 " Perhaps it is," said Coquette, turning away towards the 
 house. 
 
 The "VVhaup looked after her for a moment ; then he 
 followed her. 
 
 " Look here — what do you want to go for ? " he asked. 
 
 " I thought it would be pleasurable — the amusement, the 
 going away from this place a few days — the whole of us 
 together. But I am not anxious — I can stay at home." 
 
 " Why can't you go without me ? " said he. 
 
 " I wanted you for a companion," said Coquette, looking 
 down. "There will be nobody but your papa and Lady 
 Drum — Lord Earlshope only comes for a day or two, to see 
 us off." 
 
 He looked at her downcast face in a scrutinising way — he 
 was not sure about her. 
 
 " You know, I don't believe in you as I did at one time. 
 People who deceive you once will deceive you again," he said. 
 
 She looked up with an angry glance ; and bitter tears 
 sprang to her eyes. 
 
 " How can you say that ? " she said, indignantly. " You 
 are too hard — you have no mercy — you expect everyone to 
 be as rude as yourself. If you do not believe me, it is no 
 matter to me ; I can believe myself — that is enough." 
 
 With these words, she was again turning proudly away, 
 when he caught her by the hand and stopped her. 
 
 " You are a very peculiar young woman," he said. " You 
 are always firing off somehow or other — always very delighted 
 or else very miserable. Why don't you take things coolly, as 
 
SIR PETER AND LADY DRUM. 93 
 
 I do ? I don't say you're very bad because you went in for 
 little trifling useless bits of deceit. I suppose every woman 
 does that — it's their nature, and it's no use grumbling. If 
 you had any sense, you'd dry your eyes, get something on 
 your head, and come and see us dig up a bees' nest that I 
 have found." 
 
 " Yes, I will do that," she said, adding timidly — " and 
 ftbout the yacht — I am not to go ?" 
 
 He looked in her eyes just then ; and, oddly enough, that 
 glance somehow made him aware that he was holding her 
 hand — a little, white hand, that had a couple of slender 
 rings on one of the fingers. He dropped the hand at once ; 
 was uncomfortable and shy for a moment ; and then said 
 (lcs])erately, " Yes, I will go." 
 
 There was a flush of colour and gladness passed over the 
 pale face ; and she lifted his hand suddenly and pressed it 
 to her lips. Then she ran into the house, and presently 
 reappeared with her hat and some loose white thing that she 
 hurriedly flung round her neck. Her eyes were so bright 
 and joyous that the Whaup looked at her with amazement. 
 
 In a secret corner the Whaup found his brothers, armed 
 with large boughs. At once all set out for the moor where 
 the bees' nest had been discovered ; and the Whaup revealed 
 to Coquette that his , object in storming the nest was not 
 merely to secure the little underground nuts of honey. A 
 deed of vengeance had to be accomplished, and the captured 
 
 - were to aid in the task. 
 
 Now, Sir Peter and Lady Drum were returning to Earls- 
 hope for luncheon ; but they went out of their way to call 
 at a certain farm, the dairy-maid there being under her 
 lady si lip's treatment. It was when they had resumed their 
 route, and were driving along the high moorland road, that 
 they chanced to see in the distance a small procession of 
 ligiuvs, carrying branches of trees, 
 
 "Why yonder is Coquette running and laughing ! " said 
 Lord Earlshope. 
 
 "Illuming and laughing?" said Lady Drum. "Has 
 that dark-eyed little witch been cheating me ? " 
 
94 A DAUGHTER OF HETH, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE. 
 
 " "What is the matter with you ? " said the "Whaup to 
 Coquette. " For a few minutes you are alive, and in the 
 world ; and the next minute you are staring over there at the 
 sea, as if you could look through the Arran hills, and find 
 something miles and miles away on the other side.". 
 
 Coquette started, and recalled herself ; but there was no 
 tinge of embarrassment on the pale, clear, foreign face. She 
 said — 
 
 " I was thinking whether your papa would let us go with 
 Lady Drum." 
 
 " Then he has not promised to go ? " said the Whaup 
 sharply. 
 
 The dark eyes of Coquette began to look afraid. 
 
 " It is a strange thing," said the Whaup, " that women 
 will not tell you all the truth at once. They must keep 
 back things, and make mysteries, and try to deceive you. 
 Why didn't you say to me — ' There is a talk of our going a 
 trip in Earlshope's yacht. Will you come, if we are allowed 
 to go ? ' — instead of hinting that you were all fixed on 
 going, and I might as well join you ? Well, there, I am 
 not going to say another word. You can't help it. You 
 are only a woman." 
 
 " And you are only a boy," she said, looking up to the tall, 
 handsome lad beside her, — " very kind, and very generous, 
 and very stupid." 
 
 " I am older than you, at least," said the Whaup, who did 
 not like being called a boy. " And, if it was any use, I'd give 
 you the advice to drop these little tricks, and be honest." 
 
 "If my honesty were equal to your rudeness, I should 
 please you," said Coquette, with a smile. She was dis- 
 inclined just then to take umbrage. 
 
 " It will be a bold thing for my father to go away any- 
 where in the company of Lord Earlshope," observed the 
 Whaup. " It will be only his regard for your health that 
 will force him." 
 
 " Why ? " said Coquette, with a touch of asperity. 
 
A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE. 95 
 
 " Well, you know the reputation he has in the parish," 
 remarked the Whaup, coolly. " Perhaps everybody is wrong ; 
 but, at all events, Earlshope gives them every reason to 
 think ill of him. He never comes to church ; he walks 
 about on Sundays with his dogs ; or else he reads novels, and 
 smokes cigars. If I go with you, it is not to be friends with 
 him ; it is to protect you. Do you know, either he is mad 
 or one of these novels has turned his head ; for he has got 
 ■ place built at the end of the grounds like a wizard's cave, 
 with trickling water running over a lot of rocks ; and he 
 sits there at night to read, and in the rocks he has blue lights, 
 that make the place look as if it was haunted." 
 
 " That is stuff and humbug," said Coquette. 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 
 " I do mean it is nonsense, if that is better. It is an old 
 woman's story of the village — it is a fable — it is foolish." 
 
 " Very well, very well," said the Whaup. " But if you 
 have the courage to slip out of the house to-night when it is 
 dark, and run all the way there, I will take you in by an 
 opening that I know, and show you the place." 
 
 " Suppose he were there ? " said Coquette. 
 
 "No fear. The nights are getting too cold. Will you 
 
 go?" 
 
 " Perhaps," said Coquette. 
 
 By this time they had arrived at the spot of the moor 
 where the Whaup had discovered the bees' nest. He pointed 
 out to his companion a small hole in a piece of mossy ground 
 which was not covered by the heather ; and as she looked at 
 it, a large humble-bee came crawling out, paused for a 
 second, and then flew away with a low buzzing noise into 
 the distance. The Whaup threw off his jacket, and took his 
 spade in hand. 
 
 " Here," said he to Coquette, " protect yourself with this 
 branch. Knock them down when they come near you." 
 
 " Why ? " she said. " They will not harm me — I am not 
 harming them." 
 
 "That may be the case wi' bees in France," observed the 
 Whaup, disdainfully, " where they've got line manners ; but 
 ye'll find Scotch bees are different." 
 
 So he ordered one of the boys to stand by Coquette and 
 beat down any bees that might come her way ; threatening 
 
96 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 him with pains and penalties dire if one should touch her. 
 Then he struck the spade into the ground near the entrance 
 to the nest, and raised a large " divot." The channel to the 
 subterranean caves was now laid bare ; and one or two bees 
 that had been coming up were seen extricating themselves 
 from the loose earth. These Dougal straightway laid hold 
 of, by means of his handkerchief, and popped them into a 
 large paper bag which he held. 
 
 " What for you put them in a bag ? " said Coquette ; at 
 which all the boys burst out laughing. But they did not 
 tell her the secret. 
 
 The excitement of this work of destruction now began. 
 Out came the bees in dozens, buzzing up from the ruddy 
 earth only to be struck down by great branches of alder 
 borne by the boys ; while the intrepid Dougal, with his face 
 and hands quite unguarded, stood over the hole, and picked 
 up whichever of them looked only stunned. It was a 
 dangerous occupation ; for those inside the bag which had 
 partially recovered began to hum their discontent, and tried 
 to escape by the small opening which admitted their com- 
 panions in misfortune. Sometimes, indeed, the other boys 
 assisted, although they had sufficient occupation for them- 
 selves in beating back the winged host that flew round and 
 round their ears. 
 
 Suddenly "VVattie uttered a loud shriek, and set off running 
 as hard as he could. His companions perceived to their 
 dismay that about twenty or thirty bees had clustered round 
 his head, and were now following him, and hovering over 
 him as he ran. 
 
 " He's got the queen bee on his bonnet," said the Whaup. 
 " Throw down your bonnet — ye idiot ! — throw down your 
 bonnet ! " 
 
 Wattie was still within hearing, and had sufficient nerve 
 left him to do as he was bid. He snatched at his cap, 
 pitched it on the heather, and again made off ; but it was 
 soon apparent that he was out of danger. The bees had lit 
 upon the cap ; and from a safe distance he stood and re- 
 garded it with rather a rueful countenance. 
 
 The issue of bees had ceased. The boys laid down their 
 branches, and began to dig out with their fingers, from 
 among the red and sandy earth, the small brown combs of 
 
A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE. 97 
 
 honey, which were speedily transferred, sand and all, to their 
 mouth. The Whaup, of course, would not condescend to 
 such vulgar and childish practices ; but he produced a pen- 
 knife, and extracted some honey from one of the combs, 
 which Coquette was pleased to taste. 
 
 " What for you have bees in the bag ? " said Coquette, 
 as they prepared to go home — a simultaneous charge of 
 branches having cleared Wattie's cap. 
 
 "I told you," said the Whaup, "there was a deed of 
 vengeance to be done. In the stable there is a bag of corn, 
 which Andrew opens twice a day to get some for the pony. 
 We are going to put the bees in the bag — I suppose there's 
 mar a hundred of them. When Andrew plunges his hand 
 into the bag " 
 
 " you wicked boy ! " cried Coquette. 
 
 " You are the cause of it." said the Whaup. 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "I heard him calling ye all sorts o' names out of the 
 Bible — Satan quoting Scripture, you see — and I have warned 
 him before ; and now he'll get it." 
 
 " The bees, they will kill him," said Coquette. 
 
 " So much the better," retorted the Whaup ; " he is a 
 mi i sauce." 
 
 " But what is that on your hand — that is a sting, is it 
 not ? " she said, looking at a considerable swelling, which 
 was visible on the Whaup's forefinger. 
 
 "Oh, one sting is nothing," he said, carelessly, "unless 
 it's a wasp or a hornet. Did you ever burn out a nest of 
 hornets ? If you haven't, don't try." 
 
 " No," said Coquette, simply, " I'm not such a gowk." 
 
 "Well, that is pretty English!" observed the Whaup, 
 with a stare. 
 
 " Isn't it right ? I did hear you say it yesterday," 
 remarked Coquette, without any notion that she was turning 
 the tables on her critic. 
 
 So they drew near home again ; and the Whaup fancied a 
 shade came over his companion's face as they approached 
 the Manse. Perhaps it was the dull, grey day, which made 
 the old-fashioned little place look dull and solitary — that 
 made the moor look unusually bleak, and the long stretch of 
 country sombre and sad. 
 
 H 
 
c;8 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " I hope you are not tired," said the Whaup. 
 
 " Tired ? No," she said, with a certain languor. " Do 
 you think your papa will take us away from here for a little 
 while ? " 
 
 " How you harp on that yacht ! " rejoined the "Whaup, 
 good-naturedly. " I must go and persuade my father on 
 your behalf, I think." 
 
 " Will you do that ? " she said, with eagerness. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " and just now. Isn't he there in the 
 garden ? I hear him talking. Oh, it is the Schoolmaster, 
 who is delivering a lecture. Now, I will wager he is talking 
 about you." 
 
 " About me ? " 
 
 " Yes ; don't you know you are a dangerous character to 
 the whole village ? " 
 
 " I should like to know what he says about me," said 
 Coquette, proudly, advancing towards the wall which 
 surrounded the garden. 
 
 " But not that way," said the Whaup, taking her hand 
 and leading her off. " If you wish to know, you mustn't 
 hide and listen — although I suppose that is a woman's way. 
 You go into the Manse — I will go into the garden and bring 
 you word what the new ground of complaint is." 
 
 Leaving Coquette, therefore, the Whaup went round the 
 house, and boldly walked up to the place where Mr. Gillespie 
 and the Minister stood together. 
 
 " It is Earlshope who is catching it this time," said the 
 Whaup to himself, overhearing the name. 
 
 His father looked with some surprise on the approach of 
 his eldest son — who had rather a pugnacious look on his 
 face, by the way ; but the Schoolmaster was too intent upon 
 his choice phrases to heed. 
 
 "... than which, sir, nothing could be more deplorable, 
 or mortifying, as I may say," observed Mr. Gillespie. " But 
 I would give every man the due of his actions ; for, 
 although works are not in themselves saving, they may 
 be a sign — or, as some would term it, a symptom — of the 
 presence o' grace, even among the Gentiles who know not 
 the law, yet do the things that are written or inscribed in 
 the law." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Mr. Gillespie I " said the Minister, with an 
 

 A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE. 99 
 
 impatient twitch at his bunch of seals : " but ye said ye had 
 (•..me to tell me " 
 
 " Yes, sir, to inform ye of a circumstance which deserves, 
 or is entitled to, some remark. I have been made the 
 means — or, 1 may say, the humble instrument — of conveying 
 to the people of this parish no less a sum than one hundred 
 pounds sterling, to be expended, sir, .as those who have 
 authority among us may direct, for the good — or benefit — of 
 such as are — such as are — such as are, in fact, here. Ware 
 it — or as I ought to say — expend it as we best may on the 
 educational or worldly wants of the parish, it is all the same ; 
 and while I w T ould observe, sir, that the money cannot 
 heighten in value the services which you give — or rather 
 render to this parish — it being your duty, as I may express 
 it, to expound the prophecies and dig up spiritual gold and 
 silver for them that are of Zion, I would take your advice 
 wi 1 all humility as to how this sum is to be granted to, or 
 bestowed upon, the parish." 
 
 Mr. Gillespie paused, with the air of a man who had been 
 up to the occasion. He raised his large spectacles towards 
 the Minister's face, and proudly awaited the reply. 
 
 " Where got ye this money ? " said the Minister. 
 
 " Sir, from Lord Earlshope— some three days ago, with a 
 letter dated from some place in the north, in which his lord- 
 ship was pleased to say that it was but a whim of his. A 
 noble and a praiseworthy whim, said I to Mrs. Gillespie, on 
 iving the money, for his lordship, according to general 
 report, or, as I might say, rumour, is a poor man for one in 
 his station ; and as I would argue from facts, Mr. Cassilis, 
 rather than from idle hearsay, I am bold to observe that 
 there are in this very parish those who would look black 
 at his Lordship, and yet no bestow a bawbee on the relief 
 o 1 the poor. I wouldna, sir, cast — or, in other words, fling — 
 the first stone ; and if some would do as they see Lord 
 Earlshope do, I am thinking, sir, they would not — they 
 would not do — as — as, in fact, they do do." 
 
 Feeling that his eloquence was beginning to halt, the 
 Schoolmaster pulled out the identical letter and cheque 
 which had effected so extraordinary a change in his senti- 
 ments towards the owner of Earlshope. These he handed to 
 Mr. Cassilis, who took them and scanned them with equal 
 
 H 2 
 
Ida A DAUGHTER OF HETtt. 
 
 surprise and pleasure. The Minister even hinted that since 
 his lordship was so well-disposed to the parish, and 
 apparently inclined to make up for past forgetfulness, it 
 would be unbecoming of the parish not to meet his advances 
 in a similar friendly spirit. 
 
 " Precisely and exactly as I observed to Mrs. Gillespie this 
 morning, sir, not ten minutes — nay, when I recollect, not 
 above five minutes — indeed, I am sure three minutes could 
 not have elapsed — after the reading of the letter, or com- 
 munication I might call it, seeing what it holds. And Mrs. 
 Gillespie, sir, made an observation couched in homely 
 phrase — yet pertaining, or, as I might say, bearing upon this 
 point. She remarked that the test of a man's fair words was 
 when he put his hand in his pocket." 
 
 " It is sometimes so," said the Minister ; adding, with a 
 sly glance at the Schoolmaster, " perhaps, after all, Mr. 
 Gillespie, when my parishioners hear of Lord Earlshope's 
 generosity, they will not wonder at my receiving him at the 
 Manse, nor yet will they object to his speaking to my niece." 
 
 The Schoolmaster looked rather uncomfortable ; and tho 
 Whaup, behind his back, performed some derisive and 
 delighted antics of a vulgar nature. 
 
 " I maun e'en take a man as I find him, Mr. Cassilis," 
 said the Schoolmaster, forgetting his English in the warmth 
 of his self-defence. " If he alters for the better, what for 
 should I stick to my old opinion, like a flee to the wa' ? " 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said the Minister ; " but sometimes 
 it is our judgment that is mistaken in the first case, and it 
 behoves us to be cautious and charitable." 
 
 " No man ever accused me o' being without charity, in 
 moderation— in moderation," said the Schoolmaster, with his 
 spectacles glaring fiercely. " But I am no for that charity 
 that lets ye be led by the nose. I have my own opeenions — 
 charity is a good thing — a very good thing — but it needna 
 make a fool o' ye, and make people believe that ye are as 
 blind as Eli. No, sir, wi' due deference to you, I still 
 consider Lord Earlshope to be " 
 
 In his excitement the Schoolmaster had unconsciously 
 unfolded the cheque he held in his hands ; and he now 
 suddenly found himself looking at it. He did not finish the 
 sentence. He waved his hand, as though to say — ' These 
 
A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE. 101 
 
 bygones ; I was right, but it is no matter ; and Lord 
 Earlshope has mended." 
 
 " And what do ye propose to do with the money ? — not 
 that there will be any difficulty in finding suitable directions," 
 said the Minister. 
 
 " That," replied the Schoolmaster, with grave importance, 
 "is a matter for serious — and, I may add, patient — con- 
 sideration, in which, sir, I would earnestly desire your 
 assistance and advice. In the meantime, it is but fitting 
 (such is my humble opeenion) that acknowledgment of his 
 lordship's bounty should be made — and that not in a 
 formal manner, but in a friendly — a conciliatory manner, as 
 I may say, in which I will show his lordship that we of this 
 parish recognise, appreciate, and commend these approaches 
 — or overtures they might, I think, be properly called, on 
 his part ; and who knows, sir, but that encouragement of 
 tli is kind might have the effect of stimulating or exciting 
 his lordship to renew — I may say, in short, to repeat — these 
 attentions of a generous nature " 
 
 Mr. Gillespie stopped here, not sure whether he had got to 
 the end of his sentence or not. He then continued — 
 
 " I hope, sir, in your capacity of private friend of the young 
 nobleman, and as public and spiritual overseer of this parish, 
 you will convey to him our sense of what he has done ; and 
 if you could bring him and the parish closer together " 
 
 "At this present moment, on the contrary," said the 
 Minister, with a hesitating smile, " Lord Earlshope proposes 
 to carry me away from the parish. I have received an 
 invite, with some members of my household, to go on a 
 small voyage in his lordship's yacht, Lady Drum being the 
 instigator of the project, as I believe." 
 
 The spectacles of the Schoolmaster seemed to wax bigger. 
 
 " How do you think the parish would receive the proposal ? " 
 asked the Minister, rather timidly. 
 
 " I will make it my business to ascertain," replied the 
 Schoolmaster, with an air of authority. "Nay, further, 
 Mr. Cassilis, I will even go the length of advising your 
 puishioners to acquiesce. Why, sir, it is their duty. Lord 
 Earlshope, Mr. Cassilis, is a man to be encouraged — he must 
 be encouraged." 
 
 This was all that was wanted to confirm the Minister's 
 
io2 A bA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 decision. He had for some time back seen fit to abandon 
 the suspicions that had been suggested by his meeting 
 Lord Earlshope and Coquette on the moor ; and the only 
 question now was whether Coquette's health would be greatly 
 benefited by his accepting the invitation. 
 
 The Whaup made off at this moment, and went to 
 Coquette. 
 
 " You owe Gillespie a good turn for once," said he to her. 
 " The old fool has persuaded my father to go." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 COQUETTE LEAVES AIRLIE. 
 
 How brightly shone the sun on the welcome morning of 
 their departure ! — when Coquette, as she looked out to catch 
 a glimpse of the fair blue sea and the distant hills of Arran, 
 could scarce take time to curb the wildness of her dark hair. 
 Already the open window let her drink in the fresh morning 
 breeze ; she felt the warmth of the sun on her cheek. 
 Generally, at her toilette, she sang careless snatches of French 
 songs, or even endeavoured to imitate the Whaup's whistling 
 of a Highland reel ; but on this morning she was far too 
 excited for any such amusements. The face that had been 
 getting tired and wan of late was now flushed with happi- 
 ness ; and when at last she came running down-stairs, and 
 out into the garden — her white dress fluttering in the sun, 
 and her hair getting rather the better of the dark blue band 
 interwoven with it — she fairly overwhelmed the boys with 
 her demonstrations of affection and kindness. 
 
 The Whaup's brothers were practical young persons ; and, 
 though they still regarded this foreigner and Catholic as a 
 dangerous companion — as somebody who had to be ap- 
 proached with caution — they had discovered, at an early 
 period, that certain gold coins of French origin could be 
 transformed at Ardrossan into an honest and respectable 
 mintage. The amount of pocket-money which the reckless 
 young woman lavished upon her cousins (excepting the 
 Whaup, of course,) was appalling ; nor could the observant 
 Leezibeth make out whence came all the new pocket-knives, 
 tools, and similar boyish luxuries which she discovered about 
 
COQUETTE LEA VES AIRLIE. 103 
 
 the house. The boys themselves had an uneasy impression 
 that there was something desperately wicked in having so 
 much money ; and, indeed, had many private conversations 
 among themselves about the specious arguments with which 
 they might cheat the devil if he happened to put in a claim 
 for them, on account of extravagance. 
 
 " You must all be very good till I come back," she said, 
 now, " for I am going to bring you all presents. I will buy 
 you — what shall I buy you ? " 
 
 The boys began to laugh, but rather in a disappointed 
 way. 
 
 " There is but wan thing ye'll get to buy in the Hielands," 
 said Dougal, " and that's herrin'." 
 
 " And too good for you," said the Whaup, coming up, 
 " you greedy young pigs. If I hear you bargaining about 
 presents any more I'll present ye with a bottle o' hazel oil, 
 if ye ken what that is. Come along, Miss Coquette, and get 
 your breakfast, and then show me what luggage you have. 
 I dare say it's twice as big as I can allow." 
 
 " You allow ? Are you the master of the luggage ? " 
 
 " I am — as you'll find out," said he. " I have just taken 
 half the pile of things that Leezibeth had packed up for my 
 father and shunted them into a drawer. We don't mean to 
 go to the Sandwich Islands." 
 
 " Do we go to the Sandwich Islands ? " said Coquette, 
 amply. 
 
 " I said we don't mean to go there," repeated the Whaup, 
 with asperity ; " but I suppose you don't know where that is 
 — the French are so precious ignorant." 
 
 " Worse luck," said Coquette, with an expression of sin- 
 penitence which made the Whaup burst out laughing. 
 
 At length, some two hours afterwards, Coquette found 
 herself seated in the little dog-cart which had brought her 
 t ) Airlie. A sour man was Andrew Bogoe that day; and 
 sourer was he now. Nor word nor syllable would he utter ; 
 and the more vivacious and talkative Coquette became — 
 king to her uncle, who sat behind, the Whaup having 
 been sent off on foot — the deeper and sterner became the 
 gloom of his face. Perhaps he was none the less disposed to 
 predict evil of this appalling departure from the sober and 
 respectable routine of the Manse, because of a severe 
 
io-j. A DAUGHTER OF HETIL 
 
 encounter he had had with Leezibeth that morning. He 
 saw that Leezibeth had now gone wholly over to the enemy. 
 
 "When they reached the harbour and saw the shapely 
 vessel lying out at anchor, with her sails shining in the sun, 
 they perceived that both the Whaup and Lady Drum had 
 gone on board. Presently, the gig was put off from the 
 yacht, and in a few minutes Coquette and her uncle were 
 being pulled out by the four blue-jackets. Lord Earlshope 
 was at the gangway to receive them. 
 
 " Why does he not wear a sailor's uniform ? " said Coquette 
 to Mr. Cassilis, as they drew near. " He does not seem to 
 care about anything." 
 
 When they stepped on board — and Coquette had looked 
 round with wonder on the whiteness of the deck, and the 
 scrupulous neatness everywhere visible — Lady Drum came 
 forward, and kissed her, and said, 
 
 " My dear child, I hope you know about yachts, for I 
 don't, and I feel most uncomfortably in the way of every- 
 body." 
 
 " Yes, I know a little," said Coquette. 
 
 " Why, all you have to do," said Lord Earlshope, coming 
 forward, " is to sit in the cockpit there — an innovation I 
 introduced for the very purpose of getting ladies out of the 
 way during a race. You need have no fear of getting hit 
 on the head by the boom, or of being washed overboard 
 either ; and if a wave should come over the stern " 
 
 " I hope there will be nothing of the kind," said Lady 
 Drum, looking indignantly out towards the sea. 
 
 The prospect there was sufficiently reassuring. There was 
 a light breeze from the south-west which was just enough to 
 ruffle the water and make it of a darker blue. Overhead the 
 sky was clear and calm ; and the peaks of Arran were faint 
 and aerial in the mid-day mist. Everything promised a 
 pleasant run up to Loch Fyne, if only the wind would last. 
 
 While the men were getting the vessel under weigh, Lord 
 Earlshope's visitors went down below ; and if Coquette had 
 been pleased with the prettiness of the yacht above, she was 
 now charmed with the decorations of the state-rooms and 
 saloon. The transparent flowers painted on the skylights — ■ 
 the ornamentation and gilding of what she profanely called 
 the walls — the innumerable little arrangements for comfort 
 
COQUETTE LEAVES A1RLIE. 105 
 
 —all these were matter for praise ; but the climax of her 
 delight was found in a small harmonium which was placed 
 in the saloon. 
 
 " I should have got a piano for you," said Lord Earlshope 
 — making no secret of his having studied her pleasure in the 
 matter — " but they don't stand the sea so well. Now, Lady 
 Drum, will you take Miss Cassilis into your cabin ; and when 
 you have made yourselves thoroughly at home — and got out 
 some wrappers for the sea breezes, you know — you will find 
 luncheon awaiting you here. Mr. Cassilis, you will take a 
 glass of sherry, won't you ? You will always find it there. 
 Mr. Tom, do you shoot ? " 
 
 " I should think so ! " said the Whaup, who had 
 apparently forgotten his sentiments of antagonism to Lord 
 Earlshope. 
 
 " I thought you would. You will find my breech-loader 
 in your cabin ; and the steward will give you cartridges if 
 you ask him. Now I must go on deck." 
 
 " I never thought he had so much snap in him," said the 
 Whaup familiarly to his father. 
 
 " So much what ? " said the Minister, severely. 
 
 " Why, life— energy. I thought he was rather a muff — 
 with his white fingers, and his lazy lounge and that. But 
 he's not as bad a fellow as people say." 
 
 " Lord Earlshope would be pleased to know that you 
 approve of him," said his father; but the Whaup lost the 
 sarcasm, for he had already run up the companion, to see 
 what was going on above. His father, following, found that 
 the Whaup had clambered half-way up the ratlines, to get a 
 view of the surrounding scenery as the yacht stood out 
 to sea. 
 
 When, some little time thereafter, the steward's bell called 
 upon Lady Drum and Coquette to come forth from their 
 cabin, the latter was heard to say — 
 
 " Why don't we start, then ? I do not like to remain in 
 harbour." 
 
 But the moment she entered the saloon and saw the table 
 sliuhtly heeling over, she said — 
 
 " We are at sea ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Earlshope ; " and missing a pretty part 
 of the coast. So you ought to hasten your luncheon," 
 
106 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " But what is the matter with the table ? " said Lady Drum, 
 making an effort to put it at right angles to herself. Coquette 
 screamed, and caught her hand. 
 
 " If you put it straight," said Lord Earlshope, laughing, 
 " you will see everything fly to the ground." It was days, 
 indeed, before Lady Drum could believe that this tumbling 
 table was secure ; and many a time she had to check herself 
 from instinctively " putting it straight." 
 
 Pleasant, indeed, on that bright and quiet afternoon was 
 their run up the broad channel between Bute and Arran. Far 
 away the coast of Ayrshire, which they had left, became paler 
 and more pale ; while on before them successive bays opened 
 out, with silent hills overlooking them, and here and there 
 the white glimmer of a sea bird in their shadows. Down in 
 the south, the mountains that rise from the lonely Loch Ranza 
 had caught some clouds about their peaks, and were dark and 
 sombre, as the mountains of Arran generally are ; but all in 
 front of them — the smooth slopes of Bute and Inch Marnoch, 
 the craggy wonders of the Kyles, the still shores of Cowal and 
 Cantire — lay steeped in a soft autumnal haze, with the rich 
 colours of heather and fern only half glimmering through the 
 silver veil. It was like a voyage into dreamland — so beautiful 
 was the land and sea and sky around them — and so still. 
 
 Such was the manner of their setting out. And in the 
 evening they drew near the little harbour of Tarbert ; and 
 all the west was aglow as if with fire. Even after they had 
 dropped anchor, and the mountains of Cowal were black as 
 night, there was a wan glare over the sky and out on the 
 broad bosom of the loch. Then through the pallor of the 
 twilight came the stars, growing and burning in the darkness, 
 until Coquette thought they seemed just above the points of 
 the tall masts. She still lingered on deck, when all the others 
 had gone below. The sails were down, lights run up, and 
 through the skylights of the saloon came a dull yellow glow, 
 and a sound of voices which spoke of a comfortable and 
 happy party beneath. Why was it that she was so sad ? She 
 had had her heart's wish ; she was setting out on the longed- 
 for excursion ; yet here she was alone in the stern of the 
 boat, looking up to the throbbing wonders of the heavens, or 
 down into the starry plain of the sea, and feeling strangely 
 isolated and miserable. 
 
COQ UE TTE LEA VES A I RUE. 107 
 
 Lord Earlshope came in search of her. 
 
 " Why do you remain here alone ? " he said. 
 
 " I do not know," said Coquette, rising wearily. 
 
 " They want you down below." 
 
 " I will go down ; but it is very beautiful up here. I have 
 never seen the stars so near. They seem to be almost touch- 
 ing the top of the hill there." 
 
 "You will have many opportunities of admiring the 
 magical sunsets and the clear nights of these high latitudes. 
 You may make the cruise as long as you please, you know." 
 
 " But you do not go with us ? " she asked, with some little 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " For a day or two, to give you a start. Unless I am found 
 to be so useful that you all ask me to stay." 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you will come all the way with us ? " said 
 Coquette, somewhat too eagerly. 
 
 " Perhaps I may." 
 
 Coquette went down into the cabin then ; and everybody 
 was struck during the evening by her extreme amiability and 
 cheerfulness. She quite won the heart of Lady Drum ; who 
 siid that the effects of the sea air on the young lady were 
 surprising and gratifying, and needed only to be supplemented 
 by a little gentian. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LOCHFYNE. 
 
 11 It is Eden : it is the Garden of the Lord ! " said the 
 Minister ; and the sad and sunken eyes that had grown dim 
 over many books — that had grown weary, too, perhaps, with 
 the bleakness of the upland moor — looked abroad over one of 
 the fairest scenes in the world, and drank in the quiet and the 
 clear sunshine of it. Far in front of him stretched the pale- 
 bine plain of Lo'hfyne, that was as still, and smooth, and 
 motionless as the pale-blue sky above. From this point of 
 the Knapdale coast away up to the fork of Loch Gilp there 
 was not a ripple on the calm surface j but over at the 
 opposite shore a slight breeze was bearing' up from the south, 
 and there the blue of the water was intense and almost dark. 
 Beyond this azure plain lay the brown and ruddy colours of 
 
108 A DAUGHTER OF BETH. 
 
 the Cowal hills — soft and smooth in the mist of the heat ; 
 while along them moved great dashes of shadow thrown by 
 the slowly-passing clouds above. Through the stillness of 
 the sunshine they heard the soft whistle of the curlew ; they 
 saw the solan flap his heavy white wings far down towards 
 Arran ; they watched the solitary heron standing among the 
 brown weeds out at the point of the shore — while now and 
 again a sea-trout would leap a foot into the air, and fall with 
 a splash again into the clear water. Then all around them, 
 where they sat on the pebbly beach, was the drowsy warmth 
 of the sun — glittering sharply on the birch and hazel bushes 
 by the road — gleaming more softly on the great grey 
 boulders — and dwelling mistily on the bushes, and heather, 
 and rocks of the hill-side. And all this was so still that it 
 scarcely seemed to be of this world ; the murmur of a stream 
 coming down through the trees — trickling coolly and unseen 
 beneath the tall ferns — had a far and mournful sound, like 
 the sound of distant music in a dream. 
 
 The silence was broken by Coquette trying to whistle 
 " The Last Rose of Summer." Then she uttered a little cry 
 of delight as she saw Lord Earlshope and Lady Drum coming 
 along the road underneath the trees ; and when at length 
 they had drawn near and had come down to the shore, 
 Coquette said — 
 
 " Please, Lady Drum, will you tell me why my uncle 
 becomes sad when he sees a pretty day and a pretty place. 
 The good weather does not cheer him " 
 
 " It cheers you, at all events," said Lady Drum, with a 
 kindly scrutiny of the girl's face. " It gives you a colour 
 and a brightness that makes an old woman like me feel young 
 again only to look at ye. How have you been employing 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " I ? I have been trying to whistle as my cousin whistles, 
 but I cannot do it like him, perhaps because I have no 
 pockets. He never is able to whistle unless he puts his hands 
 in his pockets, and looks careless, and stands so ! Then I 
 have watched the grey heron out at the rocks there, and I 
 have been wishing he would get a fish." 
 
 " I have been wishing I had a gun," said the practical 
 Whaup, with obvious discontent. 
 
 "And my uncle — he has been sitting and looking far 
 
LOCHFYNE. leg 
 
 aWay — looking tired, too, and weary — just as if he were still 
 in church." 
 
 " Listening to one of my own sermons, I suppose ? " said 
 the Minister, taking his niece by the ear. " I hope I have 
 not been oppressing you with my dulness ? " 
 
 " Ah, no, no I " she said. " But I did not speak to you ; 
 you were thinking of old years gone away, were you not ? " 
 
 The Minister looked at the girl : her eyes seemed to have 
 divined what he was thinking of. But presently she turned 
 to Lord Earlshope, and said — 
 
 " "We go not to-day ? We do not perhaps to-morrow 
 either ? " 
 
 "Why," said Lord Earlshope, with a smile, "you might 
 turn your newest accomplishment to some use. Could you 
 whistle a breeze to us ? We are helpless, you see, until we 
 wind." 
 
 " I thought an English milord never wanted for anything 
 that he did not get," she said, with a glance of grave 
 surprise. 
 
 The Whaup began to think that his cousin was a deal too 
 clever to be safe. 
 
 " Would it grieve you so much to stay a few days here ? " 
 said Lord Earlshope. 
 
 "Not at all," said Coquette; "I should prefer to stay 
 here always." 
 
 " I have had the yacht taken round to Maol-Daroch Bay 
 — that little shingly creek south of the harbour — since you 
 sjioke of the smell of the fishing-nets this morning. And 
 when you wish to go into the village you must ask the 
 captain to send you round in a boat. By the way, the 
 will be here presently. I thought you might be too 
 tired to care about walking back." 
 
 " It was very kind of you to think of all that," said 
 Coquette, timidly, and looking to the ground. 
 
 It had already come to be regarded as a matter of course 
 that everybody should consider Coquette as of first im- 
 portance, and obey her slightest whim, and anticipate her 
 smallest wishes. But the most systematic and persistent 
 of her slaves was Earlshope himself, who seemed to have 
 discovered a new method of passing the time in trying to 
 please this young person by small attentions ; and these he 
 
no A DAUGHTER OF HEM. 
 
 offered in a friendly and familiar way which robbed them of 
 any significance they might otherwise have had. The small 
 tyrant, with the dark eyes, and the delicate, finely-formed 
 face, accepted these ministrations in that spirit of careless 
 amiability which was natural to her. Sometimes — but 
 rarely — she would appear to be struck by this or that act of 
 kindness, and seem almost disturbed that she could not 
 convey a sense of her gratitude in the broken tongue she 
 spoke ; but ordinarily she passed from hour to hour in the 
 same happy unconsciousness and delight in the present — 
 glad that all her friends were around her, and comfortable — 
 glad that she could add to their enjoyment by being cheerful 
 and merry. Selfish she certainly was not ; and there was 
 no sort of trouble or pain she would not have endured to 
 give pleasure to those who were her friends ; but she would 
 have been blind indeed had she not perceived that to give 
 pleasure she had only to allow herself to be pleased — that 
 her mere presence diffused a sense of satisfaction through 
 the small meetings that were held in the saloon of the yacht, 
 when the swinging lamps were lit, and the stars overhead 
 shut out, and the amusements of the evening begun. The 
 Whaup used to say that she was continually making pretty 
 pictures ; and he even condescended at times to express 
 approval of the neatness of her dress, or to suggest altera- 
 tions in the disposal of her big masses of dark-brown hair. 
 
 " And in time, you know," he remarked to her, " you will 
 get to talk like other people." 
 
 " I do not wish to talk like you," said Coquette. 
 
 " I can at least make myself intelligible," he retorted. 
 
 " Do not I become intelligible ? " asked Coquette, meekly ; 
 and then, of course, the least symptom of doubt on her part 
 disarmed the Whaup's criticism, and made him declare that 
 she spoke very well indeed. 
 
 The measured splash of oars was now heard ; and the 
 heron slowly rose into the air with a few heavy flaps of his 
 wings, and proceeded to settle on a farther promontory. 
 The gig, with its four rowers, came round the point ; and 
 in a few minutes the heavily-laden boat was on its way back 
 to the yacht. 
 
 Coquette was delighted with Maol-Daroch Bay ; she 
 insisted upon landing at once ; and she and the Whaup 
 
LOCHFYNE. in 
 
 accordingly ran up the white shingle, and made for the 
 hill-side. Coquette stood upon a rock that was perched 
 high among the heathery roughnesses of the hill, and waved 
 her handkerchief to those who had by this time gone on 
 board the yacht. Lord Earlshope answered with his cap, 
 and Mr. Cassilis with his walking-stick ; Lady Drum had 
 gone below. 
 
 " Now we shall go up this hill, and round, and down, and 
 b ick by the rocks of the shore," said Coquette. 
 
 " What's the use ? " said the Whaup. " I haven't a gun ; 
 and if I had, I daren't shoot up here." 
 
 " Why must you kill something wherever you go ? " said 
 Coquette. 
 
 " Why must you scramble along a hill, all for nothing, 
 like a goat ? " demanded the Whaup. 
 
 " Because it is something to do," answered Coquette. 
 
 " You are a pretty invalid ! " remarked the Whaup. 
 " But here, give me your hand — if you want climbing, I'll 
 give you enough of it." 
 
 " No," said Coquette, planting her foot firmly. " I like 
 you when you are gentle, like Lord Earlshope ; but I am 
 not going to be pulled by a big rough boy." 
 
 " I have a great mind to carry you against your will," 
 said the Whaup, a demon of mischief beginning to laugh in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I would kill you if you tried ! " said Coquette, with a 
 sudden frown. 
 
 He came forward and took her hand quite gently. 
 
 M Have I vexed you ? Are you really angry, Coquette ? 
 Yon didn't think I was serious, did you ? You know I 
 wouldn't vex you, if I got the world for it." 
 
 A certain quivering of the lip, for a moment uncertain, 
 r. solved itself into a smile — and that into a laugh — and 
 then Coquette said — 
 
 " You are a very good boy, Tom, when you like. Some 
 one will be very fond of you some day." 
 
 The Whaup grew more serious then ; and, indeed, it 
 seemed to Coquette that ever after that time her cousin's 
 manner towards her was more reserved and grave than it 
 had been before. He did not try to drag her into his 
 boyish pranks, as he had been wont to do. On the contrary, 
 
t-tfl A DAUGHTER OF HETH. % 
 
 he himself seemed somewhat altered : and at times she 
 caught him in a deep reverie. He began to talk more 
 about his coming winter studies at the Glasgow University ; 
 and was even found, on rare occasions, absorbed in a book. 
 
 He did not cease to exhibit those frank and manly ways 
 which she had always liked ; nor did he even put any marked 
 restraint on his relations with her. He was as impertinently 
 straightforward as ever, if the neatness of her wristbands 
 called for commendation, or if the streak of dark blue 
 ribbon did not sufficiently curb the wildness of her hair. 
 But he w T as more serious in his ways ; and sometimes she 
 caught him looking at her from a distance, in a cold way, 
 as if she were a stranger, and he was desirous to impress her 
 appearance on his memory. 
 
 That evening he said to her briefly — 
 
 "Lord Earlshope and I are going to start at two 
 to-morrow morning to go along the coast and see if we can 
 shoot some seals." 
 
 " But why should you take trouble to kill them ? Is it a 
 pleasure to kill them ? " 
 
 " Bah ! " he said. " Women don't understand these 
 things. You wouldn't hear a man ask such a question — 
 except, perhaps, Earlshope himself — he might — he seems to 
 think in lots of things exactly as you do." 
 
 This was said with no particular intention ; and yet the 
 girl looked apprehensive as though the Whaup had been 
 making some complaint. 
 
 Then some time after, he remarked to her — 
 
 " I don't think wicked people seem so wicked when you 
 come to know them." 
 
 Coquette was looking over the taffrail ; she turned to- 
 wards him and said calmly — 
 
 " Do you mean me or Lord Earlshope ? " 
 
 "Why should you always think of him?" said the 
 Whaup. " Would you be very angry if what I said applied 
 to both of you ? " 
 
 With that he laughed and walked away, leaving Coquette 
 to wonder whether her cousin, too, regarded her as a wicked 
 person. 
 
COQUETTE SAILS TO THE NORTH. 113 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 COQUETTE SAILS TO THE NORTH. 
 
 In the darkness the yellow lights of the yacht were 
 shining on the spars and the rigging ; the water that lapped 
 against her side sparkled with stars of phosphorescent fire ; 
 and a slight wind, coming through the gloom, told of the 
 rustling of ferns and bushes on the hillside — when certain 
 dusky figures appeared on deck, and began to converse in 
 whispers. The Whaup was yawning dreadfully, and perhaps 
 wishing there was not a seal in the world ; but he had proposed 
 the adventure, to which Lord Earlshope had good-naturedly 
 acceded, and so he felt himself bound in honour not to 
 retract. 
 
 With their guns in their hands they got down into the 
 dinghy which was waiting for them, and the two men began 
 to pull away gently from the yacht. The blades of the oars 
 struck a flash of silver deep into the water ; and the white 
 stars of the waves burned even more keenly than the other 
 reflected stars which, farther away, were glittering on the 
 black surface of the sea. Towards the land some vague and 
 dusky forms that were scarcely visible were known to be 
 the iron-bound coast ; and in uncomfortable proximity the 
 "Whaup could hear the waves heaving in upon the rocks. 
 There was no other sound but that and the measured rowing. 
 Overhead the innumerable stars burned clear ; there were 
 flickerings of the reflected light on the moving plain of the 
 sea ; and in there at the shore a vague darkness, and the 
 dashing of unseen waves. 
 
 When they had thus proceeded a certain distance along 
 the coast, the bow of the boat was turned shore-ward, and 
 the men pulled gently in toward the rocks. In the starlight 
 the outlines of the hills above now became dimly visible ; 
 but underneath blackness universal seemed to hide both 
 shore and sea. The noise all around them, however, told the 
 Whaup that they must be near land ; and in a few minutes 
 the boat was cautiously run in, one of the men jumping out 
 and holding her bow. With a double-barrelled gun in his 
 
 1 
 
H4 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 right hand, the Whaup now found himself struggling over a 
 series of rocks that were treacherously covered with sea- 
 weed ; while, as he got on to higher ground, these rocks 
 increased in size, and the gaps between them were plunged 
 in even profounder darkness. Presently he heard Earlshope 
 calling on him to halt ; and shortly thereafter one of the 
 sailors, who had landed, appeared clambering over the 
 boulders in order to take the lead. 
 
 Their course was now a sufficiently perilous one. The 
 great masses of tumbled rock that here form the coast line 
 appeared to go precipitately down into the sea — a great 
 black gulf which they could hear splashing beneath them ; 
 while ever and anon they came to deep ravines in the sides 
 of the hill, down which small streamlets could be heard 
 trickling. Their progress along these rough precipices — 
 generally some fifty or a hundred feet above the sea — was 
 picturesque but uncomfortable. The "Whaup found that, in 
 spite of all his wild plunges and daring leaps, the sailor 
 distanced him considerably : and ahead of him he could only 
 indistinctly see a blaek figure which sometimes rose up clear 
 and defined against the star-lit sky, and at other times was 
 vaguely seen to crawl along the surface of a grey shelf of 
 rock like some dusky alligator. Now he found himself up 
 to the neck among immense brackens ; again he was 
 plunged into some mossy hole, in which his boots were like 
 to remain. Not unfrequently he had to go on hands and 
 knees across some more than usually precipitous shelf ; the 
 stock of his gun making sore work of his knuckles as he 
 clambered up the rough surface. 
 
 Another halt was called. "When the small bay around 
 Battle Island — where the seals were expected to be found — 
 had nearly been reached, it was determined, to prevent noise, 
 that they should take off their boots and creep along the 
 rocks on their stocking-soles. The stars were now paling ; 
 and, as the faint light of dawn would soon appear, every 
 precaution was necessary that the seals should not become 
 aware of their approach. No sooner, indeed, had the Whaup 
 removed his boots than he danced a wild dance of exultation, 
 so delighted was he to find that the soles of his stockings 
 caught so easily and surely on the surface of the boulders. 
 There was now far less risk of a sudden tumble headlong 
 
COQUETTE SAILS TO THE NORTH. 115 
 
 into the sea — although, to be sure, even up here among the 
 rocks, it was not pleasant, in the cold of the night, to find 
 one's feet go down into a pool of mossy water. 
 
 " Do you regret having come ? " said Lord Earlshope. 
 
 " Regret it ! " said the Whaup. " I'd wade a mile up to 
 my neck to shoot a seal." 
 
 Then he added, with his usual frankness — 
 
 " I didn't expect you'd have been able to keep up with 
 us." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Well," said the Whaup, seeing before him the outline of 
 a tall, lithe, slim figure, " I didn't think you were much good 
 for this sort of rough work." 
 
 Earlshope laughed — not very loudly. 
 
 " Perhaps not," he said ; he did not think it worth while 
 to astonish Master Tom with tales of what he had done in 
 the way of muscular performances. " But you should not be 
 severe on me. I rather fancy this is a piece of folly ; and I 
 have undertaken it merely to interest you." 
 
 The Whaup noticed at this moment that his companion 
 had in his hand the heavy rifle, which he carried in a very 
 easy and facile manner. 
 
 "You may be stronger than you look," observed the 
 Whaup — throwing out this qualification from mere good- 
 humour. He still retained an impression that Earlshope, 
 with his lady-like fingers, and his pretty moustache, and his 
 delicate jewellery, was something of a milksop. 
 
 Absolute silence was now the watchword as they advanced : 
 there was no scraping of heels on the grit of the rocks — no 
 clink of a trigger-guard in putting down the hand for 
 safety's sake. In a thief-like fashion they stole along the 
 high and rugged coast, now clambering over huge blocks of 
 stone, and again fighting their way through fern and bush, 
 with their heads low and their footfalls light. At length 
 the sailor stopped, and motioned to Lord Earlshope and 
 the Whaup to descend. Great was the joy of the latter 
 on perceiving that at last there was a level bit of shore 
 towards which they were making their way. Having gone 
 down, in a snake-like fashion, over the mighty boulders, 
 they now crept on towards the beach ; and at length took 
 up their position behind two pieces of rock, from which they 
 
 1 2 
 
116 A DAUGHTER OF HETtt. 
 
 could see the channel in front of them, lying between the 
 land and the dusky object which they knew to be Battle 
 Island. 
 
 "Very still and weird was this place in the dark of the 
 morning, with the cold air from the sea stirring in the 
 brushwood overhead, and with the ceaseless plash of the 
 waves echoing all along the solitary coast. A faint film of 
 cloud had come over the sky, and hid the stars ; but in the 
 east there seemed to be a pallid grey far across the dark 
 water towards Ardlamont Point. And, by-and-by, as they 
 crouched behind the boulders, and waited, there was visible 
 — whence it had come no one could say — a brilliant planet, 
 burning like gold in the wan mist above the eastern sea ; 
 and they knew that it was the star of the morning. Slowly 
 the dawn approached — slowly the dark outline of Battle 
 Island became more defined ; and the black hollows of the 
 waves that crept in towards the shore had now a pale hue 
 between them, that scarcely could be called light. 
 
 Patiently they waited, scanning the outline of the island- 
 rocks, and watching all the water around for the rolling of 
 the seals. There was no sign. Perhaps the grey in the east 
 Avas waxing stronger — it was impossible to tell, for their 
 eyes had grown bewildered with the constant motion of 
 the tumbling waves and the eager scrutiny of these black 
 lines and hollows. 
 
 Suddenly there was a quick chirp just beside them, and 
 the Whaup's heart leapt with alarm. He turned to find 
 a sea-lark running quite near him ; and, at the same moment 
 that he perceived this first symptom of awakening life, he 
 became aware that it had grown lighter out by Ardlamont 
 Point. 
 
 And now, with a strange and rapid transition, as if the 
 world had begun to throb with the birth of the new day, 
 there arose in the eastern sky a great smoke of red — a pink 
 mist that mounted and spread as if from some mighty 
 conflagration beyond the line of the sea. All in the west — 
 by the far shores of Knapdale and up the long stretch of 
 Lochfyne — there brooded a dull and mysterious fog, in 
 which hills and islands lay like gloomy clouds ; but over 
 there at the eastern horizon there was a glow of rose-coloured 
 smoke, which as yet had no reflection on the sea. And 
 
COQUETTE SAILS TO THE NORTH. 117 
 
 while they looked on it, half forgetting the object of their 
 quest in the splendour of this sight — the perpetual wonder 
 and mystery of the dawn — the red mist parted, and broke 
 into long parallel swathes of cloud, which were touched 
 with sharp, jewel-like lines of fire ; and as the keenness of 
 the crimson waxed stronger and stronger, there came over 
 the sea a long and level flush of salmon-colour, which 
 bathed the waves in its radiance, leaving their shadows an 
 intense dark green. The glare and the majesty of this 
 spectacle lasted but for a few minutes. The intensity of 
 the colours subsided ; the salmon-coloured waves grew of a 
 pile neutral tint ; a cold twilight spread over the sky ; and 
 with the stirring of the wind came in the new life of the 
 world — the crowing of some grouse far up in the heather, 
 the chirping of birds in the bushes, the calling of curlew, 
 and the slow flapping of a pair of herons coming landward 
 from the sea. 
 
 Suddenly Lord Earlshope, who had been peering over the 
 edge of the rock before him, touched his companion's arm. 
 The Whaup went forward on his knees, and stealthily 
 looked over in the direction pointed out. He could see 
 nothing but the dark rocks of Battle Island, in the midst of 
 the greyish-green water. He was about to express his 
 disappointment, when it seemed to him that the outline of a 
 bit of rock at the end of the island was moving. Could it 
 be the undulations of the waves which were surging all 
 around; or was that motion of the black line the motion of 
 an animal that had got up on it from the water ? 
 
 Lord Earlshope handed his rifle to the Whaup, with a 
 hurried gesture. But the arrangement had been that, 
 while the one had a rifle and the other a double-barrelled 
 fowling-piece loaded with heavy shot, the distance of the 
 seal was to decide which should fire. Accordingly, the 
 Whaup refused to take the rifle. 
 
 " It is your shot," he whispered. 
 
 " I don't want to kill the beast : why should I ? " said 
 Earlshope, carelessly. 
 
 Even as the Whaup was in the act of putting the barrel 
 of the rifle cautiously over the rock, he remembered what 
 Coquette had said ; and also that he had made the hap- 
 hazard guess that Earlshope would probably say the same. 
 
n8 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 But there was little chance to think of such things. His 
 breath was coming and going at double-quick time, and 
 he held his teeth tight as he brought the sight of the barrel 
 up to the line of rock. It rested there for a moment — there 
 was a spurt of fire — a bang that echoed and re-echoed up 
 among the rocky hills — and then Lord Earlshope rose, glad 
 to be able to stretch his limbs at last. 
 
 " You have either missed altogether or shot him dead ; 
 there was no movement whatever when you fired." 
 
 "By Jove, then," said the Whaup, with tremendous 
 eagerness, " I have shot him dead if there was a seal there at 
 all — for I know the muzzle of the rifle was as steady as a 
 rock when I fired." 
 
 " "We shall see presently," said his companion. " They 
 will bring the boat up now." 
 
 Presently, the two men were seen pulling round the point ; 
 and then Lord Earlshope and the Whaup went to the edge 
 of the water, got into the boat, and were pulled out to 
 the island. Very anxiously did one of them, at least, regard 
 that small, dark promontory ; but there was nothing visible. 
 They drew nearer — they now saw the surface of the rocks 
 clearly — and that was all. 
 
 " Yery sorry," said Lord Earlshope, " but you seem to 
 have missed." 
 
 " I didn't miss ! " the Whaup insisted. " Let us land, 
 and see." 
 
 So, at a convenient spot, they ran the boat in, and got out 
 among the seaweed, and then made their way along to the 
 end of the island. Suddenly the Whaup uttered a piercing 
 yell of delight, and began to clamber along the rocks in the 
 most reckless fashion. Lord Earlshope, following after him, 
 found him grasping with both his hands a round-headed, 
 fat, and limp-looking animal, which he was endeavouring to 
 drag up to the higher platform. 
 
 " There — did I miss ? " he cried. 
 
 " Well, since you have got him, what do you mean to do 
 with him ? " said Lord Earlshope, with a smile. " You 
 have had the satisfaction of killing him, and the much 
 rarer satisfaction of getting him after killing him — but 
 what then ? " 
 
 The Whaup dropped the seal on to the rocks again ; and 
 
COQUETTE SAILS TO THE NORTH. 119 
 
 looked at the unfortunate creatures with some disappoint- 
 ment mingled with his pride. 
 
 " What do they make of these brutes ? You can't get 
 seal-skin waistcoats out of that soapy- looking stuff ? " 
 
 " You may eat him, if you like — I suppose he is not 
 much oilier than a solan. However, we may as well lug him 
 into the boat, and get back to Maol-Daroch. It is singular 
 we have seen none of his companions, though." 
 
 The men approached the slippery animal with much more 
 caution than the Whaup had displayed — they were evidently 
 not quite sure that the whiskered mouth might not open and 
 proceed from a bark to a bite. He was got into the boat 
 at last ; Earlshope and the Whaup followed ; and again 
 the fall of the oars was heard along the lonely coast. It was 
 now broad daylight ; and when they reached Maol-Daroch 
 Bay, the sun was shining on the green hill-side, and on the 
 white beach, and on the far blue plain of the sea. 
 
 Coquette was standing at the stern of the yacht as they 
 approached, with the sunlight colouring her cheek and 
 gleaming on the white handkerchief she waved to them. 
 
 " Have you had a success ? " she said. " Oh, how very 
 miserable you look ! " 
 
 " It isn't half as meeserayble as we feel," remarked the 
 Whaup, who was sleepy, and hungry, and stiff. 
 
 " You have not shot nothing ! " said Coquette, clapping 
 her hands, " or you would come home proud and fierce — 
 like the old north warriors when they did come home from 
 the sea. What is that in the boat ? Ah ! You shoot 
 one ? — yes ! It is beastly-looking — I mean it is hideous — 
 horrid ! " 
 
 The seal was allowed for the present to remain in the 
 small boat, and Earlshope and the Whaup came on deck. 
 To the sleepy eyes of the Whaup, who was cold and wretched 
 in spite of his triumph, his cousin seemed quite offensively 
 cheerful, and bright, and comfortable. 
 
 " Have you had breakfast yet ? " said Lord Earlshope. 
 
 " No," she answered. " I have made friends with your 
 steward, and he has given me two apples and a big bunch 
 of grapes. I am sorry I have eaten all — I cannot give you 
 one." 
 
 " Thank you," said he. " But I suppose your cousin 
 will follow my example, get down below, and have a sleep. 
 
120 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Good-bye till lunch time, Miss Cassilis — I presume by then 
 we shall be up at Ardrishaig." 
 
 So they went below ; and Coquette sat down, and took up 
 a book she had been carrying with her. But she could not 
 read ; for there was sunlight abroad, and the fluttering of 
 wind through the thin ropes that stretched up into the blue, 
 and the ripple of the bright water all around. They were 
 about to set out now on their voyage northward — that far 
 wandering into the unknown Western Isles of which she 
 had dreamed — and he had spoken no word of his leaving 
 them. Would he go all the way, then, and spend all this 
 happy time with them, afar from the dull routine-life and 
 the harsh-thinking people of the land ? At she thought of 
 the fair prospect that was thus opened out before her, the 
 pages of the book that lay in the sunshine were filled with 
 pictures — wonderful landscapes that burned in the brightest 
 of colours, and had the stirring of wind and of light in 
 them. Lady Drum came on deck, and was surprised to 
 find the girl sitting all alone, looking so wonderfully pleased 
 and happy. 
 
 " To-day we set sail," said Coquette, almost laughing w r ith 
 pure gladness, "and go away — away beyond all you can 
 think of — among hills, and mountains, and the sea." 
 
 " Perhaps you would be glad not to come back ? " said 
 Lady Drum, looking into the happy face, and holding both 
 the girl's hands. 
 
 "Yes — I should be glad not to come back — it is so 
 pleasant here — and where we are going, will not that be far 
 more pleasant ? " 
 
 "That is what young folks always think," said Lady 
 Drum — " always looking forward with hope in their eyes. 
 But we who have got older, and have gone farther on the 
 voyage — we look back." 
 
 And while these two and Mr. Cassilis were at breakfast, 
 they heard the sails being hoisted above ; and when they 
 went on deck, they found the great breadths of white canvas 
 lying over before a southerly breeze ; and there was a hissing 
 of water at the bow and along the side ; and, while Maol- 
 Daroch Bay, and Tarbert, and all the rocks and islands about 
 were slowly receding to the south, before them there opened 
 up the great blue breadth of Lochfyne, with the far, faint 
 hills shining mistily in the sun. 
 
COQUETTE DISCOURSES, 121 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 COQUETTE DISCOURSES. 
 
 " I think your cousin is very fond of you," said Lady 
 Drum, with a good-natured smile, to Coquette. They were 
 running up the blue waters of Lochfyne, before a light 
 and steady breeze. The Whaup had concealed himself at 
 the bow, lying prone, with the barrels of his breech-loader 
 peeping over the rail. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am sure he is," said Coquette, seriously. 
 " He will do anything for me — he has dared to fight dis- 
 agreeable people for me — he has got into danger for me — he 
 is very kind — and just now, look ! he is trying to get for 
 me some wild bird — I do not know its name — which has 
 beautiful feathers." 
 
 " All that is nothing," said Lady Drum, taking Coquette's 
 hand in hers. " Don't you think that some day or other he 
 may ask you to marry him ? " 
 
 The elderly lady who was now looking at Coquette's face, 
 expected — as elderly ladies do expect when they begin to 
 tease girls about love-affairs — that her companion would 
 blush, and protest, and be pleased, and affect to be indignant. 
 On the contrary, Coquette said, simply and gravely — 
 
 "Yes, I have thought of that. But he is too young." 
 
 " And you also, perhaps. In a year or two he will be a 
 man, and you will be marriageable." 
 
 " Then," said Coquette, dubiously, " it may be. I do not 
 know, because my uncle has not spoken to me of any 
 such thing ; but he may think it a good marriage, and 
 arrange it." 
 
 " Bless me, lassie ! " exclaimed Lady Drum, in amazement. 
 " Is it true that folk make slaves of their children in that 
 way in France ? I have heard of it ; I did not believe it. 
 In this country girls arrange their own marriages." 
 
 " That, too, is very good," said Coquette, " when it is with 
 their parents' wish. It is of more consequence that a girl 
 pleases her parents than herself, is it not ? " 
 
 *' And make herself miserable all her life ? " said Lady 
 
122 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Drum, startled to find herself arguing — in defiance of all 
 precedent — on the side of youth as against age. 
 
 " But that does not happen," said Coquette. " Now one 
 of my good friends in Nantes — she was told by her parents 
 that she had to marry a young gentleman who was coming 
 home from the Martinique, and had never been to France 
 before. I remember she and her parents did go down by 
 the railway to St. Nazaire, when they heard the boat had 
 come ; and a week or two after I did see Babiche— that is 
 Isabella, you know — and oh ! hoAV proud and happy she 
 was. And they are married, and live at Paimbceuf, just 
 across the river ; and Babiche is as happy as she can be. 
 But then," added Coquette wistfully, " the young gentleman 
 was very good-looking." 
 
 They were interrupted by a loud " bang ! " at the bow. 
 The Whaup had fired at a couple of guillemots that were 
 some distance off on the water ; but they had " ducked 
 the flash," and Coquette was not enriched with any of their 
 plumage. Then she resumed : 
 
 "What I do think very good is this," said Coquette, 
 " when your parents speak of a marriage, and it is left not 
 altogether fixed ; but all the same, if they die, and you are 
 left alone, and you have no friends, there is the one person 
 who comes to you and says, 'Now I will take care of 
 you,' and you know they would have approved. And the 
 same it is if you have got into trouble — suppose that you 
 did become miserable through making an attachment for 
 some one who does not care for you — there is always this 
 good friend who likes you, and you can marry, and forget 
 all that is past, and be like other people for the rest of 
 your life." 
 
 Lady Drum could scarce believe her ears. Had she 
 been called upon to argue on the usual side, she could have 
 repeated those admirably wise maxims which elderly ladies 
 have at their command (and which they never thought of 
 obeying in their youth) ; but surely things were ordered 
 differently in France when this young creature — whose soft 
 dark eyes were apparently made to steal men's hearts away 
 — could be found gravely arguing a business-like view of 
 love affairs, which even a shrewd and able Scotchwoman 
 would have scrupled to advance. 
 
COQUETTE DISCOURSES. 123 
 
 " You mean," said Lady Drum, " that French girls like 
 their parents to choose a husband, so that, if they have 
 an unfortunate love affair, they can still fall back on this 
 substitute ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Coquette ; " you do say things harshly. 
 But -who knows what might happen ? — and if your old 
 Ounce is still faithful — and would like to marry — you make 
 him happy, do you not ? " 
 
 "And is that the role you have sketched out for your 
 good-natured cousin ? " asked Lady Drum, rather vexed 
 with this plain enunciation of a theory which, although it 
 was based upon filial submission, seemed to her to have 
 dangerous elements in it. 
 
 " Ah, no," said Coquette, gravely ; " I hope I shall never 
 have to go to him and say that I am willing to become 
 his wife only because I am miserable and unhappy. He 
 deserves something better than that, does he not ? " 
 
 " And so do you," said Lady Drum, in a kindly fashion. 
 " You must not go anticipating misfortune for yourself in 
 that way. You must forget the notions those French people 
 put into your head. You will take to our simple Scotoh 
 habits — and you will marry the man you love best, and not 
 any substitute at anybody's bidding. A pleasant courtship 
 — a happy marriage — and an even, comfortable, respectable 
 life, that is the custom here." 
 
 Indeed, Lady Drum's notions of romance had been derived 
 chiefly from the somewhat easy and confident overtures 
 made by Sir Peter while he was yet a young man, and had 
 a waist. The gay and rotund Sir Peter at no time would 
 have looked well in the character of Manfred ; and his 
 performance on a guitar under his mistress's window would 
 have been but indifferent. Lady Drum knew she was as 
 happy as most married women ; and hoped that these 
 dangerous French ideas about wild love affairs being atoned 
 for by an after-marriage with a substitute chosen by relatives, 
 would not be translated into the uncongenial atmosphere of 
 Western Scotland. 
 
 "I thought," said Coquette, "that the Scotch people 
 were very hard in their obedience to duty — and against 
 pleasure and comfort. Then I said to myself, * Alas ! I 
 shall never become Scotch.' But now I do think on one 
 
124 . A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 point I am more dutiful than you. I would many any- 
 body that my uncle and all of you considered I ought to 
 marry." 
 
 "And make love to somebody else, as is the fashion in 
 France ! " said Lady Drum, with a touch of anger. 
 
 " It is no such fashion in France," said Coquette. " It 
 is only that the Scotch are ignorant of all people but them- 
 selves — and think nobody so good as themselves — and are 
 suspicious ! " 
 
 Lady Drum's anger broke into a smile at the pretty 
 vehemence with which Coquette fought for her country- 
 women ; and at this moment Lord Earlshope came on deck 
 and asked what was the matter in dispute. Coquette caught 
 Lady Drum's hand, and pressed it. The old Scotchwoman 
 looked at the girl, and saw that she was quite pale — a 
 circumstance that puzzled her not a little in after moments 
 of reflection. 
 
 "Well," said Lady Drum, obeying Coquette's unspoken 
 entreaty, " we were talking about — about French schools for 
 the most part." 
 
 Further inquiry was rendered impossible ; for at this 
 moment the yacht was running into the harbour of Ardrishaig, 
 and there was a good deal of bustle on board. The Whaup 
 came aft also, taking the cartridges out of his gun ; and 
 began to make vague suggestions about lunch. Finally, it 
 was resolved that, so soon as Mr. Cassilis could be prevailed 
 on to remove his books and writing materials from the table 
 of the saloon, they should go down to have that meal which 
 was troubling the mind of the Whaup, and so -^escape the 
 tedium of the preparations necessary for going through the 
 Crinan canal. 
 
 Why was Coquette so silent and distraite when — after a 
 long and solemn grace from the Minister — they began 
 the French-looking repast which had been served for 
 them ? 
 
 " You are still thinking of the pension, are you not, Miss 
 Cassilis ? " said Earlshope. " You should give us some 
 initiation into the mysteries of so sacred a place. Was 
 there anything romantic about it ? " 
 
 "Our pension was full of mystery and romance," said 
 Coquette, brightening up, " because of two German young 
 
COQUETTE DISCOURSES. 125 
 
 ladies who were there. They introduced — what shall I call 
 it ? — exaltation. Do you know what it is ? When one 
 girl makes another exaltee, because of her goodness or her 
 beauty, and worships her, and kisses her dress when she 
 passes her, and serves her in all things, yet dare not speak 
 to her ? And the girl who is exaltee — she must be proud 
 and cold, and show scorn for her attendant — even although 
 she has been her friend. It was these German young ladies 
 from the Bohemian- Wald who introduced it — and they 
 were tall and dark, and very beautiful, and many would have 
 wished to make them exaltees, but they were always the 
 first to seek out some one whom they admired very much, 
 and no one was so humble and obedient as they were. 
 All the pension was filled with it — it was a religion, an en- 
 thusiasm — and you would see girls crying and kneeling on 
 the floor, to show their love and admiration for their friend." 
 
 "And you — were you ever exaltee?" asked Lord Earls- 
 hope. 
 
 " No," said Coquette, with a little shrug. " One or two 
 of my friends did wish to make me exaltee, but I did laugh 
 at them, and they were angry. I did not wish to be cruel 
 to anyone. I did prefer to go about and be friends with 
 everybody in the middle of so much distraction." 
 
 " And did you never exalt anybody ? " 
 
 " No, it was too troublesome," said Coquette. At which 
 Lady Drum smiled. 
 
 " It seems to me," observed the Whaup, coolly, " that it 
 was a clever device to let a lot of girls make love to each 
 other, for want of anybody else. It was keeping their hand 
 in, as it were." 
 
 " It is a pity you were not there," said Coquette, 
 graciously. " We should have been charmed to make you 
 exalte." 
 
 "And do you think I'd have treated any of you with 
 scorn ? " said the Whaup, with a grin, and quite ignoring Co- 
 quette's retort. " No. Far from it, I should have " 
 
 The Whaup glanced at his father, and paused — indeed, 
 his father was calmly regarding him. 
 
 " You would have gone from one to the other," said Lord 
 Earlshope, gravely, "and persuaded her that she was the 
 victim of a hallucination." 
 
126 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " In worshipping me ? " said the Whaup. " Well, 
 now I call that a very good bit of sarcasm. There is no 
 spite in it, as in women's sarcasm — but a clean, sharp 
 sword-thrust, straight from the shoulder, skewering you as 
 if you were an eel, and as if you had nothing to do but 
 wriggle." 
 
 " Thomas," said the Minister, severely, " you are not 
 accustomed to take so much claret." 
 
 " That, sir," replied the Whaup, with perfect coolness, " is 
 why I am helping myself so liberally at present, with Lord 
 Earlshope's kind permission." 
 
 Lady Drum shook her head ; but Coquette laughed in 
 her low, quiet fashion ; and the Whaup familiarly nodded 
 to Lord Earlshope, as much as to say, " Gave it to the old 
 boy that time." 
 
 Then, having fetched hats and shawls from their re- 
 spective state-rooms, they went above and got on shore, 
 setting out to walk along the banks of the Crinan until the 
 Caroline should get clear of the locks. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 LETTERS FROM AIRLIE. 
 
 " Oh," said Coquette, as they walked along the winding 
 path, with the beautiful scenery of the district gradually 
 opening up before them, "I did get two letters for you, 
 uncle, at Tarbert, and forgot all about them. Here they 
 are ; shall I read them ? " 
 
 The two letters which she produced from her pocket had 
 the Airlie stamp on them ; and Mr. Cassilis at once bade 
 her do as she pleased. So she broke the seal of the first, and 
 began to read aloud : 
 
 " ' Honoured Sir and master in the Lord, — I tak up my 
 pen to let ye know that I have been,' — what is this ? " said 
 Coquette. 
 
 The Minister took it from her, and continued himself : 
 
 11 — that I have been stung. Atweel I wat no man ever 
 heard me complain unnecessary-wise about my poseetion in 
 
LETTERS FROM A I RUE. 127 
 
 life, which I accept with gratitude and humeelity from the 
 Giver of all Good — to wit the Dispenser of all Mercies at 
 present and to come ; but I maun tak the leeberty o' saying, 
 honoured Sir, that I cannot bide in this house any langer to 
 be treated worse than the beast that perisheth. From the 
 fingers to the elbows — and my face and neck likewise — am I 
 covered wi' the venomous stings o' bees, and do suffer a pain 
 grievous, and like unto the plagues which were put on the 
 people of Egypt for their sins. Honoured Sir, I canna bear 
 wi 1 they callants any longer, as I chanced upon one o' them 
 laughing like to split, and am aware it was a skeem to inflict 
 this wrong and injury upon me, which I howp will cause 
 you to inquire into, and begging the favour of a reply 
 to say when ye are coming back — and what sore punishment 
 will be meeted out to them that richly deserve the same — I 
 am, your humble and obedient servant in the Lord, 
 
 "Andrew Bogue." 
 
 " Can it be," said the Minister, when he had read this 
 letter aloud, " can it be that those mischievous boys have 
 conspired to set a lot of bees to sting him ? " 
 
 Coquette looked somewhat frightened ; but the Whaup 
 observed, cheerfully — 
 
 " Indeed, sir, those brothers of mine are fearful. I have 
 done my best with them to keep them out of mischief ; 
 bat it is no use. And to go and set a bees' bike at an auld 
 man ! " 
 
 The Whaup shook his head disconsolately. His brothers 
 were incorrigible — even he had been compelled to desist from 
 his efforts to improve them. 
 
 " Do you hear him ? " said Coquette, in a low voice to 
 Lord Earlshope. " And it was he himself who did plan 
 all that about the bees, and got them, and put them in 
 a l>ag." 
 
 " And then," said Earlshope, aloud, to the Whaup, " the 
 worst of it is that they go and blame you for what they 
 do themselves ; so that the whole district has got to dread 
 you, whereas you have been trying to put down these 
 pranks." 
 
 The Whaup turned towards Lord Earlshope, and slowly 
 winked one of his eyes. By this time the Minister had 
 
128 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 opened the other letter, and was perusing it in silence. It 
 ran as follows : — 
 
 " Dear and Eeverend Sir, — It behoves me to accomplish, 
 or in other words to fulfil the promise which I, as an elder in 
 your church, made to you, on your setting forth, to make you 
 acquaint, or familiarise you with, the events and occurrences, 
 the state of feeling, and general condition of this parish. 
 Towards yourself, their spiritual governor, leader, and guide, 
 the people do show themselves most loyal and friendly, hoping 
 you will continue your voyages abroad to the benefiting of 
 your health, and that you may be saved from the perils of the 
 waters — or, as I might have said, from the dangers that 
 encompass them who go down to the sea in ships. As for 
 the young man who is to take your pulpit, God willing, next 
 Sabbath, report speaks well of his forbears ; but divers per- 
 sons who have heard him in Arbroath, Greenock, and else- 
 where, do fear that he is not severe enough in defining the 
 lines and limits of doctrine, holding rather to the admonitory 
 side, which does not give his hearers sufficient chance, or 
 opportunity, to use a less pagan word, to get at his own 
 stand-point, which is a grave, or, it might be said 
 with safety, a serious matter ; for whereas those ministers 
 who have been long with us, and who have given 
 proofs of their doctrinal soundness, may be permitted 
 to deal more with reproof and exhortation, it is for the 
 younger generation of preachers to declare themselves clearly 
 and sharply, that the church universal may not be ensnared 
 and entrapped in the dark, there being, I grieve to hear, a 
 dangerous leaven of looseness in the colleges and other places 
 where young men congregate, or, as I might say, come 
 together. The only news of importance, besides this subject, 
 which I have to communicate, is that Pensioner Lamont did 
 once more, on the night of Tuesday, become most abnormal 
 drunk, and did dance and play his fiddle in an uproarious and 
 godless manner in the house of Mrs. Pettigrew ; and likewise 
 that Lauchie — who is vulgarly called Field Lauchie — 
 Macintyre's wife's baim has been visited with the rash, which 
 I hope will be taken as a sign of the warning finger of 
 Providence, and cause the said Lauchie to give over, or, as I 
 may say, abandon, his abominable and reckless conduct of 
 
LETTERS FROM AIRLIE. 129 
 
 walking to the town of Ardrossan every Sabbath day, and 
 remaining there until the evening, I fear in no good 
 company. This, dear and reverend sir, from yours to 
 command, ^Eneas Gillespie." 
 
 " Good news from Airlie ? " asked Lady Drum. 
 
 " Yes — in a manner, yes," replied the Minister, with 
 (Ik amy eyes. It "was a new thing for him to hear only the 
 distant echo of his parish. 
 
 " Your boys seem to want their elder brother to control 
 them ? " continued Lady Drum. 
 
 " Yes," said the Minister. " He prevails on them to leave 
 the Manse quiet when he is there, though it may be only to 
 lead them into greater mischief elsewhere. Kut they will 
 have to look after themselves now for the rest of the autumn 
 and winter." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because Tom is returning to his studies at Glasgow," 
 observed the Minister. 
 
 Coquette had been standing to watch some water-hens 
 which, on the opposite bank, were scrambling about in the 
 rushes, and she came up only in time to hear these last 
 words. 
 
 " You are going to Glasgow' ? " she said to the Whaup. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, with some gravity. " I mean to work 
 hard this winter." 
 
 " And you will not be at Airlie all the time ? " 
 
 " Does that distress you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nobody but Leesiebeffl and her husband," said Coquette, 
 wistfully. "It will not be pleasurable — the Manse — in the 
 dark time of the winter, with the eold of the hill. But I am 
 glad you do go. You will work hard ; you will forget your 
 games of mischief ; you will come back more like a man ; 
 and when you tell me you have studied well, and have got — 
 what is it called ? — your certification, I will come out to meet 
 you at the Manse, and I will have a wreath of laurel-leaves 
 lor you. and you will be the great hero of the hour." 
 
 "It is something to look forward to," said the Whanp, 
 almost sadly. " And when I come back will you be just the 
 same, Coquette ? — as quiet and happy and pretty as you 
 always are ? " 
 
 K 
 
i 3 o A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " I do not know that I am quiet, or happy, or pretty, more 
 than any one else," said Coquette ; " but I hope I shall 
 be always the same to you, if you come back in one year — 
 two years — ten years." 
 
 The Whaup did not reply to that, but he said to himself : 
 " If she ivould only ivait two years ! In two years' time I 
 should have ivorhed to some purpose, and I ivould come home 
 and asJc her to marry me." 
 
 All the rest of their walk along the pretty and picturesque 
 bank he was restless and impatient in manner — speaking to 
 nobody, thinking much. He cut with his stick at the rushes 
 in the water or at the twigs of the hedge, as if they were the 
 obstacles that lay in his way towards the beautiful goal he 
 was dreaming of. At last he got into the yacht again and 
 went below. When the others followed, some time after, they 
 found him busy with his books. 
 
 Coquette went to him and said : 
 
 " Why do you read ? Have I offended you ? Are you 
 angry with me ? " 
 
 " No, no," he said, rising and going away ; " you are a 
 deal too kind towards me, and towards all those people who 
 don't understand how good you are." 
 
 Coquette stood by in blank astonishment ; she let him pass 
 her and go up on deck without uttering a word. 
 
 By this time the Caroline was lying at anchor in Loch 
 Crinau, and the afternoon was drawing on apace. The day 
 had dulled somewhat, and far out among the western isles 
 that lay along the horizon there was a faint, still mist that 
 made them shadowy and vague. Nevertheless, the Whaup 
 would have the skipper give him the pinnace for a run out 
 in quest of the guillemot plumage that Coquette had desired; 
 and when, indeed, that young lady appeared on deck, she 
 beheld the tiny boat, with its sprifcsail catching a light breeze, 
 running far out beyond the sharp island-rocks that crowd the 
 entrance to the natural harbour. 
 
 "It is so small a boat to go out to sea," she said to 
 Lord Earlshope, who was f ollowing the pinnace with his glass. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Whaup had stationed himself at the prow 
 of the small craft, steadying himself with his gun as she 
 began to dip to the waves ; while all in front and around 
 there opened out the great panorama of lochs and islands, 
 
LETTERS FROM AIRLIE. 131 
 
 between Luing and Scarba on the north, and the three dusky 
 peaks of Jura in the south. The gloomy Sound of Corrie- 
 vreckan was steeped in mist ; and Dubhchamus Point was 
 scarcely visible ; but nearer at hand, in the middle of the 
 grey and desolate sea, lay Maoile Rock, and Ris an Valle, 
 with Ruisker and the Ledge apparently under the shadow of 
 the Paps. The bright little boat, despite her ballast and her 
 cargo, went lightly as a feather over the waves ; and the 
 Whaup kept his eyes alert. There were plenty of birds about 
 — the solitary solan poised high in the air — the heron calling 
 from out of the twilight that hung over the distant shores — 
 nulls of every description, from the pretty kittiwake to the 
 great black-winged depredator — but in vain he scanned the 
 heaving plain of waves for the special object of his quest. 
 At last, however, they heard the cry of the divers down in 
 the south, and thither the small boat was directed. The 
 sound came nearer and nearer — apparently there were dozens 
 or hundreds of them all about — yet no feather of one of 
 them could be seen. Then there was a swift rustle out 
 beyond the boat — a dark moving line, rapidly crossing the 
 waves — and the pink flame leapt from the two barrels of the 
 Whaup's gun. The pinnace was put about, and run towards 
 a certain dark speck that was seen floating on the waves; 
 while at the same moment over all the west there broke a 
 great and sudden fire of yellow — streaming down from the 
 riven clouds upon the dusky grey of the sea. In this wild 
 light the islands grew both dark and distant ; and near at 
 hand there was a glare on the water that dazzled the eyes and 
 made all things look fantastic and strange. It lasted but for 
 a moment. The clouds slowly closed again ; the west grew 
 grey and cold ; over all the sea there fell the leaden-hued 
 twilight ; while the bow of the boat — going this way and 
 that in search of the dead bird — seemed to move forward 
 into the waste of waters like the nose of a retriever. 
 
 They picked up the bird — there was but one. The 
 Whaup was not satisfied. They could still hear the distant 
 calling, and so they stood out a bit farther to sea — none of 
 them, perhaps, noticing how rapidly the darkness was 
 descending. 
 
 " There is a squall coming," said the man at the tiller, 
 looking far down into the south-west. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 The "Whaup saw nothing but a strangely black line along 
 the misty horizon — a line of deep purple. He was unwilling 
 to go back then. Besides, both sea and sky were sufficiently 
 calm ; and the coming breeze would just suffice to run them 
 into Loch Crinan. 
 
 " "We had better make for the yacht, sir," said the man 
 nearest him. " It looks bad down there." 
 
 Unwilling as he was to give up, the Whaup perceived that 
 the thin line of black had become a broader band. He was 
 still looking far over the mystic plain of the waves towards 
 that lurid streak, when he seemed to hear an unfamiliar 
 sound in the air. It was not a distant sound, but apparently 
 a muttering as of voices all around and in front, hoarse, 
 and low, and ominous. And while he still stood watching, 
 with a curiosity which dulled all sense of fear, the slow 
 widening of the blackness across the sea, a puff of wind 
 smote his cheek, and brought the message that those troubled 
 voices of the waves were deepening into a roar. Near the 
 boat the sea was comparatively calm, and the darkening sky 
 was quite still ; but it appeared as though a great circle were 
 inclosing them, and that the advancing line of storm could 
 be heard raging in the darkness without being itself visible. 
 In the intense stillness that reigned around them, this great 
 hoarse, deepening tumult of sounds found a strange echo ; 
 and then, while the men were making ready for the squall, 
 the water in the immediate neighbourhood became powerfully 
 agitated — a hissing of breaking waves was heard all around 
 — then the first blow of the wind struck the boat as if with 
 a hammer. 
 
 By this time the sail had been brailed up ; and the 
 tempest that now came roaring along the black surface of 
 the sea smote nothing but spars and oars as it hurried the 
 pinnace along with it. Running before the wind, and 
 plunging into the great hollows of the waves, that seemed to 
 be racing towards the shore, the light boat shipped but little 
 water, except when a gust of wind drove the crest of a 
 breaking wave across the rowers ; but there came torrents of 
 rain sweeping along with the gale ; and presently they found 
 themselves shut out from sight of land by the driving clouds. 
 The Whaup still kept outlook at the bow ; but he had long 
 ago laid aside his gun. 
 
LETTERS FROM AIRLIE. 133 
 
 It was now a question of making the entrance to the 
 loch without running on the rocks with which it is 
 studded ; and as the boat rose and sank with the waves, and 
 reeled and staggered under the tearing wind, the Whaup, 
 dashing back the salt water from his eyes and mouth, and 
 holding on to the prow, peered into the wild gloom ahead, 
 and was near shouting joyously aloud from the mere excite- 
 ment and madness of the chase. It was a race with the 
 waves ; and the pinnace rolled and staggered down in a 
 drunken fashion into huge black depths only to rise clear 
 again on the hissing masses of foam ; while wind and water 
 alike — the black and riven sky, the plunging and foaming 
 sea, and the great roaring gusts of the gale that came 
 tearing up from the south — seemed sweeping onward for 
 those dusky and jagged points which formed the nearest line 
 of land. 
 
 Coquette was standing on deck, her one small hand 
 clinging to the cold steel shrouds, while her face, terror- 
 stricken and anxious, was fixed on the blackness of the storm 
 that raged outside the troubled stillness of the harbour. 
 Lord Earlshope begged her to go below from the fierce 
 torrents of the rain ; and when she paid no heed to him, he 
 brought a heavy mantle, and covered her with it from head 
 to foot. She spoke not a word ; and only trembled slightly 
 when the wind came in with a tierce cry from that angry 
 warring of the elements that was going on beyond the 
 islands. 
 
 The darkness fell fast ; and yet as far as they could see there 
 was no speck of a boat coming in from the wild and moving 
 waste of grey. To the girl standing there and gazing out, it 
 appeared as though the horizon of the other world — that 
 mystic margin on which, in calmer moments, we seem to see 
 the phantoms of those who have been taken from us ja^sing 
 in a mournful procession, speechless and cold-eyed, giving to 
 us no sign of recognition — had come close and near, and 
 might have withdrawn behind its shadowy folds all the traces 
 of life which the sea held. Could it be that the black rail of 
 death had fallen just beyond those gloomy islands, and 
 hidden for ever from mortal eyes that handful of anxious 
 men who had lately been struggling towards the shore ? 
 Was the bright young existence she had grown familiar with, 
 
134 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 and almost learned to love, now snatched away without one 
 mute pressure of the hand to say farewell ? She stood there 
 as if in a dream ; and the things that passed before her eyes 
 had become spectral and ghastly. She scarcely knew that 
 she heard voices. She clung to the steel ropes — there was 
 something like a faint " hurrah ! " wafted in with the 
 tumult of the sea — there was the vision of a face gleaming 
 red and joyous with the salt spray and the rain — and then 
 she knew that she was sinking, with a sound as of the sea 
 closing over her head. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 COQUETTE IS TKOUBLED. 
 
 The gale blew hard all that evening ; but towards mid- 
 night the sky cleared ; and the large white moon rose wild 
 and swift, into the luminous violet vault, that was still 
 crossed by ragged streaks of grey cloud hurrying over from 
 the sea. All along the dark islands the mournful wash of 
 the waves could be heard ; and here, in the quiet of the 
 bay, the wind brought a fresh and salt flavour with it, as it 
 blew in gusts about, and swept onward to stir the birches 
 and brackens of the hills. The "Whaup sat up on deck with 
 Lord Earlshope, who was • smoking ; and they spoke in 
 undertones, for all was quiet below. 
 
 " You will get to Oban to-morrow ? " asked the Whaup, 
 after some profound meditation. 
 
 " I hope so," said Earlshope. 
 
 "I shall leave you then, and go back by coach or 
 steamer." 
 
 " Has your adventure of this afternoon frightened you ? " 
 
 " Faith, no ! My only fright was when my cousin 
 fainted ; and I wished, when I saw that, that every 
 guillemot that ever lived was at the bottom of the sea. 
 But I am getting sick of idleness." 
 
 Earlshope laughed. 
 
 " You may laugh," said the Whaup ; " but it is true. 
 You have earned the right to be idle, because you are a man. 
 For a young fellow like me, with all the world before him, 
 it is miserable to be dawdling away time, you know." 
 
COQUETTE IS TROUBLED. 135 
 
 " I quite agree with you," said his companion ; " but it 
 seems to me this discovery has come upon you rather suddenly." 
 
 " All the more reason," returned the Whaup with con- 
 fidence, "that it should be acted upon forthwith. I am 
 going to Glasgow. I shall live in lodgings with some fellows 
 J know, and work up my studies for the next session. There 
 is a tremendous deal of work in me, although you might 
 not think it, and I may not see Airlie for two years." 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 " Because then I shall be nearer twenty-one than twenty." 
 
 " And what will you do then ? " 
 
 ""What shall I do then? Who knows?" said the 
 Whaup, absently. 
 
 Next morning the weather was fine, and the wind had 
 calmed. The sea was of a troubled, dark, and shining blue ; 
 the far hills of the islands were of a soft and velvet-like 
 brown, with here and there a tinge of red or saffron. 
 The Caroline was soon got under weigh, and began to open 
 out the successive headlands and bays as she stood away 
 towards the north. 
 
 Coquette came on deck, and looked out on the sea with an 
 involuntary shudder. Then she turned to find the Whaup 
 regarding her with rather a serious and thoughtful look. 
 
 " Ah, you wicked boy, to make me so fearful yesterday 
 evening ! " she said. 
 
 " But you are quite well this morning ? " he asked, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am quite well," she said ; and the brightness 
 of her face and of her soft dark eyes was sufficient evidence. 
 
 "And I got you the guillemot after all," said the Whaup, 
 with some pride. "One of the sailors is preparing both 
 the breast and the pinions for you, and you can wear either 
 you like." 
 
 " For your sake, when you are away in Glasgow," she 
 said with a smile. " I did hear what you said last night 
 to Lord Earlshope. I could not sleep with thinking of the 
 black water, and the wind, and the cry of the waves. And 
 will you go away from us now altogether ? " 
 
 " I must go away sooner or later," said the Whaup. 
 
 " But it is a little time until we all go back. Your 
 father ; he cannot remain long." 
 
136 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " But I have become restless," said the Whaup, with some 
 impatience.' 
 
 " And you are anxious to go away ? " said Coquette. " It 
 is no compliment to us ; but no, I will not speak like that 
 to you. I do think you are right to go. I will hear of 
 you in Glasgow ; I will think of you every day ; and you 
 will work hard, just as if I could see you and praise you for 
 doing it. Then, you know, some day a long way off, it 
 may be a rainy morning at Airlie, or perhaps even a bright 
 day, and we shall see you come driving up in the dog- 
 cart " 
 
 " Just as you came driving up a few months ago. Does 
 it nob seem a long time since then ? " 
 
 " Yes, a long time," said Coquette ; " but I do think this 
 is the best part of it." 
 
 The attention of everybody on deck was at this moment 
 directed to the strange currents through which the Caroline 
 had now to force herself — loug stretches and swirls in an 
 almost smooth sea, with here and there a boiling-up into a 
 miniature whirlpool of the circling waters. These powerful 
 eddies, their outline marked by streaks of foam, caught 
 the bow of the yacht, and swung it this way or that with 
 a force which threatened to jibe the sails ; while now and 
 again she would come to a dead stop, as though the sea were 
 of lead. Far away on their left, between the misty hills of 
 Jura and Scarba, lay the treacherous Corryvreckan, dreaded 
 of fishermen ; and they knew that those glassy swirls around 
 them were but the outlying posts and pickets of the racing 
 and channelled tides. But slowly and steadily the Caroline 
 made head through the fierce currents, drawing away from 
 the still breadth of Loch Shuna, and getting further into 
 Scarba Sound, with the desolate island of Luing on the 
 right. How strangely silent lay the long, lone bays and the 
 solitary stretches of shore in the sunlight ! There was no 
 sign of life abroad save the hovering in mid-air of the white 
 gannet, or the far and rapid flight of a string of wild ducks 
 sinking down towards the south. But as they drew near 
 the mouth of Scarba Sound — with the great stretch of the 
 Frith of Lorn opening up and the mighty shoulders of the 
 Mull mountains rising faint and grey in the north-west — the 
 solitude grew less absolute. Here and there a boat became 
 
COQUETTE IS TROUBLED. 137 
 
 visible. They came in sight of the slate-quarries of Easdale. 
 Then a long streak of smoke beyond told them that the 
 great steamer from the North was coming down with her 
 cargo of English tourists from the hills and lochs of 
 Inverness. 
 
 .They were all on deck when the steamer passed ; and 
 doubtless the people who crowded the larger vessel may 
 have regarded the little group in the stern of the yacht 
 as sufficiently picturesque — the tall and grey-haired lady, 
 who had her hand inside the arm of the young girl ; 
 the elderly Minister, looking grave and dignified ; Lord 
 Earlshope, seated carelessly on one of the skylights ; the 
 Whaup waving a handkerchief in reply to several signals of 
 the same kind. 
 
 " To-morrow morning," said the Whaup to Lady Drum, 
 " I shall be on board that steamer, going straight down for 
 Crinan ; and you — you will be off for Skye, I suppose, or 
 Stornoway, or Cape Wrath ? " 
 
 " AVhat do you mean ? " said his father. 
 
 " Has nobody told you ? I am going back to Airlie 
 to-morrow, and on to Glasgow, to prepare for the classes. 
 I have had enough idling." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said the Minister, in a tone which 
 did not betray any strong assurance that the Whaup was to 
 be trusted in these his new resolves. 
 
 But Coquette believed him. All the rest of that day, as 
 the ( 'aroline glided through the dark-blue waters — on past 
 Ardencaple Point and Barnacaryn, under the steep crags at 
 the mouth of Loch Feochan, and through the Sound of 
 K.rrera. until she was Hearing the calm expanse of Oban 
 Bay — the Whaup perceived that his cousin was almost 
 elaborately kind and attentive to him, and far more serious 
 and thoughtful than was her wont. He himself was a trifle 
 depressed. Having definitely stated his intentions, he would 
 not show weakness at the last moment, and draw back from 
 his promised word ; but it was with rather a heavy heart 
 that he went below to gather together his books and put 
 them in order for the last time on board. 
 
 " I think I shall sleep on shore to-night," said he, when 
 he reappeared. 
 
 " Why ? " asked Coquette. 
 
138 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 "Because I don't wish to have you all up by seven 
 to-morrow morning. The boat leaves at eight." 
 
 "And must we not see you off, and say good-bye ? " 
 
 " "What's the use ? " said the Whaup. 
 
 Coquette put her hand on his arm, and said, rather 
 shyly: 
 
 " I think you would rather come with us. Why not do 
 that ? It is very sad and miserable your going all away back 
 by yourself, and I am sorry to think of it, far more for you 
 than if it were for myself. It is very hard lines." 
 
 The Whaup laughed in spite of his wretchedness. 
 
 " I told you ever so long ago not to say that," he said, 
 " and you promised to remember. Never mind. It's very 
 good of you to concern yourself about me ; but I mean to 
 go to-morrow morning. And look there ! — there is Oban." 
 
 " I do hate the place ! " said Coquette, petulantly. 
 
 She would scarcely look at the semicircle of white houses 
 stretching round the bay, nor yet at the hills and the scattered 
 villas, nor yet at the brown and desolate old castle built high 
 on the point beyond. 
 
 " It is a town," she said, " that row of bare and ugly 
 houses, and the hotels, and the shops. It is not fit for these 
 Highland mountains ; it shames them to look down on it — 
 it is so — so dirty- white and shabby." 
 
 " What ails ye at the town ? " said Lady Drum, who did 
 not like to hear her favourite Oban disparaged. 
 
 "A little while ago you would have found Oban quite a 
 grand place," said Lord Earlshope — •" quite a gay land 
 fashionable place." 
 
 " Fashionable ! " said Coquette, with that slight elevation 
 of the eyebrows and the almost imperceptible shrug to which 
 they had all got accustomed. " Fashionable ! Perhaps. It 
 is a good promenade before the grocers' shops ; and do the 
 ladies who make the fashions live in those dirty-white 
 houses ? What is it that they say ? — Qui rfest {Ms difficile, 
 trouve Uentot un asile." 
 
 " You know the other French proverb ? " said Lord Earls- 
 hope — "Jeune femme, pain tendre, et lois vert, mettent la 
 maison en desert" 
 
 " That is possible," said Coquette, " but it is not fashion. 
 You should see Biarritz, Lady Drum, with its sands, and the 
 
COQUETTE IS TROUBLED. 139 
 
 people, and the music, and the Bay of Biscay, and the 
 Spanish mountains not far. Even I think our little Le 
 Croisio better, where mamma and I lived at the Etablisse- 
 ment. But as for this town here, if it is more pleasant- 
 looking than Ardrossan, I will blow me tight ! " 
 
 The Whaup shrieked with laughter ; and Coquette looked 
 puzzled, knowing she had made some dreadful blunder, but 
 not very certain what it was. Lady Drum rescued her from 
 confusion by carrying her off to dress for dinner, and 
 explained to her in their common state-room that she must 
 be careful not to repeat colloquialisms which she had over- 
 heard without being quite sure of their propriety. Indeed, 
 when the meaning of the phrase was explained to her, she 
 laughed as muoli as the Whaup had done, and entered the 
 saloon, where the gentlemen were waiting, with a conscious 
 look on her face which considerably heightened its colour. 
 
 " It was you to blame," she said to the Whaup ; " I did 
 often hear you say that." 
 
 " Propria qim maribus" said he, and they sat down to 
 dinner. 
 
 It was felt to be a farewell celebration. The Whaup 
 looked grave and determined — as if he feared he would be 
 moved from his resolution. Coquette stole furtive glances 
 at him ; and wondered what she could give him to take 
 with him as a keepsake. The Minister furnished him with 
 directions about certain things to be done at Airlie ; Lady 
 I )rum made him promise to come and see her when she went 
 to Glasgow ; and Lord Earlshope persuaded him to remain 
 on board that night and go ashore in the morning. 
 
 When they went on deck after dinner, it was a beautiful 
 dear night, with an almost full moon throwing a flood of 
 silver across the bay from over the dusky island of Kerrera. 
 Above the town the shoulders of the hills were touched with 
 a pale and sombre grey ; but a keener light shone along the 
 white fronts of the houses close by the shore ; while nearer 
 at hand it touched the masts and rigging of the various craft, 
 and threw sharp black shadows on the deck of the Caroline. 
 
 " Where is Miss Cassilis ? " said Lady Drum, when she 
 had taken her accustomed seat. 
 
 At the same moment they heard the first soft notes of the 
 harmonium ; and presently there rose into the still night 
 
140 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 the clear, and sweet, and melancholy cadence of Mendelssohn's 
 gondola-song. The empty silence of the bay seemed to grow 
 full of this rich and harmonious music ; until one scarcely 
 knew that the sounds were coming from the open cabin 
 skylight which gleamed an oblong patch of yellow fire in 
 the dusk. The night seemed to be as full of music as of 
 moonlight ; it was in the air all around ; it was a part of 
 the splendour of the sky, and scarcely to be distinguished 
 from the lapping of the water along the side of the boat. 
 But suddenly she changed the key, and with sharp and 
 powerful chords struck out the proud and ringing melody 
 of " Drumclog." The old Scotch psalm-tune stirred the 
 Whaup, as a trumpet might stir the heart of a dragoon. 
 He rose to his feet, and drew a long breath, as if the 
 plaintive gondola-music had been stifling him. 
 
 " What a grand tune that Drumclog is," he said. " It 
 means business. I dare say the old troopers sang it with 
 their teeth set hard, and their hand on their musket- 
 barrels. But did you ever hear it played like that ? " 
 
 " It is wonderful — wonderful ! " said the Minister, with 
 his sad, grey eyes fixed upon the moonlit sea, under the 
 shadows of the lonely island. 
 
 You should have seen the Whaup the next morning, 
 bustling about with a determined air, and making, from 
 time to time, a feeble effort to whistle. Coquette had 
 been up before any one on board, and now sat, mute 
 and pale, watching his preparations. Sometimes she 
 turned to look towards the quay, where the vessels lay 
 under the yellow and misty sunlight of the autumn 
 morning. 
 
 Then the great steamer came round the point. The 
 Whaup jumped into the gig after having shaken hands 
 with everybody and the boat was pushed off. 
 
 " Stop a moment," said Coquette, " I do wish to go with 
 you to the steamer." 
 
 So she, also, got into the boat ; and together they went 
 in to the quay, and got ashore. The steamer arrived, and 
 the Whaup — still trying at times to whistle — went on 
 board. The first bell was rung. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Coquette, holding one of his hands in 
 both of hers. " You will write to me often, often ; and 
 
COQUETTE IS TROUBLED. 141 
 
 when I go back to Airlie I will write to you every week, 
 ami tell you what is going on with all the people — even 
 with Lees i chess also. And I will go to see you at Glasgow, 
 if you will not come to Airlie before you have become 
 a great man." 
 
 A few minutes afterwards the "Whaup was waving his 
 handkerchief to her as the steamer steamed away down the 
 Sound of Kerrera ; and Coquette stood on the quay, 
 looking wistfully after the boat, even until the clouds of 
 smoke had become a luminous brown in the morning 
 sunlight. 
 
 B J 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ON THE SEASHORE. 
 
 " I wish to speak to you of a great secret," said 
 Coquette to Lord Earlshope that morning, "when we shall 
 have the chance. It is very important." 
 
 " I shall remember to make the chance," said he, 
 " especially as Lady Dram wants to go round and see 
 Dunstaffnage. You must come with us." 
 
 The Minister preferred to remain in the yacht. The 
 fact is, he was composing a sermon on the judgment that 
 befell Jonah ; and was engaged in painting a picture of 
 the storm, with powerful colours borrowed from his 
 experiences in Loch Crinan. He w r as busy with the task ; 
 for he hoped to be able to preach the sermon next day — 
 being Sunday — to the small congregation on board. So it 
 was that the others started without him ; and drove over 
 in a hired trap by the road which leads past the small 
 Lochan-dhu. In time they arrived at DunstafTnage, and 
 made their way out to the rocks which there rise over the 
 sea, looking across to Lismore, and Morven, and Kin- 
 gairloch. 
 
 Lady Drum was a brisk and active woman for her age ; 
 but she did not care to exert herself unnecessarily. "When 
 they had gone up and examined the ruins of the old castle, 
 when they had passed through the small wood, and reached 
 the line of alternate rock and beach fronting the sea, she 
 placed herself upon an elevated peak, and allowed the 
 
142 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 younger folks to scramble down to the white shingle below. 
 There she saw them both sit down — Lord Earlshope 
 beginning to pitch pebbles carelessly into the sea. She 
 could hear the murmur of their talk, too ; but could not 
 distinguish what they said. Apparently there was nothing 
 very important engaging their attention ; for they did not 
 even look at each other ; and Lord Earlshope was 
 evidently more interested in trying to hit a piece of sea- 
 weed which the tide had drifted in to the strand. 
 
 "My secret is this," said Coquette. "Do you know 
 that papa and mamma did leave me a good deal of 
 money ? " 
 
 " I was not aware of it," said Lord Earlshope, making 
 another effort to hit the seaweed. 
 
 " Oh, I am very rich — that is to say, not what you 
 English would call rich, but rich in my country. Yet I 
 cannot use the money. What good is it to me ? Mamma 
 gave me more jewellery than I need — what am I to do 
 with my money ? " 
 
 " I don't know much about ladies' expenses," said 
 Earlshope. " But if you want to get rid of this burden of 
 wealth, why not keep horses, or buy a theatre, or " 
 
 "No, no, no," she said. "You do not understand. I 
 mean I have nothing to do with my money for myself. 
 Now, here is my cousin who goes to Glasgow to live by 
 himself in lodgings, perhaps not very pleasant. His father 
 is not rich. He must work hard ; and your northern 
 winters are so cold. Very well : how I am to give him 
 money ? " 
 
 " That is the problem — is it ? " said Earlshope. " I 
 might have guessed you did not wish to spend the money 
 on yourself. Well, I don't know. I give it up. If he were 
 a mere lad, you see, you might send him a 20?. note now 
 and again, which most of us have found very acceptable at 
 college. But you would insult your cousin if you sent him 
 money bluntly like that. Besides, you would destroy the 
 picturesqueness of his position. Our Scotch colleges are 
 sacred to the poor student ; they are not seminaries for the 
 teaching of extravagance and good manners, like the 
 English universities." 
 
 " Then you cannot help me ? " said Coquette. 
 
ON THE SEASHORE. 143 
 
 "Oh, there are a hundred indirect ways in which you 
 could be of service to him ; but you must be careful, and 
 consult with Lady Drum, who is going to Glasgow, and will 
 probably see him there. How fortunate you are to haw 
 no care whatever on your mind but the thought of how to 
 do other people good ! You are never anxious about yourself ; 
 you seem to be surrounded by a sort of halo of comfort 
 and satisfaction ; and annoyances that strike against the 
 charmed circle are blunted and fall to the ground." 
 
 " That is a very nice and pretty speech," said Coquette, 
 with a smile. "Twill soon believe the English are not a 
 barbarous nation if you make such long compliments." 
 
 " I wonder," said Lord Earlshope, looking away over the 
 
 . and apparently almost talking to himself, " whether, if 
 I were to tell you another secret, it would annoy you in the 
 least. I do not think it would. How could it matter to 
 you ? " 
 
 " But what is it ? " said Coquette. 
 
 " Suppose," said he, throwing another pebble at the bit of 
 seaweed, " that I were to tell you, first, that you had no 
 need to be alarmed ; that I did not mean to frighten you 
 with a proposal, or any nonsense of that kind ; and then 
 tell you that I had fallen in love with you ? Suppose I 
 were to do that, and tell you the history of the thing, it 
 would not trouble you in the least, would it ? Why should 
 it, indeed ? You are not responsible ; you are not affected 
 by the catastrophe ; you might be curious to know more 
 about it, even, as something to pass the time." 
 
 He spoke with the most absolute indifference ; and so pre- 
 occupied was he that he did not even look at his companion. 
 The first start of surprise had given way to a mute and 
 apprehensive fear ; her fare was quite pale : and she did not 
 know that her two hands were tightly clasped in her lap, as 
 if to keep them from trembling. 
 
 " Such is the fact, however," he continued, just as if he 
 w ere describing to her some event of yesterday, of which he 
 had been an interested spectator. "You cannot be nearly so 
 surprised as I am ; indeed, I don't suppose you would think 
 anything about it, unless you considered it as a misfortune 
 which has happened to me ; and then you will, I hope 
 without laughing, give me the benefit of your sympathy. 
 
144 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Yet I am not very wretched, you see ; and you — you are no 
 more affected by it than if you were the moon, and I, 
 according to the Eastern saying, one of the hundred streams 
 looking up to you. I am afraid I have been experimenting 
 on myself, and deserve the blow that has fallen. I have 
 been flying my kite too near the thunder-cloud ; and what 
 business had a man of my age with a kite ? " 
 
 He spoke without any bitterness. It was a misfortune, 
 and to be accepted. 
 
 " I am very sorry," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 " No ! — why sorry ? " he said. " I fancied I was more 
 philosophical than I am. I think my first sentiment towards 
 you was merely idle curiosity. I wished to see how so rare 
 an exotic would flourish when transplanted to our bleak 
 Scotch moors. Then you allowed me to make your acquaint- 
 ance ; and I believed myself filled with the most paternal 
 solicitude about your welfare. Sometimes I had doubts — 
 sometimes I made experiments to solve them. If I were to 
 tell you how I fought against the certainty that I had become 
 the victim of an affection, foolish, hopeless, unreasoning, you 
 would, perhaps, understand why I think it better to tell you 
 frankly so much as I have done, by way of explanation. 
 You might also be amused, perhaps, if you cared for 
 recondite studies. To me it has been very odd to find that, 
 after I had dissected every sensation and analysed every 
 scrap of emotion I have ever experienced, another being has 
 sprung into existence by the very side of my lecture-table. 
 That other being is also I — looking with contempt at my 
 own anatomical experiments. And there is yet a third I — 
 now talking to you — who looks as a spectator upon both the 
 anatomist and the spectral being who has escaped his knife. 
 Do you understand all this ? " 
 
 A stone fell close beside them ; and Coquette's heart 
 leaped at the sound. It had been pitched down by Lady 
 Drum as a signal that she was impatient. 
 
 " Yes, I understand it all," said Coquette, still in the 
 same low voice, " but it is very dreadful." 
 
 " Then it is not amusing," said Lord Earlshope, offering 
 his hand to raise her up. " I beg your pardon for boring 
 you with a psychological conundrum. You are not vexed 
 about my having mentioned it at all ? " 
 
ON THE SEASHORE. 145 
 
 " Oh, no," said Coquette ; but the beach, and the sea, and 
 the far mountains, seemed insecure and wavering ; and she 
 would fain have had Lady Drum's arm to lean upon. 
 
 " How could you be vexed, indeed, except by the dulness 
 of the story ? " said Lord Earlshope, cheerfully. " You may 
 consider, if you like, that you never heard my con- 
 fission. It cannot affect you ; nor need it, indeed, in the 
 slightest degree, affect our relations with each other. Do 
 you agree with me?" 
 
 " Oui — yes, I mean — it will be quite the same between us 
 as before," said Coquette. 
 
 " You will not find me torture you with the jealousies of a 
 Lover. I shall not scowl when you write a letter without 
 showing me the address. I shall not even be angry if you 
 enclose flowers in it. "We shall be to each other, I hope, the 
 friends we have always been ; until I have quite recovered 
 my equanimity. And you will not make me the butt of 
 your ridicule during the process ? " 
 
 " I shall always be very sorry that this has happened," 
 said Coquette. 
 
 " "Why, of course ! " said her companion. " Didn't I say 
 so ? You are sorry, because it is my misfortune. In return, 
 when you fall in love — perhaps with your handsome cousin, 
 let us say, who means, I know, to come back crowned with 
 laurels in order to win for himself a pretty wife somewhere 
 down in Ayrshire — I will do my best to become sorry for 
 yon. But then, in your case, why should anybody be sorry ? 
 To fall in love is not always a misfortune — at least, I hope 
 there are some who do not find it so." 
 
 For the first time he spoke sadly ; and the expression of 
 Ins face conveyed that he was thinking of some distant time. 
 When Coquette and her companion rejoined Lady Drum, 
 they were both unusually silent. As for the young girl, 
 indeed, she was anxious to get once more into the waggonette, 
 and have the horses' heads turned towards Oban. In the 
 rumble of the wheels along the road there was not much 
 occasion to talk ; and very little indeed of the beautiful 
 scenery, on that calm and bright autumn morning, did 
 Coquette see as they passed over the neck of land towards 
 Oban Bay. 
 
146 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 COQUETTE BEGINS TO FEAR. 
 
 " Uncle," said Coquette, directly they had returned to the 
 yacht, " when shall we go back to Airlie ? " 
 
 The Minister looked up in a surprised and dazed way from 
 his MSS., and said — 
 
 " Go back ? — yes — I have been thinking of that too — for 
 it is not fitting that one should be away from the duties to 
 which one has been called. But you — don't you understand 
 that it is for your sake we are here ? Are you so much 
 better ? What does Lady Drum say ? " 
 
 The Minister had now so far recalled himself from the 
 sermon on Jonah that he could attentively scan his niece's 
 face. 
 
 "Why," said he, "you are more pale — more languid — 
 now than I have seen you for many days. Will not a little 
 more of the sea-air make you feel strong ? " 
 
 " I am not unwell," said Coquette, with the same air of 
 restraint ; " but if it will please you to go farther with the 
 yacht, then I will go too." 
 
 So she went away to her own cabin, fearing to go on deck 
 and meet Lord Earlshope. In their common state-room 
 she encountered Lady Drum. 
 
 " You two were deeply occupied," she said, with a grave 
 and kindly smile, " when ye forgathered on the beach." 
 
 " Yes," said Coquette, with an anxious haste, " I did 
 speak to Lord Earlshope about my cousin in Glasgow." 
 
 " It must have been an interesting subject, for ye never 
 took your eyes from watching the toe of your boot, which 
 was peeping from under your dress ; and he, I am sure, 
 would not have noticed a man-of-war had it come round 
 the point. Dear, dear me ! I willna scold you ; but to 
 come so soon, ye know, after your poor cousin left ye ." 
 
 " No, no, no ! " said Coquette, hurriedly, as she took her 
 friend's hand in hers ; " you must not talk like that. You 
 do not know that I have just been to my uncle to ask him 
 to go home." 
 
 Lady Drum began to look more serious. She had been 
 

 COQUETTE BEGINS TO FEAR. 147 
 
 bantering the young girl in the fashion that most elderly 
 
 Eeople love ; but she had no idea that she was actually 
 itting the mark. This sudden wish on the part of 
 Coquette to return to Airlic — what could it mean ? Con- 
 siderably startled, the old lady saw for the first time that 
 there was real danger ahead ; and she asked Coquette to sit 
 down and have a talk with her, in a voice so solemn that 
 Coquette was alarmed, and refused. 
 
 " No," she said, " I will not talk. It is nothing. You 
 imagine more than is true. All that I wish is to leave this 
 voyage when it pleases you and my uncle." 
 
 But Lady Drum was not to be gainsaid ; she felt it to 
 be her duty to warn Coquette. Lord Earlshope, she said, 
 was a man whom it was necessary to understand. He had 
 been accustomed to luxurious indolence all his days, and 
 might drift into a position which would compromise more 
 than himself. He had a dangerous habit of regarding 
 himself as a study, and experimenting on himself, without 
 reflecting that others might suffer. Then, again, he had 
 so resolutely avoided introductions to rich and charming 
 young ladies who had visited Castle Cawmil, that she — Lady 
 Drum — was convinced he had some rooted aversion to the 
 consideration of marriage — that he would never many. 
 
 " Have ye never heard him talk about marriage, and the 
 mistakes that young men make ? He is as bitter about 
 that as if he was an old man of sixty, or as if he had made 
 a foolish marriage himself. Perhaps he has," she continued, 
 with a smile ; "but his success in concealing it all tl 
 years must be a credit to him." 
 
 " All that does not concern me," said Coquette, with a 
 sort of piteous deprecation in her tone. " Why do you 
 speak to me about Lord Earlshope's marriage ? I do not 
 rare if he has been in fifty marriages." 
 
 " Will you tell me why you are suddenly anxious to go 
 home ? " said Lady Drum, bending her grave and kind 
 eyes upon the girl. 
 
 " I have told you," said Coquette, with a touch of 
 haxdeur in her voice, as she turned abruptly away and 
 walked out. 
 
 She stood at the foot of the companion-steps. Which 
 wav should she choose ? Overhead she heard Lord 
 
 L 2 
 
148 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Earlshope talking to the skipper, who was getting the yacht 
 under canvas to resume the voyage. In the saloon sat her 
 uncle, deep in the intricacies of Scotch theology. Behind 
 her was the elderly lady from whom she had just broken 
 away with a gesture of indignant pride. For a minute or 
 two she remained irresolute, though the firmness of her lips 
 showed that she was still smarting from what she had con- 
 sidered an unwarrantable interference. Then she went 
 gently back to the state-room door, opened it, walked over 
 to where Lady Drum sat, and knelt down penitently and 
 put her head in her lap. 
 
 " I hope you are not angry or offended with me," she 
 said, in a low voice. " I am very sorry. I would tell you 
 what you ask, but it is not my secret, Lady Drum ; I must 
 not, indeed, tell you. It is because you are so good a 
 friend that you ask ; but — but — but it is no matter ; and 
 will you help me to go back soon to Airlie ? " 
 
 " Help you ? — yes, I will," said Lady Drum, in the same 
 kindly way, although it was but natural she should feel a 
 little hurt at having her curiosity baffled. She put her 
 hand in a gracious and stately fashion on the young girl's 
 head, and said : " You have a right to keep your own 
 secrets if you choose ; far be it from me to ask you to give 
 them up. But should you want to confide in a person who 
 has some experience o' life, and is anxious to do ye every 
 service, you have but to come to me." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure of that," said Coquette, gratefully. " I 
 will be as your own daughter to you." 
 
 "And about this going back," continued Lady Drum. 
 " It would look strange to turn at this point, just after 
 letting your cousin go home by himself. "We shall have the 
 best part o' the thing over in a couple o' days, when we get 
 up to Skye ; and then, if ye like, we can go back by the 
 steamer." 
 
 " Two more days ! " said Coquette, almost wildly, as 
 she started to her feet — " two more days ! How can I 
 bear " 
 
 She caught herself up and was silent. 
 
 " There is something in all this that ye keep back," said 
 Lady Drum. " I do not blame ye ; but when it suits ye to 
 be more frank wi' me ye will no find yourself wi' a backward 
 
COQUETTE BEGINS TO FEAR. 149 
 
 friend. Now we will go upon the deck and see what's to 
 the fore." 
 
 Coquette was glad to go on deck under this safe-conduct. 
 Yet what had she to fear ? Lord Earlshope had made a 
 certain communication to her with the obvious belief that 
 she would treat it as a matter of no importance to herself. 
 Was she not, according to his own account, surrounded by 
 a halo of self-content which made her independent of the 
 troubles which afflicted others ? 
 
 "But I am not selfish," she had bitterly thought to 
 herself as they were driving back to Oban. " Why should 
 he think I have no more feeling than a statue or a picture ? 
 Is it that the people of this country do not understand it if 
 you are comfortable and careless for the moment ? " 
 
 When they now went on deck Lord Earlshope came 
 forward as though he had utterly forgotten that conversa- 
 tion on the beach at Dunstaffnage, and placed Coquette and 
 her companion in a position so that they could see the bay, 
 and the houses, and the rocks of Dunolly, which they were 
 now leaving behind. Coquette bade good-bye to Oban 
 with but little regret. Perhaps she was chiefly thinking 
 that in a few minutes they would come in sight of that 
 curved indentation of the coast which would remind Lord 
 Earlshope of what had happened there. And, indeed, as 
 they stood away over towards the Sound of Mull, with the 
 dark mountains of Morven in the north, and the blue waters 
 of the Atlantic stretching far into the south, they actually 
 came in sight of those tiny bays which they had visited in 
 the morning. 
 
 " Do you recognise the place ? " asked Lord Earlshope, 
 carelessly, of Lady Dm m. 
 
 Then he turned to Coquette and bade her admire the 
 beautiful and soft colours of the Morven hills, where the 
 sunlight brought out the warm tints of the rusty bracken 
 and the heather, through the pearly grey of the mist and 
 the heat. 
 
 " It is very lonely," said Coquette, looking wistfully round 
 the far shores ; " I do not see any sign of life among those 
 mountains or near the sea." 
 
 "You would not enjoy a long visit to these places," 
 said Earlshope, with a smile. " I imagine that the constant 
 
ISO A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 sight of the loneliness of the mountains would make you 
 miserable. Does not the sea look sad to you ? I have 
 fancied I noticed a sense of relief on your face when we have 
 settled down in the evening to a comfortable chat in the 
 saloon, and have shut out for the night the water, and the 
 solitary hills, and the sky." 
 
 She did not answer ; nor could she understand how he 
 spoke to her thus, with absolute freedom of tone and 
 manner. Had she dreamed all that had happened under the 
 ruined walls of Dunstaffnage ? She only knew that he 
 was looking at her with his accustomed look of mingled 
 curiosity and interest ; and that he was, as usual, telling her 
 of his speculations as regarded herself . Or was he only as- 
 suming this ease of manner to dissipate her fears and restore 
 their old relations ? Was he only feigning indifference in 
 order to remove her constraint ? 
 
 It was not until the afternoon, when they had gone up 
 through the Sound of Mull, and were drawing near to their 
 anchorage in Tobermory Bay, that he had an opportunity of 
 speaking to her alone. Lady Drum had gone below, and 
 Coquette suddenly found herself defenceless. 
 
 " Come, Miss Cassilis," he said, " have it out with me 
 now. You have been avoiding me all day, to punish me for 
 my foolish disclosure of this morning. Is that the case ? 
 Did I commit a blunder ? If I did, you must pardon me ; 
 I did not fancy you would have wasted a second thought on 
 the matter. And, indeed, I cannot afford to have you vexed 
 by my indiscretion ; it is not natural for you to look vexed." 
 
 " If I am vexed," she said, looking down, and yet speak- 
 ing rather warmly, " it is to hear you speak of me so. You 
 do seem to think me incapable of caring for any one but 
 myself ; you think I should not be human ; not interested in 
 my friends, but always thinking of myself ; always pleased ; 
 always with one look, like a picture. It is not true. I am 
 grieved when my friends are grieved — I cannot be satisfied 
 and pleased when they are in trouble." 
 
 "Surely you have no need to tell me that," he said. 
 " When your face is clouded with cares, I know they are not 
 your cares, and that you are far too ready to accept the 
 burden of other people's worries. But I maintain you have 
 no right to do so. It is your business — your duty — to be 
 
COQUETTE BEGINS TO FEAR. 151 
 
 pleased, satisfied, contented ; to make other people happy by 
 looking at your happiness. It is natural to you to be happy. 
 Why, then, should you for a moment suffer yourself to be 
 annoyed by what I told you this morning ? I see I made a 
 mistake. You must forget it. I fancied I might talk to 
 you about it without its troubling you more than the looking 
 at a new vessel on the horizon would trouble you " 
 
 " And you believe me, therefore," she said, with some 
 indignation in her voice, " a mere doll — a baby — incapable 
 of understanding the real human anxieties around me ? 
 Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I do not care for any- 
 thing but my own pleasure ; but it is not flattery to tell 
 me so." 
 
 With that she walked away from him and rejoined Lady 
 Drum, who had again come on deck." Earlshope had no 
 further chance of speaking a word to her. At dinner, in 
 the evening, Coquette was silent, and her face was downcast 
 and troubled. When she spoke, it was to Lady Drum, 
 towards whom she was obediently and almost piteously 
 attentive. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 TOUCHING CERTAIN PROBLEMS. 
 
 Very singular in appearance was the small congregation 
 grouped on the deck of the Caroline, to listen to Mr. Cassilis's 
 sermon, on that quiet Sunday morning. The Minister him- 
 self stood erect and firm, with his grey hair — for he was 
 bare-headed — and his sunken face touched with the early 
 sunlight. Almost at his feet sat Lady Drum and Coquette, 
 the latter sometimes wistfully looking away over the calm 
 sea, towards the distant shores of Loch Sunart. Lord 
 Earlshope sat by himself still farther aft, where he could 
 eat eh the outline of Coquette's face as she turned to regard 
 the Minister. And then forward were the sailors, a small 
 group of bronzed and sturdy men, lying about in a listless 
 and picturesque fashion, with their scarlet caps gleaming in 
 the sun. The background was the smooth waters of the bay, 
 with a faint blue smoke rising into the still air from over 
 the scattered houses of Tobermory. 
 
152 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Coquette had begged hard to be allowed to preface or 
 assist the service with her harmonium ; but her prayer was 
 explicitly refused. Indeed, there might not have been much 
 in the music to accord with the stern and matter-of-fact 
 exhortation which the Minister had prepared. It is true 
 that, as he warmed to his subject, he indulged in the rare 
 license of breaking away from his preconceived plan of 
 argument and illustration. He was dealing with things 
 which were now before his eyes ; and, as his rude and 
 homely eloquence became more and more touched with 
 enthusiasm, it seemed as though the inspiration of the sea 
 had fallen on him. " What meanest thou, sleeper ! " was 
 his text ; and the cry with which the sail ore awakened Jonah 
 seemed the Minister's own cry to the men who now lived 
 along these lonely coasts. Indeed, there was a singular and 
 forcible realism about the address which surprised Coquette ; 
 it was so different from the long and weary sermons on 
 doctrine to which she had of late been accustomed. The 
 Minister had borrowed all his imagery from his recent 
 experiences. He described the storm — the rushing of the 
 water — the gloom of the hills — the creaking of cordage 
 — until you could have fancied that Jonah was actually 
 trying to make for Crinan Bay. The sailors were thoroughly 
 aroused and interested. It was to them a thrilling and 
 powerful narrative of something that had actually happened ; 
 something a hundred times more real and human than the 
 vague stories and legends of the Western Isles — those faintly- 
 coloured and beautiful things that happened so far away and 
 so long ago that the sound of them now is like the sound of 
 a sea-shell. 
 
 Of course there came the application, which was equally 
 practical, if less picturesque. The fishermen, who were now 
 lazily lying on the grassy slopes above the Tobermory 
 cottages — satisfied with the drowsy warmth and the sensa- 
 tion of rest ; the sailors themselves, who were busy from day 
 to day with the mysteries of the elements, fighting with the 
 accidents of the present world, regarding only the visible 
 horizon around them — they were but as sleepers asleep in a 
 storm. For outside of this visible horizon lay another and 
 more mysterious horizon, which was daily drawing closer to 
 them, bearing with it the doom of humanity. Hour by hour 
 

 TOUCHING CERTAIN PROBLEMS. 153 
 
 the world was being narrowed by this approaching bank of 
 clond ; and when at last it burst, and the lightning of death 
 gleamed out from its sombre shadows, would there then be 
 time to seek for the Jonah who must be thrown overboard ? 
 The old man, with his bared head and his eager manner, 
 seemed himself a prophet sent up to denounce Nineveh and 
 all her iniquities ; and so impressive and resonant was his 
 voice — heard over the strange calm of the sea — that more 
 than one of the sailors had unconsciously turned to gaze far 
 out towards the horizon, as though expecting to find there 
 the gathering storm-clonds of which he spoke. 
 
 After this forenoon service had been finished, a dilemma 
 occurred. The Minister had been furnished with no rules 
 for the observance of the Sabbath on board a vessel, lie 
 had no precedents for his guidance. He could not simply 
 request everybody to come indoors and take a book. 
 Coquette, indeed, resolutely remained on deck. 
 
 u Well," said Lady Drum, " we are out o' doors as much 
 as we can be, and it would be no worse, surely, if we were 
 walking along the street yonder." 
 
 Not even Lord Earlshope had thought of continuing their 
 voyage ; that was a thing which, on the face of it, could not 
 be permitted. But when the Minister was confronted by 
 the difficulty which Lady Drum had discovered, he did not 
 know well what to do. He was averse to their going ashore 
 and walking about on the Sabbath morning, to the scandal 
 of all decent folk ; on the other hand, there was little 
 difference between that and sitting on deck to look at the 
 sea and the houses ; while going below and immuring them- 
 selves all day long was out of the question. At last his 
 natural good sense triumphed. lie gave his consent to their 
 leaving the boat for a certain time — in fact, until the hour 
 for afternoon service on deck, if they chose ; but lie would 
 remain on board. 
 
 " You will come ashore, will you not ? " said Lord 
 Earlshope to Coquette. 
 
 " No ; I wish to remain with my uncle," said Coquette, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense ! " said Lady Drum. " Would you 
 have an old woman like me stravaiging about the shore by 
 myself ? " 
 
154 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 _ "But Lord Earlshope will go with you," said Coquette, 
 timidly. 
 
 " That does not matter. He is no companion for me ; so 
 get on your hat and come away at once." 
 
 Coquette did so, and got into the gig, determined to cling 
 closely to Lady Drum's side. As they neared the shore, the 
 latter remarked that the village seemed quite deserted. 
 
 " The fishermen spend their Sundays either indoors or up 
 on the hills," said Lord Earlshope. " I believe the married 
 ones prefer the hills." 
 
 Perhaps that haphazard allusion to marriage remained in 
 his mind ; for, after they had landed and walked some 
 distance round the shore, until they discovered a pleasant 
 place from which to sit and watch the seabirds over the 
 Sound, he said, rather indolently — 
 
 " I wonder how many of those poor men have a pleasant 
 home to return to after the fatigue and discomfort of a night 
 out at the fishing." 
 
 As this was a problem which neither of the ladies with 
 him could readily solve, the only answer was the plashing of 
 the clear sea-water on the stones. Presently he said, in the 
 same careless way — 
 
 " Do you know, Lady Drum, that physiologists say we 
 become quite different people every seven years ? Don't 
 look surprised — I am going to explain. They say that every 
 atom and every particle of us have in that time been used up 
 and replaced ; so that we are not the same persons we were 
 seven years before. It is but natural to suppose that the 
 mind changes with the body, if not so completely. You, for 
 example, must find that you have not the same opinions on 
 many subjects that you had seven years ago. And in the 
 case of young people especially, they do positively and 
 actually change the whole of their mental and physical 
 structure in even less time than that. You follow this 
 introductory discourse ? " he added, with a laugh. 
 
 " Quite," said the elderly lady, " though I am no so sure 
 it is a proper one for a Sabbath morning." 
 
 " You must hear me out, and with attention. The subject 
 is profound. If I am a different person at the end of seven 
 years, why should I be bound by promises I made when I 
 was my former self ? " 
 
TOUCHING CERTAIN PROBLEMS. 155 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " said Lady Drum. " Is it a riddle ? " 
 
 " Yes. Shall I help you to solve it by an illustration ? 
 Suppose one of those sturdy young fishermen here, when he 
 is a mere boy of nineteen — undeveloped and quite vacant 
 as to experience — is induced to marry some woman who has 
 a bad nature and a hideous temper. He is a fool, of course. 
 But seven years afterwards he is not so great a fool ; indeed 
 he has become another person, according to the physiological 
 theory ; and suppose the new fisherman hates and abhors his 
 wife — perceives the deformity of her character — is revolted 
 by her instead of attracted to her. Now, why should he be 
 bound by the promise of the former fisherman ? Indeed, 
 she, also, has become another woman. Why should the old 
 marriage bind together these two new persons ? It has gone 
 away as the mark on your finger-nail goes away : they have 
 outgrown it." 
 
 Lady Drum began to look alarmed ; and Earlshope, 
 catching sight of her face, smiled. 
 
 "No," he said; "don't imagine me a monster. I don't 
 want to unmarry anybody ; it is only a theory. Yet why 
 shouldn't there be a Statute of Limitations with regard to 
 other matters than money ? " 
 
 " You mean," said Lady Drum, solemnly, " that I, 
 Margaret Ainslie Drum, wife of Sir Peter of that name, am 
 no longer a married woman, but free to marry whom I 
 please ? " 
 
 " Precisely," said Lord Earlshope, apparently with a 
 sincere joy that she had so thoroughly understood his 
 argument. " You might marry me, or anybody — according 
 to the theory, you know." 
 
 " Yes — according to the theory," remarked Lady Drum, 
 endeavouring to repress her virtuous wrath ; " of course, 
 according to the theory." 
 
 "With that he fairly burst out laughing. 
 
 " I do believe I have shocked you," he said, " in my 
 endeavour to find out an argument why that imaginary poor 
 fisherman should be released from his bonds. It was only 
 a joke, you know, Lady Drum ; for of course one could 
 not unsettle all the marriages in England merely to benefit 
 one or two people. Yet it does seem hard that when a man 
 is a fool and marries, then ceases to be a fool and wishes to 
 
156 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 be free from his blunder, there is no hope for him. You 
 don't seem to care to speculate about those matters, do 
 you ? " he added, carelessly, as he tried to twine two bits of 
 grass. " Have you ever looked round the whole circle of 
 your acquaintances, and wondered — supposing all present 
 marriages were dissolved — what new combinations they 
 would form in a week's time ? " 
 
 " I confess," said Lady Drum, with some sarcasm, " that 
 I have never amused myself in so ingenious a way. Pray, 
 Lord Earlshope, what was it in Mr. Cassilis's sermon that 
 provoked these meditations of yours ? " 
 
 " Oh, they are not of recent date," said his lordship, with 
 a fine indifference ; "it is no new thing for me to discover 
 that some of my friends would like to be unmarried. My 
 notion of their right to do so is only a phantasy, of course, 
 which is not to be taken au serieux." 
 
 " I should think not," said Lady Drum, with some 
 dignity. 
 
 Indeed, it was not until they had strolled along the shore 
 some distance on their way back to the boat that the frown 
 left her face. Her natural good sense, however, came to 
 her aid, and showed her that Lord Earlshope had merely 
 been amusing himself, as was his wont, with idle fancies. 
 He could have nothing to gain personally by advancing 
 dangerous propositions about the dissolution of marriage- 
 bonds. What was it to him if all the fishermen in 
 Tobermory, or in a dozen Tobermories, remained up on the 
 hills during the Sundays in order to get away from their 
 wives ? So the grave and handsome face of the old lady 
 gradually recovered its urbane and benignant expression ; 
 and she even ventured to rebuke Lord Earlshope, in a good- 
 humoured way, about the inappropriate occasion he had 
 chosen for his lecture on physiology. 
 
 Coquette had said nothing all this time. She walked by 
 Lady Drum's side, with something of an absent look, not 
 paying much attention to what was said. She seemed 
 relieved to get into the gig again ; so that Lady Drum 
 expressed a hope that her duties of companion had not been 
 irksome to her. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " she said ; " I am ready to go with yon when- 
 ever you please " 
 
TOUCHING CERTAIN PROBLEMS. 157 
 
 But later on in the day they had another quiet chat to 
 themselves, and Coquette became more confidential. 
 
 " I do not understand it ; there is something wrong in it, 
 surely," she said, with a thoughtful look in her eyes, " when 
 a young man like Lord Earlshope seems to have nothing 
 more in the world to do — to have lost interest in everything 
 — and at times to be gloomy and as if he were angry with 
 the world. Have you not noticed it, Lady Drum ? -Have 
 you not seen it in his face when he is talking idly ? And 
 then he says something in a bitter way, and laughs ; and it 
 is not pleasant to hear. Why, he has lost interest in every- 
 thing ! Why does he spend his time at home, reading 
 books, and anxious to avoid seeing people ? " 
 
 Lady Drum regarded her with astonishment. 
 
 " Well, well," she said ; " who would have thought that 
 those dreaming dark eyes of yours were studying people so 
 accurately, and that beneath that knot of ribbon in your 
 wild hair the oddest notions were being formed ? And 
 what concern have ye wi' Lord Earlshope's idle habits, and 
 his restlessness and dissatisfaction ? " 
 
 " I ? " said Coquette, calmly. " It is not my concern ; 
 but it is sad to sec a man whose existence is wasted — who 
 has no longer any object in it." 
 
 " He enjoys life like other folk," said Lady Drum. 
 
 " He does not enjoy his life," said Coquette, with decision. 
 " He is very polite, and does not intrude his troubles on any 
 one. You might think he passed the time pleasantly — that 
 lie was content with his idleness. I do not believe it — no, I 
 do believe there is not a more wretched man alive." 
 
 Lady Drum elevated her eyebrows. Instead of haying 
 one problem in humanity before her, she had now two. And 
 why had this young lady taken so pathetic an interest in 
 Lord Earlshope's wretchedness ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 coquette's presentiments. 
 
 It was impossible that this condition of affairs could last. 
 A far less observant man than Earlshope was bound to 
 perceive the singular change which had fallen over Coquette's 
 
158 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 manner. Hitherto she had appeared to him to be the very 
 personification of joyousness — to live a graceful, happy, 
 almost unthinking life, in an atmosphere of tender emotions 
 and kindly sentiments, which were as the sunshine and the 
 sea-breezes to her. Why should this young creature, with 
 the calm and beautiful face, whose dark eyes showed a 
 perfect serenity and placidity of soul, be visited with the 
 rougher passions, the harsher experiences, which befall less 
 fortunate people ? That was not her role. It was her 
 business to be happy — to be waited upon — to be pleased. 
 She had but to sit on deck, in her French costume of dark- 
 green tartan and black lace, with a book lying open but 
 unread on her knee, with her hand inside Lady Drum's arm, 
 with the clear light of the sea and the clouds shining in her 
 face and in the darkness of her eyes, and leave troubles and 
 cares and vexations to those born under a less fortunate 
 star. 
 
 All that was over. Coquette was distraite, restless, 
 miserable. The narrow limits of the yacht were a prison to 
 her. She was silent and reserved, and seemed merely to 
 wait with a resigned air for the end of the voyage. Had 
 the Whaup been there, she would probably have entered into 
 confidences with him, or even relieved the blank monotony 
 by quarrelling with him. As it was, she listened to Lady 
 Drum and Lord Earlshope talking, without adding a syllable 
 to the conversation ; and, while she dutifully waited on her 
 uncle, and arranged his books and papers for him, she went 
 about in a mute way, which he took as a kindly observance 
 of his wish not to be disturbed during his hours of study. 
 
 " What has become o' your blithe spirits, Catherine ? " 
 he asked on the Monday morning as they were leaving 
 Tobermory Bay. "I do not hear ye sing to yourself now ? 
 Yet I am told by Lady Drum that the voyage has done ye a 
 world o' good." 
 
 " Oh, I am very well, uncle," she said, eagerly. " I am 
 very well, indeed ; and whenever you please to go back to 
 Airlie, I shall be glad to go too." 
 
 " That is good news," said the Minister, cheerfully, " good 
 news. And we maun see about getting home again ; for I 
 am anxious to hear how young Mr. Pettigrew acquitted 
 himself yesterday, and I would fain hope there is no 
 
COQUETTE'S PRESENTIMENTS. 159 
 
 dissension among my people this morning, such as the enemy 
 is anxious to reap profit by.') 
 
 " Have you an enemy, uncle ? " said Coquette. 
 
 " We have all an enemy," answered the Minister, so im- 
 pressively that his niece looked alarmed — " an enemy who is 
 ever watchful to take advantage 0' our absence, or our 
 thoughtlessness, who goeth about like a raging lion, seeking 
 whom he may devour." 
 
 " But is he in Airlie ? " asked Coquette, who was still 
 puzzled. 
 
 "Why, your uncle means the devil," said Lady Drum, 
 gaily, as she entered the saloon, " who is in Airlie as else- 
 where — especially when there's whisky afoot and the 
 Pensioner is asked to bring out his fiddle. Come up the 
 stairs, both o' ye, and see the wonderfu' places we are pass- 
 ing. I'm thinking we have got to the end o' the lochs and 
 the islands at last, and there is nothing left for us but to go 
 straight out into the sea. I hope it'll deal gently wi' us," 
 added Lady Drum, with an involuntary shiver. 
 
 When they went on deck — Coquette keeping close by her 
 uncle, as if she feared being addressed by a stranger — it was 
 clear that the good weather which had so far accompanied 
 them showed no signs of breaking. Over the blue western 
 sea there was but the roughness of a slight breeze, which 
 was only sufficient to fill the Caroline's sails ; while the 
 jagged coast of the mainland, with the mountains of 
 Ardnamurchan and Moidart, lay steeped in a faint mist 
 under the morning sunlight. 
 
 Lord Earlshope was surprised to hear the Minister talk of 
 returning immediately. 
 
 " We must, at all events, show Miss Cassilis the wonders 
 of Loch Scavaig and Coruisk," he said, " even though you 
 should have to go over to-morrow to Broadford, and catch 
 the steamer there. We shall make Loch Scavaig this 
 evening if the wind holds." 
 
 " I hope the wind will play no tricks with us," said Lady 
 Drum. " I shall never forget what I suffered in this very 
 place when I first went to Skye many years ago — indeed, 
 when Sir Peter and I were just married." 
 
 "You might wait a couple of months without (hatching 
 such a chance as we have to-day," said Earlshope. " But 
 
160 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 to return to this question of your stay. Don't you mean 
 to visit thtj Spar Cave, and go up Glen Sligachan, and 
 ascend the Quiraing ? " 
 
 It was with a dull sense of pain that Coquette heard the 
 reply. The Minister said there was no absolute hurry — 
 that his niece would probably like to visit those wild and 
 romantic scenes, of which she must have heard and read. 
 Coquette accepted her fate mutely ; but she took the 
 opportunity of saying, a few minutes afterwards, to Lady 
 Drum — 
 
 " I hope we shall not remain long in this place — this wild 
 island. It must be horrible and ghastly, from what they 
 say." 
 
 " It is the most desolate and awful place it is possible to 
 imagine," said Lady Drum ; " a place that reminds you o' a 
 world that had long ago suffered a judgment-day, and been 
 burnt up wi' fire. For days after I saw it first I used to 
 dream about it — the black and still water and the twisted 
 rocks, and the stillness. It would be fearfu' to be left 
 alone there — at night — wi' the sound o' the burns running 
 in the darkness." 
 
 Coquette shuddered. 
 
 " I will not go ashore," she said. " There is no reason 
 for our going ashore, if we must return at once to Airlie." 
 
 So the day wore on, and the stately Caroline, with her 
 bow coquettishly dipping to the waves, drew gradually away 
 towards the north, passing the broad mouth of the Sound of 
 Sleat, and coming in view of the tall cliffs of Canna, 
 beyond the mountains of Rum Island. They were now 
 close by the southern shores of Skye. Coquette became 
 more and more disturbed. It seemed to her that she was 
 being taken to some gloomy prison, from which no escape 
 was possible. Lady Drum continued to describe the sombre 
 and desolate appearance of the place they were going to, 
 until these pictures produced the most profound effect on 
 the girl's imagination. The Caroline seemed to go forward 
 through the water with a relentless persistency ; and 
 Coquette, as the afternoon approached, and as she saw more 
 and more clearly the dark outlines of the shores towards 
 which they were tending, gave way to an unreasoning, 
 despairing terror. 
 

 COQUETTE'S PRESENTIMENTS. 161 
 
 Lady Drum was amazed. 
 
 " You arc not afraid o' rocks and water ? " she- said. 
 
 " Afraid of them ? No," said the girl. " I am afraid of 
 the place — I know not why — and of our remaining there. 
 I would rather be away ; I would rather be going back. It 
 is a presentiment I have : I cannot understand it, but it 
 makes me tremble." 
 
 " That is foolish," said Lady Drum. " You have not been 
 yourself since your cousin left." 
 
 " I wish he were here now," murmured Coquette. 
 
 " He would laugh you out of your fears," said the elderly 
 lady, in a cheerful way. " Come, rouse yourself up and 
 dismiss those gloomy fancies of yours. We shall see you 
 to-morrow on a little Highland pony, going round such 
 precipices as are fit to take your breath away ; and you will 
 be as light-hearted and as careless as if you were in my 
 drawing-room at Castle Cawmil with an open piano before 
 you. By the way, you have not played us anything since 
 your cousin left us at Oban." 
 
 "I cannot play just now," said Coquette, sitting calm 
 and cold, with her eyes fixed with a vague apprehensiveness 
 on the coast they were drawing near. 
 
 M What a strange creature you are," said Lady Drum, 
 affectionately. " You are either all fire, and light, and 
 sunshine, or as deep and morose as a well on a dark day. 
 There is Lord Earlshope, who, I am certain, thinks he has 
 offended you ; and he keeps at a distance, and watches ye 
 in a penitent fashion, as if he would give his ears to see you 
 laugh again ; I think I maun explain to him that it is no 
 his fault " 
 
 11 No, no, no, Lady Drum ! " exclaimed Coquette, in a low 
 voice. " You must not speak to him." 
 
 " Hoity, toity ! Is he to believe that I have quarrelled 
 wi 1 him as well ; and are we a' to put the man in irons in 
 his own yacht ? " 
 
 " Please don't tell him anything about me," pleaded 
 Coquette. 
 
 "But look at him at this moment," said Lady Drum, 
 with sudden compassion ; " look at him up at the bow 
 there — standing all by himself — without a human being 
 taking notice o 1 him — looking helplessly at nothing, and 
 
 II 
 
162 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 doubtless wondering whether he will get a word addressed 
 to him at dinner. Is it fair, my young lady, to serve a 
 man in that fashion in his own yacht ? " 
 
 " You may go and speak to him," said Coquette, eagerly. 
 " Yes, you must speak to him — but not about me. He does 
 not want to talk about me ; and you would only put wrong 
 things into his head. Please go, Lady Drum, and talk to 
 him." 
 
 " And what for should it rest on an old woman like me to 
 amuse a young man ? What for am I to talk to him, and 
 ye sitting here as mute and as mum as a mouse ? " 
 
 " Because — because •" said Coquette, with hesitation, 
 
 " because I think I am afraid of this island. I am not 
 
 angry with him — with anybody — but I — I . Oh, Lady 
 
 Drum ! " she suddenly exclaimed, " won't you persuade 
 them to come away from this place at once, instead of 
 remaining for days ? I cannot do it — I cannot remain. I 
 will go away by myself, if they will let me take the 
 steamer." 
 
 She spoke quite wildly ; and Lady Drum looked at her 
 with some alarm. 
 
 " I cannot understand a bit o' this," she said, gravely. 
 " What for have ye a fear o' an island ? Or is it that ye 
 are so anxious to follow your cousin ? " 
 
 "I cannot tell you what it is," said Coquette, "for I 
 cannot explain in your language. It is a presentiment — a 
 terror — I do not know ; I only know that if we remain in 
 this island long " 
 
 She trembled so violently as she spoke that Lady Drum 
 feared the girl had been attacked by some nervous fever. 
 Her face, too, was pale ; and the dark and beautiful eyes 
 were full of a strange lustre, obviously the result of great 
 excitement. 
 
 At this moment some order of the skipper recalled the 
 eyes of Coquette from looking vaguely over the sea towards 
 the south ; and as she turned her face to the bow, Lady 
 Dram felt the hand that held hers tighten its grasp, for the 
 Caroline, was slowly creeping in under the shadow of the 
 black Coolins. 
 
CONFESSION A T LAST. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 CONFESSION AT LAST. 
 
 Sunset in the wild Loch Scavaig. Far up amid the 
 shoulders and peaks of Garsven there were flashes of flame 
 and the glow of the western skies, with here and there a 
 beam of ruddy light touching the summits of the mountains 
 in the east ; but down here, in the lonely and desolate 
 arm of the sea, the bare and riven rocks showed their 
 fantastic forms in a cold grey twilight. There was a 
 murmur of streams in the stillness ; and the hollow silence 
 was broken from time to time- by the calling of wild-fowl. 
 Otherwise the solitary scene was as voiceless as death ; and 
 the only moving thing abroad was the red light in the clouds. 
 The Caroline lay motionless in the dark water. As the sun- 
 set fell the sombre and overshadowing hills seemed to loom 
 larger ; the twisted and precipitous cliffs grew more and more 
 distant ; while a pale blue vapour gathered here and there, 
 as if the spirits of the mountains were advancing under a veil. 
 
 Oddly enough, the terror of Coquette had largely subsided 
 when the Caroline had cast anchor. She regarded the 
 gloomy shores with aversion and distrust ; but she no longer 
 trembled. Indeed, the place seemed to have exercised some 
 fascination over her ; for, while all the others were busy with 
 their own affairs, she did not cease to scan with strange and 
 wondering eyes the sombre stretch of water, the picturesque 
 and desolate coast, and the mystic splendours of the twilight 
 overhead. She kept apart from her friends ; and appeared ev«n 
 to regard Lady Drum with a distant and apprehensive look. 
 
 Lady Drum resolved that she would speak to the Minister, 
 when occasion offered. She was afraid that this niece of his 
 was an incomprehensible young person, given over to visions 
 and dreams, and requiring to be kept well in hand. 
 
 Dinner was rather a gloomy affair. Lord Earlshope 
 seemed to consider that, for some reason or other, a con- 
 spiracy had been formed against him. He was very 
 courteous and quiet, but spoke chiefly to the Minister, and 
 that with a certain reserve. Lady Drum in vain en- 
 deavoured to be lively. 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 A DAUGHTER OF HETH* 
 
 Suddenly the Minister chanced to perceive that there was 
 something wrong. He looked from one to the other ; and 
 at last he said — 
 
 " This wild scenery has had its effect upon us. "We have 
 grown very grave, have we not, Lady Drum ? " 
 
 " I think we are downright solemn," said Lady Drum, 
 waking herself up as if from a nightmare. " I cannot 
 understand it. Miss Coquette — as I am told they some- 
 times ca' ye — what does it all mean ? " 
 
 Coquette looked up with a start. 
 
 " I do not know," she said. " To me these mountains look 
 dreadful. I am afraid of them. I should be glad to be away." 
 
 Lord Earlshope did not reply to her, or endeavour to 
 reason her out of her vague impressions. On the contrary, 
 he regarded her — when no one else was looking — with a 
 watchful and rather wistful scrutiny, which seemed to leave 
 rather a sad impression on his own face. 
 
 The night was cold ; and, after dinner, no one proposed 
 to go on deck. Indeed, the autumn was rapidly closing in 
 upon them ; and there was comfort in the yellow light of the 
 lamps, the warmth, and the open books down below. Lord 
 Earlshope and Lady Drum proceeded to engage in a game of 
 cribbage ; the Minister took up a bundle of MSS. ; Coquette 
 receded into a corner. 
 
 Then she stole out of the place, and went up on deck. 
 How wonderful was the darkness now ! — for it seemed to 
 burn with all manner of weird and fanciful lights. There 
 were white stars dancing on the water — one great planet 
 quivering on the dark plain as if it were a moon. Then 
 over the peaks of the Coolins there still lay the lambent 
 traces of the twilight — a pale metallic glow, which was 
 far too faint to show on the black surface of the sea. A 
 wind had sprung up, too, and it brought with it the sound 
 of the mountain streams from out of the solemn stillness that 
 dwelt everywhere around. 
 
 There came into her head the refrain of a song which she 
 used to hear the sailors sing in St. Nazaire — 
 
 Apres trois ans d'absence 
 
 Loin de France, 
 Ah ! quel beau jour, 
 Que le jour du retour I 
 
CONFESSION A T LAST. 165 
 
 " Why cannot I go back there ? " she murmured to her- 
 self, "where there were no miserable days, no miserable 
 nights ? I am terrified of this place — of the people — of 
 what I have become myself. If I could only fly away 
 down to the south, and hear them singing that on the 
 Loire — 
 
 Ah ! quel beau jour, 
 Que le jour du retour I 
 
 — that is what I would say also, when I saw old Xannette 
 come out to welcome me — and she would laugh, and she 
 would cry to see me " 
 
 The tears were running down her own cheeks. Suddenly 
 there stood by her a tall figure in the darkness, and she 
 started to hear her name pronounced. 
 
 " Why do you sit up here alone, Miss Cassilis ? " said 
 Lord Earlshope. 
 
 She could not answer. He took a seat beside her, and 
 said — 
 
 u There is another question I want to ask you. Why have 
 you avoided me these two days, and made me as though I 
 were a stranger to you ? Let us be frank with each other. 
 Are you vexed with me because — in a moment of foolishness 
 which I deeply regret — I revealed to you a secret which I 
 ought to have kept to myself ? " 
 
 •• [ am not vexed," she said in a low voice. " You must 
 not suppose that." 
 
 " But I must suppose something," he said. " Why should 
 I be your bete noire, from whom you must fly at every con- 
 ceivable moment ? If I appear on deck you seek refuge 
 with Lady Drum, or go below. If I go below you come on 
 deck. If I join in a conversation you become silent. Why 
 should this be so ? I proposed this excursion, as you know, 
 for your especial benefit. The whole thing was planned 
 merely because it might probably amuse you ; and yet you 
 :nv the only one on board who seems unhappy. Why? I 
 broke my compact about returning to Airlie after seeing you 
 a day or two on the voyage, partly through indolence, and 
 partly because I fancied I might make matters smooth and 
 pleasant for you if you went farther. I find, on the 
 contrary, that I have become a kill-joy." 
 
166 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Oh, no, it is not so ! " she said, hurriedly. " There is 
 no one in fault — no one but myself." 
 
 " But you are not in fault," he protested. " There has 
 been no fault committed ; and I want to know how the old 
 condition of affairs is to be restored. I cannot bear to see 
 you suffering this restraint from morning till night. Rather 
 than have you pass such another day as I know you have 
 passed to-day I would row ashore this moment, and take 
 my chance of finding my way over to Broadford, so that 
 you should have no fear of to-morrow." 
 
 " Oil, no, no ! " she said, in despair ; " you must not do 
 that. And you must not suppose that I am angry with you. 
 But after what you did say the other day " 
 
 " That is it," he said, in a tone of profound disappoint- 
 ment. " I had already fancied my careless talk was a 
 blunder, but I see only now how irretrievable it is. Well, 
 I cannot help it. You shall not suffer the penalty of my 
 stupidity, however. To-morrow morning you shall be free." 
 
 So he went away ; and she sat still, silent and immovable, 
 with a great pain at her heart. She listened to the murmur 
 of the water along the shore, and it seemed to have taken 
 up the refrain that had been running in her memory, only 
 that it was more vague and more sad. " Trois ans 
 d'absence . . loin de France . . jour du retour" Again 
 she was startled by the approach of some one. She knew 
 that Lord Earlshope had returned. He brought with him 
 a thick shawl, and he said, in a somewhat formal and 
 courteous way — 
 
 " Lady Drum asks you to put this round you, if you 
 prefer to remain on deck. But the night is chilly, and you 
 ought to go below, I think." 
 
 "I do not know why you should speak to me in that 
 tone," she said, with some slight touch of reproach in her 
 voice. " If all this unfortunate thing has happened, why 
 make it worse ? I hope you will not make us strangers to 
 each other, or think me ungrateful for all the kindness that 
 you did show to me." 
 
 For an instant he stood irresolute, and then he said to her 
 — in so low a voice that it was scarcely heard in the murmur 
 of the sea — 
 
 " And I have to thank you for something also. You have 
 
CONFESSION A T LAST. 167 
 
 given me back a little of ray old belief in the sweetness and 
 innocence of good women, and in the nobleness and the 
 mystery of human life. That is not a light matter. It is 
 something to have some of one's old faith back again, how- 
 ever di urly it may be bought. The price has been perhaps 
 heavier than you may have imagined. I have striven this day 
 or two back to make you believe that I had almost forgotten 
 what I told you. I shall never forget it — nor do I wish to. 
 I may tell you that now, when I am about to ask you to say 
 good-bye. It is not for you to be annoyed or troubled with 
 such matters. You will go back to Airlie. You will scarcely 
 remember that I ever told you my wretched and foolish 
 story. But I shall not go back to Airlie — at least not for 
 a while ; and when we do meet again, I hope you will have 
 forgotten all this, and will not be afraid to meet me. So 
 good-bye now, for I shall not see you in the morning." 
 
 He held out his hand, but she made no response. "What 
 was it he heard in the stillness of the night ? 
 
 Moved by a great fear, he knelt down beside her, and 
 looked into her face. Her eyes were filled with tears ; and 
 the sound he had heard was that of a low and bitter sobbing. 
 There broke upon him a revelation far more terrible than 
 that which had informed him of his own sorrow ; and it was 
 with a new anxiety in his voice that he said to her — 
 
 "Why are you distressed. It is nothing to you — my 
 going away ? It cannot be anything to you, surely ? " 
 
 " It is very much — your going away," she said, with a 
 calmness of despair which startled him ; " I cannot bear it. 
 And yet you must go — and never see me again. That will 
 be better for you and for me." 
 
 He ro^e to his feet suddenly ; and even in the starlight 
 her tearful and upturned eyes saw that his face was ghastly 
 pale. 
 
 " "What have I done ? What have I done ? " he exclaimed, 
 as if accusing himself to the still heavens that burned with 
 their countless stars above him. " My own blunders, my 
 own weakness, I can answer for — I can accept my punish- 
 ment — but if this poor girl has been made to suffer through 
 me — that is more than I can bear. Coquette — Coquette — 
 tell me you do not mean all this ! You cannot mean it — 
 you do not understand my position — you tell me what it is 
 
1 63 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 madness to think of ! What you say would be to any other 
 man a joy unspeakable — the beginning of a new life to him ; 
 but to me " 
 
 He shuddered only, and turned away from her. She rose, 
 and took his hand gently, and said to him, in her low, quiet 
 voice — 
 
 " I do not know what you mean ; but you must not 
 accuse yourself for me, or give yourself pain. I have made 
 a confession — it was right to do that, for you were going 
 away, and you might have gone with a wrong thought of 
 me, and have looked back and said I was ungrateful. Now 
 you will go away knowing that I am still your friend — that 
 I shall think of you sometimes — and that I shall pray never, 
 never to see you any more, until we are old people, and we 
 may meet, and laugh at the old stupid folly." 
 
 There was a calm sadness in her tone that was very 
 bitter to him : and the next moment he was saying to her 
 in almost a wild way — ■ 
 
 " It shall not end thus. Let the past be past, Coquette ; 
 and the future ours. Look at the sea out there — far away 
 beyond that you and I may begin a new life ; and the sea 
 itself shall wash out all that we want to forget. Will you 
 come, Coquette ? Will you give up all your pretty ways, 
 and your quiet home, and your amiable friends, to link 
 yourself to a desperate man, and snatch the joy that the 
 people in this country would deny us ? Let us seek a new 
 country for ourselves. You love me, my poor girl, don't 
 you ? and see ! my hand trembles with the thought of being 
 able to take you away, and fight for you, and make for you 
 a new world, with new surroundings, where you would have 
 but one friend, and one slave. What do you say, Coquette ? 
 Why should we two be for ever miserable ? Coquette " 
 
 She drew back from him in fear. 
 
 " I am afraid of you now," she said, with a strange 
 trembling. " You are another man. What are you ? — what 
 are you ? — Ah ! I do see another face " 
 
 She staggered backward ; and then, with a quick cry, 
 fell insensible. He sprang forward to catch her ; and he 
 had scarcely done so when the Minister hastily approached. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ? " he said. 
 
 " She has been sitting too long alone," said Lord Earls- 
 
CONFESSION A T LAST. 169 
 
 hope, as Lady Drum hastened to seize the girl's hands. 
 " The darkness had got hold of her imagination — and that 
 wild light up there " 
 
 For at this moment there appeared over the black peaks 
 of the Coolins a great, shifting flush of pink — that shone up 
 the dark skies and then died out in a semicircle of pale 
 violet fire. In the clear heavens this wild glare gleamed and 
 faded, so that the sea also had its pallid colours blotting out 
 the white points of the stars. Mr. Cassilis paid little atten- 
 tion to the explanation ; but it seemed reasonable enough ; 
 for the girl, on coming to herself, looked all round at this 
 strange glow of rose-colour overhead, and again shuddered 
 violently. 
 
 " She has been nervous all day," said Lady Drum ; " she 
 should not have been left alone." 
 
 They took her below ; but Earlshope remained above. 
 In a little while he went down into the saloon, where Mr. 
 Cassilis sat alone, reading. 
 
 " Miss Cassilis will be well in the morning, I hope," he 
 said, somewhat distantly. 
 
 " Oh, doubtless, doubtless. She is nervous and excitable 
 — as her father was — but it is nothing serious." 
 
 " I hope not," said Earlshope. 
 
 He took out writing materials, and hastily wrote a few 
 lines on a sheet of paper, which he folded up and put in 
 an envelope. Then he bade Mr. Cassilis good-night, and 
 retired. 
 
 But towards midnight Coquette, lying awake, heard 
 cautious footsteps on deck, and the whispering voices of the 
 men. In the extreme silence her sense of hearing was pain- 
 fully acute. She fancied she heard a boat being brought 
 round. There was a moment's silence ; then the words, 
 " Give way ! " — followed by a splash of oars. 
 
 She knew that Lord Earlshope was in the boat which was 
 now making for the shore through the darkness of the night. 
 All that had occurred on deck seemed but a wild dream. 
 She knew only that he had left them — perhaps never to see 
 her again in this world ; she knew only that her heart was 
 full of anguish ; and that her fast-flowing tears could not 
 lessen the aching pain. 
 
170 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 LOIN DE FKANCE. 
 
 A DULL grey day lay over Loch Scavaig. A cold wind 
 came in from the sea, and moaned about the steep rocks, the 
 desolate hills, and the dark water. The wildfowl were more 
 than usually active, circling about in flocks, restless and 
 noisy. There were signs of a change in the weather, and it 
 was a change for the worse. 
 
 Mr. Cassilis was the first on deck. 
 
 " Please, sir," said the skipper, coming forward to him, 
 " his lordship bade me say to ye that he had to leave early 
 tliis morning to catch the steamer, and didna want to disturb 
 ye. His lordship hoped, sir, you and my lady would consider 
 the yacht your own while ye stayed in it, and I will take 
 your orders for anywhere ye please." 
 
 " What a strange young man ! " said the Minister to him- 
 self, as he turned away. 
 
 He met Lady Drum, and told her what he had heard. 
 
 " He is fair daft," said the elderly lady, with some im- 
 patience. " To think of bringing us up here to this out- 
 landish place, and leaving us without a word o' apology ; 
 but he was never to be reckoned on. I have seen him get 
 into a frightful temper, and walk out o' my house, just 
 because a young leddy friend o' mine would maintain that 
 he looked like a married man." 
 
 " How is my niece ? " said the Minister. 
 
 " I was about to tell ye, sir," returned Lady Drum, in a 
 cautious and observant way, "that she is still a little feverish 
 and excited. I can see it in her restlessness and her look. 
 It must have been coming on ; and last night — wi' the 
 darkness, and the wildness o' this fearsome place, and the 
 red Northern Lights in the sky — it is no wonder she gave 
 way." 
 
 "But I hope it is not serious," said the Minister, hastily. 
 " I know so little of these ailments that I must ask ye 
 to be mindful o' her, as if she were your own child, and 
 do with her what ye think proper. Is she coming on 
 deck ? " 
 
LOIN DE FRANCE. 171 
 
 " No," said Lady Drum, carefully watching the effect of 
 her speech as she proceeded. " She will be better to lie 
 quiet for the day. But we must guard against her 
 having another shock. We must get away from here, sir, 
 directly." 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure," said the Minister, almost 
 mechanically. " Where shall we go ? " 
 
 " Let us go straight back to Oban, and from there 
 perhaps Miss Cassilis would prefer to go to Greenock by 
 the steamer." 
 
 The skipper received his orders. Fortunately, although 
 the day was lowering and dismal, the wind did not rise, and 
 they had a comparatively smooth voyage southwards. The 
 Minister remained on deck, anxious and disturbed ; Lady 
 Dram was in attendance on Coquette. 
 
 The Minister grew impatient and a trifle alarmed when 
 no news came from his niece. At last he went below and 
 knocked at the door of her state-room. Lady Drum came 
 out, shut the door behind her, and went with the Minister 
 along into the saloon. 
 
 "But how is she ? " said he. " Why does she keep to her 
 room if she can come out ? " 
 
 Lady Dram was evidently annoyed and embarrassed 
 by these questions, and answered them in a hesitating 
 and shuffling way. At length she said, somewhat 
 insidiously — 
 
 " Ye do not understand French, Mr. Cassilis ? " 
 
 " No," said the Minister ; " I have never studied the 
 language of a nation whose history is not pleasant to me." 
 
 "I once knew plenty of French," said Lady Dram, "and 
 even now manage to get through a letter to my friends in 
 Paris ; but her rapid talk " 
 
 " Whose rapid talk ? " said the Minister. 
 
 " Why, your niece " 
 
 " Is it French she is talking ? " said he. 
 
 Lady Drum bit her lip and was silent ; she had blurted 
 out too much. 
 
 " You do not mean to say that Catherine is delirious ? " 
 said the Minister, suddenly standing up with a pale face, 
 as if to meet and defy the worst news that could reach 
 him. 
 
172 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Lady Drum hurriedly endeavoured to pacify him. It was 
 nothing. It was but a temporary excitement. She would 
 recover with a little rest. But this tall, sad-faced man 
 would hear none of these explanations ; he passed Lady 
 Drum, walked along and entered the state-room, and stood 
 by the little bed where his niece lay. 
 
 She saw him enter, and there was a smile of welcome on 
 her pale face. Perhaps it was the dim light, or the exceeding 
 darkness and lustre of the eyes which were fixed upon him, 
 which made her look so pale ; but her appearance there, 
 with her wild dark hair lying loosely on the white pillow, 
 struck him acutely with a sense of vague foreboding and 
 pain. 
 
 " Is it you, papa ? " she said, quietly, and yet with a 
 strange look on her face. " Since I have been ill I have 
 been learning English to speak to you, and I can speak it 
 very well. Only Nannette does not seem to understand — she 
 tires me — you must send her away " 
 
 With a weary look she let her face sink into the pillow. 
 
 " Catherine," said the Minister, with a great fear at his 
 heart, " don't you know me ? " 
 
 She did not answer or pay any attention for a few seconds, 
 and then she said : 
 
 " Yes, of course, I know. But you must teach me how to 
 sleep, papa, for there is a noise all round me, and I cannot 
 sleep. It is like waves, and my head is giddy and rocks 
 with it and with the music. You must keep Nannette from 
 singing, papa — it vexes me — and it is always the same — trois 
 arts cT absence — loin de France — ah, quel beau jour ! — and I 
 hear it far away — always Nannette singing " 
 
 Lady Drum stole in behind the Minister, and laid her 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 " You must not be alarmed," she whispered ; " this 
 is nothing but the excitement of yesterday, and she may 
 have caught a cold and made herself subject to a slight 
 fever." 
 
 The Minister said nothing, but stood in a dazed way, 
 looking at the girl with his sad grey eyes, and apparently 
 scarcely able to realise the scene before him. 
 
 " When shall we reach Tobermory ? " he asked, at length. 
 
 " In about two hours," said Lady Drum. 
 
LOIN DE FRANCE. 173 
 
 The girl had overheard ; for she continued to murmur, 
 almost to herself — 
 
 " Shall we be home again, papa, in two hours, and go up 
 past St. Nazaire ? It is a long time since we were there — so 
 long ago it seems a mist, and we have been in the darkness. 
 Ah ! the darkness of last night out on the sea, with the wild 
 things in the air — the wild things in the air — and the waves 
 crying along the shore. It is three years of absence, and we 
 have been away in dreadful places, but now there is home 
 again, papa — home, and Nannette is singing merrily in the 
 garden, and my mamma does come to the gate. But why 
 does she not speak ? Why does she turn from me ? Does 
 she not know me any more — not know Coquette ? And see ! 
 see ! papa, it is all going away : the garden is going back 
 and back — my mamma has turned her face away, and I 
 can scarcely see her for the darkness — have we not got home, 
 not yet, after all ? — for it is away now in a mist, and I can 
 see nothing, and not even hear Nannette singing." 
 
 The Minister took the girl's hand in his ; great tears 
 were running down his cheeks, and his voice was broken 
 with sobs. 
 
 " My girl, we shall be home presently. Do not distress your- 
 self about it ; lie still, the boat is carrying you safely home." 
 
 He went on deck ; he could not bear to look any more on 
 the beautiful, wistful eyes that seemed to him full of 
 entreaty. They carried a cruel message to him — like the 
 dumb look of pain that is in an animal's eyes, when it seeks 
 relief, and none can be given. Impatiently he watched the 
 yacht go down through the desolate waste of grey sea, the 
 successive headlands and bays slowly opening out as she 
 sped on. He paced up and down the narrow strip of deck, 
 wearying for the vessel to get round Ardnamurchan. It 
 was clearly impossible for them to reach Oban that night ; 
 bat surely there would be a doctor in Tobermory, who could 
 give Lady Drum sufficient directions. 
 
 The evening was deepening into dusk as they got into the 
 Sound of Mull. Coquette had fallen into a deep sleep, and 
 her constant nurse and attendant was rejoiced. The Minister, 
 however, was not a whit less anxious ; and it was with eager 
 eyes that he scanned the narrowing distance between the 
 prow of the yacht and Tobermory Bay. At length the 
 
174 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Caroline reached her berth for the night, and the anchor was 
 scarcely let go when the Minister got into the gig and was 
 rapidly rowed ashore. A short time thereafter he had 
 returned to the yacht, bringing with him the doctor ; while 
 Lady Drum had gone on deck to see that the sailors post- 
 poned the more noisy of their operations until Coquette 
 should have awakened from her slumbers. 
 
 The Minister's first notion had been that his niece should 
 be taken ashore so soon as they got near a habitable 
 house. But, apart from the danger of the removal, could 
 she be better situated in a Tobermory inn than in this 
 little cabin, where she could have the constant care of Lady 
 Drum ? The present consultation afforded him some relief. 
 It was probably only a slight fever, the result of powerful 
 nervous excitement and temporary Aveakness of the system. 
 She was to remain where she was, subject to the assiduous 
 attentions of her nurse ; a physician was to be consulted 
 when they reached Oban ; and, if circumstances then 
 warranted it, she might be gently taken south in the yacht 
 to her own home. 
 
 Next day, however, the fever had somewhat increased ; and 
 the wild imaginings — the pathetic appeals — and the in- 
 coherent ramblings of the girl's delirium grew in intensity. 
 The bizarre combinations of all her recent experiences were 
 so foreign to all probability that her nurse paid but little 
 attention to them, although she was sometimes deeply affected 
 by the pathetic reminiscences of her charge, or by the lurid 
 descriptions of dark sea scenes which were apparently 
 present to the girl's imagination with a ghastly distinctness. 
 Yet through all these fantastic groupings of mental phenomena 
 there ran a series of references to Lord Earlshope, which 
 Lady Drum was startled to find had some consistency. They 
 occurred in impossible combinations with other persons and 
 things ; but they repeated, with a strange persistency, the 
 same impressions. On the afternoon of the day on which 
 hey arrived at Oban — the physician having come and gone 
 — Coquette beckoned her companion to sit down by her. 
 She addressed her as Nannette, as she generally did, mistaking 
 her elderly friend for her old nurse. 
 
 " Listen, Nannette. Yesterday I did see something terrible. 
 I cannot forget it," she said, in a low voice, with her dark 
 
LOIN DE FRANCE. 175 
 
 eyes apparently watching something in the air before her. 
 " It was Lord Earlshope coming over the sea to me — walking 
 on the water — and there was a glare of light around him ; 
 and he seemed an angel that had come with a message, for 
 he held something in his hand to me, and there was a smile 
 on his face. You do not know him, Nannette — it is no 
 matter. All this happened long ago — in another country — 
 and now that I am home again it is forgotten, except when 
 1 dream. Are you listening, poor old Nannette ? As he 
 eaine near the boat, I held out my hand to save him from the 
 waves. Ah ! the strange light there was. It seemed to 
 grow day, although we were up in the north, under the 
 black mountains, and in the shadow of the night-clouds. I 
 held out my hand to him, Nannette ; and he had almost 
 come to me — and then — and then — there was a change — 
 and all the light vanished, and he dropped down into the 
 sea, and in place of Lord Earlshope there was a fearful 
 thing — a devil — that laughed in the water, and swam round, 
 and I ran back for fear. There was a red light around him 
 in the sea, and he laughed, and stretched up his hands. Oh, 
 it was dreadful — dreadful — Nannette ! " the girl continued, 
 moaning and shuddering. " I cannot close my eyes but I 
 see it — and yet, where is the letter I got before he sank into 
 the water ? " 
 
 She searched underneath her pillow for the note which 
 Earlshope had left for her on the night before he went. 
 She insisted on Lady Drum reading it. The old lady 
 opened the folded bit of paper, and read the following words 
 — "/ was mad last night I do not know what I said. 
 tier mi 1 ; for I cannot forgive myself." 
 
 What should she do with this fragment of correspondence 
 which now confirmed her suspicions ? If she were to hand 
 it back to the girl it was probable she might in her delirium 
 give it to Mr. Cassilis, who had enough to suffer without it. 
 After all, Lady Drum reflected, this message criminated no 
 one ; it only suggested a reason for Lord Earlshope's sudden 
 departure. She resolved to retain that note in her possession 
 for the meantime, and give it back to Coquette when the 
 girl should have recovered. 
 
 u May I keep this message for a little while ? " she asked, 
 gently. 
 
176 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Coquette looked at it, and turned away her head and 
 murmured to herself — 
 
 " Yes, yes, let it go — it is the last bit of what is now all 
 past and gone. Why did I ever go away from France — up 
 to that wild place in the north, where the night has red fire 
 in it, and the sea is full of strange faces ? It is all past and 
 gone. Nannette, Nannette, have I told you of all that I saw 
 in Scotland — of the woman who did take my mother's 
 crucifix from me, and the old man I used to fear, and the 
 Highlander, and my brave cousin Tom, and my uncle, and — 
 and another who has got no name now ! I should not have 
 gone there — away from you, my poor old Nannette — but now 
 it is all over, and I am come home again. How pleasant it is 
 to be in the warm south again, Nannette ! I shall never leave 
 France any more — I will stay here, under the bright skies, 
 and we will go down to the river, as we used to do, and you 
 will sing to me. Nannette, Nannette, it is a pretty song — but 
 so very sad — do you not know that this is the day of our 
 return to France — that we are at home now — at home ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 AFTEE MANY DAYS. 
 
 It was a Sunday morning in winter. For nearly a 
 fortnight AirJie moor had been lying under a black frost. 
 The wind that whistled through the leafless woods and 
 swept over the hard ground was bitterly cold ; the sky was 
 grey and cheerless ; the far stretch of the sea was more than 
 usually desolate. The winter had come soon on the heels of 
 autumn ; and already all the manifold signs of life which 
 had marked the summer were nipped off and dead. The 
 woods were silent ; the murmur of the moorland rivulet had 
 been hushed, for its narrow channel contained a mass of ice ; 
 and the stripped and bare fields over which the piercing wind 
 blew were hard as iron. 
 
 Then there was one night's snow ; and in a twinkling the 
 whole scene was changed. On the Saturday night a certain 
 stranger had arrived in Ardrossan, and put up at an inn there. 
 He had come down from Glasgow in a third-class carriage, 
 and had had a sufficiently cheerless journey. But now, 
 
AFTER MANY DA YS. 177 
 
 on this Sunday morning, when he got up, and went out, lo ! 
 there was a new world all around him. The sun was shining 
 brightly over the great white fields ; the trees hung heavy 
 with the snow ; the straggling groups of men and women 
 coming in from the country to church, moved ghostlike and 
 silent along the white roads ; and the sea outside had caught 
 a glimmer of misty yellow from the sunlight, and was almost 
 calm. The bright and clear atmosphere was exhilarating, 
 although yet intensely cold ; and as this solitary adventurer 
 issued forth from the town, and took his way up to the high 
 country, the keen air brought a glow of colour into his young 
 and healthy face. The frost had evidently neither stiffened 
 his limbs nor congealed his blood ; and yet even when the 
 brisk exercise had made him almost uncomfortably warm, he 
 still kept his Scotch cap well down over his forehead, while 
 the collar of his topcoat was pulled up so as to conceal 
 almost the whole of the rest of his face. 
 
 His light and springy step took him rapidly over the 
 ground, and his spirits rose with the fresh air and the 
 joyous exercise. He began to sing "Drumelog," Sunday 
 morning as it was. Then, when he had gained a higher 
 piece of country, and turned to look round him on the 
 spacious landscape — when he saw the far hills and the valleys 
 shining in the sunlight, the snow lying thick and soft on the 
 evergreens, and the sea grown blue and silvery around the 
 still whiteness of the land — he drew a long breath, and said 
 to himself : 
 
 "Wouldn't it be worth while to live twenty years in 
 (Jlasgow to catch a glimpse of such a picture as that, and 
 get a mouthful of the clear air ? " 
 
 By-and-by he came in sight of Airlie, and then he 
 moderated his pace. Over the silence of the snow he could 
 hear the sharp clanging of a bell. A dark line of stragglers 
 was visible on the whiteness of the moor, on their way to the 
 small church, the roof of which sparkled in the sunlight. 
 Beyond that again, and higher up, was the dusky wall of the 
 Manse, over which looked some of the windows of the house. 
 One of the panes caught the sun at an angle, and sent out 
 into the clear atmosphere a burning ray of light, which 
 glittered over the moor like a yellow star. 
 
 At last he came to a dead stop, by the side of a piece of 
 
 N 
 
178 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 coppice. He heard voices behind him, and, turning, saw 
 two or three people coming up the road. Evidently wishing 
 to avoid them, he jumped over the low hedge by the side of 
 the path, and made his way a little distance into the wood. 
 The thickness and softness of the feathery snow deadened 
 every sound. 
 
 But when he looked towards the road again, he saw that 
 through the leafless trees it might be possible for any one to 
 descry him ; and so he went on again, gradually getting 
 down into a hollow, until, suddenly, he found himself 
 confronted by a man. The two looked at each other ; the 
 one alarmed, the other annoyed. At last, the elder of the 
 two called out : 
 
 " Cot pless me, is it you, indeed and mirover ? " 
 
 The younger of the two men did not answer, but began 
 to look about, and, after a brief search, picked up a bit of 
 string and wire which lay plainly marked on the snow. 
 
 " Neil, Neil, is this how ye spend the Sabbath morning ? " 
 said he. 
 
 " And wass you thinking, sat bit o' string wass mine ? " 
 said Neil, indignantly, " when it is John M'Kendrick will 
 ask me to go out and watch sa men frae the iron-works sat 
 come up to steal sa rabbits ! " 
 
 " Oh ! ye were sent out to watch the poachers ? " 
 
 "Jist sat," said Neil the Pensioner, looking rather 
 uncomfortably at the snare in the other's hands. 
 
 " Do ye ken where leears gang to ? " said the Whaup— 
 for he it was. 
 
 " Toots, toots, man ! " said the Pensioner, insidiously, 
 " what is sa harm if a body rins against a bit rabbit ? There 
 is mair o' them san we can a' eat ; and when ye stand in sa 
 wood, wi' your legs close, sey rin just clean against your 
 feet, and it will pe no human man could keep his fingers aff. 
 And what for are ye no at sa kirk yersel', Maister Tammas ? " 
 
 " Look here, Neil," said the Whaup, decisively, " I have 
 come down from Glasgow for an hour or so ; and nobody in 
 Airlie maun ken anything about it. Do ye understand ? 
 As soon as the folk are in church, I am going up to the 
 Manse ; and I will make Leezibeth swear not to tell. As 
 for you, Neil, if ye breathe a word o't, I'll hae ye put in Ayr 
 jail for poaching." 
 
AFTER MANY DA VS. 179 
 
 " It wassna poaching," said Neil, in feeble protest. 
 
 "Now tell me all about the Airlie folk," said the Whaup. 
 u AVhat has happened ? What have they been doing ? " 
 
 " Ye will ken sat nothing ever happens in Airlie," said 
 Neil, with a slight touch of contempt ; " there hassna been 
 a funeral or any forgatherin' for a lang time, and there is 
 mair change in you, Maister Tammas, than in Airlie. You 
 will have pecome quite manly-like, and it is only sa short 
 while you will pe away. Mirover, sare is more life going on 
 in Glasgow — eh, Maister Tammas ? " 
 
 The old Pensioner spoke wistfully about Glasgow, which 
 he knew had plenty of funerals, marriages, and other 
 occasions for dram-drinking. 
 
 " Is my cousin as much better as they said ? " 
 
 " Oh, she will pe much petter, but jist as white as the 
 snaw itsel\ I wass up to see her on sa Wednesday nicht, 
 and she will say to me — ' Neil, where iss your fiddle ? ' but 
 who would ha' socht o' -taking up sa fiddle? And I did 
 have a dram, too." 
 
 " Probably," said the Whaup. " Lord Earlshope — what 
 has become of him ?" 
 
 " Nobody will know what hass come to him, for he is not 
 lure since sey all went away in sa yacht. I tit hear, 
 mirover, he wass in France — and sare is no knowing what 
 will happen to a man in sat country, ever since Waterloo. 
 But Lord Earlshope will pe safer if he will tell them sat he 
 is English. Sey canna bear sa Scotch ever since what we 
 did at Waterloo, as I will have told you often, but sa 
 English — I do not sink it will matter much harm to them 
 Vance." 
 
 •• 1 should think not, Neil. It was the Highlanders 
 settled them that day, wasn't it ?" 
 
 "I will tell you," said Neil, drawing himself up to hi-* 
 full height. " It wass Corj>oral Mackenzie said to me, at 
 six o'clock in sa morning — 'Neil,' said he, 'sare will be no 
 iTpart at the end o 1 this day, if I can get at him wis my 
 musket. 1 Now Corporal Mackenzie was a strong, big 
 man " 
 
 u Neil, you have told me all that before," said the Whaup. 
 " I know that you and Corporal Mackenzie took a whole bat- 
 tery captive — men, horses, and guns. You told me before," 
 
 x 2 
 
180 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " And if a young man hass no pride in what his country 
 hass done ; if he will not hear it again and again," said 
 Neil, with indignation, " it is not my fault." 
 
 " Another time, Neil, we will go over the story from end 
 to end. There, the bells have just stopped. I must get on 
 now to the Manse. Kemember, if you let a human being 
 know you saw me in Airlie this day, it will be Ayr jail 
 for ye." 
 
 The Pensioner laughed, and said : 
 
 "You wass always a goot hand at a joke, Maister 
 Tammas." 
 
 "Faith, you won't find it any joke, Neil," said the 
 Whaup, as he bade good-bye to the old man, and went off. 
 
 As he crossed the moor — the white snow concealing deep 
 ruts filled with crackling ice, into which he frequently 
 stumbled — he saw the beadle come out and shut the outer 
 door of the church. Not a sign of life was now visible as 
 far as the eye could see — only the white heights and hollows, 
 with dark lines of hedges, and the grey twilight of the 
 woods. The sun still shone on the Manse windows, and as 
 he drew near a thrush flew out of one of the short firs in 
 front of the house, bringing down a lot of snow with the 
 flutter of its wings. 
 
 He lifted the latch gently, and walked into the front 
 garden. A perfect stillness reigned around. Every- 
 body was evidently at church — unless, indeed, Leezibeth 
 might have been left with Coquette. The Whaup looked 
 over the well-known scene of many an exploit. He slipped 
 round the house, too, to have a glimpse at the rest of the 
 premises. A blackbird flew out of one of the bushes with 
 a cry of alarm. A robin came hopping forward on the 
 snow and cocked up its black and sparkling eye at the 
 intruder. There were two or three round patches of snow 
 on the walls of the stable ; and the Whaup, recognising 
 these traces, knew that his brothers must have been having 
 high jinks there this morning before the Manse had awoke. 
 
 Then he went back and cautiously entered the hall. 
 What was this low and monotonous sound he heard issuing 
 from the parlour ? He applied his ear to the door, and 
 heard Leezibeth reading out, in a measured and melancholy 
 way, a chapter of Isaiah. 
 
A FTER MANY DAYS. 1 8 1 
 
 " What does that mean ? " thought the Whaup. " She 
 never used to read to herself. Can she be reading to 
 Coquette ; and is that the enlivening drone with which she 
 seeks to interest an invalid ? " 
 
 It seemed to him, also, that if Leezibeth were reading to 
 Coquette, she was choosing passages with a sinister applica- 
 tion. He heard the monotonous voice go on : — " Come 
 down, and sit in the dust, virgin daughter of Babylon ; sit 
 on the ground; there is no throne, daughter of the 
 Chaldeans ; for thou shalt no more be called tender and 
 delicate" The cheeks of the Whaup began to burn red 
 with something else than the cold. He knew not that 
 Leezibeth had altogether overcome her old dislike for the 
 girl, and waited on her with an animal-like fondness and 
 submissiveness. The Whaup took it for granted that these 
 texts were chosen as a reproof and admonition — part of the 
 old persecution ; and so, without more ado, he opened the 
 door brusquely, and walked in. 
 
 A strange scene met his eyes. Coquette, pale and death- 
 like, lay on a sofa, with her large, dark eyes fixed wistfully 
 on the lire. She evidently heard nothing. Leezibeth sat 
 on a chair at the table, with a large Family Bible before 
 her. There was no trace of a sick room in this hushed and 
 warm apartment, in which the chief light was the red glow 
 of the fire ; and yet it was so silent, save for the low 
 murmuring of these texts, and the girl looked so sad and so 
 phantom-like, that a great chill laid hold of his heart. 
 Had they been deceiving him in their letters ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 coquette's dreams. 
 
 The Whaup went over to the sofa, and knelt down on 
 one knee, and took Coquette's hand. 
 
 " Coquette," said he, forgetting to call her by any other 
 name, " are you ill yet ? Why are you so pale ? Why did 
 they tell me you were almost better ? " 
 
 She was pale no longer. A quick flush of surprise and 
 delight sprang to her face when she saw him enter ; and 
 
182 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 there was a new life and pleasure in her eyes as she said 
 rapidly : 
 
 " You are come all the way from Glasgow to see me ? I 
 was thinking of you, and trying to make a picture of Glas- 
 gow in the coal and flames of the fire ; and I had begun to 
 wonder when you would come back ; and whether it would be 
 a surprise — and — and — I did think I did hear something in 
 the snow outside, and it was really you ? And how well you 
 look, Tom," she added, with her dark eyes full of a subtle 
 tenderness and joy regarding the young man's handsome and 
 glowing face ; " and how big and strong you are ; but, do 
 you know, you seem to be a great deal older ? You have 
 been working very hard, Tom ? Ah, I do know ! And you 
 have come to stay for a while ? And what sort of a house 
 have you been living in ? And what sort of a place is 
 Glasgow ? Sit down on the hearthrug and tell me all 
 about it ! " 
 
 She spoke quite rapidly, and, in her gladness and excite- 
 ment, she tried to raise herself up a bit. The Whaup 
 instantly offered her his assistance, and propped up the 
 cushions on which her head rested. But why did he not 
 speak ? He did not answer one of her questions. He 
 looked at her in a vague and sad way, as if she were 
 somehow remote, and she fancied she saw a tremor about 
 his lips. Then he said suddenly, with a sharpness which 
 startled her : 
 
 " Why was I not told ? Why did they make light 
 of it ? What have they been doing to let you get as ill as 
 this ? " 
 
 He rose and turned with a frown on his face, as if to 
 accuse Leezibeth of being the cause of the girl's illness. 
 Leezibeth had quietly slipped out of the room. 
 
 u What does that woman mean by persecuting you with 
 her texts ? " he asked. 
 
 Coquette reached out her hand, and brought him down to 
 his old position beside her. 
 
 " You must not say anything against Leesibess ; she is 
 my very good friend, and so kind that she does not know 
 how to serve me. And you must not look angry like that, 
 or I shall be afraid of you ; you seem so much greater 
 and older than you were, and I have no longer any control 
 
COQUETTE'S DREAMS. 183 
 
 over you, as I did use to have when you were a boy, you 
 know." 
 
 The Whaup laughed, and sat down on the hearthrug 
 beside her. The fire heightened the warm glow of his face, 
 and touched here and there the brown masses of curling 
 hair ; but it was clear that some firmness, and perhaps a 
 touch of sadness had been added to the lad's expression 
 during those few months he had been away from home. 
 There was a gravity in his voice, too, which had replaced the 
 buoyant carelessness of old. 
 
 " It is comfortable to be near one's own fire, and to see 
 you again, Coquette," said he; 
 
 " It is miserable away in Glasgow ? " she said. " This 
 morning, when I saw the snow, I thought of *you in the 
 drear town, and did wonder what you were doing. It is 
 Sunday, I said, he will go to church in the morning, and 
 then he will go outside the town for a walk all by himself. 
 He will go through the great gate, and under the big walls. 
 All the trees on the side of the fortifications will be bare and 
 heavy with snow ; and the people that pass along the boule- 
 vards outside the walls will be muffled up and cold. In the 
 gardens of the cafes the wooden benches will be wet and 
 deserted. Then I see you walk twice round the town, and 
 go in again by the gate. You go home, you have dinner, you 
 take a book — perhaps it is the French Testament I gave you — 
 and you think of us here at Airlie. And when you sit like 
 that do you think of the sea, and the old church up here, and 
 the moor ; and do you see us as clearly as I can see you, 
 ami could you speak to me if only the words would carry ? " 
 
 He listened as if he were listening to the record of a 
 dream ; and, strangely enough, it coincided with many a 
 dream that he had dreamt by himself in the solitude of his 
 Glasgow lodgings. 
 
 " What a curious notion of Glasgow you have," he said. 
 " You seem to think it is like a French town. There are no 
 fortifications. There are no walls, no boulevards round the 
 place* nor public gardens with benches. There is a close 
 network of streets in the middle, and these lose themselves, 
 on the one side, in great masses of public works and 
 chimneys that stretch out into dirty fields that are 
 sodden with smoke, and, on the other side, into suburbs 
 
1 84 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 where the rich people have big houses. There is nothing in 
 the way of ramparts, or moats, or fortifications ; but there is 
 a cannon in the "West-End Park." 
 
 " There is a park, then ? It is not all houses and 
 chimneys ? " 
 
 " There are two parks that let you see nearly down to 
 Airlie. On the clear days I go up to the highest point and 
 look away down here, and wonder if I could call to Coquette, 
 and if she would hear." 
 
 " You do think of me sometimes, then ? " said she, with 
 the dark eyes grown wistful and a trifle sad. 
 
 Had he not thought of her ! What was it that seemed to 
 sweeten his life in the great and weary city but tender 
 memories of the girl away down in that moorland nook ? 
 In the time of constant rain, when the skies were dark, 
 and the roaring traffic of the streets ploughed its way 
 through sludge and mud, he thought of one spot over which, 
 in his imagination, there dwelt perpetual sunshine and a blue 
 sky. When he was sick of the noise and the smoke — sick, 
 too, of the loneliness of the great city — he could think of 
 the girl far away, whose face was as pure and sweet as a lily 
 in springtime ; and the very memory of her seemed to 
 lighten his dull little room, and bring a fragrance to it. 
 Did not Airlie lie in the direction of the sunset ? Many a 
 time, when he had gone out from the town to the heights of 
 Maryhill or Hillhead, the cloudy and wintry afternoon broke 
 into a fierce mass of fire away along the western horizon ; 
 and he loved to think that Goquette was catching that glare 
 of yellow light, and that she was looking over the moor 
 towards Arran and the sea. All the sweet influences of life 
 hovered around Airlie ; there seemed to be always sunshine 
 there. And when he went back into the gloom of the city 
 it was with a glad heart ; for he had got a glimpse of the 
 favoured land down in the west ; and if you had been 
 walking behind a tall and stalwart lad, whose shoulders were 
 as flat as a board, and whose brown hair was in considerable 
 profusion round a face that was full of courage, and hope, 
 and health, you would have heard him sing, high over the 
 roar of the carts and the carriages, the tune of " Drumclog " 
 — heeding little whether any one was listening to his not 
 very melodious voice. 
 
COQUETTE'S DREAMS. 185 
 
 " You must have been much worse than they told me," he 
 said gravely. 
 
 " But I am getting very well now," said Coquette, with a 
 smile, " and I am anxious to be quite better, for they did 
 spoil me here. I do not like to be an invalid." 
 
 " No," said the Whaup, " I suppose you'd rather be 
 scampering about like a wild pony over the moor, flinging 
 snowballs, and shouting with laughter." 
 
 " I did not know that the wild pony was good at snow- 
 balls or at laughing," said Coquette. " But you have not 
 told me anything about Glasgow. "What you do there ? 
 Have you seen Lady Drum since she went away from 
 here, after being very kind to me ? How do you like the 
 college ? " 
 
 "All that is of no consequence," said the Whaup. "I 
 did not come here to talk about myself. I came to see you, 
 and find out for myself why you were remaining so long 
 indoors." 
 
 "But I do desire you to talk about yourself," said 
 Coquette, with something of her old imperiousness of 
 manner. 
 
 " I shan't," said the Whaup. " I have grown older than 
 you since I went to Glasgow, and I am not to be ordered 
 about. Besides, Coquette, I haven't above half an hour 
 more to stay." 
 
 " You do not go away to-day ? " said Coquette, with alarm 
 in her face. 
 
 " I go away in less than half an hour, or my father will 
 be home. Not a human being must know that I have come 
 to Airlie to-day. I mean to exact a solemn vow from 
 Leezibetm" 
 
 " It is wicked — it is wrong, 91 said Coquette. 
 
 " Why not say it is a beastly shame, as you used to do ? " 
 asked the Whaup. 
 
 " Because I have been reading much since I am ill, and 
 have learned much English," said Coquette ; and then she 
 proceeded with her prayers and entreaties that he should 
 remain at least over the day. 
 
 But the Whaup was inexorable. He had fulfilled the 
 object of his mission ; and would depart without anybody 
 being a bit the wiser. He had seen Coquette again ; had 
 
1 86 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 listened to her tender voice ; and assured himself that she 
 was really convalescent and in good spirits. So they chatted 
 in the old familiar fashion — as if they were boy and girl 
 together. But all the time Coquette was regarding him, 
 and trying to say to herself what the inexpressible something 
 was which had made a difference in the Whaup's manner. 
 He was not downcast — on the contrary, he talked to her in 
 the frank, cheerful, abrupt way which she knew of old ; and 
 yet there was a touch of determination, of seriousness, and 
 decision which had been quite recently acquired. In the 
 mere outward appearance of his face, too, was there not some 
 alteration ? 
 
 " Oh, Tom ! " she cried, suddenly, " you have got 
 whiskers." 
 
 " What if I have ? " he said coolly. " Are you sorry, 
 Miss Coquette, that nature has denied to woman that manly 
 ornament ? " — and he stroked with satisfaction the dusky 
 golden down which was on his cheeks. 
 
 " I do believe," said Coquette, " you did come from 
 Glasgow to show me your whiskers." 
 
 " You don't seem to admire them as much as you ought 
 to," he remarked. "Yet there are many men would give 
 something for these, though they are young as yet." 
 
 " Oh, you vain boy ! " said Coquette. " I am ashamed 
 of you. And your fashionable cuffs, too — you are not a 
 proper student. You ought to be pale, and gloomy, with 
 shabby clothes, and a hungry face. But you have no links in 
 your cuffs, Tom," she added, rather shyly. " Would you let me 
 — would you accept from me as a present a pair I have got ? " 
 
 " And go back to college with a pair of girl's links in my 
 sleeves ! " said the Whaup. 
 
 " But they are quite the same," said Coquette. " It will 
 give me great pleasure if you will take them." 
 
 She rang for Leezibeth, and bade her go up to her room 
 and fetch those bits of jewellery ; and when Leezibeth came 
 back with them Coquette would herself put them in her 
 cousin's sleeves — an operation which, from her recumbent 
 position, she effected with a little difficulty. As the Whaup 
 looked at these pretty ornaments — four small and dark-green 
 cameos set in an old-fashioned circle of delicately twisted 
 gold wire — he said — 
 
COQUETTE'S DREAMS. 187 
 
 " I wonder you have left yourself anything, Coquette. You 
 aiv always giving away something or other. I think it is 
 use you are so perfect and happy in yourself, that you 
 don't need to care for anything else." 
 
 The girl's face flushed slightly with evident pleasure ; but 
 she said — 
 
 "If you do call me 'Coquette,' I will call you 'The 
 Whaup.' " 
 
 M Who told you to call me that ? " 
 
 " I have heard it often. Yet it is not fair. You are not 
 anv more a wild boy, but a student and a man. Neither am 
 I « Coquette."' 
 
 Yet at this very moment the deceitful young creature was 
 trying her best to make him forget the peril he was in. She 
 knew that if the people returning from church were to find 
 him in the house, his secret would be lost, and he would be 
 forced to remain. So she talked and questioned him without 
 ceasing, and had made him altogether forget that time 
 was passing rapidly, when suddenly there was a noise 
 somewhere 
 
 " By Jove ! " said the Whaup, " they have come back. I 
 must bolt out by the garden and get over the wall. Good- 
 bye, Coquette — get well soon, and come up to see me in 
 Glasgow ! " 
 
 He darted out, and met Leezibeth in the passage. He had 
 only time to adjure her not to say he had been there, and 
 then he got quickly through to the back-door. In rushing 
 forth he fairly ran against his brother Wattie, and uninten- 
 tionally sent him flying into an immense heap of soft snow 
 which Andrew had swept along the path ; but the Whaup did 
 not pause to look at his brother wriggling out, blinded and 
 bewildered, from the snowdrift. He dashed through the 
 garden, took hold of a pear-tree, clambered on to the wall, 
 and dropped into the snow-covered meadow outside. He 
 had escaped. 
 
 But Wattie, when he came to himself, was struck with a 
 great fear. He ran into the house, and into the parlour, 
 almost speechless between sobbing and terror, as he blurted 
 out — 
 
 " Oh, Leezibeth ! oh, Leezibeth ! the deil has been in the 
 house. It was the deil himsel' — and he was fleeing out at 
 
1 88 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 the back-door — and he flung me into the snaw — and 
 then gaed up into the air, wi' a crack like thunder. It 
 was the deil himser, Leezibeth — what'll I dae ? what'll I 
 dae ? " 
 
 " Havers, havers, havers," cried Leezibeth, taking him by 
 the shoulders, and bundling him out of the room, " do ye 
 think the deil would meddle wi' you ? Gang butt the house, 
 and take the snaw off your claithes, and let the deil alane ! 
 Ma certes — a pretty pass if we are to be frightened out o' our 
 senses because a laddie tumbles in the snaw I " 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ON THE WAY. 
 
 The Whaup got clear away from the people coming out of 
 church by striking boldly across the moor. His back was 
 turned to the sea ; his face to the east ; he was on his way 
 to Glasgow. Briskly and lightly he strode over the crisp, 
 dry snow, feeling but little discomfort, except from, some pre- 
 monitory qualms of hunger ; and at length he got into the 
 broad highway which follows the channel of the Ayrshire 
 lochs from Dairy on by the valley of the Black Cart towards 
 Paisley. 
 
 It was a bright, clear day, and he was in the best of spirits. 
 Had he not talked for a brief while with Coquette, and seen 
 for himself that there was a glimpse of the old tenderness, 
 and sauciness, and liveliness in her soft black eye ? He had 
 satisfied himself that she was really getting better ; and that, 
 on some distant day of the springtime, when a breath of the 
 new sweet air would come in to stir the branches of the trees 
 in the West-End Park, he would have the honour and delight 
 of escorting his foreign cousin towards that not very 
 romantic neighbourhood, and pointing out to her the spot 
 on the horizon under which Airlie was supposed to lie. 
 
 When would the springtime come ? — he thought, as he 
 began to munch a biscuit. Was it possible that his imagina- 
 tive picture would come true ? Would Coquette actually be 
 seen in Glasgow streets — crossing over in front of the 
 Exchange — walking down Buchanan Street — and perhaps up 
 on the little circle around the flag in the South-Side Park ? 
 
ON THE WAY, 189 
 
 Would Coquette really and truly walk into that gloomy 
 Square inside the old College, and look at the griffins, and 
 perhaps shyly steal a glance at the red-coated young students 
 lounging round ? Glasgow began to appear less dull to him. 
 A glamour fell over the grey thoroughfares ; and even the 
 dinginess of the High Street became picturesque. 
 
 "Why, all the sparrows in the street will know that 
 Coquette has come ; and the young men in the shops will 
 brighten themselves up ; and Lady Drum will take her to 
 the theatre, in spite of my father ; and all the bailies will be 
 asking Sir Peter for an introduction. And Coquette will go 
 about like a young princess, having nothing in the world to 
 do but to look pleased ! " 
 
 So he struck again with his stick at the snow on the 
 hedge, and quickened his pace, as though Glasgow were now 
 a happy end to his journey. And he lifted up his voice, and 
 gang aloud, in his joy, the somewhat desolating tune of 
 " Coleshill " — even as the Germans, when at their gayest, 
 invariably begin to sing — 
 
 "Ieh weiss nicht was soil es bedeuten 
 Dass ich so traurig bin." 
 
 The Whaup had not the most delicately modulated voice, 
 but, such as it was, he had plenty of it. 
 
 Presently, however, he stopped, for right in front of him 
 there appeared a solitary horseman. There was something 
 in the rider's figure familiar to him. Who was this that 
 dared to invade the quiet of these peaceful districts by 
 appearing on horseback on a Sunday morning ? As he 
 drew near, the Whaup suddenly remembered that not a word 
 had been said by Coquette of Lord Earlshope. 
 
 The sunlight faded utterly out of the landscape. All the 
 joyous dreams he had been dreaming of Coquette coming 
 to Glasgow grew faint, and vanished. He had quite for- 
 gotten Lord Earlshope ; and now, it became evident, here 
 be was, riding along the main road in the direction of 
 Airlie. 
 
 As Earlshope came near, he drew up his horse. He 
 was clad, the Whaup observed, in a large Russian-looking 
 overcoat, which had plenty of warm fur round the neck of it. 
 
190 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 He looked, indeed, more like a foreigner than a country 
 gentleman riding along an Ayrshire road towards his own 
 estates. 
 
 No less surprised was Lord Earlshope to meet his boon 
 companion of old. 
 
 " Why," he said, " I thought you had left Airlie." 
 
 " I thought the same of you," said Mr. Tom. 
 
 Earlshope laughed. 
 
 " I am obeying a mere whim," he said, " in riding down 
 to Earlshope. I shall probably not stay an hour. How are 
 all the people in Airlie ? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered the Whaup, " I have myself 
 been there for about an hour, and no more." 
 
 " At least you know how your cousin, Miss Cassilis, is ? " 
 said he, in a grave tone of voice. 
 
 "Yes," said the Whaup, "she is still an invalid, you 
 know, but she is on the fair way to a complete recovery." 
 
 "I am glad of that," said Earlshope, hastily. "I am 
 glad of that, for I may not be able to call to see how she 
 is. In fact, I am rather pressed for time this morning. 
 You are sure she is getting well ? " 
 
 " Yes, I hope so," said the Whaup. 
 
 " And will soon be about again ? " 
 
 " Yes, I hope so," repeated the Whaup, regarding with 
 some curiosity the engrossed and absent way in which the 
 other put his rapid questions. 
 
 Earlshope turned round his horse. 
 
 " Look here," he said, " I don't wish to be seen about this 
 place, and I don't think I shall go on to Airlie. I only 
 wanted to make some inquiries about your cousin. What 
 you tell me has satisfied me that she is not so ill as I had 
 feared. Where are you going ? " 
 
 " I am walking to Glasgow," said the Whaup. 
 
 " To Glasgow ? " said the other. " You won't be there 
 before night ! " 
 
 " That is not of much consequence." 
 
 "I will go to Glasgow with you, if you like. We can 
 take the horse alternately." 
 
 "The horse would think you were mad if you were to 
 walk him all the way up to Glasgow in this snow," said the 
 Whaup. 
 
ON THE WAY. 191 
 
 "True, true," said Lord Earlshope, absently. "I shall 
 strike across country for Largs, and put up there. You saw 
 your cousin to-day ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And she is not very much of an invalid ? " 
 
 " Well, I hope she is getting better," said the Whaup. 
 
 " Thank you — thank you," said Lord Earlshope. " You 
 need not say you have seen me. Good day to you ! " 
 
 So he turned his horse once more, and rode on, with an 
 obviously preoccupied air. 
 
 " There goes a man," said the Whaup, watching him dis- 
 appear, " as mad as a March hare, and madder." 
 
 Yet, as he walked on, he found that this brief interview 
 had strangely disquieted him. What business had Earls- 
 hope to be asking so particularly about Coquette ? Why 
 was he riding down on this Sunday morning for the 
 professed purpose of making inquiries about her ? Nay, 
 why should he wish not to be seen ? It was evident that in 
 Airlie, where no one had seen his lordship for many a day, 
 there was no expectation of him. The more Tom Cassilis 
 considered the matter, the more profound became his 
 annoyance over the whole affair. 
 
 It now seemed to him — looking back over the brief time 
 that he had spent with Coquette — that the most grateful 
 feature of the interview was the fact that Lord Earlshope 
 had not been mentioned. He had been quite forgotten, 
 indeed. There might have been no Lord Earlshope in the 
 world, so thoroughly had he been ignored in that quiet and 
 confidential chat which took place in the Minister's parlour. 
 Yet here he was, riding down by himself within a few miles 
 of Airlie, and with his professed object the wish to see or 
 hear something of Coquette. 
 
 The rest of that long walk was not pleasant to the young 
 man. The whole day seemed to have become sombre and 
 gloomy. Why was he compelled to return like a slave to 
 the labour and the loneliness of a strange town, when others 
 had the free country before them, to choose their place of 
 rest as they liked ? It seemed to him that he was turning 
 his back now on all that was beautiful and pleasant in the 
 world, and that Lord Earlshope had been left there with 
 such intentions in his heart as were still a mystery. The 
 
192 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Whaup began to forget that he had fraternised with Lord 
 Earlshope on board the Caroline. He remembered no longer 
 that he had satisfied himself of that gentleman's being a 
 far more agreeable and honest person than the popular 
 voice of the district would admit. Earlshope's kindness to 
 them all, and his excessive and almost distant courtesy to 
 Coquette and her uncle, were effaced from his recollection ; 
 and he knew only that before him lay the long and winding 
 and dreary road to Glasgow, while behind him were the 
 pleasant places about Airlie, and Coquette, and the comfort 
 of the Manse, towards which Lord Earlshope was perhaps 
 now riding. 
 
 It was late at night when the Whaup, footsore and tired, 
 reached his lodgings in George Street, Glasgow. His land- 
 lady had not returned from evening service ; the solitary 
 domestic of the house was also absent ; there was no one in 
 the gaunt and dismal house, which he entered by means of 
 a latch-key. He set to work to kindle a fire ; but the fire 
 went out ; and in the middle of his labours he dropped into 
 a chair and fell fast asleep. The fatigues of the day caused 
 him to sleep on in the darkness and the cold ; and the other 
 people of the house, coming in later on, knew nothing of his 
 being in his room. 
 
 In the middle of the night he awoke. He was stiff with 
 cold. He sought for matches, and could not find them ; so 
 he tumbled into bed in the dark, with his whole frame 
 numbed and his heart wretched. Nor did he forget his 
 miseries in sleep ; there was no sleep for him. He lay 
 through the night and tossed about ; and if for a moment 
 he fell into a sort of doze, it was to start up again with a 
 great fear that something had happened at Airlie. In these 
 periods of half-forgetfulness, and during the interval when 
 he lay broadly awake, the nightmare that haunted him was 
 the figure of the solitary rider he had met on the Dairy Eoad. 
 What was the meaning of those anxious inquiries that 
 Earlshope had then made ? Why was he disinclined to 
 go on to his own place, and be seen of the people of 
 Airlie ? Why go to Largs ? Largs — as the Whaup lay 
 and remembered — was not more than fifteen miles from 
 Airlie. Would Earlshope loiter about there in the hope of 
 seeing Coquette by stealth ? And why should he wish to 
 
ON THE WA V. I93 
 
 see her ? So the weary hours of the night passed, and the 
 grey and wintry dawn began to tell upon the window of his 
 room. The questions, with all their anxieties and doubts, 
 remained unanswered ; and there had come another gloomy 
 day, demanding its quota of work. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 AN AWFUL VISITOR. 
 
 It became noised abroad that the devil had been seen in 
 Airlie. The Minister's sons not only took up the story 
 which had been told them by their brother "Wattie, but added 
 to it and embellished it until it assumed quite dramatic 
 proportions, and was picturesquely minute in detail. The 
 rumour that grew and widened in the village was that, on 
 the Sabbath forenoon, a black Something had been seen 
 wandering about in the snow round the Manse. The boys, 
 on return ingfrom church, had heard mysterious voices in 
 the deep silence of the small garden. Then Wattie, drawing 
 near to the back-door, had suddenly been blinded by a rush 
 of wind ; flames darted out from the house and surrounded 
 him ; the current of air drove him into a snowdrift ; and 
 the awful Something, with a shriek of fiendish laughter, 
 had fled past him and disappeared, and there was a low 
 rumble, as of distant thunder echoing along the hollow still- 
 ness of the sky. 
 
 That was the rumour of Sunday night and the following 
 morning ; but during the day of Monday there were bruited 
 round some strange stories of mysterious footprints which 
 had been perceived in the snow. A track had been observed 
 leading over the moor towards the garden-wall, and suddenly 
 stopping there. Now, not only was it impossible for any 
 being of mortal shape and limbs to leap that high wall, but 
 there was this further peculiarity remarked, that the foot- 
 prints formed but one line. A slight fall of snow, it is true, 
 during the morning had somewhat blurred the outline of 
 these marks ; but it was confidently asserted that they were 
 not such as had ever been made by the impress of a human 
 foot. 
 
 Towards nightfall Mr. Gillespie, having finished off some 
 
 
 
194 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 parochial business, deemed it his duty to go up to the Manse 
 to communicate these disturbing stories to the Minister. 
 The Schoolmaster had a visitor that evening — Mr. Cruik- 
 shanks, the Tailor — who sometimes dropped in to have a 
 glass of toddy and a chat over public affairs. The Tailor 
 was a small, thin, black-a-vised man, of highly nervous tem- 
 perament, who was suspected of having been a Chartist, and 
 who had been known at a public meeting in Saltcoats — for 
 he was a great orator — to express views Avhich were of a wild 
 and revolutionary nature. Nevertheless, up here in Airlie 
 he conducted himself in a fitting manner ; went regularly to 
 church ; observed the Communion ; never failed to have the 
 mended pair of breeks or the new coat home in good time ; 
 and, if he did sympathise with the French republicans, said 
 little about it. Indeed, it was not to be controverted that 
 the Pensioner knew far more about France and the French 
 than the excitable little Tailor ; for the former had driven 
 whole regiments of prisoners bef ore him like sheep, and could 
 tell you how the contemptible and weakly things asked for 
 water and bread, using language of their own for want of a 
 better education. 
 
 Mr. Cruikshanks had also heard the ugly rumours current 
 in the village, and quite agreed that the Schoolmaster should 
 go up to the Manse. 
 
 "Not," said he, with an oratorical gesture, "because ye 
 believe in them, sir ; but because the Minister maun be 
 warned to set his face against the superstitions o' the 
 vulgar. ^ The dawn o' leeberty, Mr. Gillespie, though oft 
 delayed, is never won ; and the triumph o' the great princi- 
 ples o' rationalism that is progressin' faur and wide " 
 
 # " Rationalism ! rationalism ! " said the Schoolmaster, in 
 dismay. " Do ye ken what ye're sayin', man ? " 
 
 " Which is not the rationalism o' the vulgar, sir," 
 observed the Tailor, calmly. " 'Tis of another complexion 
 and pale cast of thought. It has naething to do wi r 
 releegion. It is the new spirit — the blawin' up o' the auld 
 fossils and formations — the light that never was in poet's 
 dream. But I will gang wi' ye, sir, to the Minister's, if ye 
 are so minded." 
 
 4 The two went out together. By the help of the yellow 
 light from the small windows, they picked their way through 
 
AN AWFUL VISITOR. 195 
 
 the muddy and half molted snow of the village street. When 
 they had got clear of the small houses, they found the snow 
 lying thick and crisp and dry on the highway ; and it needed 
 all their watchfulness to decipher, by the aid of the starlight, 
 the line of the moorland road. There was no one abroad at 
 that hour. The villagers had been glad to get into their 
 warm homes out of the cold and bitter wind that blew 
 along the white uplands. From over the broad moor 
 there came not the least sound; and the only living thing 
 visible seemed the countless myriads of stars, which shone 
 coldly and clearly through the frosty atmosphere. The 
 Schoolmaster and his companion spoke but little as they 
 went ; they were too much engaged in finding the path 
 through the snow. 6 
 
 Suddenly the Tailor stopped and involuntarily laid his 
 hand on his neighbour's arm. 
 
 •• What is it P " said the Schoolmaster, with a start. 
 
 Bnt he had scarcely uttered the words when he saw what 
 laid caused his companion to stand still, with his face looking 
 over the moor. Before them — a dark mass in the starlight 
 — stood Airlie Church ; and at one end of it — that farthest 
 from the door — the windows seemed to be lighted up with a 
 dull red glow. 
 
 " Wha can be in the kirk at this time o' nicht ? " said 
 the Schoolmaster, quite forgetting to choose proper English 
 ] >h rases. 
 
 The Tailor said nothing. He was thinking of AlToway 
 Kirk and the wild revels that had been celebrated there. 
 His talk about the superstitions of the vulgar had gone from 
 his memory ; he only saw before him, over a waste of snow 
 and under a starlit sky, a ehureh which could, for no 
 possible reason, be occupied, but which had its windows 
 touched from the inside with a glow of light. 
 
 " Man and boy," said the Schoolmaster, " I have lived in 
 Airlie these twenty years, and never saw such a thing. It 
 is a fearsome licht that. It would be our duty to go and see 
 what it means " 
 
 " There I dinna agree wi' ye ! " said the Tailor, 
 angrily. " What business is it o' ours ? Folks dinna 
 sweeten their ain yill by meddlin' wi' other folk's barrels. 
 I am for lettin' the kirk alane. Doubtless it is lichted up 
 
 2 
 
196 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 for some purpose. Why, dinna ye ken that the Minister's 
 niece was brought up as a Roman ; and that the Catholics 
 like to hae a' mainner o' mysterious services in the dead 0' 
 nicht ? " 
 
 This explanation seemed to afford the Tailor very great 
 relief. He insisted upon it even to the point of losing his 
 temper. What right had the Schoolmaster to interfere with 
 other people's religion ? Why didn't he do as he would be 
 done by ? 
 
 " But we ought to see what it is," said the School- 
 master. 
 
 " Ye may gang if ye like," said the Tailor, firmly. 
 " Deil the bit 0' me '11 steer ! " 
 
 The Schoolmaster drew back. He was not going to cross 
 the moor alone — especially with those rumours of mysterious 
 footprints about. 
 
 " Perhaps ye are right, Mr. Cruikshanks," he said. " But 
 we maun gang on and tell the Minister." 
 
 " Surely, surely," said the Tailor, with eagerness. " We 
 hae a sacred duty to perform. We maun get a lamp to see 
 our way, and the keys 0' the kirk, and the Minister and 
 Andrew Bogue will come wi' us. The notion 0' its being 
 witches — ha ! ha ! — it is quite rideeklous. Such supersti- 
 tions, sir, have power wi' the vulgar, but wi' men like you 
 and me, Mr. Gillespie, wha have studied such things, and 
 appeal to the licht o' reason, it is not for us to give way 
 to idle fears. No ; we will go up to the door 0' the kirk, 
 and we will have the maitter explained on rationalistic prin- 
 ciples " 
 
 " I wish, Mr. Cruikshanks," said the Schoolmaster, with 
 a sort of nervous anxiety and anger, " ye wouldna talk and 
 talk about your rationalism and your rationalistic principles. 
 I declare, to hear ye, ane would think there wasna a heeven 
 above us." 
 
 But the Tailor continued his discourse on the sublime 
 powers of reason, and waxed more and more buoyant and 
 eloquent, until, the two having reached the gate of the 
 Manse, the Tailor turned upon his companion, and with 
 scorn hinted that he, the Schoolmaster, had succumbed to 
 childish fears on seeing the kirk windows lit up. 
 
 " What more simple," said the Tailor, in his grandest 
 
AN AWFUL VISITOR. 197 
 
 maimer, " than to have walked up to the door, gone in, and 
 demanded to know what was the reason o' the licht ? That 
 is what common sense and reason would dictate ; but when 
 fears and superstitions rise and dethrone the monarch from 
 his state, the lord of all is but a trumpery vassal — a trumpery 
 vassal, Mr. Gillespie ! " 
 
 The Schoolmaster was too indignant — and perhaps too 
 pinch relieved on finding himself within the shelter of the 
 Manse wall — to reply. The two neighbours walked up to the 
 door of the Manse — looking rather suspiciously at the gloomy 
 corners around them, and the black shadows of the trees— and 
 knocked. The door was opened half an inch. 
 
 " Who's there ? " said Leezibeth. 
 
 " Me," said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Who's me ? " said the voice from within — the door being 
 still kept on the point of shutting. 
 
 " Bless my life and body ! " cried the Schoolmaster, 
 provoked out of all patience. "Is this a night to keep a 
 human being starving in the maw ? Let us in, woman ! " 
 
 With which he drove the door before him and entered the 
 passage, confronting the terrified Leezibeth, who dropped 
 her candle there and then, and left the place in darkness. 
 
 The Minister opened the parlour door, and the light 
 streamed out on the strangers. Without being asked, the 
 Schoolmaster and the Tailor stumbled into the room, and 
 stood, with dazed eyes, looking alternately at the Minister 
 and at Coquette, who lay on the sofa with an open book 
 beside her. 
 
 " What is the matter ? What is the matter ? " said the 
 Minister ; for both the men seemed speechless with fear. 
 
 " Has she no been at the kirk the nicht ? " said the 
 Tailor. 
 
 " Who ? " said the Minister, beginning to think that both 
 of his visitors must be drunk. 
 
 " Her," said the Tailor — " your niece, sir — Miss Cassilis." 
 
 " At the kirk ? She has not been out of the house for 
 months." 
 
 " But — but — but there is somebody in the kirk at this 
 present meenute," said the Tailor, breathlessly. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said the Minister, with some impatience. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
198 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " As sure as daith, sir, the kirk's in a lowe ! " blurted out 
 the Tailor again, though he still kept his eyes glaring in a 
 fascinated way on Coquette. 
 
 To tell the truth, Coquette began to laugh. The appear- 
 ance and talk of the two strangers — whether the result of 
 drink or of fright — were altogether so abnormal and ludi- 
 crous that, for the life of her, she could not keep from 
 smiling. Unfortunately, this conduct on her part, occurring 
 at such a moment, seemed to confirm the suspicions of the 
 two men. They regarded her as if she were a witch who 
 had been playing pranks with them on the moor, had 
 whipped herself home, and was now mocking them. Yague 
 recollections of " Tarn o' Shanter " filled their minds with 
 forebodings. Who knew but that she was connected with 
 these mysterious things of which the village had been talk- 
 ing ? Why should the stories have centred upon the Manse ? 
 Was she not a Roman, and a foreigner — a creature whose 
 dark eyes were full of concealed meaning — of malicious 
 mischief — of unholy laughter ? - No wonder there were 
 strange footprints about, or that the kirk was " in a lowe " 
 at midnight. 
 
 The Minister abruptly recalled them from their dazed and 
 nervous speculations by demanding to know what they had 
 seen. Together they managed to produce the story in full ; 
 and the Minister said he would himself at once go over the 
 moor to the kirk. 
 
 " Micht not Andrew Bogue come wi' a lantern ? " said the 
 Tailor ; and the Minister at once assented. 
 
 With that, the spirits of the two heroes rose. They would 
 inquire into this matter. They would have no devilish can- 
 trips going on in the parish, if they could help it. And so 
 they once more sallied out into the cold night air ; and, with 
 much loud talking and confident suggestion, struck across 
 the snow of the moor. 
 
 As they drew near to the small church the talking died 
 down. The red light was clearly seen in the windows. 
 Andrew Bogue, who had been a few steps ahead of the 
 party, in order to show them the way, suggested that he 
 should fall behind, so that the light would shine more 
 clearly around their feet. Against this both the Schoolmaster 
 and the Tailor strongly protested ; and the discussion ended 
 
AN AWFUL VISITOR. 199 
 
 by the Minister impatiently taking the lamp into his own 
 hand and going forward. Thcposse comitatm followed close, 
 and in deep silence. Indeed, there was not a sound heard, 
 save the soft yielding of the crisp snow ; and in the awful 
 stillness — under the great canopy of sparkling stars — the red 
 windows of the small and dark building glimmered in front 
 of them. 
 
 The Minister walked up to the door, the others keeping 
 close behind him. He endeavoured to open it ; it was locked. 
 
 " The keys, Andrew," he said. 
 
 " I — I — I didna bring any keys," said Andrew, testily. 
 He was angry with his tongue for stammering, and with his 
 throat for choking. 
 
 " And how did ye expect us to get in ? " asked the Minister. 
 
 " Why, I thocht — I thocht that if there was anybody in 
 the kirk, the door would be open," answered Andrew, 
 <|iierulously. 
 
 "Go back to the Manse and get them," said the Minister 
 perhaps with concealed irony. 
 
 " By mysel 1 ? " quoth Andrew. " Across the moor by 
 mysel' ? What for does any human being want to get into 
 the kirk ? Doubtless there are some bits o' wanderin' bodies 
 inside ; would ye turn them out in the cauld ? If ye do 
 want to look into the kirk, there is a ladder 'at ye can pit 
 against the wa\" 
 
 Andrew was ordered to bring the ladder ; but he professed 
 his inability to carry it. The Schoolmaster and the Tailor 
 went with him to a nook behind some back-door ; and 
 presently reappeared — walking stealthily and conversing in 
 whispers — with the ladder, which they placed against the 
 wall. The Schoolmaster, with a splendid assumption of 
 bravery, clambered up the steps, and paused when the tip of 
 his nose received the light from the panes. The others 
 breathlessly awaited his report. 
 
 " I canna see anything," he whispered, coming down 
 rather rapidly. 
 
 But where the Schoolmaster had gone, the Tailor would 
 go. Mr. Cruikshanks went bravely up the ladder, and 
 peered in at the window. What could be the meaning of 
 this ghastly stillness, and the yellow light burning somewhere 
 in the church ? He had heard of awful scenes, in which 
 
200 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 corpse-lights had come forth all over a churchyard, with 
 vague forms flitting about, in the midst of peals of demoniac 
 laughter. But here was no sound — no movement — only the 
 still glare of a ruddy light, coming from whence he knew 
 not. 
 
 But what was this that suddenly echoed along the empty 
 church ? The Tailor grasped the top rung of the ladder. He 
 would have given worlds to have got down ; but if he had 
 let go, his trembling legs would have thrown him backward. 
 Something was moving in the dim and solitary building — his 
 breath came and went — his head swam round — the ladder 
 trembled within his grip. And at the same moment there 
 was a startling cry, a smothered shriek from the School- 
 master, as he turned to find in the darkness a figure 
 approaching him. Andrew fell back from the foot of the 
 ladder ; and therewithal down came the ladder and the Tailor 
 together with a crash upon Andrew and his lamp, burying 
 the one in the snow, and smashing the other to pieces. 
 A succession of piteous cries from the Tailor broke the 
 silence of the moor ; until the Minister, dragging him out of 
 the snow, bade him cease his howling. The Schoolmaster 
 had abruptly retreated ; and now the group of explorers, 
 partly on the ground and partly upright, was approached by 
 this dusky figure. 
 
 " What is that ? " said the Schoolmaster, in an agonised 
 whisper. " Oh, what is't ? — what is't ? What can it be, 
 sir ? Speak till't ! " 
 
 The Minister having put the Tailor on his legs — though 
 they were scarcely able to support him — turned to the new- 
 comer, and said — 
 
 " Well, who are you ? " 
 
 " Me, sir ? Me ? " said a deep bass voice, in rather an 
 injured tone, " I'm Tammas Kilpaitrick." 
 
 " What ! Kilpaitrick the joiner ? " said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Well, I hope sae," said the man ; " and I dinna ken 
 what for ye should run away frae a body as though he was a 
 warlock." 
 
 " But how came ye in the kirk at this time o' night ? " 
 said the Minister. 
 
 " Deed, ye may well ask," said the worthy joiner ; " for it's 
 little my maister allows me for overtime ; and if he will put 
 
AN AWFUL VISITOR. 201 
 
 me to jobs like this after my day's work is done, I hope he'll 
 gie me some fire and better company than a wheen rats and 
 mice. Will Mr. Bogue take hame the keys that my maister 
 got frae his wife this afternoon ? " 
 
 But Mr. Bogue was still in the snow, groaning. When 
 they picked him up they found that the lantern had severely 
 cut his nose, which was bleeding freely. Whereupon the 
 Schoolmaster waxed valiant, and vouchsafed to the joiner an 
 explanation of the panic, which, he said, was the work " o' 
 that poor body, the Tailor. And, mark me, Mr. Kilpaitrick," 
 he added, " it is not every man that would have insisted on 
 seeing to the bottom 0' this maitter, as I did this night. It 
 was our duty to investigate — or, as I might say, to examine — 
 into what might have raised superstitious fears in Airlie, 
 especially as regards the stories that have been about. It 
 shames me that, as we were proceeding in a lawful — or, I 
 might say, legitimate — manner, to inquire, that poor body, 
 the Tailor, should have set up an eldritch screech, as if he 
 was possessed. He is a poor body, that Tailor, and subject 
 to the fears of the vulgar. If ye hear the neighbours talk o' 
 this night's doings, ye will be able, Mr. Kilpaitrick, to say 
 who behaved themselves like men ; and I'm thinking that 
 we will be glad 0' your company across the moor, and 
 ye will then come in and hae a glass 0' toddy wi' us, Mr. 
 Kilpaitrick. As for the Tailor there, the poor craytur has 
 scarcely come to his senses yet ; but we maun take him 
 safe hame." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 IN THE SPRINGTIME. 
 
 Why was there no mention of Lord Earlshope in the 
 letters from Airlie which reached the Whaup in his Glasgow 
 lodgings ? The Whanp was too proud to ask ; but he many 
 a time wondered whether Earlshope was now paying visits 
 to the Manse, as in the bygone time, and watching the 
 progress of Coquette's restoration to health. Indeed, the 
 letters that came up from the moorland village were filled 
 with nothing but Coquette, and Coquette, and Coquette. 
 The boys now openly called her by this familiar name ; and 
 
202 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 her sayings and doings, the presents she made them, and 
 the presents she promised to give them when she should go 
 to Glasgow, occupied their correspondence almost to the 
 exclusion of stories of snow-battles with the lads of the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 At last the Whaup wrote and asked what Lord Earlshope 
 was doing. 
 
 The reply came that he had not been in Airlie since the 
 previous autumn. 
 
 " Why, he must be mad ! " said the Whaup to himself. 
 " Not go on to his own house, when he was 'within two or 
 three miles of it ! These French novels have turned his 
 head ; we shall have him presently figuring as the hero of a 
 fine bigamy case, or poisoning himself with charcoal fumes, 
 or doing something equally French. Perhaps he has done 
 something desperate in his youth, and now reads French 
 novels to see what they have to say on the subject." 
 
 Among other intelligence sent him by his correspondents 
 during the winter was that on the morning of New Year's 
 Day (Coquette had been astonished to find that Christmas was 
 held of no account in Airlie) there had arrived at the Manse, 
 directed to that young lady, a large and magnificent volume 
 of water-colour sketches of the Loire. The grandeur of this 
 book — its binding and its contents — was all a marvel at the 
 Manse ; and the youngest of the Whaup's brothers expressed 
 his admiration in these terms : 
 
 " It is most wonderful. The boards is made of tortis- 
 shell, with white say tin and wreaths of silk roses and flowers 
 in different colours all round it. There is a back of scaurlet 
 marrocca leather, with gilt. And she put it on the table, 
 and when she began to turn it over she laughed, and clapped 
 her hands thegither, and was fair daft with looking at it ; but, 
 as she went on, she stopped, and we all saw that she was 
 greetin\ I suppose it was some place she kenned." 
 
 No one knew definitely who had sent this gorgeous book 
 — not even Coquette herself ; but the popular opinion of the 
 Manse determined that it must have been Lady Drum. 
 There were only two people, widely apart, who had another 
 suspicion in the matter ; and these two were Coquette and 
 the Whaup. Meanwhile, if the book had come from Lord 
 Earlshope, it was accompanied by no sign or token from 
 
IN THE SPRINGTIME. 203 
 
 him ; and, indeed, his name was now scarcely ever mentioned 
 in the Manse. 
 
 And so the long and hard winter passed away : and there 
 cune at last a new light into the air, and soft and thawing 
 winds from over the sea. The spring had arrived, with its 
 warm and sweet breezes ; and all over the countryside there 
 began to peep out tiny buds of brown and green, with here 
 ami there, in many a secret nook and corner, the wonder of 
 a flower. And at last, too, Coquette got out of the house, and 
 began to drink in new life from the mild odours and the clear 
 blue-white air. Her eyes were perhaps a trifle wistful or even 
 sad when she first got abroad again ; for the springtime revives 
 many memories, and is not always a glad season ; but in a 
 little while the stirring of new health and blood in Coquette's 
 pale cheeks began to recall her to her usual spirits. The 
 morning was her principal time for going out ; and, as the 
 boys were then at Mr. Gillespie's school, she learned to wander 
 about alone, discovering all manner of secret dells about the 
 woods where the wild flowers were sure to be found. Many 
 and many a day she came home laden with hyacinths, and 
 violets, and anemones, and the white stars of the stitchwort ; 
 and she brought home, too, a far more valuable and beautiful 
 llower in the bloom which everyone saw gathering on her 
 cheek. Sometimes she prevailed on her uncle to accompany 
 her ; and she would take the old man's arm and lead him 
 into strange woodland places of which he had but little 
 knowledge. Leezibeth was so delighted to see the girl 
 become her former self, that she was more than ordinarily 
 pugnacious towards Andrew, as if that worthy but sour- 
 tempered person had 1 Hit 1 harbouring dark projects against 
 the girl's health. Leezibeth, indeed, had wholly gone 
 over to the enemy; and Andrew Badly shook his head and 
 comforted himself with prophecies of evil and lamen- 
 tation. 
 
 One day Coquette had wandered down to the very wood in 
 which the "VYIianp had caught Neil Lament poaching. She 
 had been exceptionally lucky in her quest for new flowers ; 
 ami had got up a quite respectable bouquet for the 
 study mantel-piece. Then she had that morning received 
 from France a little song of Gounod's, which was abundantly 
 popular thereat the time. So, out of mere lightness of 
 
204 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 heart, she came walking through the wood, and sang to her- 
 self carelessly as she went — 
 
 La voile ouvre son aile 
 
 La brise va souffler — er — cr — cr — 
 
 when suddenly her voice died down. Who was that going 
 along the road in the direction of Airlie ? A faintness 
 came over her — she caught hold of a branch of a fir — and 
 then with a half instinctive fear she drew back within the 
 shelter of a few tall stems. It was Lord Earlshope who was 
 passing along the road — walking slowly and idly — and 
 apparently taking no notice of the objects around him. 
 
 Her heart beat quickly, and her whole frame trembled, as 
 she remained cowering until even the sound of his footsteps 
 had died away. Then she stole out of the wood, and 
 hurriedly followed a circuitous route which landed her 
 breathless, and yet thankful, within the safety of the Manse. 
 He had not observed her. 
 
 But he was in the neighbourhood. He had returned 
 from abroad. Perhaps he would go away again without 
 even seeing her and speaking to her for a moment — unless, 
 indeed, she happened to be out the next morning and so 
 might chance to meet him ! 
 
 " You must not fall back into any of your dull moods, 
 Catherine," said the Minister, in a cheerful way, to her that 
 evening, as he happened to perceive her unwonted silence, 
 and the pensive look of her eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 
 
 Coquette's sleep that night was full of dreams of a 
 meeting with Lord Earlshope ; and in the morning she 
 awoke with a confused sense of having been wandering with 
 him in a strange land, which had a threatening sky over it, 
 and all around it the moaning of the sea. She seemed to 
 have a notion that the place was familiar to her ; and 
 gradually out of her memory she was able to recall the 
 features of a certain gloomy loch, overshadowed by sombre 
 mountains. 
 
OVER THE MOOR. 205 
 
 " I will remember no more of it," she said to herself. 
 " That island — is it always coming back ? " 
 
 Yet those dreams left a troubled impression behind them ; 
 and she began to think with some foreboding of a possible 
 encounter with Lord Earlshope if she went out for her 
 accustomed walk. Dared she meet him ? Or what if he 
 were here only for a brief time, and went away without a 
 word ? As she lay calculating anxiously these probabilities, 
 and trying to decide whether she should go or not, a great 
 dash of rain smote on the windows of the Manse, a glimmer 
 of morning sunlight also struck the panes, and a blustering 
 April wind blew about the chimneys. 
 
 " Rain ! " she cried, as though she was glad of anything 
 to resolve her anxious doubts. " Then I do not go ! " 
 
 Nevertheless she rose and dressed quickly. There were 
 no blinds needed for the small windows that looked across 
 the moor. During the progress of her toilette she could see 
 the wild glare of the spring sunshine that chased the rapid 
 and riven clouds which the wind was blowing over the sea. 
 On they came in thunderous masses and filmy streaks — here 
 dark and rainy, there struck into silver ; while from time to 
 time there was a period of menacing gloom, followed by the 
 heavy rattle of a shower on roof and windows ; then 
 the sudden yellow light again shining out on the dripping 
 trees, on the wet moor, and on the far blue sea-plain that 
 lay around Arran. 
 
 " You are in much better spirits this morning," said the 
 Minister at breakfast, after Coquette had been lecturing the 
 boys in a very grand and mock-heroic fashion. 
 
 " Yes, in spite of your abominating weather," she replied. 
 " Last night, still and clear — this morning a hurricane ! 
 AVhy is your weather so wild, and your Scotch people so 
 quiet ? They are not stormy — no bad temper — no fits of 
 passion — all smooth, and serious, and solemn, as if they did 
 go to a churchyard." 
 
 "And that is where we all of us are going, whether in 
 Scotland or France," said the Minister, with a serious smile. 
 
 " Yet why always think of it ? " said Coquette, lightly. 
 " Why you make the road to the churchyard a churchyard 
 also ? No — it is not reasonable. AVe should have a little 
 gaiety, and amuse ourselves in the meantime. Ah ! now do 
 
2c6 A DAUGHTER OF HETEt. 
 
 look at the faces of all those boys ; do they think me 
 wicked ? " 
 
 Indeed, the row of solemn and awe-struck faces which 
 listened to Coquette's Sadduceeism provoked her into a fit 
 of laughter, which Leezibeth checked by coming into the 
 room and asking abruptly if more tea were wanted. 
 
 Coquette had apparently forgotten that she had been 
 troubled that morning about Lord Earlshope. The boisterous 
 weather had prevented her going out, so that no choice 
 remained to her. But when after the boys had been 
 despatched to school, she was left to herself and her solitary 
 employment at the piano, her vivacity died away. With- 
 out any intention she wandered into melancholy strains, 
 and played half-forgotten ballad-airs which she had heard 
 among the peasantry of Morbihan. She began to cast 
 wistful glances towards the changeable landscape outside. 
 At last she gave up the piano, and went to one of the 
 windows, and took a seat there. The intervals of sunlight 
 were growing longer. The clouds seemed more light and 
 fleecy. There was a grey mist of rain down in the south, 
 over Ayr ; but all around her the wet landscape was shining 
 in its young spring greens ; while the gusty west-wind, that 
 blew a warm and mo.H fragrance about the garden, could 
 not quite drown the music of the thrushes and blackbirds. 
 The sky cleared more and more. Even in the south, the 
 rain-mist lifted, and the sunlight shone on the far promon- 
 tory. Finally, the wind moderated ; and eventually over 
 all the land there seemed to prevail the fresh clear brightness 
 and sweetness of an April morning. 
 
 Coquette put on her small hat (with its dash of sea-bird 
 plumage) and a warm grey woollen shawl, and went out. 
 Her light foot was not heard leaving the house ; and in a 
 few minutes she was on the moorland road — all around her 
 the shining beauty of the spring day, and the glistening of 
 the recent rain. At another time she would have rejoiced 
 in the clear light and the genial warmth of the western 
 breezes : to-day she seemed thoughtful and apprehensive, 
 and dared scarcely look over the moor. She wandered on 
 — her head somewhat downcast ; and when she paused, it 
 was merely to pick up some tiny flower from amongst the 
 wet grass. It was only by a sort of instinct that she 
 

 OVER THE MOOR. 207 
 
 avoided the red pools which the rain had left in the road ; 
 she seemed to walk on — in the opposite direction from 
 Airlie — as If she were in a dream. 
 
 She became aware that there was some one crossing over 
 the moor on her right ; still she did not look up. Indeed, 
 before she could collect herself to consider how she should 
 speak to Lord Earlshope, supposing he were to meet her, 
 tne stranger had overtaken her, and pronounced her name. 
 
 She turned — a trifle pale, perhaps, but quite self-possessed 
 — and regarded him for one brief second. Then she 
 stepped forward and offered him her hand. During that 
 instant, he, too, regarded her, in a somewhat strange way, 
 l»ef ore meeting her advances ; and then he said — ' 
 
 " Have you really forgiven me ? " 
 
 " That is all over," she said, in a low but quite distinct 
 voice — " all over and forgotten. It does do no good to 
 bring it back. You — have you been well ? " 
 
 He looked at her again, with something of wonder in the 
 admiration visible in his eyes. 
 
 " How very good you are ! I have been wandering all 
 over Europe, feeling as though I had the brand of Cain on 
 my forehead. I come back to hear that you have been 
 dangerously ill, without my having had any knowledge of it. 
 I hang about, trying to get a word of explanation said to 
 you personally before calling at the Manse ; and now you 
 come forward, in your old straightforward way, as if nothing 
 had happened, and you offer me your hand just as if I wire 
 your friend." 
 
 " Are you not my friend ? " 
 
 " I do not deserve to be anybody's friend." 
 
 " That is nonsense," said Coquette. " Your talk of Cain — 
 your going away — your fears — I do not understand it at all." 
 
 " No," said he. " Nor would you ever understand how 
 much I have to claim forgiveness for without a series of 
 explanations which I shall make to you some day. I have 
 not the courage to do it now\ I should run the risk of 
 forfeiting the right ever to speak another word to you." 
 
 Coquette drew back, and regarded him steadfastly. 
 
 M There," said he, "did I not tell you what would 
 happen ? You are becoming afraid of me. You have no 
 reason." 
 
208 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Yes, perhaps," she said ; " but I do not understand 
 why all this secrecy — all this mystery. It is very strange 
 to me — all your actions ; and you should be more frank, and 
 trust that I will not make bad interpretation. You wish to 
 be my friend ? I am well pleased of that — but why you 
 make so many secrets ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you now," he said, hurriedly. " I am too 
 anxious to believe that you have forgiven me for what 
 happened on that hideous night. I was mad — I was beside 
 myself — I don't know what possession I laboured under to 
 make a proposal " 
 
 " Ah, why bring it all back ? " said Coquette. " Is it not 
 better to forget it ? Let us be as we were before we went 
 away in the yacht. You shall meet me. I shall speak to 
 you as usual. "We shall forget these old misfortunes. You 
 will come to the Manse sometimes — as you did before. You 
 must believe me, it will be very simple and natural if you 
 do try ; and you shall find yourself able to be very good 
 friends with all of us, and no more brands of Cain on your 
 forehead." 
 
 He saw in her soft eyes that she faithfully meant what 
 she said ; and then, with a sort of effort, he said — - 
 
 " Come, let us walk along, and I will talk to you as you 
 go. There is a path along here by which you can cross the 
 moor, and get back to the Manse by Hechton Mains." 
 
 How glad she was to walk by his side in the old fashion ! 
 It was so pleasant to hear his voice, and to have the grave 
 kindliness of his eyes sometimes meeting hers, that she did 
 not stop to ask whether it was merely as friends they were 
 walking together. Nor did she notice, so glad was she, how 
 constrained was his talk ; how he was sometimes, in 
 moments of deep silence, regarding her face with a look 
 which had the blackness of despair in it. She chatted on, 
 pleased and happy ; breaking imperiously away from all 
 mention of what had happened in the north whenever that 
 became imminent. She did not even perceive whither she 
 was going ; she submitted to be led ; and even lost sight of 
 the familiar features of the landscape surrounding her own 
 home. 
 
 " I wonder if there was ever a woman as unselfish as you 
 are," he said, abruptly and morosely. " I know that you 
 
OVER THE MOOR. 209 
 
 are pretending to be glad only to make our meeting pleasant 
 and spare me the pain of self -accusation." 
 
 " How can you think such morbid things on such a 
 beautiful morning ? " she asked. " Is it not a pleasure to 
 be in the open air ? Is it not a pleasure to meet an old 
 friend ? And yet you stop to pull it all to pieces, and ask 
 why, and what, and how. You — who have been abroad — 
 are not thankful for this bit of sunshine — perhaps that is 
 the reason." 
 
 " There is something almost angelic — if we knew any- 
 thing about angels — in the way you have of forgetting your- 
 self in order to make other people feel at ease." 
 
 " And if you are not cheerful this morning, you have not 
 forgotten how to pay compliments," she said, with a smile. 
 
 Presently he said — - 
 
 " I am afraid you must consider me a very discontented 
 fellow. You see, I don't wish just at present to interrupt 
 our new friendliness by explaining why I am not cheerful — 
 why I owe you more contrition than you can understand — 
 why your kindness almost makes me suspicious of your good 
 faith. You don't know " 
 
 "I know enough," she said, with a pretty gesture of 
 impatience. " I wish not to have any more whys, and whys, 
 and whys. Explanations, they never do good between 
 friends. I am satisfied of it if you come to the Manse, and 
 become as you were once. That is all — that is sufficient. 
 But just now — when you have the pleasant morning before 
 you — it is not good to torment yourself by doubts, and 
 suspicions, and questions." 
 
 " Ah, well," he said, " I suppose I must suffer you to 
 consider me discontented without cause. It will be of little 
 consequence a hundred years hence." 
 
 Coquette laughed. 
 
 " Even in your resignation you are gloomy. Why you 
 say that about a hundred years ? I do not care what 
 happens in a hundred years : but just now, while we are 
 alive, we ought to make life pleasant to each other, and be 
 as cheerful as we can." 
 
 So they wandered on, Coquette not paying particular heed 
 to the direction of their walk. Her companion was not very 
 talkative ; but she was grateful for the new interest that had 
 
210 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 been lent to her life by his arrival at Airlie, and was in very 
 good spirits. All her fears of the morning had vanished. 
 It seemed a comparatively easy thing for her to meet him ; 
 there could apparently be no recurrence of the terrible scene 
 which was now as a sort of dream to her. Suddenly, how- 
 ever, her companion paused ; and she, looking up, saw that 
 they were now at the corner of the Earlshope grounds, where 
 these joined the moor. There was a small gate in the wall 
 fronting them. 
 
 " Will you come into the grounds ? " he said, producing a 
 small key. " You need not go up to the house. There is 
 a sort of grotto, or cavern, which I had constructed when 
 I was a lad, at this end of the copse. Will you go in and 
 see it ? " 
 
 Coquette hesitated only for a moment, and then she said 
 — i* Yes." He opened the small gate ; they both passed 
 through ; and Coquette found herself at the extremity of a 
 small path leading through a belt of larches. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 LORD EARLSHOPE'S CAVE. 
 
 She now recollected that long ago the Whaun had told 
 her of some mysterious place which Lord Earlshope had 
 built within his grounds ; and when her companion, begging 
 her to excuse him for a few minutes, passed into what was 
 apparently a cleft in a solid mass of earth or rock, and when 
 she heard the striking of a match, she concluded that he was 
 lighting up the small theatrical scene for her benefit. Nor 
 was she mistaken ; for presently he came out and asked her 
 to return with him through this narrow aperture. He led 
 the way ; she followed. If the cavern into which they 
 entered were of artificial construction, considerable pains had 
 been taken to make it look natural. At first the cleft was 
 open to the sky, and the sides of the passage were covered 
 with ferns and weeds growing in considerable profusion ; but 
 by-and-by she came in front of a large recess, apparently 
 dug out of the solid rock, and involuntarily a cry of wonder 
 escaped her. The walls of this tolerably spacious cave were 
 studded here and there by curiously shaped and pendent 
 
LORD EARLSHOPE'S CA VE. 211 
 
 lamps of various hues ; and right at the back was a 
 Chinese stove, on the polished surface of which the coloured 
 lights threw faint reflections. Down one side of the cave 
 a stream trickled ; dropping over bits of rock, and wetting 
 the masses of fern which grew in their clefts. The space in 
 front of the stove was perfectly dry ; and there stood two 
 cane easy-chairs, fitted with small reading-desks, and 
 candles. The whole place looked like a bit cut out of a 
 pantomime ; and Coquette, suddenly finding herself in this 
 strange place, with its dusky corners and its coloured lamps, 
 wholly forgot that outside there reigned the brightness of a 
 spring day. 
 
 " What do you think of my boyish notions of the marvel- 
 lous ? " he said, with a smile. 
 
 " It is wonderful," said Coquette, who fancied she had 
 been transferred to a fairy palace. 
 
 " There are incongruities in it," said he ; " for I changed 
 my hobbies then as rapidly as now. It was begun in 
 imitation of a cavern I had read of in a novel ; it was con- 
 tinued as a mandarin's palace ; and finally finished up in 
 imitation of the Arabian Nights. But you can imagine it 
 to be what you like, once you have taken off your boots, 
 which must be damp, and put on that pair of Russian 
 slippers which you will find in front of the stove. I shall 
 leave you to complete your toilette, while I go up to the 
 house for some biscuits and wine." 
 
 With which he left, before Coquette could utter a word of 
 protest. She now found herself alone in this extraordinary 
 place. Had he brought her there intentionally ? She had 
 looked at the slippers — they were lady's slippers, and new. 
 He had evidently, then, anticipated that he would meet her, 
 walk with Ikt, and bring her thither ? She knew not what 
 to do. Yet the slippers were very pretty — curiously wrought 
 with coloured beads, and deeply furred all round. They 
 were seductively warm, too, from having been lying before 
 the stove. So, with a certain defiant air, she sat down, 
 pulled oil' her tiny boots, and placed them before the stove ; 
 and presently her small feet were encased in the warm and 
 furred slippers, which had apparently been left for her by the 
 genii of the cave. 
 
 Then she sat down in one of the easy- chairs ; took ofT 
 
 P 2 
 
212 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 her gloves ; and extended just so much of the slippers that she 
 could admire their rose-coloured tips. All this conduct on 
 her part she knew to be dreadfully and desperately wrong ; 
 but she was very comfortable, and the place was very pretty. 
 As for the slippers, they were simply not to be refused. 
 Indeed, the whole thing hovered in her mind as half a 
 dream and half a joke ; and when, at length, Lord Earlshope 
 appeared with his stock of provisions, the adventure looked 
 remarkably like one of those house-keeping games familiar 
 to children. As for any apprehension of her indiscreet 
 behaviour being a subject of after annoyance, she felt 
 none whatever. Had nob Lord Earlshope and herself quite 
 got back to their old friendly terms ; and what harm 
 was there in her joining in this piece of amusement ? If 
 she had any doubts or misgivings, they were swallowed up in 
 the sensation of warmth lent by the Russian slippers. 
 
 Coquette ate one or two of the small biscuits, and drank 
 half a glass of the yellow-white wine, which Earlshope 
 poured out for her. Then she said — ■ 
 
 " I do not know how you can go away from this place. I 
 should live here always. Why did you go away ? " 
 
 " I am going away again," he said. She looked up with 
 some surprise — perhaps with a shadow of disappointment, 
 too, on her face. 
 
 " How can I stay here ? " he said, suddenly. " I should 
 be meeting you constantly. I have no right to meet you. I 
 am satisfied, now that I know you are well, and that you 
 have forgiven me ; and I do not wish to repeat a bygone 
 error. You — who are always so pleased with everything 
 around you — I see you have forgotten that witchery that 
 seemed to have fallen over us both last summer. You are 
 again yourself — calm, satisfied with yourself — on excellent 
 terms with everybody and everything. But I have not been 
 cured by my few months' absence. Now that I see you 
 
 again Bah ! what is the use of annoying you by 
 
 such talk ? Tell me, how is your cousin in Glasgow ? " 
 
 Coquette remained quite silent and thoughtful, however, 
 with her eyes fixed on the stove before her. After a little 
 while, she said — ■ 
 
 " I have not forgotten — I can never forget. I have been 
 so pleased to see you this morning that perhaps I have 
 
LORD EARLSHOPE ) S CAVE. 213 
 
 appeared light — fickle — what you call it ? — in your eyes, and 
 not mindful of your trouble. It is not so. I do remember 
 all that happened ; it is only I think it better not to 
 bring it back. Why you should go away ? If you remain, 
 we shall learn to meet as friends, as we are now, are we 
 not ? " 
 
 " Do you think that is possible ? " he asked, gravely 
 looking at her. 
 
 Coquette dropped her eyes ; and said, in a low voice — 
 
 " It may be difficult just a little while ; yet it is possible. 
 And it seems hard that if we do enjoy the meeting with each 
 other, we must not meet — that I drive you away from your 
 own home." 
 
 " It is odd — is it not ? " he said, in rather an absent way. 
 " You have made me an exile, or, rather, my own folly has 
 done that. No, Coquette ; I am afraid there is no com- 
 promise possible — for me, at least — until after a few years ; 
 and then I may come back to talk to you in quite an off-hand 
 fashion, and treat you as if you were my own sister. For I 
 am a good deal older than you, you know " 
 
 At this moment there was a sound of footsteps outside ; 
 and Coquette hurriedly sprang to her feet. Earlshope 
 immediately went out to the entrance of the place ; and 
 Coquette heard some one approach from the outside. She 
 hastily abandoned her small furred slippers, and drew on 
 her damp boots ; then she stood, with a beating heart, 
 listening. 
 
 "I am sorry to have alarmed you," said Earlshope, 
 returning. " It was only a servant with some letters that 
 have arrived." 
 
 But the sound of those footsteps had suddenly awakened 
 Coquette to a sense of the imprudence, and even danger, of 
 her present position, and she declined to resume her com- 
 fortable seat before the fire. 
 
 " I must go now," she said. 
 
 " Let me show you the way then, if you must," said he ; 
 and so he led her along the winding path, and through the 
 si 1 rubbery to the small gate that opened out to the moor. 
 She had reached the limit of Earlshope ; in front of her 
 stretched the undulating plain leading up to Airlie ; she was 
 free to go when she pleased. 
 
214 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " I dare not see you home, " he said, " or the good people 
 who may have noticed us an hour ago would have a story to 
 tell. " 
 
 " I shall find my way without trouble, " said Coquette, 
 and she held out her hand. 
 
 " Is it to be good-bye, then ? " he said, looking wistfully 
 at her. 
 
 "Not unless you please," Coquette answered, simply, 
 although she bent her eyes on the ground. " I should like you 
 to remain here, and be friends with us as in long ago ; it is 
 not much to ask ; it would be a pleasure to me, and I should 
 be sorry and angry with myself if I thought you had again 
 gone away because of me. It is surely no reason you should 
 go ; for I should think of you far away, and think that it is I 
 who ought to go away, not you ; for I am a stranger come to 
 Airlie, and sometimes I think I have come only to do harm 
 to all my friends " 
 
 " My darling ! " he said, with a strange and inexpressibly 
 sad look on his face, as he caught her to him, and gazed down 
 into the clear, frightened eyes. " You shall not accuse your- 
 self like this ! If there is blame in my staying I will bear it ; 
 I will stay, whatever happens ; and we shall meet, Coquette, 
 shall we not, even as now, in this stillness, with no one to 
 interrupt our talk ? Why do you look frightened, Coquette ? 
 Are you afraid of me ? See, you are free to go ! " 
 
 His arms released their hold ; and for an instant she 
 stood, with downcast eyes, alone and trembling. But she 
 did not move ; and so once again he drew her towards him ; 
 and then, ere she knew, his arms were around her, and she 
 was close to his breast, and kisses were being showered on 
 her forehead and on her lips. It was all so sudden, so wild 
 and strange, that she did not stir ; nor was she but half- 
 conscious of the fetters of iron which these few swift seconds 
 were fastening down on her life. It was very terrible, this 
 crisis ; but she vaguely felt that there was the sweetness of 
 despair and utter abandonment possessing her ; that the die 
 had been cast for good or evil, and the old days of doubt and 
 anxiety were over. 
 
 " Let me go — let me go ! " she pleaded, piteously. " Oh, 
 what have we done ? " 
 
 " We have sealed our fate," said he, with a haggard look 
 
LORD EARLSHOPE'S CAVE. 215 
 
 which she did not sec. "I have fought against this for 
 many a day — how bitterly and anxiously no one knows, 
 Coquette. But now, Coquette, but now — won't you look 
 up and let me see that love is written in your eyes ? 
 Won't you look up, and give me one kiss before we part ? — 
 only one, Coquette ? " 
 
 Hut her downcast face was pale and deathlike ; and for a 
 moment or two she seemed to tremble. Finally she said — 
 
 " I cannot speak to you now. To-morrow or next day — 
 perhaps we shall meet. Adieu ! — you must leave me to go 
 alone." 
 
 And so she went away over the moor ; and he stood 
 looking after her for some time, with eyes that had now 
 lost all their wild joy and triumph, and were wistful and 
 sad. 
 
 " She does not know what has happened to her to day," 
 he said to himself, " and I — I have foreseen it, and striven 
 to guard against it — in vain." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE NEMESIS OF LOVE. 
 
 " At last — at last — at last ! " The words rang in her 
 ears as she hurried across the moor — seeing nothing — heeding 
 nothing — her face turned away from the clear blue-white of 
 the spring sky. She was only anxious to get within the 
 shelter of her own home, to resolve those wild doubts and 
 fears which were pressing upon her. In many and many a 
 story of her youth — in many a ballad and song she had 
 sung long ago in the garden overlooking the Loire — she had 
 heard I ell of happy lovers and their joy ; and, with the care- 
 less fancies of a girl, she had looked forward to the time when 
 she, too, might awake to find her life crowmed by those sweet 
 experiences that fall to the lot of young men and maidens. 
 And w.is this love that had come to her at last — not in the 
 guise of an angel, with a halo around his head and mildness 
 in his face, but in the guise of a sorcerer, who had the power 
 to turn the very sunlight into blackness ? 
 
 Yet, when she had reached the solitude of her own 
 chamber, she asked herself the reason of tliis sudden dread. 
 
216 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 What made her heart beat and her cheek grow pale as she 
 looked back to that phantasmal evening in Loch Scavaig ? 
 "Was not that all over and gone — forgotten and buried in the 
 past ? Indeed, she began to reason with herself over the 
 injustice of recalling it. Had not Lord Earlshope sufficiently 
 endeavoured to atone for — what ? 
 
 That was the mystery which was confronting her with 
 a terrible pertinacity. She had been oppressed with an 
 unnameable dread during that memorable evening ; but 
 what had Lord Earlshope done, beyond talk wildly and 
 almost fiercely for a few minutes ? She had almost forgotten 
 the substance of what he had then said. And now that he 
 had expressed his penitence for that strange appeal to her — 
 since he had even punished himself with six months' exile on 
 account of it — why should the memory of it interfere between 
 them as a gloomy phantom, voiceless, but yet holding up a 
 warning finger ? 
 
 " I do not understand it," she murmured to herself in 
 French. " There is something he will not tell me ; and yet 
 why should he be afraid ? Does he fear that I shall be 
 unjust or merciless — to him who has never a hard word or a 
 suspicion for any one ? Why should he not tell me ? — it 
 cannot be anything wrong of himself — or I should see it 
 in his eyes. And whatever it is, it separates us ; and I have 
 given my life to a man who seems to stand on the other 
 side of a river from me ; and I can only hold out my 
 hands to him ; and wish that the river were the river of 
 death, so that I could cross over, and fall at bis feet, and 
 kiss them." 
 
 She took out a little book of devotions which had been 
 given her by one of her companions on leaving France, and 
 sat down at the small window-table, and placed it before 
 her. A few moments thereafter, Lady Drum, coming into 
 the room, found the girl's head resting on the table covered 
 by her hands. 
 
 " Asleep in the middle o' the day ! " said the visitor, who 
 had unceremoniously come up-stairs. 
 
 Coquette hastily rose, and would have hidden her face by 
 turning aside and going into her bed-room, but that Lady 
 Drum stopped her, and took hold of her. 
 
 " What ! No rosier than that ? And fast asleep in the 
 
THE NEMESIS OF LOVE. ill 
 
 middle o' such a beautiful day ! Dear me, lassie ! " she added, 
 looking more narrowly at her, " what are you een so big, 
 and wild, and wet for ? " 
 
 Lady Drum walked to the table, and took up the small 
 book. She turned over its pages, and the contempt visible 
 on her face grew fast and fierce. 
 
 " Saints — crosses — mealy-faced women wi' circles round 
 their heads — men in blue gowns wi' a lamp by their side — is 
 this the trash ye spend your days over, when ye should be 
 in the open air ? " 
 
 Lady Drum clasped the book again ; put it in the drawer 
 of the table ; and shut the drawer with somewhat unnecessary 
 vehemence. 
 
 " Phew ! I have no patience wi' the folk that would make 
 every young lass a nun. Come here, my young princess 
 wi' the pale face : are you no a staunch, earnest, indomitable 
 Presbyterian ? " 
 
 " I am what you please," said Coquette, timidly. 
 
 " Are you, or are you not, a Presbyterian ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I am," said Coquette. " I do not know what 
 it is — this Presby — I do not know what you say. But I do 
 keep my books that belonged to me in France. That is a 
 good book — it can do no harm to any one " 
 
 " My certes ! here is a pretty convert ! It can do no 
 harm to any one ? — and I find ye in the middle o' the day, 
 greet in 1 ower its palaverins, and with a face that would suit 
 a siiint hitter than a brisk young creature o' your age. 
 Ayrshire is no the place for saints — the air is over healthy. 
 Come here, and I will show ye the book that ye must 
 lvad." 
 
 She led Coquette to the window, and began to expatiate 
 on the enjoyments of boing out walking on such a day — 
 with the spring winds stirring the young corn, and ruffling 
 the distant blue of the sea. Alas ! all that Coquette saw 
 was the beginning of the line of trees that led down to 
 Ivuishope. 
 
 " Listen now," said Lady Drum, " I have come here on 
 an errand. Ye have never seen Glasgow 7 . I am going up 
 to-morrow morning ; can you come wi' me — stay two or 
 three weeks — and cheer your cousin's exile a bit ? " 
 
 Coquette's conscience smote her hard ; and it was with a 
 
218 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 quick feeling of pain and remorse that she thought of the 
 Whaup. She had almost forgotten him. Far away in the 
 great city of which she knew so little, he was working hard, 
 buoyed up by some foolish and fond notion that he was 
 pleasing her. All at once her heart turned towards him 
 with a great affection and yearning. She would make 
 amends for the wrong which he had unwittingly suffered. 
 She would go at once to Glasgow : and would shower upon 
 him every token of solicitude and kindness that she could 
 devise. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Lady Drum ! " she said, with evident eagerness 
 in her face. " I will go with you as soon as you please. 
 Have you seen my cousin ? Is he well ? Is he tired of his 
 hard work ? Does he speak of us sometimes ? He does not 
 think we have forgotten him ? " 
 
 " Hoity toity ! Twenty questions in a breath ! Let me 
 tell you this, my young lady, that your cousin, though he 
 says nothing, is doing wonders ; and that Dr. Menzies, to 
 whom the Minister confided him, is fair delighted wi' him, 
 and has him at dinner or supper twice or thrice a week ; and 
 your cousin is just petted beyond measure by the young 
 leddies o' the house ; and bonnier lasses there are none in 
 Glasgow." 
 
 Coquette clasped her hands. 
 
 " Perhaps he will marry one of them ! " she exclaimed, 
 with a wonderful gladness in her eyes. 
 
 Lady Drum looked at her. 
 
 " Marry one o' them ? Would ye like to see him marry 
 one o' them ? Has that daft picture-book turned your head 
 and made ye determined to go into a nunnery ? " 
 
 " It is not necessary he marries me," said Coquette in 
 a tone of protest. " A young man must choose his own 
 wife — it is not pleasant for him to be made to marry by his 
 friends." 
 
 " Ah, well ! " said Lady Drum, with a sigh. " Young 
 folks are young folks ; and they will pretend that the 
 marmalade they would like to steal is nothing but down- 
 right medicine to them. Ye had better begin to think about 
 packing up for to-morrow morning." 
 
 " To-morrow morning ! " said Coquette, with a sudden 
 tremor of apprehension. 
 
THE NEMESIS OF LOVE. 219 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot go to-morrow — I cannot go to-morrow : 
 will not the next day do, Lady Drum ? May I not have 
 one day more ? " 
 
 Astonished by the sudden alteration in the girl's manner — 
 from delight at the prospect of going to an almost agonising 
 entreaty to be left alone for another day — Lady Drum did 
 not reply for a second. 
 
 " What have you to do to-morrow ? " said the elderly lady, 
 at last, regarding the girl. 
 
 " It is nothing — it is not much," stammered Coquette, 
 with her eyes bent on the ground. " Only I do wish to 
 remain at Airlie to-morrow. It is only one day longer, Lady 
 Drum." 
 
 " Why, you plead as if I were to take ye out for execution 
 the day after. If it will serve ye, I will wait for another 
 day ; and on Friday morning, at ten meenutes to ten, 
 ye must be at the station, wi' a' your trunks and things in 
 good order." 
 
 " But I have not asked my uncle yet," said Coquette. 
 
 " I have, though," said Lady Drum, " and I'm thinking 
 he'll no miss ye except at breakfast. Since he began to 
 get up that Concordance 0' the Psalms, he seems to have 
 withdrawn himself from the world round aboot him, and 
 he's just as it were dead to his friends." 
 
 " It is very kind of you to ask me to go with you," said 
 Coquette, suddenly remembering that she had not thanked 
 Lady Drum for her offer. 
 
 " Na, na," said her elderly friend, " what would a big 
 house be without a young leddy in it to bring visitors 
 about ? And this time, I must tell ye, a friend o' Sir 
 Peter's has given us the loan 0' his house until he comes back 
 from Italy ; and it is a big house overlooking the West 
 End Park ; and I'm thinking we'll find it more comfortable 
 than a hotel. And we will have some company ; and it will 
 no be amiss if ye bring wi' ye such French ornaments or 
 dresses as might be rather out o' place in the Manse o' 
 Airlie. And I am sure ye will be quite surprised to see 
 your cousin — looking a fine, strapping, well-set-up young 
 gentleman, instead o' a lang-leggit laddie ; and it is just 
 possible Lord Earlshope may pay us a visit some evening." 
 
220 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 Did Lady Drum throw out this hint as a vague feeler ? 
 She had never penetrated the mystery which had seemed to 
 surround the relations between Coquette and Lord Earlshope 
 during their voyage in the Highlands. She had, indeed, 
 destroyed the scrap of writing handed to her by Coquette 
 when the girl was delirious, unwilling to bother herself with 
 a secret which did not concern her. Still, Lady Drum was 
 just a trifle curious. There was something very peculiar 
 and interesting in the odd notions which this young French 
 creature appeared to have acquired about love and marriage. 
 Lady Drum had never met with any one who held but the 
 ordinary and accepted theories on that attractive subject. 
 Yet here was a young lady who calmly contemplated the 
 possibility of loving some one whom circumstances might 
 prevent her marrying ; and at the same time seemed in no 
 wise disinclined to accept the recommendations of her 
 relatives and friends as to her choice of a husband. Were 
 these French notions of the duty of daughters to their 
 parents ? Or had they been picked up in idle speculation, 
 and not yet driven away — as Lady Drum felt certain they 
 would be driven away by a real love affair ? At all events, 
 the mention of Earlshope's name at once arrested Coquette's 
 attention. 
 
 " Does Lord Earlshope ever go to Glasgow ? " she asked. 
 
 "What for no?" 
 
 " And is he likely to meet my cousin at your house ? " 
 
 " Assuredly. Why not ? Why not ? " 
 
 "I did merely ask a question," said Coquette, with 
 thoughtful eyes. 
 
 Then Lady Drum bade her come down-stairs. The 
 Minister was brought out of his study ; and they had a little 
 talk over Coquette's projected trip. At length, Lady Drum 
 sent to see if her coachman was ready ; and, finally, with 
 a pleasant " au revaur, ma fee I au revaur I " the old lady 
 walked in her grand and stately fashion across the small 
 garden, got into her carriage, and was driven away from 
 Airlie Manse. 
 
 There remained to Coquette but one day on which she 
 had the chance of seeing Lord Earlshope ; and how was she 
 to bring about a meeting which she half feared, yet could 
 not wholly forego ? 
 
THE LAST DAY AT AIRLIE. . 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 THE LAST DAY AT AIRLIE. 
 
 All during that evening, and in thinking of the next 
 morning, she nursed a sweet and strange poison at her heart. 
 Love seemed no longer to be so terrible as on that ghostly 
 evening in Loch Scavaig ; and she grew accustomed to the 
 danger ; and she was glad that, come what might, this 
 flower of life had at length fallen upon her and she knew its 
 fragrance. Had she not been told, in many of those old 
 stories, that love for love's sake was enough ? She did not 
 care to count its cost. She scarcely paid any heed as to 
 how it might end. Sufficient to know that now, at this 
 moment, her heart was beating wildly against its prison- 
 bars ; and would fain have taken wings and flown over the 
 moor towards Earlshope, if only to die on finding a haven. 
 
 Nor was there much disquiet in her look the next 
 morning when she rose and discovered that another bright 
 and clear day had come to mark her farewell to Airlie. She 
 was hurried and excited, perhaps, in preparing to go out, 
 but she was joyful, too ; and the early morning sunshine, 
 streaming in through the small window, found her eyes full 
 of gladness and hope. 
 
 Yet how was she to communicate with Lord Earlshope, 
 and let him know that she wished to say good-bye to him ? 
 Clearly, neither her uncle nor Lady Drum knew that he 
 had returned. She dared not send him a message; and 
 equally impossible was it for her to go up alone to the 
 house. Her hope was that he would be on the watch for 
 her ; and that another stolen interview would mark the last 
 day she had for the present to spend at Airlie. 
 
 She was not mistaken in that vague surmise. When she 
 went out for her accustomed stroll, she had wandered but a 
 little way when she found him approaching her. His look 
 was anxious ; but hers was full of affection and trust. 
 
 " You are no longer alarmed to see me ? " he asked, 
 wondering. 
 
 " No," she said. " Why should I ? Perhaps I ought 
 
222 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 not to meet you in this way ; but it will not be for long. 
 And you — you seem to have dropped from the clouds." 
 
 " I was on my way to the Manse." 
 
 " To the Manse ! " she repeated, in some dismay. 
 
 " Yes. Do you know any reason why I should not call 
 upon your uncle ? I dared not go near the place until I 
 had assured myself I should not be annoying you. And 
 now I hope to be able to call and see you there, instead 
 of inveigling you into these surreptitious meetings, even 
 although they have the charm of secrecy — and of Russian 
 slippers." 
 
 He had caught some faint reflex of cheerfulness from the 
 gladness of her face ; but there was still about him a look 
 of constraint and anxiety. 
 
 " It is too late to think of that," she said ; "I go to 
 Glasgow to-morrow." 
 
 " Have they found out ? Are they sending you away ? " 
 he asked, hurriedly. 
 
 " No ; there is nothing to find out. But Lady Drum, 
 she is good enough to ask me to go with her ; and there I 
 will see my cousin, whom I have promised to visit often, yet 
 have never been able. And I am sorry for him ; alone in 
 that great place, and the people here nearly forgetting him. 
 Does he not deserve some reparation, some kindness from 
 me ? " 
 
 She looked up into his face ; and he knew that she meant 
 more than appeared in her words. 
 
 "I wonder," said Earls hope, after a little while, "if he 
 does hope to win your love ; if he is working there with 
 the far-off intention of coming back here and asking you to 
 be his wife ? If that is so, we have acted very cruelly by him." 
 
 " Ah, not cruelly ! " she said, as if begging him to reassure 
 her. " If we have forgotten him, can I not make it up to 
 him ? You will see, when I go to Glasgow, I will be very 
 kind to him — he will not think that he has been ill-used." 
 
 " But he will think that you are still looking favourably 
 on his vague hopes — he will be all the more assured that, 
 some day or other, you will become his wife." 
 
 '.'And if that will make him happy," she said, slowly and 
 with absent eyes, " there is nothing I will not do to make, 
 him happy." 
 
THE LAST DAY AT AIRLIE. 223 
 
 Earlshope regarded her with a strange look. 
 
 " You would become his wife ? " 
 
 " If that only would make him happy — yes. He deserves 
 so much from me — I will do that, if he demands it." 
 
 " You will marry him, and make him fancy that you love 
 him ? " 
 
 " No," she said, simply. " I should tell him everything. 
 I should tell him that he deserves to marry a woman who 
 has never loved any one but himself ; and yet that I — if his 
 marrying me will alone make him happy — I will do what I 
 can, and be his wife." 
 
 " So the world goes," said her companion, with a sudden 
 bitterness in bis tone ; " and it is the good, and the true, 
 and the noble that suffer. You are far too unselfish to lead 
 a bappy life, Coquette. You will sacrifice yourself, sooner 
 or later, for the sake of some one you love ; and the reward 
 yon will gej will be reprobation and the outcry of the crowd. 
 And I — I have so far paved the way for all this that if I 
 <ould free you at this moment by laying down my own life, 
 yon would find it no vain boast when I say now that I 
 would do it willingly." 
 
 " But you have not made me suffer," she said, gently. 
 " Look now and see whether I am sad or miserable. I have 
 been so happy all this morning, merely to think I should see 
 you — that is enough ; and now you are here I am content. 
 I wish no more in the world." 
 
 " But Coquette — don't you see ? — it cannot end here," he 
 said, almost desperately. " You do not know the chains in 
 which I am bound. 1 — I dare not tell you — and yet, before 
 you go to Glasgow " 
 
 " No," she said, in the same gentle voice. " I do not 
 wish to know. It is enough for me to be beside you as now 
 — whatever is in store for us. And if it should all be bad 
 and sorrowful, I shall remember that once I was satisfied — 
 that once I walked with you here one morning, and we had 
 no thought of ill, and we were for a little while happy." 
 
 " But I cannot stop there," said be. " I must look at the 
 future. Oh, my poor girl, I think it would ha a better 
 
 for us both had we never been born ! " 
 
 She drew hack from him amazed and alarmed. All the 
 grave kindliness of his face had gone, and he was regarding 
 

 224 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 her with eyes so full of pity and of love that her heart grew 
 still with fear. Why was it that, at the very moment when 
 they were most peaceful and happy — when she merely 
 wished to enjoy the satisfaction of being near him, leaving 
 the future to take care of itself — why was it that this 
 unnameable something should come in between them, and 
 bid her begone from a man who had that to say which he 
 dared not tell her ? Yet her hesitation lasted but a moment. 
 After all, she thought, what was her happiness in comparison 
 with that of the man she loved ? She saw the pain and the 
 despair written on his face, and she drew nearer to him 
 again, and took his hand in hers. 
 
 " I shall never wish that I had not been born," she said, 
 
 for I have known you a little while, and I have walked 
 with you here. The rest is nothing. What can harm us, if 
 we are true to ourselves, and do what we think is right ? " 
 
 " That is possible to you — who are as clear-souled as an 
 angel," he said. 
 
 Now what could ail two lovers who were walking thus in 
 the happy spring-time — alone together — with youth in their 
 eyes, and all the world before them ? Was it not enough for 
 them to be ? All things around them were peaceful in the 
 sunlight ; the fields lay still and warm in their coating of 
 young green ; the birds were busy in the leaves of the hedges ; 
 and there was many a jubilant note in the woods. Far away 
 in the south there lay a faint blue smoke over the houses of 
 Ayr ; but no murmur of toil and struggle reached them up 
 on these moorland heights. The moor itself, and the fields, 
 and the valleys were as still as the sea ; which shone and 
 trembled a pure and pale azure until it was lost in the white 
 of the horizon. They only seemed out of consonance with 
 the peace of this mild and clear spring day, in which the 
 world lay and basked. 
 
 They strolled on together — Coquette sometimes picking 
 up a flower — until they had got down to that corner of the 
 Earlshope grounds where the small gate was. They had 
 come thither unintentionally. 
 
 " Shall we go in ? " said her companion. 
 
 " No," said Coquette. " It is too beautiful outside 
 to-day. Why cannot we be away yonder on the sea, and 
 sail along the coast of Arran, and on and up Loch Fyne, 
 
 
THE LAST DAY AT AIRLIE. 225 
 
 where the still blue lake is ? I do remember it was so 
 pleasant there — bub afterwards " 
 
 A cloud fell over her face, and Earlshope hastened to 
 change the subject. He spoke of her going to Glasgow ; 
 of the chances of his seeing her there ; of the time she 
 would be likely to stay. By this time they had turned 
 again, and were walking in the direction of the Manse. 
 Somehow or other, Coquette seemed unwilling to speak of 
 Glasgow, or to admit that she hoped to meet him. When, 
 indeed, they had come within sight of the house, Coquette 
 stopped, and said she would bid him good-bye there. 
 
 " But why are you so sad, Coquette ? " he said. " This 
 is no farewell ; most likely I shall be in Glasgow before 
 you." 
 
 " I am sorry for that," she said, with her eyes fixed on 
 the ground. 
 
 " Why ? What hidden notion of self-sacrifice have you 
 adopted now ? " 
 
 " You do not seem to know what reparation I do owe to 
 my cousin. It is for him I go to Glasgow. You must not 
 coi ii(3 if it will annoy him — the poor boy ! who has not much 
 to comfort him except — except " 
 
 "Except the thought of marrying you, Coquette," said 
 Earlshope ; " and you — you seem to think nothing of your- 
 self, if only you can secure the happiness of everybody 
 else. Ah, well, if you wish me not to see you while you 
 are in (Jlasgow, I will remain away. Let your cousin have 
 that brief time of enjoyment. But for us two, Coquette 
 — for us two there is no hope of this separation being 
 onal." 
 
 " Hope ? " she said. " Why do you hope it ? Is it not 
 pleasant for us to sec cadi other, if only we do no harm or 
 pain to our friends ? Why do you speak in that way, as if 
 some great trouble was about to befall us ? Sometimes I do 
 fear what you say ; and I think of it at night ; and I tremble ; 
 for I have no one that I can speak to ; but in the morning 
 these fears go away ; for I look out of the window, anil 
 1 know you are near Earlshope, and I am only anxious to 
 see you." 
 
 "My darling ! " he said, with a look of great compassion 
 and tenderness in his eyes. " You deserve the happiest life 
 
 Q 
 
226 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 that ever a true-hearted woman enjoyed ; and when I think 
 what I have done to make you miserable " 
 
 " Ah, not miserable ! " she said. " Do I look -miserable ? 
 You must not think that ; nor that I am at all miserable in 
 Glasgow. No, good-bye — good-bye " 
 
 " For how long ? " said he, taking both her hands in his. 
 
 "With that she looked down, and said in a very low voice — 
 
 "If you are weary here — you may come to see me in 
 Glasgow — once, twice, but not often " 
 
 The rest of her words were lost, for she found herself 
 once more folded in his arms, as he bade her good-bye, and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " Good-bye, Coquette, good-bye ! " he said, tenderly ; and 
 when she had gone some way across the moor, and turned 
 and saw him still standing there, it seemed to her that she 
 still heard him say " Good-bye." He waved a handkerchief 
 to her ; it was as if he were on board a vessel standing out to 
 sea, and that soon a great and desolate ocean would roll 
 between them. When she got home, and went up into her 
 own room, and looked out of the window, there was no 
 ligure visible on the wide expanse of the moor. There was 
 nothing there but the sunshine and the quiet. 
 
 This was the first day that Coquette had known the joy of 
 being loved ; and lo ! it was already empty. Fair and beau- 
 tiful the morning had been — a day to be marked with a white 
 stone in her memory ; but it was already numbered with the 
 times that were. And the love that filled her heart — it was 
 no gay and happy thing, to make her laugh and sing out of 
 pure delight ; but an unrest and a care she was now to carry 
 always with her, wondering whether its sweetness Avere as 
 great as its pain. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 COQUETTE IN TOWN. 
 
 As Coquette and Lady Drum drew near to Glasgow the 
 impatience of the girl increased. Her thoughts flew on more 
 swiftly than the train ; and they were all directed towards 
 the Whaup, whom she was now about to see. • 
 
 " Will he be at the station ? Does he know we are 
 
COQUETTE IN TOWN, 227 
 
 coming ? Or shall we see him as we go along the streets ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Lady Drum. " Ye seem to think that 
 Glasgow is no bigger than Saltcoats. Meet him in the 
 streets ? We should scarce see him in the streets if he were 
 dressed in scaurlet." 
 
 It was growing towards dusk when the two ladies arrived. 
 Lady Drum's carriage was waiting at the station ; and pre- 
 sently Coquette found herself in the midst of the roar and 
 turmoil of the great city. The lamps on the bridges were 
 burning yellow in the grey coldness of the twilight ; and she 
 caught a glimpse of the masses of shipping down in the dusky 
 bed of the river. Then up through the busy streets — where 
 the windows were growing bright with gas, and dense crowds 
 of people were hurrying to and fro, and the carts, and 
 waggons, and carriages were raising a din that was strange 
 and bewildering to ears grown accustomed to the stillness 
 of Airlie. 
 
 " Alas ! " said Coquette, " I cannot see him in this crowd 
 — it is impossible." 
 
 Lady Drum laughed, and said nothing. And so they 
 drove on — the high, old-fashioned chariot, which ought to 
 have been kept for state purposes down at Castle Cawmil, 
 swinging gently on its big springs — up to the north-western 
 districts of the city. When Coquette was finally set down in 
 front of a range of tall houses, the rooms of which were 
 shining ruddily through crimson curtains, she got up the 
 steps, and turned to take a look at her new place of abode. 
 Behold ! in front of her there was no more city ; but a great 
 gulf of pale blue mist, with here and there an orange lamp 
 burning in the distance. There were no more streets, nor 
 crowds, nor great waggons ; and she even became aware that 
 there were trees in front of her, down there in the mysterious 
 hollow. 
 
 " Where am I ? " she said. " It is not a town — are we in 
 the country again ? And where is my cousin ? " 
 
 At this moment the hall door was thrown open by a 
 servant ; and out of the blaze of light came a dapper and 
 fat little gentleman, who, with some brief exclamation of 
 welcome, darted down the steps and gave his arm to 
 Coquette. 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Charmed to see you, Miss Cassilis," cried Sir Peter ; 
 " hope yon will have many a pleasant evening — many, and 
 many, and many a pleasant evening. Yes, yes, yes, indeed ! " 
 
 Then he was about to hand her over in his airy fashion 
 to the young person who had been told off as her maid ; but 
 Miss Coquette was rebellious. 
 
 "No," she said. "I do wish to go and see my cousin 
 before anything ; he does not know I am in this town ; it 
 will be good-natured of you, Sir Peter, to come with me." 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! certainly ! Roberts, hold on for a minute ! 
 My lady, keep dinner to half-past eight. Come along, my 
 dear. H'm ! Ha ! Ha-ha-ha ! " 
 
 Lady Drum stood at the open door, amazed. Indeed, she 
 was so astounded by this mad project on the part of her 
 husband — within an hour of dinner-time — that she had not 
 a word to say ; and in blank astonishment she beheld the 
 carriage drive off. Once more Coquette found herself getting 
 into a labyrinth of streets ; and the farther they drove the 
 more noisy and dingy they seemed to become. She began to 
 wonder if it was in this place that the Whaup had been 
 living for so long a time, and how the thought of Airlie and 
 the wild moorland and the sea had not broken his heart. 
 
 It happens to most lads who go to college that they attach 
 themselves to some friend and companion considerably older 
 than themselves, who proceeds to act as their counsellor, 
 teacher, and ally. Nothing of the kind was possible to the 
 Whaup. His individuality was too'strong to admit of any 
 such submission. No sooner had he thrown himself into the 
 midst of college life than his exuberant spirits, along with a 
 touch of his old love of devilment, attracted round him a con- 
 siderable circle of associates, of whom he was the heart and 
 soul. It is to be feared that the Whaup and his friends did 
 not form the most studious coterie to be found in the old 
 High Street building. Plenty of study there was ; and the 
 Whaup worked as hard as any of them ; but the wild even- 
 ings which these young gentlemen spent in their respective 
 lodgings — the stories told of their daredevil pranks — and the 
 very free-and-easy manners of more than one mother's son 
 among them — gained for this band a dangerous reputation. 
 They were held to be rather wild by the more discreet and 
 methodical of their fellow-collegians. The Whaup himself was 
 
COQUETTE IN TOWN. 229 
 
 known to stick at nothing. His splendid physique gave him 
 many advantages ; and after having let daylight come in 
 upon their rambling and hotheaded disquisitions on poetry 
 or " metapheesics," on their too copious beer-drinking, and 
 smoking of lengthy clays, many were chagrined to meet the 
 Whaup in the forenoon as fresh and pink as a daisy, having 
 just completed his morning classes, and setting out for 
 a long swinging walk round by the Botanic Gardens and 
 the Kelvin. 
 
 " What a powerful young fellow your cousin is," said Sir 
 Peter, as they drove along George Street. " Did you hear of 
 his adventure at the theatre ? No ? Good story ; very good 
 story ; ho ! ho ! excellent story. He takes three young ladies 
 to the theatre — cabman insults him — he hands the young 
 ladies into the theatre, comes back, hauls the cabman down 
 from his box and gives him a thorough thrashing in about 
 u minute. Up comes another cabman, squares up, is sent 
 Siring into the arms of a policeman ; the policeman admires 
 pluck, and says it serves them both right. Your cousin goes 
 into the theatre, sits down, nobody knows. Ho, ho ! Ha, 
 ha ! Ha, ha ! " 
 
 " But, pray, who were the young ladies ? " asked Coquette, 
 with a touch of proud asperity. 
 
 "Young ladies— young ladies — young ladies — who can 
 remember the names of young ladies ? " said, or rather 
 hummed, Sir Peter, keeping time by tapping on the carnage 
 window. " Why, I remember ! Those charming girls that 
 sing — what's the song ? — why, the doctor's daughters, you 
 know, Kate, and Mary, and Bess — all of them Menzies, 
 Menzies, Menzies ! " 
 
 " I think my cousin ought to attend to his studies, rather 
 than go about with young ladies," said Coquette. 
 
 " So, ho ! " cried Sir Peter. " Must a young man have 
 no amusement ? Suppose he caps his studies by marrying 
 one of the doctor's daughters ! " 
 
 "There are plenty to choose from," said Coquette, with 
 an air of disdain. 
 
 Indeed, the mention of those three young ladies rendered 
 Coquette silent for the rest of the drive ; and Sir Peter was 
 left to talk and hum to himself. Yet it was but a little 
 time before that Coquette had clapped her hands with joy on 
 
230 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 hearing that the Whaup had made those acquaintances, and 
 that she had eagerly asked Lady Drum if it was probable he 
 might marry one of them. "Why should she suddenly feel 
 jealous now, and refuse to speak to this poor Sir Peter, who 
 was risking his dinner to do her a service ? 
 
 Her face lightened considerably when the carriage was 
 pulled up ; and she got out to look with some curiosity on 
 the gaunt and grey house in George Street, which bore a 
 number she had often written on her letters. Many a time 
 she had thought of this house, and mentally drawn a picture 
 of it. Bat the picture she had drawn was of a small building 
 with a porch, and green casements, and a big square in front, 
 with trees in it — in short, she had thought of a quiet 
 thoroughfare in an old-fashioned French town. She was 
 more grieved than disappointed with the ugliness of this 
 house. 
 
 Sir Peter led her along the entry, and up the stone stairs to 
 the first landing. It was her first introduction to the Scotch 
 system of building houses. But her attention was suddenly 
 withdrawn from this matter by a considerable noise within ; 
 and over the noise there broke the music of a song, which 
 was plentifully accompanied by rappings on a table or on 
 the floor. 
 
 " Ah, c'est lui ! " she suddenly cried. " I do know it 
 is he." 
 
 The Whaup, to tell the truth, had not a very beautiful 
 voice ; but it was strong enough ; and both Sir Peter and 
 Coquette could hear him carelessly shouting the words of an 
 old English ballad — 
 
 Come lasses and lads, away from your dads, 
 
 And away to the maypole hie, 
 For every fair has a sweetheart there, 
 And the fiddlers standing by ! 
 
 For Willy shall dance with Jane, 
 And Johnny has got his Joan, 
 To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it up and down 
 
 — while there was a measured beating of hands and feet. Sir 
 Peter had to knock twice before any one answered ; and 
 when the door was opened, lo ! it was the "Whaup himself 
 who appeared — there being no one else in the house to 
 perform this office. 
 
COQUETTE IN TOWN. 231 
 
 " What ! is it you, Coquette ! " he cried, seizing botli 
 her hands. 
 
 " Oh, you bad boy ! " she cried. " How you do smell of 
 tobacco ! " 
 
 And, indeed, there came from the apartment he had just 
 left — the door of which was also wide open — rolling volumes 
 of smoke, which nearly took Sir Peter's breath away. 
 
 " But what am I to do with you ? " he said. " Mine is 
 the only room in the house that isn't in confusion just 
 now " 
 
 " We will go in and see your friends, if you do not object, 
 and if the gentlemen will permit us," said Coquette, at once. 
 Perhaps she was desirous of knowing what company he kept. 
 
 You should have seen how swiftly those young men put 
 away their pipes ; and how anxious they were to get Coquette 
 a chair ; and how they strove to look very mild and good. 
 You would have fancied they had been holding a prayer 
 meeting ; but their manner changed perceptibly when 
 Coquette hoped she had not interrupted their smoking, and 
 graciously asked that the gentleman who had been singing 
 should continue — at which there was much laughter, for the 
 Whaup looked confused. It was in the midst of this re- 
 awakening of voices that Sir Peter (who was beginning to 
 feel uncomfortable about his dinner) explained the object of 
 his visit, and asked the Whaup if he could come along later 
 in the evening. Of course, his friends counselled him to 
 go at once ; but he was not so lost to all notions of 
 hospitality. 
 
 " No," said he ; " I will come and see you to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 Coquette seemed hurt. 
 
 " Well," said her cousin to her, with a dash of his old 
 impertinence, "you can stay here if you like, and let Sir 
 Peter go home with an excuse for you." 
 
 The young men appeared as if they would have liked 
 to second that invitation, but dared not. Indeed, they re- 
 garded Coquette — w r hose foreign accent they had noticed — 
 in rather an awe-stricken way. Perhaps she was a French 
 princess who had come on a visit to Sir Peter ; and she 
 looked like a princess, and had the calm graciousness and 
 self-possession of a princess. That was no blushing country 
 
232 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 girl who sat there — the small lady with the delicate and pale 
 features and the large, quiet, dark eyes, who had such a 
 wonderful air of ease and refinement. The rough students 
 felt their gaze fall when she looked at them. What would 
 they not have given to have spoken with her for a whole 
 evening, and looked at the wonders of her costume and the 
 splendour of her dark hair ? 
 
 " What do you say, Coquette ? " said the Whaup ; and 
 they all pricked up their ears to hear her called by this 
 strange name. 
 
 Coquette laughed. Doubtless she considered the proposal 
 as a piece of her cousin's raillery; but any one at all 
 conversant with the secret likings of the young lady — as the 
 Whaup was — must have known that she was perhaps not so 
 averse to spending an evening with a lot of young students 
 as she ought to have been. 
 
 "Perhaps I should like it," she said, frankly, "if you 
 did all sing to me — and tell stories — and make me one of 
 your companions. But I am very hungry — I have had no 
 dinner." 
 
 " Bravely and sensibly spoken ! " cried Sir Peter, who had 
 become alarmed by this outrageous suggestion put forward 
 by the Whaup. " Come along, my dear Miss Cassilis ; your 
 cousin will call and see you to-morrow night." 
 
 "Good-bye, Tom," said Coquette. "I am pleased you 
 enjoy yourself in Glasgow. It is not all study and books- 
 no ? And now I understand why you did write to me such 
 very short letters." 
 
 " Look here, Coquette," said he, as they were about to go. 
 " What are you going to do to-morrow morning ? I suppose 
 you'll be driving about, and visiting grand people, and you 
 won't have a word for me." 
 
 " Ah, you wicked boy, to say that ! " she said, reproach- 
 fully. " You will come for me to-morrow when you choose 
 — nine, ten, eleven — and we will go for a walk just where 
 you please ; and I will speak to nobody but you ; and you 
 shall show me all the things worth seeing in Glasgow and 
 round about." 
 
 " Why, Coquette, it is all like a dream come true ! " he 
 cried. " And to think that you are in Glasgow at last ! " 
 With that, Sir Peter offered the young lady his arm, and 
 
COQUETTE IN TOWN. 233 
 
 hurried her down stairs. He was becoming more and more 
 anxious about his dinner. 
 
 The Whaup returned to his companions, and instantly 
 perceived that they were treating him with unusual respect. 
 They would talk, also, about the young lady ; and whether 
 she was to remain long in Glasgow ; and where the Whaup 
 had seen her first ; and whether she would likely be up at 
 his rooms any other evening. Master Tom was not very 
 communicative ; but at last one ventured to say — 
 
 " Tell us, now, Cassilis, is she likely to be married soon ? " 
 
 " She is," said the Whaup. 
 
 " To whom ? " 
 
 " To me," said the Whaup. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ALL ABOUT KELVIX-SIDE. 
 
 Talk of Glasgow being a sombre grey city ! When the 
 Whaup got up next morning at half-past six, and looked out, 
 it seemed to him that the empty pavements were made of 
 gold ; that the fronts of the houses were shining with a happy 
 light ; and the air full of a delicious tingling. For did not 
 the great city hold in it the beating heart of Coquette ; and 
 were not all its thoroughfares aware of the consecration that 
 had fallen on them by her arrival ? Away he sped to his 
 classes ; and his boots, as they rang in the street, clattered 
 " Coquette ! " and " Coquette ! " and " Coquette ! " If the 
 Professor had known that Coquette was in Glasgow', would 
 he have looked so dull, and been so miserably slow ? What 
 was the use of this gabble about ancient languages, when 
 Coquette had brought her pretty French idioms with her, 
 and was even now getting up to look out on the greenness of 
 Billhead and down on the winding waters of the Kelvin. 
 Alas ! why were the half -horn's so full of minutes ; and 
 might not the sunshine be altogether faded out of the sky 
 before he could get westward to welcome Coquette ? 
 
 He dashed home from college to his lodgings ; and there 
 arrayed himself in his tidiest garments ; and freshened 
 himself up, singing the while some snatches of " Sally in our 
 Alley." The tall and smart young man who now issued into 
 
234 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 George Street, and made his way westward as fast as his 
 long legs could carry him, bore but little resemblance to 
 the devil-may-care lad who had lounged about Airlie and 
 tormented his father's neighbours. Yet he was singing one 
 of his boyish songs as he strode along the thoroughfares ; 
 and ever and anon he looked up at the sky to make sure that 
 it was going to be kindly to Coquette. Why, the light mist 
 of the morning was now clearing away, and a blaze of sun- 
 shine was striking here and there along the northern side 
 of Sauchiehall Street. Tis a pleasant street — under certain 
 circumstances. Shops are its landmarks ; but they grow 
 poetic in the eyes of youth. It seemed to the Whaup that 
 the boots in the windows looked unusually elegant ; that 
 never before had he seen such taste in the arrangement of 
 Normandy pippins ; that even the odour of a bakery had 
 something in it that touched sweet memories. For, indeed, 
 the shops and the windows, and the people, and Sauchiehall 
 Street itself, were to him on that morning but phantasms ; 
 and all around him, the air, and the sky, and the sunshine, 
 were full of Coquette, and nothing but Coquette. He fell in 
 love with Sauchiehall Street on that morning ; and he has 
 never quite forgotten his old affection. 
 
 He walked up to the front of the great house overlooking 
 the Park, which Sir Peter had borrowed ; and was glad that 
 the door was opened by a girl instead of by a man-servant 
 — a creature whom he half feared and half disliked. The 
 young person had scarcely shown him into the spacious 
 drawing-room when he heard a quick flutter of a dress, 
 and Coquette herself came rushing in, overwhelming him 
 with her questions, and her exclamations, and her looks. 
 For she could not understand what had altered him so much 
 until she perceived that his moustache, which had been 
 almost invisible on their last meeting, had now assumed 
 quite formidable proportions ; and it was only a significant 
 threat on his part that caused her to cease her grave and 
 ironical compliments. 
 
 And where should they go on this bright summer 
 morning ? 
 
 " Lady Drum, she has gone into the town to order flowers 
 for the grand dinner of Friday," said Coquette ; " to which 
 you are invited, Mr. Whaup, by a card which I did 
 
ALL ABOUT KELVIN-SIDE. 235 
 
 address for you this morning. And I would not go with 
 her ; for I said — my cousin comes for me, and he would be 
 angry if T were not here, and he is very disagreeable when 
 be is angry. En/in, let us go, and you will amuse me by all 
 that is to be seen." 
 
 Now when Coquette had got herself ready, and they went 
 out, the Whaup took a very strange road to the city by 
 going down to Kelvin Bridge. The farther they went — 
 over by Billhead and still westward — the less appearance 
 there was of streets and shops ; until the Whaup had to 
 confess that he had led her, of set purpose, directly away 
 from the town. And so they went into the country. 
 
 lie took her into all the haunts and nooks that he had 
 explored by himself — down to the Pear-tree "Well — back 
 again, and along the Kelvin, and then up by the cross 
 road which leads to Maryhill. Here they paused in their 
 wanderings to look over the great extent of country which 
 lay before them ; and the Whaup told her, that far away on 
 the left, if she had a wonderful telescope, she might see the 
 lonely uplands about Airlie, and catch a glimpse of the long 
 sweep of the sea. 
 
 " I used to come up here," he said, " all by myself, and 
 wonder what you were doing away down there. And when 
 the sun came out, I thought — * Ah, Coquette is happy now.' " 
 
 " All that is very pretty," said Coquette ; " and I should 
 be sorry for you, perhaps. But I do find you have still 
 some amusement. What is it you sing — 'Come, lasses and 
 lads, away from your dads ' ? What is dads ? " 
 
 "Never mind, Coquette. It is only a song to keep up 
 one's heart, you know — not to be talked about on a morning 
 like this, between us two. I want to say something very 
 nice to you, and friendly, and even sentimental ; but I don't 
 know how. What shall I say ? " 
 
 " It is not for me to tell you," remarked Coquette, with 
 some air of disdain. 
 
 And yet, as they stood there, and looked over the far 
 country towards Airlie and the sea, they somehow forgot to 
 talk. Indeed, as Coquette, leaning on the low stone wall. 
 gazed away westward, a shadow seemed to cross her face. 
 AVas she thinking of all that had happened there, and of her 
 present position — mayhap working grievous wrong by this 
 
236 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 thoughtless kindness to her cousin ? "Was she right in try- 
 ing to atone for previous neglect by an excess of goodness 
 which might be cruel to him in after-life ? Her companion 
 saw that a sudden silence and pensiveness had fallen over 
 her, and he drew her gently away, and began their homeward 
 walk. 
 
 On their way back, they again went down to the Kelvin ; 
 and he proposed that they should rest for a little while in 
 the bit of meadow opposite the Pear-tree Well. They sat 
 down amid the long grass ; and when any one crossed the 
 small wooden bridge, which was but seldom, Coquette hid 
 her face under her sunshade, and was unseen. 
 
 " Are you tired ? " said the Whaup. 
 
 " Tired ? No. I do walk about all day sometimes at 
 Airlie." 
 
 " Then why have you grown so silent ? " 
 
 " I have been thinking." 
 
 " Of what ? " 
 
 " Of many things — I do not know." 
 
 " Coquette," he said suddenly, " do you know that the 
 well over there used to be a trysting place for lovers ; and 
 that they used to meet there and join their hands over 
 the well, and swear that they would marry each other some 
 day ? I suppose some did marry and some didn't ; but 
 wasn't it very pleasant in the meantime to look forward ? 
 Coquette, if you would only give me your hand now ! I 
 will wait any time — I have waited already, Coquette ; but if 
 you will only say now that I may look forward to some day, 
 far away, that I can come and remind you of your promise — 
 think what it would be to have that to carry about with one. 
 You will be going back to Airlie, Coquette — -I may not see 
 you for ever so long." 
 
 He paused ; for she seemed strangely disturbed. She 
 looked up at him with eyes which were wild and alarmed. 
 
 " Ah, do not say any more," she said. " I will do any- 
 thing for you, but not that — not that." 
 
 And then she said, a moment afterwards, in a voice which 
 was very low and full of sadness — ■ 
 
 " Or see ; I will promise to marry you, if you like, after 
 many, many years — only not now — not within a few years — 
 afterwards I will do what you like." 
 
ALL ABOUT KELVIN-SIDE. 237 
 
 " But have I offended you ? Why do you cry, Coquette ? 
 Look here, I'd cut my fingers off before I would ask 
 anything of you that pained you. What is the matter, 
 Coquette ? Does it grieve you to think of what I ask ? " 
 
 " No — no ! " she said, hurriedly, with tears stealing down 
 her face. " It is right of you to ask it — and I — I must 
 say yes. My uncle does expect it, does he not ? And you 
 yourself, Tom, you have been very good to me, and if only 
 this will make you happy, I will be your wife." 
 
 " You will ? " said he, with his handsome face burning 
 with joy. 
 
 "But — but — " said Coquette, with the dark eyes still Wfct, 
 and her head bent down, "not until after many years. And 
 all that time, Tom, I shall pray that you may get a better 
 wife than I — and a wife who could be to you all that you 
 deserve— and in this long time you may meet some one, 
 mid your heart will say, 'She is better for me than 
 Coquette ' " 
 
 " Better than you, Coquette ! " he cried. " Is there any- 
 body in all the world better than you ? " 
 
 " Ah, you do not think — you do not remember. You do 
 not know anything of me yet — I am a stranger to you — 
 and I have been brought up differently from you. And did 
 not Leesiebess say I had come to do mischief among you — 
 and that my French bringing-up was dangerous ? 
 
 " But you know, Coquette, that your goodness even turned 
 the heart of that horrible old idiot towards you ; and you 
 must not say another word against yourself, for I will not 
 believe it. And if you only knew how proud and happy you 
 have made me!" he added, taking her hand affectionately 
 and gratefully. 
 
 "J am glad of that," said Coquette, in a low voice. 
 "You deserve to he wry happy. But it is a great many 
 years off, and in that time I will tell you more of myself than 
 1 have told you yet. I cannot just now, my poor boy, for 
 your eyes are so full of gladness ; but some day you will 
 believe it fortunate for you if you can many someone else— 
 and I will rejoice at that too." 
 
 " Why," said he, with some good-natured surprise in his 
 voice, ' k you talk as if there was some one you wanted to 
 marry ! " 
 
238 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 ' No," said Coquette, with a sigh, " there is no one." 
 " And now, then," said the Whaup gaily, as he assisted 
 her to rise, " I call upon all the leaves of the trees, and all 
 the drops in the river, and all the light in the air, to bear 
 witness that I have won Coquette for my wife ; and I ask 
 the sky always to have sunshine for her ; and I ask the winds 
 to take care of her and be gentle to her ; for isn't she my 
 Coquette ? " 
 
 " Ah, you foolish boy ! " she said, with sad and tearful 
 eyes. " You have given me a dangerous name. But no 
 matter. If it pleases you to-day to think I shall be your 
 wife, I am glad." 
 
 Of course, in lover's fashion, he laughed at her fears, and 
 strove to lend her a leaven of his own high-hearted confi- 
 dence. And in tins wise they returned to Glasgow, as lovers 
 have done before them, as lovers will do after them again 
 and again, so long as youth hungers for bright eyes, and 
 laughs to scorn all the perils the future may enfold. And if 
 the Whaup thought well of Glasgow on that morning when 
 he set out, you may guess what he thought of the city as he 
 now returned to it, and of the strange transfiguration under- 
 gone by the distant clouds of smoke, and the tall chimneys, 
 and the long and monotonous streets. Romance had bathed 
 the old grey town in the hues of the sunset ; and for him 
 henceforth Glasgow was no longer a somewhat commonplace 
 and matter-of-fact mass of houses, but a realm of mystery 
 and dreams which love had lit up with the coloured lime- 
 light of wonder and hope. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 LADY DRUM'S DINNER-PARTY. 
 
 So Coquette had engaged herself to marry her cousin. 
 She knew not why, but there were strange forebodings 
 crowding her mind as she contemplated that as yet distant 
 prospect. It seemed to her that life would be a pleasant and 
 enjoyable thing, if all the people around her were satisfied 
 to leave it as they found it, and to continue those amicable 
 relations winch were quieter, safer, more comfortable than 
 the wild and strange perplexities which appeared to follow 
 
LADY DRUM'S DINNER-PARTY. 239 
 
 in the train of love. Love had become a fearful thing to 
 her. She looked forward to meeting Lord Earlsh ope with 
 something like alarm ; and yet his absence was a source of 
 vague unrest and anxiety. She longed to see him ; and yet 
 dreaded a repetition of those bizarre and terrible scenes 
 which had marked the opening days of their intimacy. And 
 the more she looked at her own position — the longer she 
 dwelt on the possibilities that lay before her in the future — ■ 
 the less could she unravel the toils that seemed gathering 
 around her and binding her with iron chains. 
 
 Was this, then, the happy phase of life into which she had 
 s< en, with something of envy, her old companions and play- 
 mates enter ? Was this the delight of being in love ? 
 Were these the joyous experiences which were sung in many 
 a ballad, and described in many a merry theatre-piece, and 
 dwelt tenderly upon in many a story ? 
 
 "I am eighteen, 11 site said to herself, in these solitary 
 musings. " It is the time for young people to be in love ; 
 and yet I hate it and fear it ; and I wish that I did never 
 come to this country. Alas ! it is too late to go away now." 
 
 And again she asked herself if she had brought those 
 perils — now looming distinctly in the future — upon herself 
 by her own fault. Wherein had she erred ? Surely not 
 through selfishness. She loved Lord Earlshope, and was 
 content to be loved by him, without even dreaming that he 
 was thereby hound to her in any shape whatever. Indeed she 
 
 med to think that by way of reparation it was her duty 
 to marry her cousin ; and she had consented only because she 
 thought she would make him happy. In neither direction 
 whs there the hast regard for herself, but only a desire to 
 please her friends all round ; and yet it appeared as if those 
 very efforts of hers were doomed to plunge her deeper and 
 deeper into the sea of troubles in which she found herself 
 sinking. Was there no hand to save her ? She knew not 
 how it had all come about; but she did know that, in the 
 old moments in which a consciousness of her situation 
 tlashed upon her, a vague terror took possession of her, and 
 Bhe looked forward with dismay to the coming years. 
 
 These moments, fortunately, occurred at considerable 
 intervals. The temperament of the girl was naturally light 
 and cheerful. She was glad to enjoy the quiet pleasures of 
 
240 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 everyday life, and forget those gloomy anxieties which lay 
 in the future. And this visit to Glasgow was full of all 
 manner of new experiences, delights, excitements, which 
 drove her forebodings out of her head, and led the 
 Whaup to believe that she was proud to have become his 
 affianced wife. Why had she cried, he asked himself, when 
 he urged his suit in that bit of meadow on the banks of the 
 Kelvin ? It did not matter. The Whaup was not him- 
 self inclined to morbid speculation. Doubtless, girls were 
 strange creatures. They cried when they were most pleased. 
 They turned pale, or fainted, or achieved some other extra- 
 ordinary feat, on the smallest emotional provocation. It 
 was enough for him to hear Coquette's merry laugh to con- 
 vince him that she was not very sorry for what she had 
 done ; and everybody, from Lady Drum downwards, bore 
 testimony to the fact that the visit to Glasgow had wonder- 
 fully improved the girl's health and spirits. You had only 
 to look at the new and faint colour in her pale cheeks, and 
 at the glad brightness of her eyes. 
 
 Then there was the grand dinner coming off, which was 
 to introduce Coquette to Lady Drum's Glasgow friends. 
 The Whaup, of course, was invited ; and, as there never had 
 been occasion for his wearing evening dress down in Airlie, 
 his slender store of money was deeply dipped into by his 
 preparations. But when his name was announced, and 
 he walked into the drawing-room, where Lady Drum was 
 receiving her guests, the appearance of the tall and hand- 
 some young man attracted a good many eyes ; and Coquette 
 — who had gone quickly forward to meet him — was quite 
 overcome by wonder and delight over his transformation 
 from a raw country lad into an elegant young gentleman, 
 and could not refrain from saying as much to him in a 
 whisper. The Whaup — who had looked round for her on 
 his entrance into the room — laughed, and blushed a little, 
 and then drew her away into a corner, and said — 
 
 " It is all the white tie, Coquette, isn't it ? Don't you 
 think I've managed it well ? But I am awfully afraid that 
 a sneeze would send everything flying, and fill the air with 
 bits of cambric. And it was very good of you, Coquette, to 
 send me those studs — don't they look pretty ? — and I'll 
 kiss you for sending me them whenever I get the chance." 
 
LADY DRUM'S DINNER-PARTY. 241 
 
 "With which Coquette drew herself up, and said — 
 
 " You do talk of kissing me as if it were every day. Yet you 
 hive not kissed me, nor are likely to do that, until you are a 
 great deal better-behaved, and less vain of yourself. You do 
 talk of not being able to sneeze, merely that I look at the 
 negligent way you have made your necktie and your collar 
 — to open your throat, you foolish boy, and give yourself a 
 cold." 
 
 At this moment Sir Peter bustled up to get hold of 
 Coquette, and introduce to her certain civic dignitaries ; and 
 the Whaup, with some chagrin, saw her disappear in a 
 crowd of people. He himself was speedily recalled to his 
 duty, for the remainder of the guests were arriving rapidly, 
 and among them were some whom he knew. He soon found 
 himself being teased by the daughters of his friend, Dr. 
 Mtiizic'S — three tall, light-haired, merry-hearted girls — who 
 rathet made a pet of him. And all at once one of them 
 siid to Mm — 
 
 "Why, is that your cousin there — the girl in white, with 
 the heap of tea-roses? It is? How handsome she is; 
 and how well she knows the proper sort of flower for her 
 dark hair ! Did you say she was an Italian ? " 
 
 No a Mongolian," said the Whaup emphatically; for 
 lie did not like to have Coquette spoken of by anybody in 
 that cool and critical fashion. 
 
 " Does she sing ? " 
 
 " I should think so," he said, curtly. 
 
 At this very moment Coquette came towards him ; and 
 then—seeing that he was talking to three young ladies — 
 suddenly turned, and looked for Sir Peter, whom she had just 
 left. The Whaup was at her side in a moment. 
 
 " "What is it, Coquette ? " he said. 
 
 M Nothing," she said, coldly. 
 
 " You know you were coining to speak to me." 
 
 " But I did find you engaged," she said, with a slight 
 touch of hauttwr in her tone. "Who are these young 
 ladies ? Are they your friends whose father is the doct 
 Why do you leave them ? " 
 
 " Coquette, if you are unreasonable I will go away and 
 not return the whole evening. What did you come to tell 
 me ? " 
 
242 • A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " I did come to say," replied Coquette, speaking with a 
 studied and calm carelessness, " that Lady Drum has asked 
 Bailie Maclaren (I do think that is the name) to take me in 
 to dinner, and I do not like it, for I would rather have sat by 
 you, bat it is of no consequence since you are occupied with 
 your friends." 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " said the Whaup confidently ; •" Lady Drum 
 asked me to take in that old woman with the feathers, Mrs. 
 Colquhoun ; but don't you imagine I am such a fool, Coquette 
 --oh, no ! " 
 
 " What will you do ? " said Coquette, with her face 
 brightening up. 
 
 The Whaup said nothing for a second or two, but just then, 
 a motion towards pairing having taken place, he darted up to 
 Bailie Maclaren — a venerable person in spectacles, who was 
 looking out for his appointed partner — and said in a hurried 
 whisper — 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, but Lady Drum bids me tell you 
 she would be much obliged if you would kindly take in Mrs. 
 Colquhoun — the old lady near the piano — do you see her ? " 
 
 The Whaup did not wait for any reply from the be- 
 wildered old gentleman, but instantly returned to Coquette, 
 caught her hand, placed it on his arm, and hurried her into 
 the dining-room in defiance of all order and the laws of pre- 
 cedence. Not for some time did Lady Drum notice what 
 had occurred. It was not until the soup had been served 
 that she caught a glimpse of Coquette and the Whaup 
 sitting comfortably together at a portion of the table where 
 neither ought to have been ; and the face of the young lady, 
 who wore tea-rosebuds twisted in the loose masses of her dark 
 hair, was particularly bright and happy ; for her companion 
 was telling her wonderful stories of his college life — lies, 
 doubtless, for the most part, or nearly approaching there- 
 unto. 
 
 " It was rather shabby of you, Coquette," he said, " to 
 run away like that when I wanted to introduce you to Dr. 
 Menzies' girls." 
 
 " I was introduced to too many people — I cannot remem- 
 ber all such names. Besides, I do not like girls with straw- 
 coloured hair." 
 
 " Oh, for shame, Coquette ! You know it isn't straw- 
 
LADY DRUM'S DINNER-PARTY. 243 
 
 colour but golden, and very pretty. Well, I would have 
 introduced you to those two young ladies who sit near 
 Sir Peter, and who have hair as dark and as handsome as 
 your own." 
 
 " Who are they ? " said Coquette submissively ; for she 
 was hound to be consistent. 
 
 " They live m Regent's Park Terrace," said the Whaup — 
 which did not afford his companion much information — 
 "and they have the most beautiful contralto voices. You 
 should hear the younger one sing the ' Ash Grove.' " 
 
 " I do think you know too many young ladies," said 
 Coquette, with a pout, — which was so obviously assumed, 
 that he laughed at her ; and then she was offended ; and 
 then he had humbly to apologise ; and then they were 
 friends again. 
 
 So the dinner went on, and these two young people were 
 vi tv happy ; for it was the first time that the Whaup had 
 appeared in society along with Coquette, and he felt a right 
 of property in her, and was proud of her. She had given 
 him to understand that their marriage was a thing so 
 distant and vague that it was scarcely to be thought of as 
 yet ; but in the meantime he regarded her as virtually his 
 wife, and no longer considered himself a solitary unit lost in 
 this crowd of married people. He was very attentive to 
 Coquette. He was particular as to the dainties which she 
 ate ; he assumed authority over her in the matter of wine. 
 Why, it was as if they were children playing at being 
 husband and wife — in a fantastic grotto of their own 
 creation ; while the serious interests of the world were 
 .allowed to pass outside unheeded, and they cared not to 
 think of any future, so busy were they in wreathing 
 flowers. 
 
 " Coquette," said he, " if you arc good, I will sing you a 
 song when we go into the drawing-room." 
 
 " I do know," said Coquette, with the least trace of con- 
 tempt. " It is always ' Come lasses and lads — Come lasses 
 and lads' — that is your song always. Now, if you did sing 
 some proper song, I would play an accompaniment for you. 
 Bat perhaps some of your young lady friends down there — 
 can they play the accompaniment for you ? " 
 
 ."Oh, yes, said the Whaup lightly. "But, of course, 
 
 R 2 
 
244 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 none of them can play or sing like you, you know. Now if 
 you only saw yourself at this moment, Coquette — how your 
 white dress, and the glare from the table, and the strong 
 lights, make your hair and your eyes look so dark as to be 
 almost wild — and those pretty yellow rosebuds " 
 
 "Have I not told you," said Coquette, with some 
 asperity, " that it is very, very bad manners to mention 
 one's appearance or dress ? I did tell you often — you 
 must not do it ; and if people do hear you call me Coquette, 
 what will they say of me ? 
 
 " Go on," said the Whaup, mockingly ; " let us have all 
 the lecture at once ! " 
 
 " Ah," said Coquette, more sadly than she had as yet 
 spoken, " there is another thing I would say — and yet of 
 what use ? I would wish you to give up thinking me so 
 good and so perfect. Why do you think I can play, or 
 sing, or talk to you better than any one else ? It is not 
 true — it is a great misfortune that you think it true. And 
 if it was anybody but you, I would say it was compliments 
 only — it was flattery ; but I do see in your eyes what you 
 think, although you may not say it. Do you know that 
 you deceive yourself about me — and that it is a pain to 
 me ? If I could give you my eyes for a moment, I would 
 take you round the table, and show you who is much 
 prettier than I am — who does sing better — who has more 
 knowledge — more sense — more nobleness. Alas ! you can 
 see nobody but me ; and it is a misfortune." 
 
 "What do you mean by that, Coquette ? " he said, with 
 vague alarm. " Why do you want me to look at people 
 with different eyes ? " 
 
 " Because," she said, in a low voice, but very distinctly, 
 " you do risk all your happiness on a future so uncertain. 
 When I look forward to a few years, I am afraid — not for 
 myself, but for you. If I could give you my eyes, 1 would 
 lead you to some one of your friends and bid you admire 
 her, and teach you What a charming character she has, and 
 ask you to pledge her to go with you all through the time 
 that is to come. As for me — I am not sure of myself. 
 Why did they call me Coquette ? When I do think of all 
 that you risk in giving your happiness to me to keep for a 
 great many years — I — I — I despair ! " 
 
LADY DRUM'S DINNER-PARTY. 245 
 
 But the Whaup was not to be cast down by these idle 
 forebodings. 
 
 " Why, Coquette," said he, " you are become as morbid 
 as Lord Earlshope, and you talk nonsense besides, which he 
 never does. You want me to believe that anybody else, in 
 this room or any other room, is to be compared with you. 
 That is not giving me new eyes — it is blinding me with a 
 pair of spectacles. And I won't have your eyes, Coquette — 
 pretty as they are — but yourself, eyes included. Why, 
 what a small idiot you must be to imagine that the world 
 holds more than one Coquette ! " 
 
 His companion smiled — perhaps rather sadly. 
 
 " It is a great change from your first belief of me — when 
 you did think me dangerous and wicked. But perhaps they 
 do still think that of me in Airlie. What would Leesiebess's 
 husband answer to those pretty things you say of me — and 
 are you so sure that all the people there are wrong, and you 
 are right ? " 
 
 Sure that Coquette was not a wicked and dangerous 
 person ? — the Whaup had not a word to say. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE ROSEBUD. 
 
 When the ladies had gone from the room, and the men 
 had settled down to port-wine and after-dinner talk, the 
 Whaup sat by himself, silent and gloomy. A glass of claret 
 remained on the table before him untasted. He stared at 
 it as if it were some distant object ; and the hum of the 
 voices around him sounded like the murmur of the wind, as 
 he had listened to it at night up on Airlie moor. 
 
 What did Coquette mean ? Why did she put away into 
 the future, as if it were something to be dreaded, the happy 
 time which ought to have been welcomed by a young girl ? 
 As the Whaup puzzled over these things, he asked himself 
 what hindered his going to her now, in the royal fashion of 
 Lochinvar, and marrying her out-of-hand before she had 
 time to say no ? 
 
 Alas ! Lochinvar belonged to the upper classes. He 
 
246 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 could support the bride whom he stole away in that 
 romantic manner ; and his merry black eye, in bewitching 
 the girl, and making her ready to ride with him over the 
 Border, was not troubled by any consideration as to how 
 the two should be able to live; The Whaup looked up the 
 table. There were rich men there. There were men there 
 who could confidently place fabulous figures on cheques ; 
 and yet they did not seem to know what a magic power 
 they possessed. They only talked feeble platitudes about 
 foreign affairs ; and paid further attention to that god 
 which, enshrined in the capacious temple underneath their 
 waistbelt, they had worshipped for many years. Had they 
 ever been young ? the Whaup asked himself. Had they 
 known some fair creature who resembled, in some inferior 
 fashion, Coquette ? Was there at that remote period 
 anybody in the world, in the likeness of Coquette, on whom 
 their wealth could shower little delicate attentions ? Had 
 they been able to marry when they chose ? Or were they 
 poor in their youth — when alone money is of value to any 
 one — only to become rich in their old age, and think witli 
 a sigh of the Coquette of long ago, and console themselves 
 with much feeding and the imposing prominence of a portly 
 stomach ? 
 
 Dr. Menzies, it is true, had vaguely promised that, when 
 his studies were completed, the Whaup should become hi 5 
 assistant, or even his junior partner. But how far away 
 seemed that dim prospect ! And why should Coquette— a 
 princess on whom all the world ought to have been proud 
 to wait — be bound down by such ignominious conditions 
 and chances ? The Whaup plunged his hands deep into 
 his empty pockets, and stared all the more moodily at his 
 glass. 
 
 Then suddenly there was a sound of a piano — a bright, 
 sharp prelude which he seemed to know. Presently, too, 
 he heard as through muffled curtains the distant voice of 
 Coquette ; and what was this she was singing ? Why, 
 that brisk old ballad of his own that she had heard him 
 sing in his lodgings. Where had she got it ? How had 
 she learnt it ? The Whaup started to his feet — all the 
 gloom gone from his face. He stole out of the room — in 
 the hubbub of vinous political fervour he was scarcely. 
 
THE ROSEBUD. 247 
 
 noticed — and made his way to the drawing-room door. 
 This was what he heard — ■ 
 
 Come lasses and lads, get leave of your dads, 
 
 And away to the maypole hie, 
 For every fair has a sweetheart there, 
 And the fiddlers standing by ! 
 
 For Willy shall dance with Jane, 
 Aud Johnny has got his Joan, 
 To trip it, trip it, trip it, &c. 
 
 Coquette, then, was in no melancholy mood ? Why, 
 what an ass he had been, to grow dismal when there still 
 remained to him the proud possession of that promise of 
 hers ! That was his own song she was singing brightly 
 and merrily, and with strange oddities of pronunciation. 
 She herself belonged to him in a manner — and who was 
 there that would not envy him ? When the song was 
 finished, the AVhaup went into the room, walked up to 
 the piano, sat down by Coquette, and told her that he 
 knew nobody among the men, and had been forced to come 
 in there. 
 
 " And where did you get that song, Coquette ? " he asked. 
 
 " Monsieur ! " observed Coquette, " you do talk as if yon 
 had the right to be here — which you have not. Do you 
 not see that your friends, the doctor's young ladies, did 
 laugh when you came in and walked over to me ! " 
 
 " Where should I go, Coquette ? " 
 
 " I will tell you," she answered in a low voice, as she 
 pretended to turn over the music. "When at the dinner, I 
 did see the youngest of the three young ladies look much at 
 you. I have spoken to her since we came here. She is 
 charming — and oh ! very good, and speaks kindly of you, 
 and with a little blush, which is very pretty on your Scotch 
 young ladies. And when I asked her if she knows this 
 smijj;, she did laugh and blush a little again — you have been 
 tinging it to her " 
 
 " Oh, Coquette ! " he said. "What a sly mouse you are — for 
 all your innocent eyes — to be watching everybody like that." 
 
 " But now you go to her, and sit down there, and make 
 yourself very agreeable. You do not know how much she 
 is a friend of yours." 
 
 The AVhaup began to lose his temper. 
 
248 A DAUGHTER OF HETII. 
 
 " I won't be goaded into speaking to anybody," said he ; 
 " and the first thing you have to do, Miss Coquette, 
 to-morrow morning, is to come to a distinct understanding 
 about all the nonsense you have been talking at dinner. 
 What is it all about, Coquette ? Are you proud ? Then 
 I will coax you and flatter you. Are you frightened ? 
 Then I will laugh at you. Are you unreasonable ? Then 
 — then, by Jingo, I'll run away with you ! " 
 
 Coquette laughed lightly ; and the Whaup became aware 
 that several pairs of eyes had been drawn towards them. 
 
 " This place is getting too hot for me," he said. " Must 
 I really go back ? " 
 
 "No," she said; "you will stop and sing — something 
 bright, joyful, happy — and you will forget the melancholy 
 things we have been talking about. Have I been unkind 
 to you ? You will see I will make it up, and you shall not 
 sit gloomy again at dinner. Besides, it does not improve 
 your good looks : you should be more of the wild boy that 
 I saw when I did first come to Airlie." 
 
 "I wish we were both back at Airlie, in those old 
 times ! " said the Whaup. 
 
 Coquette looked at him with some surprise. She had 
 caught quite a new tone of sadness in his voice, and his 
 eyes had grown absent and clouded. 
 
 So he, too, was striving to pierce that unknown future, 
 and seemed bewildered by its vagueness and its gloom ? 
 The seriousness of life appeared to have told on him 
 strangely since he left the quiet moorland village. What 
 had wrought the change within the brief space of time 
 that had elapsed since her arrival from France ? Was she 
 the cause of it all ? — she, who was willing to sacrifice her 
 own life without a murmur for the happiness of those 
 whom she loved ? Already, the first months of her stay at 
 Airlie — despite the petty persecutions and little trials she 
 had to endure — had become an idyllic period towards which 
 she looked back with eyes filled with infinite longing. 
 
 All that evening she was the prominent figure in Lady 
 Drum's drawing-room. When the men came in from their 
 port wine and politics, they found that Coquette had 
 established herself as a sort of princess, and they only 
 swelled the number of those who formed her court, But 
 
THE ROSEBUD. 249 
 
 upon two, only, of those present did she bestow a marked 
 favour ; and these were the Whaup and the youngest of 
 Dr. Me^ies' daughters. She so managed that the three of 
 them were generally close together, engaged in all manner 
 of private confabulation. The fair-haired young girl had 
 approached with a certain diffidence and awe this queenly 
 small woman, whom everybody seemed to be talking about ; 
 but Coquette had only to smile, and begin to speak a 
 little in her foreign way, in order to win over the soft- 
 hearted young Scotch girl. These three appeared, indeed, 
 to form a group in the nebulous crowd of people who 
 cluitted, or drank tea, or listened to the music ; and before 
 the evening was over Coquette had conveyed to Miss Menzies 
 — by that species of esoteric telegraphy known to women — 
 a series of impressions which certainly neither had remotely 
 mentioned. 
 
 " Coquette," said the Whaup, when all the people had 
 gone but himself, and as he was bidding her good-night, 
 M why did you try to make Mary Menzies believe that she 
 and I were much greater companions, and all that sort of 
 thing, than you and I ? You always talked as if you were 
 the third person talking to us two." 
 
 "It is too late for questions," said Coquette, with a 
 mingled air of sauciness and gentleness. " You must go 
 iiway now, and do not forget you go with me to the 
 theatre to-morrow evening — and if you do send me some 
 ilowers I will put them in my hair." 
 
 " I wish you would give me one just now," he said, 
 rather shyly. 
 
 She took a pale-tinted tea-rose out of her bosom 
 and kissed it lightly (for Sir Peter was just then coming 
 along the hall), and gave it him. The rose was a great 
 consolation to the Whaup on his homeward way. And 
 were not the constant stars overhead — shining so calmly, 
 and clearly, and happily, that they seemed to rebuke his 
 anxious forebodings ? 
 
 " She is as pure as a star," he said to himself, " and as 
 beautiful — and as far away. The years she talks of seem 
 to stretch on and on ; and I cannot see the end of them. 
 The stars up there are far nearer to me than Coquette is." 
 
 Yet he held the rose in his hand, and she had kissed it. 
 
2 5 o A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE WHAUP BECOMES ANXIOUS. 
 
 Coquette's stay in Glasgow did not promise well for 
 the Whaup's studies. On the very morning after she had 
 given him a rose to cheer him on his homeward walk, 
 he was again up at Lady Drum's house. He looked very 
 blank, however, on being shown into a room, to find that 
 venerable lady the sole occupant ; and he saw by the shrewd 
 and good-natured smile on her face that she perceived his 
 disappointment. 
 
 " Yes, she is out," said Lady Drum. " Is that the 
 question ye would ask ? " 
 
 " Well, it is, to tell you the truth," said the Whaup. 
 
 " Could ye expect her to bide in the house on a morning 
 like this ? If there is a glint o' sunshine to be seen 
 anywhere she is off and out like a butterfly before we have 
 breakfast over." 
 
 " Young ladies ought not to go out alone like that," said 
 the Whaup, who had suddenly acquired serious and even 
 gloomy notions of propriety. 
 
 His elderly friend took him to the window. Before 
 them lay the long terraces of the Park, the deep valley, the 
 trees, the river, and the opposite heights, all dully radiant 
 in a pallid and smoky sunshine. And on the terrace 
 underneath the window there was a bench ; and on the 
 bench sat, all by herself, a young person, whose downcast 
 face, bent over a book, was hidden underneath a white 
 sunshade ; and there was nothing at all by which to 
 distinguish the stranger but her faintly yellow morning 
 dress, that shone palely in the sun. Yet you should have 
 seen how swiftly the Whaup's face cleared. In about 
 thirty seconds he had taken an unceremonious farewell of 
 Lady Drum, and hastened down into the Park. 
 
 " You must not come to see me every day," said 
 Coquette ; " you do give up all your work." 
 
 " But look here, Coquette," he remarked, gravely, " isn't 
 it the proper thing to pay a visit of ceremony after a 
 dinner-party ? " 
 
THE WHAUP BECOMES ANXIOUS. 251 
 
 " At ten o'clock in the morning ? " she said, with a smile ; 
 " four o'clock is the time for such calls, aud it is not to 
 me you pay them." 
 
 He made no reply ; but he drew away the book from her 
 lap, and quietly shut it and put it in his pocket. Then he 
 said — 
 
 " We are going to have a stroll through the Botanic 
 Gardens." 
 
 So she surrendered herself — her only protest being a 
 well-simulated sigh, at which he laughed — and away they 
 went. Glasgow College, and all its class rooms, might 
 have been in the Philippine Islands for anything that the 
 Whaup remembered of them. 
 
 Many and many a time during this long and devious 
 saunter, which took them a good deal farther than the 
 Botanic Gardens, the Whaup — yielding to that strange 
 dissatisfaction with their present happiness which distin- 
 guishes lovers and fills the most beatific period of human life 
 with trouble— would drag back their rambling talk to the 
 reasons Coquette had for being apprehensive of the future. 
 Why was she disinclined to speak of a possible limit to the 
 Dumber of years he had yet to wait ? Why did she almost 
 pathetically counsel him to fix his affections on some one 
 else ? 
 
 Coquette replied gravely, and sometimes a little sadly, to 
 these questions ; but she had not the courage to reveal to 
 him the whole truth. There was something so touching in 
 
 o o 
 
 the very trust that he reposed in her — in the frank and 
 generous way that he appealed to her, and took it for 
 granted that she would become his wife — that, in the 
 meantime, she dared not tell him that her heart still 
 wandered away to another man. He did not know that 
 his protestations of love sounded coldly in her cars ; and 
 only suggested what they would have been had they been 
 uttered by another. He thought it strange that she was 
 glad to avoid those little confessions and wondering hopes 
 which are the common talk of lovers ; and would far 
 rather have him speak to her about his professional future, 
 or even the details of his college life. 
 
 For herself, she seemed to think it enough if her cousin 
 were pleased to walk with her ; and some day, she doubted 
 
252 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 not, she would yield to his urgent wishes and become his 
 wife. By that time, was it not likely that the strange 
 unrest in her heart, that vague longing for the presence of 
 one whose name she scarcely ever mentioned, would have 
 died utterly away ? And in the remote possibility of her 
 giving herself to her cousin, was it not her duty now to try 
 to eradicate that hapless love which had far more of pain 
 than of pleasure in it ? While the Whaup was eagerly 
 sketching out the life which he and she should live 
 together, Coquette was trying to make up her mind never 
 again to see Lord Earlshope. 
 
 But it was a hard trial. A woman may marry this man 
 or that man — her affections may shift and alter — but she 
 never forgets the man she loved with all the wonder, and 
 idealism, and devotion of a girl's early love. Coquette 
 asked herself whether she could ever forget r Airlie, and 
 the stolen interviews of those spring mornings, and the 
 pathetic farewells that the sea, and the sky, and the 
 shining landscape alone knew. 
 
 " Dreaming again," said the Whaup, gently. " I suppose 
 you don't know that that is a river you are looking at ? " 
 
 They were standing on the small wooden bridge that 
 crosses the Kelvin ; and she was gazing into the water as 
 if it were a mirror on which all the future years were 
 reflected. 
 
 " Does this river go to the sea ? " she asked. 
 
 " Most rivers do," replied the Whaup — proud, like a 
 man, of his superior scientific knowledge. 
 
 " And perhaps in a day or two it will see Arran." 
 
 " Why, you speak as if you were already anxious to leave 
 Glasgow and go back," said the Whaup. " What amuse- 
 ment can there be for you there ? My father is buried 
 in that Concordance. Lady Drum is here. Earlshope is 
 deserted — by the way, I wonder what has become of Lord 
 Earlshope." 
 
 " Let us go," said Coquette, hastily ; and she took her 
 arm off the wooden parapet of the bridge, and went on. 
 The Whaup did not perceive that his mention of Lord 
 Earlshope's name had struck a jarring note. 
 
 So they walked leisurely in to Glasgow again ; and all 
 the way Coquette skilfully avoided conversation about the 
 
THE WHAUP BECOMES ANXIOUS, 253 
 
 m&tters which were naturally uppermost in her companion's 
 mind. Indeed, a discovery which she made greatly helped 
 her out of the dilemma, and enlivened the remainder of 
 their ramble. She inadvertently slipped into French in 
 making some remark ; and the Whaup quickly replied to 
 her in the same tongue. She was surprised and delighted 
 beyond measure. She had no idea of his having studied 
 hard since he left Airlie to extend the small acquaintance 
 with the language which he had picked up as a boy. She 
 saw well what had urged him to do so ; and she was pleased 
 by this occult compliment. She insisted on their talking 
 nothing but French all the way home ; and the Whaup 
 — with occasional stammering, laughing, and blushing — ■ 
 managed to sustain the conversation with tolerable ease 
 and fluency. Sin; corrected his idioms — very gently, it is 
 t -rue 5 and also hinted that he might, if he liked, adopt the 
 familiar tutoiement which ought to exist between cousins. 
 
 " But I can't," said the Whaup. " My conversation 
 books have taught me to say voi/s ; and so, until I learn, 
 you must call me fit, and I will call you anything that 
 comes uppermost." 
 
 This, and all that followed, was spoken in rough-and- 
 ready French, the grammar of which was a good deal 
 better than its pronunciation ; and the care which the 
 Whaup had to bestow on his language lent an unromantic 
 ami matter-of-fact character to the subjects of their talk, 
 to Coquette's great relief. 
 
 When they had reached the house she said — 
 
 " You must come in and make an apology to Lady Drum 
 for your inattention. Then you will have a little lunch. 
 Then you will go home and attend to your studies until the 
 evening. Then you will come here and go with us to the 
 theatre ; and you may bring a bouquet for Lady Drum, if 
 you choose." 
 
 " Any more commands, Coquette ? " he said. " What, 
 nothing more ? How many lines of Greek must I do if I 
 am disobedient ?" 
 
 " You must not be rude to me," she remarked, " because 
 that is a trace of your bringing-up at Airlie, which you 
 have nearly forgotten. It is a relic of your savage nature. 
 You are much improved ; you are almost civilised." 
 
254 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Yes," said the Whaup, " I saw a cart of turnips go by 
 yesterday quite unprotected from behind, and I did not 
 
 steal one Hillo ! who is that sitting with Lady 
 
 Drum at the window ? " 
 
 Coquette looked up, and did not betray the least emotion, 
 although a sharp spasm shot across her heart. 
 
 " It is Lord Earlshope, is it not ? " she said, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes," said the Whaup, with a sudden coldness in his tone, 
 and returning at once to his English ; " it is rather singular 
 he should come here just now, but that is his own affair. 
 No one ever could tell what he would do next. Coquette, I 
 don't think I shall go into the house just now — you make 
 my excuses to Lady Drum." 
 
 " Very well," said Coquette, calmly. 
 
 She held out her hand to bid him good-bye. He was 
 surprised. He expected she would have insisted on his 
 going into the house ; and, on the contrary, she seemed 
 rather relieved that he was going away. 
 
 " What is the matter, Coquette ? " he asked. " Are you 
 vexed because I am going away ? Very well — I will go in 
 — come along." 
 
 And with that, he went up the steps ; but he could not 
 tell by her face whether or not she had been annoyed by his 
 wishing to go. They entered the house together. Lord 
 Earlshope rose as they went into the room, and stepped 
 forward to meet Coquette ; and the Whaup watched the 
 manner in which she advanced to shake hands with him. 
 Why were her eyes cast down, and her face a trifle pale ? 
 She answered in almost an inaudible way the kindly inquiries 
 which Lord Earlshope — whose demeanour was quite uncon- 
 strained, frank, and courteous — made as to her having 
 enjoyed her visit to Glasgow. The Whaup himself, in 
 shaking hands with his rival, was constrained to admit 
 that there was something pleasant and friendly in Earls- 
 hope's manner, and in the look of his clear light-blue eye, 
 which rather disarmed suspicion. In a very few minutes 
 the Whaup had completely thawed, and was laughing 
 heartily at a letter sent by Mr. Gillespie, the schoolmaster, 
 which Lord Earlshope read aloud to Lady Drum. 
 
 Nevertheless, as he went to his lodgings he was eon- 
 
THE WHAUP BECOMES ANXIOUS. 255 
 
 siderably disquieted. Ho did not like leaving Lord 
 Earlshope in the company of Coquette. It seemed to him 
 an infringement of that right of property which he had 
 acquired by her promise. In the old days he was vaguely 
 jealous, and was inclined to be rudely suspicious of 
 Coquette's small prevarications ; but his jealousy and 
 liis rudeness were readily dissipated whenever he came 
 under the influence of Earlshope's good nature, or of 
 Coquette's gentle solicitude. Now he had a still better 
 claim to look after her. Had he not sworn in the olden 
 time to take care of her, and be her champion ? Alas ! 
 the Whaup had yet to learn that a woman is best left to 
 take care of herself in such delicate matters ; and that no 
 guard can be placed on the capricious wanderings of her 
 affection. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 AT THE THEATRE. 
 
 Loud Eatilshope and Lady Drum had been carelessly 
 chatting at the window when the Whaup and Coquette 
 drew near. They saw them walking up the slopes of the 
 I 'ark to the house, and Earlshope said — 
 
 " What a handsome fellow Tom Cassilis has grown ! I 
 have never seen any young fellow alter so rapidly." 
 
 " Has he not ? " said Lady Drum, with a little touch of 
 pride — for she fancied that both these young people some- 
 how belonged to her. " I should like to sec them married." 
 
 It is possible that this artless confession on the part of 
 the old lady was put out as a feeler. She liked Tom Cassilis 
 well enough ; but, being mortal and a woman, she must 
 have wondered sometimes whether Coquette might not wed 
 a lord — especially a lord who had frequently betrayed his 
 admiration for her. But, when she said this, Earlshope 
 betrayed no surprise. He merely said — « 
 
 " They will make a handsome pair ; and many a man 
 will envy young Cassilis his good fortune." 
 
 Lady Drum was a trifle disappointed. Was there no 
 mystery at all, then, connected with those romantic episodes 
 in the Highlands? Lord Earlshope talked of her proUgee 
 as if she were merely some ordinary country girl who was 
 
356 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 about to marry and become the mistress of a household ; 
 whereas all the men she had heard talk of Coquette spoke 
 of her as something rare and wonderful. Lady Drum was 
 almost sorry that she had asked him to join them at the 
 theatre that evening ; but she reflected that, if Lord 
 Earlshope were so indifferent, the peaceful progress of the 
 two cousins towards marriage was rendered all the more 
 secure. She only thought that Coquette would have made 
 a beautiful and charming hostess to preside over the 
 hospitalities of Earlshope. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " said Lady Drum, when Coquette came down 
 to dinner dressed for the theatre. " We hae made our 
 toilette something just quite extraordinary. Mr. Thomas 
 is a fortunate lad to hae so much done for him." 
 
 " I do not dress for him, or for any one," said Coquette, 
 with an air of calm magnificence. 
 
 This going to the theatre was quite an excitement for 
 Coquette, who had not visited any such place of amusement 
 since she left France. Lady Drum warned her not to say 
 anything about it in her letters to Airlie, or the chances were 
 that the Minister would order her recall from Glasgow at once. 
 
 " And my cousin," said Coquette, " has he never been to 
 any theatre ? " 
 
 " That is more than I can say," remarked Lady Drum, 
 with a smile. 
 
 When at length they drove down to the big building, and 
 went up the broad staircase, and got into the corridor, there 
 was an odour of escaped gas and a confused sound of music 
 which quite delighted Coquette — it was so like the odour 
 and the sound prevalent in the theatres she had visited long 
 ago in France. And when they got into the box, which was 
 the biggest in the theatre, they found the Whaup already 
 there, with two bouquets awaiting Lady Drum and Coquette. 
 Lady Drum, naturally taking the place of honour, was 
 perhaps a little glad to screen herself in her corner by the 
 curtains.; but Coquette, with the calm air of a princess, 
 and with her brilliant toilette getting a new splendour from 
 the gleaming lights of the house, took her seat, and lifted 
 her bouquet, and made the Whaup a pretty speech of thanks 
 which filled his heart with pleasure ; then she turned her 
 attention to the stage. 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 257 
 
 " Shall I ever be able," said the Whaup to himself, as he 
 looked wistfully at her, " to give her pretty dresses like that, 
 and buy her pearls for her neck and her hair, and take her 
 to all the amusements ? " 
 
 The young gentleman was rather proud ; and would not 
 even acknowledge to himself that Coquette could buy pearls 
 for herself and pay for far more amusements than she cared 
 to see. 
 
 The performances need not be described in detail. They 
 consisted, in the first place, of a romantic drama of the good 
 old kind, in which a lot of very pronounced characters — 
 whose virtues and vices they took every opportunity of 
 revealing to the audience — did impossible things in im- 
 possible places and talked a language unfamiliar to any 
 nation at present inhabiting the earth. This piece was to 
 be followed by a burlesque, for which Sir Peter professed 
 himself to be impatient. 
 
 " For," said he, " there is in every burlesque a young 
 lady with a saucy face and pretty ankles, with whom 
 you can fall in love for an hour or two with impunity. 
 And I am anxious for her appearance ; because Miss 
 Coquette has quite deserted me, and I am left out in the 
 cold." 
 
 The truth is, Coquette had discovered in her cousin a 
 quite astonishing familiarity with this theatre. He was 
 acquainted with all its arrangements, and seemed to know 
 the name of everybody in connection with it. Now, how 
 had he gained this knowledge ? 
 
 " Oh, I do see that the life of the students is not all 
 study," Coquette remarked, with a gracious sarcasm ; " you 
 do sometimes find them singing ' Come lasses and lads,' and 
 they do waste time with tobacco and laughing, and even 
 know a good deal about the actresses of the theatre. Why 
 was none of that in your letters to Airlie ? " 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you the truth, Coquette," said the Whaup, 
 with a laugh and a blush that became his handsome face 
 well, " I dared not tell anybody at Airlie I went to the 
 theatre ; nor do I think I should have gone in any case but 
 for a notion I had that, somehow or other, you must like 
 the theatre. You never told me that, you know, but I 
 guessed it from — from — from — ■" 
 
 S 
 
258 A DAUGHTER OF HEJH. 
 
 " From my manner, or my talk ? You do think me like 
 an actress, then ? " 
 
 " No, it is not that at all," said the Whaup. " You are 
 too sincere and simple in your ways. But somehow I 
 thought that, with your having been brought up in the 
 south, and accustomed to a southern liking for enjoyment 
 and artistic things, and with your sympathy for fine colours, 
 and for music, and all that — why, I thought, Coquette, you 
 would be sure to like the theatre ; and so, do you know, I 
 used to come here very often — not here, of course, but away 
 up there to that dark gallery — and I used to sit and think 
 what the theatre would be like when Coquette came to 
 see it." 
 
 He spoke quite shyly ; for, indeed, he half fancied she 
 might laugh at those romantic dreamings of his when he 
 was far away from her in the big city ; but when he 
 ventured to steal a glance at her face, lo ! the soft dark 
 eyes were quite moist. And she pretended to look down 
 into the circle of flowers he had given her, and said in a low 
 voice — ■ 
 
 " You have been thinking of me very much when I was 
 down in Airlie, and you here by yourself. I do not deserve 
 it — but I will show my gratitude to you some day." 
 
 " Why, Coquette," he said, " you need not thank me for 
 it. Only to think of you was a pleasure to me — the only 
 pleasure I had all that long winter time." 
 
 Had Lady Drum heard the whispered little sentences 
 which passed between these two young folks, she might, 
 perhaps, have thought that they expressed more genuine 
 emotion than the bursts of rhetoric in which, on the stage, 
 the lucky lover was declaring his passion for the plump and 
 middle-aged heroine. But they took care she should hear 
 nothing of it. 
 
 Presently in came Lord Earlshope with his crush-hat 
 under his arm ; and he, also, had brought two bouquets. 
 The Whaup noticed, with a passing twinge of mortification, 
 that these were far finer and more delicate flowers than he 
 had been able to buy, and he expected to see his own poor 
 gifts immediately laid aside. But he did not know Coquette. 
 She thanked Lord Earlshope very graciously for the flowers, 
 and said how fortunate it was he had brought them. 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 259 
 
 " For I always do like to throw a bouquet to the actress 1 
 after her long evening's work, yet I was becoming sorry to 
 give her the flowers that my cousin did bring me. But you 
 have brought one for her, too, if I may give it to her ? " 
 
 "Why, of course," said Earlshope, who probably did 
 not put such value on a handful of flowers as did the 
 AY lump : " and when you wish to give it her, let me pitch it 
 on the stage, or you will probably hit one of the men in the 
 orchestra." 
 
 "But you must keep them for the young lady of the 
 burlesque," said Sir Peter ; " she is always better-looking 
 than the heroine of the drama, isn't she, isn't she ? Then 
 you have a greater opportunity of judging." 
 
 " Why ? " said Lady Drum, with a look of such severity 
 as effectually to prevent her husband answering — instead, he 
 turned away and gaily hummed something about 
 
 " Ecoutez la le^on 
 Qui vous fait Hcnriette." 
 
 But there was another woman in the theatre who had 
 attracted their attention before Lord Earlshope had arrived. 
 She was seated in the corner of the box opposite ; and, as a 
 rule, was hidden behind the curtain. When they did get a 
 glimpse of her, her manner and appearance were so singular 
 as to attract a good deal of attention. She was of middle 
 height, stout, with rather a florid face, coal-black hair, and a 
 wild, uncertain look, which was seldom fixed on any object 
 for two minutes together. Oddly enough, she stared over 
 at Coquette in rather a peculiar way ; until that young lady 
 studiously kept her eyes on the stage, and did not again 
 glance towards the opposite box. 
 
 " Singular-looking woman, isn't she ? " said Sir Peter. 
 "Opium, eh? eh? Is that opium that makes her eyes 
 so wild ? She drinks, I swear, and seems mad with drink, 
 eh ? eh ? What do you say, Cassilis ? " 
 
 " I wish you would not talk of that person," said Lady 
 Drum ; and then the conversation dropped. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour after Lord Earlshope had 
 come into the theatre, this woman apparently retired from 
 her corner behind the curtain ; then she walked forward 
 from the back of the box to the front of it ; and there stood 
 
 s 2 
 
26o A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 at full length, looking over, with an odd expression of 
 amusement on her face, at the group in front of Lady 
 Drum's box. The movement was noticed by the whole 
 theatre ; and certainly it was noticed by Lord Earlshope ; 
 for, during one second, his eyes seemed to be fixed on this 
 woman ; and then, still regarding her, he retreated a step 
 or two from the front of the box, with his face becoming 
 deadly white. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said Lady Drum, anxiously — for 
 he had been speaking to her — " you have become very pale — 
 are you ill ? " 
 
 " Lady Drum, I wish to speak with you privately for a 
 moment," he said, quite calmly, but with a singular con- 
 straint of manner that somewhat alarmed her. 
 
 She rose at once, and followed him into the corridor 
 outside. There he stood, apparently quite composed and yet 
 still very pale. 
 
 " Would you mind taking Miss Cassilis home at once ? " 
 he said. 
 
 " Take her home ! Why?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you why," he said, with some show of 
 anxiety and impatience. " I cannot tell you why ; but I 
 wish, Lady Drum, you would. I beg you — I entreat you to 
 take her away instantly ! " 
 
 " But why ? " said the old lady, who was at once perplexed 
 and alarmed. 
 
 "You saw that woman opposite," said Lord Earlshope, 
 rather abandoning the calmness of his demeanour. "She 
 will come round here presently — I know she will — she 
 will go into the box — she will insult Miss Cassilis : for 
 Heaven's sake, Lady Drum, get her out of the way of that 
 woman ! " 
 
 " Bless me ! " said Lady Drum, elevating her eyebrows, 
 "are we a' to be frightened out o' our wits by a mad 
 woman, and three men wi' us ? And if there was no one wi' 
 us," she added, drawing herself up, " I am not afraid of the 
 girl being insulted if she is under my care ; and what for 
 should any woman, mad as she may be, fasten upon us ? 
 My certes ! I will see that she does not come near the girl, 
 or my name is not Margaret Ainslie ! " 
 
 For a moment or two Lord Earlshope stood irresolute, 
 
- AT THE THEATRE. 261 
 
 with mortification and dismay plainly evident on his pale 
 features ; then he said, suddenly — - 
 
 " I must tell you at once, Lady Drum. I have many a 
 time determined to do so — but put it off until now — when I 
 can be silent no longer. That woman in the theatre just 
 now, a woman soddened and mad with brandy — is my wife — ■ 
 at least, she was my wife some years ago. Goodness knows, 
 I have no reason to be afraid of her but one — ifc is for the 
 sake of Miss Cassilis I beg of you, Lady Drum — to take her 
 away — out of her reach — she is a woman of outrageous 
 passions — a scene in a public place will have all the excite- 
 ment of a new sort of drunkenness for her " 
 
 To all these incoherent ejaculations, Lady Drum only 
 replied — 
 
 " Your wife ! " 
 
 "This is not a time to blame me for anything," he said, 
 hurriedly. " I cannot give you any explanations just now. 
 You don't know why I should have concealed my marriage 
 with this horrible woman — but you will not blame me when 
 you hear. All I want is to secure Miss Cassilis' safety." 
 
 "That," said Lady Drum, with firmness, "is secure 
 enough in my keeping. You need not be afraid, Lord 
 Earlshope — she is quite secure where she is." 
 
 " You mean to keep her in the theatre ? " 
 
 " Most certainly." 
 
 "Then I will go. If I leave, that woman's mood may 
 change ; but I see from her laughing to herself that she means 
 mischief. I cannot charge my own wife at the police- 
 court." 
 
 He left the theatre there and then. Lady Drum returned 
 to the box, and made some sort of apology for his departure. 
 But she did not see much of what was going on upon the 
 stage ; for her thoughts were busy with many strange things 
 that she now recollected as having been connected with 
 Lord Earlshope ; and sometimes she turned from Coquette's 
 face to glance at the box opposite. Coquette was thoroughly 
 enjoying the piece ; the woman in the opposite box remained 
 hidden, and was apparently alone. 
 
262 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIT. 
 
 COQUETTE IS TOLD. 
 
 Lady Drum began to grow afraid. Should she send 
 Coquette at once back to Airlie ? Her first impulse, on 
 hearing the disclosures made by Lord Earlshope at the 
 theatre, was one of indignation and anger against himself, 
 for having, as she thought, unnecessarily acted a lie during 
 so many years, and deceived his friends. She now under- 
 stood all the strange references he had often made to married 
 life — the half-concealed and bitter irony of his talk — his 
 nervous susceptibility on certain points — his frequent 
 appearance of weariness and hopelessness, as of a man to 
 whom life was no longer of any value. She was amazed at 
 the morbid sense of shame which rendered this man so 
 anxious to avoid the confession of his having made a 
 desperate blunder in his youth. "Why had he gone about 
 under false colours ? Why had he imposed on his friends ? 
 Why had he spoken to Coquette ? 
 
 This thought of Coquette flashed upon Lady Drum as a 
 revelation. She knew now why the disclosure of Earls- 
 hope's marriage had made her angry ; and she at once did 
 him the justice of remembering that, so far as she knew, 
 he had made no pretensions to be the lover of Coquette. 
 That had been Lady Drum's secret hope : he could not be 
 blamed for it. 
 
 But at the same time there was something about the 
 relations between Earlshope and Coquette which she did 
 not understand ; and as she felt herself peculiarly responsible 
 for that young lady, she began to ask herself if she had 
 not better make all things safe by sending Coquette home to 
 her uncle. Lady Drum sat in the corner of her morning- 
 room, and looked down from the window on the Park. 
 Coquette was out there as usual — for there was sunshine 
 abroad, which she loved as a drunkard loves drink — and she 
 was leisurely reading a book under the shadow of her sun- 
 shade. How quiet and happy she looked — buried away from 
 all consciousness of the world around her in that other world 
 
COQUETTE IS TOLD. 263 
 
 of romance that lay unfolded on her knee ! Lady Drum 
 had got to love the girl with a mother's tenderness ; and as 
 she now looked' down on her she wondered what precautions 
 could be taken to render the fair young life inviolate from 
 wrong and suffering, if that were possible. 
 
 First of all, she wrote a note to Lord Earlshope, and sent 
 it down to his hotel, asking him to call on her immediately. 
 She wished to have further explanations before saying any- 
 thing to Sir Peter, or, indeed, to any one of the little circle 
 that had been formed at Airlie. At the moment she was 
 writing this letter, Earlshope himself was walking quickly 
 up to the place where Coquette sat. 
 
 " All, it is you ! I do wish much to see you for a 
 few moments," she said, with something of gladness in her 
 face. 
 
 He did not reply ; but sat down beside her, his lips firm, 
 and his brow clouded. She did not notice this alteration 
 from his ordinary demeanour ; but immediately proceeded 
 to say, in rather a low voice, and with her eyes grown serious 
 and even anxious — ■ 
 
 " I have much to say to you. I have been thinking over 
 all our position with each other, and I am going to ask you 
 for a favour. First of all, I will tell you a secret." 
 
 Why did she look constrained, and even agitated ? he 
 asked himself. Had she already heard from Lady Drum ? 
 Her fingers were working nervously with the book before 
 her ; her breath seemed to go and come more quickly ; and 
 her voice was almost inaudible. 
 
 " This is what I must tell you," she said, with her eyes 
 fixed on the ground. " I have promised to my cousin to be 
 his wife. I did tell you I should do that, and now it is 
 done, and he is glad. I am not glad, perhaps — not now — 
 but afterwards it may be different. And so, as I am to be 
 his wife, I do not think it is right I should see you any 
 more ; and I will ask you to go away now altogether, and 
 when we do meet, here or in Airlie, it will be the same 
 with us as strangers. You will do this for my sake — will 
 you not ? It is much to ask ; I shall be more sorry than 
 you, perhaps ; but how can I see you if I am to marry 
 him?" 
 
 "And so we are to be strangers, Coquette," he said, quite 
 
264 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 calmly. " It is all over, then. We have had some pleasant 
 dreaming ; but the daylight has come, and the work of the 
 world. When we meet each other, as you say, it will be as 
 strangers — strangers as on the first morning I saw you at 
 Airlie, driving up the road in the sunlight, when I was glad 
 to know that you were going to remain at the Manse. All 
 that happened down at Airlie is to be forgotten ; and you 
 and I are just like two people passing each other in the 
 street, and not expecting, perhaps, even to meet again. Yet 
 there are some things which neither you nor 1 shall ever 
 forget." 
 
 " Ah, I know that — I know that ! " said Coquette, almost 
 wildly. " Do not speak of all that now. Sometimes I do 
 think I cannot do as my cousin wishes — I become afraid — 
 I cannot speak to him — I begin to tremble when I think 
 of all the long years to come. Alas ! I have sometimes 
 wondered whether I shall live till then." 
 
 " Coquette, what do you mean ? " he said. " Have you 
 resolved to make your life miserable ? Is this how you 
 look forward to marriage, which ought to be the proudest 
 event in a woman's life, and the seal of all the happiness to 
 come after ? What have you done, Coquette ? " 
 
 " I have done what I ought to do," she said, " and it is 
 only at moments that I do fear of it. My cousin is very 
 good ; he is very fond of me ; he will break his heart if I 
 do not marry him. And I do like him very well, too. 
 Perhaps, in some years, I shall have forgotten a great deal 
 of all that is past now, and shall have come to be very fond 
 of him, too ; and it will be a pleasure to me to become his 
 wife. You must not be sorry for me. You must not think 
 it is a sacrifice, or anything like that. When I am afraid 
 now — when I am sad too, so that I wish I could go away to 
 France, and not see any more of this country — it is only 
 when I do think of Airlie, and of — of — •" 
 
 She never finished the sentence, because her lips were 
 beginning to quiver. And for a moment, too, his look had 
 grown absent, as if he were calling up memories of the days 
 of their meetings on the moor — meetings which were but 
 recent, and yet which now seemed buried far away in the 
 forlorn mists of the past. All at once he appeared to rouse 
 himself, and said, with some abruptness — 
 
COQUETTE IS TOLD. 265 
 
 " Coquette, you do not blame me for being unable to help 
 you in your distress. I am going to tell you why I cannot. 
 I am going to tell you what will render it unnecessary for 
 me to promise not to see you again ; for you will hate the 
 sight of me, and consider me not fit to be spoken to by any 
 honest man or woman. Many and many a time have I 
 determined to tell you ; and yet it seemed so hard that I 
 should make you my enemy — that you should go away only 
 with contempt for me 
 
 £he interrupted him quickly, and with some alarm on her 
 face. 
 
 " Ah, I know," she said. " You will tell me something 
 you have done — why ? What is the use of that now ? I 
 do not wish to hear it. I wish to think of you always as I 
 think now ; and when I look back at our last meeting in 
 Glasgow — you sitting there, I here, and bidding good-bye to 
 all that time which began down at Airlie, I shall have 
 pleasure of it, even if I cry about it. Why do you tell me 
 this thing ? What is the use ? Is it wise to do it ? I 
 have seen you often about to tell me a secret. I have seen 
 you disturbed and anxious ; and sometimes I have wondered, 
 too, and wished to know. But then, I did think there was 
 enough trouble in the world without adding this ; and I 
 hoped you would remain to me always as you were then — 
 when I did first begin to know you." 
 
 "Why, Coquette," he said, with a strange, half-tender 
 look of admiration, " your generosity shames me all the 
 more, and shows me what a horribly selfish wretch I have 
 been. You don't half seem to know how good you are." 
 
 His voice dropped a little here, as there was some one 
 coming along the road. Lord Earlshope and Coquette 
 both sat silent, and did not look up, expecting the stranger 
 to pass. 
 
 But the stranger did not pass. On the contrary, she came 
 nearer, as if to sit down ou the same seat with them, and 
 so Earlshope turned round to see who she was. No 
 sooner had he done so than he started to his feet with 
 an oath, and confronted the woman who stood before him. 
 Coquette, alarmed beyond measure, saw that the stranger 
 was the singular-looking person, with the coarse and red 
 face, and the unsteady black eyes, who had sat opposite her 
 
266 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 in the theatre the previous evening, and who now regarded 
 both herself and Lord Earlshope with a glance full of mali- 
 cious amusement in it. He, on the other hand, had his face 
 white with rage, and indeed, had advanced a step or two as 
 if to thrust her back from Coquette ; but now he stood with 
 apparent self-control, his hands clenched. 
 
 "You had better go home," he said, still facing the 
 stranger. " I give you fair warning you had better go 
 home." 
 
 " Why," said the woman, with a loud laugh, " you have 
 not said as much to me for six years back ! You might 
 give me a pleasanter welcome. My dear," she added, look- 
 ing to Coquette, " I am sorry to have disturbed you ; but do 
 you know who I am ? I am Lady Earlshope. You are not 
 surprised ? Perhaps you don't understand ? Indeed, I saw 
 you were a foreigner by your dress last evening. The women 
 in this country don't know how to dress ; do they ? What 
 are you — Italian or French ? " 
 
 Coquette had risen to her feet, and stood quite still — a 
 trifle pale, perhaps, but not visibly terrified. The woman 
 advanced a step or two ; Lord Earlshope caught her by the 
 wrist. Her air of bantering merriment changed in a 
 moment, and a glow of passion sprang to the hot, powerful- 
 looking face, and the sullen black eyes. She wrenched away 
 her hand with an angry vehemence, and let loose all the 
 venom of her tongue. 
 
 " Have you no shame, woman, that you make an exhi- 
 bition of yourself in the open day ? " he said. " Are you 
 determined to give me the honour of appearing in a police- 
 court against you ? " 
 
 With that she burst out into another laugh, the harshness 
 and unreality of which sounded strangely in Coquette's ears. 
 
 " It is not the first time I have been in a police-court. 
 Did you hear of my horse-whipping that old Duke in the 
 streets of Madrid ? Yes, I thought you must have heard 
 the story. Come, Harry, let's be friends ! I will leave you 
 with the little Italian. I have my carriage at the gate 
 there — there is brandy in it — shall we celebrate the charm- 
 ing conjugal scene we have just gone through ? No ! " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, and laughed in a vacuous 
 way ; it was apparent she required no more brandy. 
 
COQUETTE IS TOLD. 267 
 
 " Good-bye, then, for the present. This little conversation 
 with you, Harry, has been quite delightful — reminding one 
 of old days — but don't you lay hands on me again, or, 
 by heavens, you will be a dead man the next moment. 
 Addio, addio ! And for you, you pretty little signorina, with 
 the black eyes and the dumb mouth, quando avrd ilpiacere di 
 rirrderla ? What, you don't speak Italian either ? Never 
 mind. I shall see both of you again, I hope." 
 
 She walked back along the road to the gate of the park, 
 where an open carriage was waiting. A servant opened the 
 door for her. She stepped up and took her seat, and drove 
 off alone, laughing and kissing her hands in a tipsy fashion 
 to the pair she had just left. 
 
 " Coquette," said Earlshope, " that is my wife." 
 
 He was watching every line of her face, with an anxious 
 sadness, to gather what her first impulse would be. And yet 
 he felt that in uttering these words he had for ever disgraced 
 himself in her eyes, and deserved only to be thrust away 
 from her with horror and shame. Indeed he waited to hear 
 her own lips pronounce his condemnation and decree his 
 banishment. 
 
 Coquette came a step nearer and looked him in the face, 
 and held out her hand, and said — 
 
 " I know it all now, and am very sorry for you." 
 
 " But don't you remember what I have done, Coquette ? " 
 he said, with wonder in his look. "I am not fit to 
 take your hand. But if you would only listen to me 
 for a moment — that is all I ask. Will you sit down, 
 Coquette ? I cannot excuse myself, but I want to tell you 
 something." 
 
 " You have had a sad life," said Coquette, calmly. " I do 
 now know the reason of many things, and I cannot be 
 angry; It is no use to be angry now, when we are 
 going away from each other." 
 
 " You see that woman," he said, sinking down on the seat 
 with an expression of the most utter and hopeless despair. 
 " I married her when I was a lad fresh from college. I met 
 her in Paris — I was travelling — she, too, was going about 
 with her father, who called himself an officer ; I followed 
 her from town to town ; and in three months I was married. 
 Married ! — chained to a wild beast rather. When I got to 
 
268 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 know the hideous habits of the woman to whom I Was 
 indissolubly linked, suicide was my first thought. What 
 other refuge had I from a state of things that was worse 
 than anything death could bring to me ? The law cannot 
 step in between her and me. Brutal and debased as she is, 
 she has far too good a notion of the advantages of a toler- 
 able income to risk it by doing anything on which I could 
 claim a divorce. Ignorant and passionate she is ; but she is 
 not a fool in money matters ; and so there was nothing for 
 it but to buy up her absence by paying any price for it. I 
 discovered what sort of woman she was before we ever 
 returned to England ; and when I came back here, I came 
 alone. I dreaded the exposure of the blunder I had com- 
 mitted, partly on my own account, but chiefly on account of 
 the disgrace I had brought on my family. How could 
 I introduce this drunken and insolent woman to my friends, 
 and have them insulted by her open defiances of decency ? 
 Year after year I lived down there at Earlshope — -hearing 
 only of her wild escapades from a distance. I exacted from 
 her, as a condition of giving her more than the half of my 
 income, a promise to drop my name ; and perhaps you may 
 have heard of the notorious Mrs. Smith Arnold, with whom 
 the London magistrates are familiar. That is the woman 
 you have just seen. These stories came to me down at 
 Earlshope, until I dared scarcely open a newspaper ; and I 
 grew to hate the very sight of woman, as being related 
 to the devil who had ruined my life. And then you came to 
 Airlie." 
 
 He paused for a moment. She had never before seen 
 him so moved. 
 
 " I looked in your pure and young face, and I thought the 
 world seemed to grow more wholesome and sweet. I began 
 to believe that there were tender and true-hearted women in 
 the world ; and sometimes I thought what I might have 
 been, too, but for that irremediable blunder. Fancy some 
 sinner in hell, who is tortured by remorse over the sins and 
 lost opportunities of his life, and there comes to him a bunch 
 of pale violets, sweet with the fragrant memories of his 
 youth, when the world was innocent and fair to him, and 
 when he believed in the girl who was walking with him, 
 and in the heaven over his head — *-* " 
 
COQUETTE IS TOLD. 269 
 
 " Ah, do not talk like that ! " she said. " It is more 
 terrible than all you have told ine." 
 
 " You do not know the condition into which I had sunk. 
 To you I was a mere easy-tempered idler, who strolled about 
 the country and amused himself indolently. To myself I 
 was a sepulchre, filled with the dead bones and dust of 
 buried hopes and beliefs. What had I to live for ? When 
 I went about and saw other men enjoying the comfort 
 of happy domestic relations — men who had a home, and 
 a constant companion and confidante to share their holiday 
 journeys or their quiet summer evenings — my own solitude 
 and wretchedness were all the more forcibly thrust on 
 me. I shut myself up in that house at Airlie. It was 
 enough if the hours went by — enough that I was left alone. 
 Goodness knows, I did not complain much or seek to 
 revenge myself on society for my own mistake. If my 
 blunder, according to the existing state of the law, 
 demanded so much punishment, I was willing to suffer it. 
 During these solitary days, I used to study myself as if there 
 were another being beside me, and watch how the last 
 remnants of belief in anything were being gradually worn 
 away, bit by bit, by the irritation of this sense of wrong. If 
 you had known me as I really was when you first saw 
 me, you would have shrank away in fear. Do you remember 
 the morning I got up on the dog-cart to talk to you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Coquette, in a low voice. 
 
 " For a few moments I forgot myself. When I left you at 
 the Manse, I discovered to my intense astonishment that I 
 was quite cheerful — that the world seemed ever so much 
 brighter, and that Airlie moor looked well in the sunlight. 
 Then I thought of your coming in among those gloomy 
 Cameronians, and whether your light and happy southern 
 nature, which I saw even then, would conquer the prejudice 
 and suspicion around you. It was a problem that interested 
 me deeply. When I got to know you a little you used to tell 
 me inadvertently, how things were going on at the Manse, 
 and I saw that the fight would be a hard one, but that you 
 would win in the end. First of all, you took your cousin 
 captive — that was natural. Then the Minister. Then you 
 won over Leezibeth. There remains only Andrew now ; for 
 I think you would secure a large majority in & plebiscite of the 
 
270 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 villagers. As for myself, that I can scarcely talk about just 
 yet. It seemed so harmless a thing at first for me to see you 
 — to have the comfort even of looking at you from a distance 
 as you sat in the little church — or to pass you on the road, 
 with a look and a smile. There was a new life in Airlie. 
 Sometimes I thought bitterly of what might have been but 
 for the error which had ruined me ; but that thought 
 disappeared in the actual enjoyment of your presence. Then 
 I began to play with the danger that would have been more 
 obvious to another man, but which I laughed at. For was it 
 possible that I could fall in love, like a schoolboy, and sigh 
 and write verses ? I began to make experiments with 
 myself. You know the rest, Coquette ; but you do not know 
 the remorse that struck me when I found that my thought- 
 lessness had prepared a great misery for you." 
 
 " It was no misery," she said, simply ; " it was a pleasure 
 to me ; and if it was wrong, which I do not know, it comes 
 to an end now. And you — I am not angry with you ; for 
 your life has not been a happy one — and you did not know 
 until we were up in the Highlands that it mattered to me 
 — and then you went away " 
 
 " Coquette," he said, " I won't have you make excuses 
 for me. I can make none for myself. When I look at 
 you, and think of what I ought to have done when you 
 came to Airlie — I should have told you there and then, 
 and guarded against every possibility — I feel that I am an 
 outcast. But who would have thought it possible ? " he 
 added, with his eyes grown distant and sombre. "I do 
 not know how it has all come about ; but you and I are 
 sitting together here for the last time ; and we are going 
 different ways — whither, who can tell ? " 
 
 With that Coquette rose — no trace of emotion visible on 
 the calm face. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said. " I will hear of you sometimes 
 through Lady Drum." 
 
 " Good-bye, Coquette," he said, taking her hand. And 
 then a strange expression came over his face, and he added 
 suddenly, " It is madness and wickedness to say it, but I 
 will say it. Coquette, you will never forget that there is a 
 man in the world who loves you better than his own life — 
 who will venture everything that remains to him in this 
 
COQUETTE IS TOLD. 271 
 
 world and the next to do you the tiniest service. Will you 
 remember that — always ? Good-bye, Coquette — God bless 
 you for your gentleness, and your sweetness, and your 
 forgiveness ! " 
 
 She turned from him, and walked away, and went up the 
 steps towards the house, all by herself. As she passed 
 through the hall, Lady Drum met her, and asked her a 
 question. The girl replied, quite calmly, though rather in 
 a low voice, and passed on. Lady Drum was struck with 
 the expression of her face, which was singularly colourless 
 and immobile ; and she looked after her as she went up the 
 stairs. Was there not something unsteady in her gait ? 
 The old lady followed her, and went to the door of her 
 room, and listened. A great fear smote her heart, for 
 within there was a sound of wild weeping and sobbing ; 
 and when she straightway opened the door, and hurried 
 into the room, she found Coquette sitting by the bedside, 
 her face and hands buried in the clothes, and her slight 
 frame trembling and convulsed with the passion of her 
 grief. 
 
 " What is it, Coquette ? What is it, Coquette ? " she 
 cried, in great alarm. 
 
 And she sat down by the girl, and drew her towards her 
 bosom, as she would have done with her own child, and 
 hid her face there. And then Coquette told her story. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 coquette's forebodings. 
 
 Sir Peter was standing at the window, aimlessly 
 whistling, when his wife came in so hurriedly that he at 
 once turned to see what was the matter. Indeed, she 
 advanced upon him with such an air that he rather drew 
 back, and certainly stopped his whistling. 
 
 " Are you a man ? " she said, with wrath in her voice. 
 
 " I hope so," said Sir Peter, innocently. 
 
 " Then you know what you have to do. You have to 
 go at once to Lord Earlshope — I have scarcely the patience 
 to name him — and tell him what every honest man and 
 
272 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 woman thinks of him — what it is he deserves for conduct 
 unworthy of an African savage " 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Sir Peter, " Do you want me to 
 commit murder, or what ? I am not Macbeth, and I won't 
 be goaded into murdering anybody — " 
 
 It was Coquette who interposed. She had followed into 
 the room immediately after Lady Drum, and she now 
 came up. 
 
 " It is all a mistake, Sir Peter," she said, with perfect 
 self-command. " I did tell Lady Drum something — she 
 did not wait to hear it all. Lord Earlshope has done 
 nothing to be blamed — it is a misapprehension — a mistake." 
 
 " Why, Lord Earlshope is a married man ! " said Lady 
 Drum, hotly. 
 
 " That may be a crime, my dear," said Sir Peter, mildly ; 
 " but it is one that brings with it its own punishment." 
 
 " Lady Drum," said Coquette, in an imploring voice, " I 
 do wish you to come away. I will explain it all to you. 
 Indeed, have I not the right to say you shall not tell any 
 one what I have told you ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Sir Peter. " Who wants to betray a 
 young lady's secrets ? Take her away, my dear child, and 
 pacify her : I am afraid to meddle with her." 
 
 Lady Drum stood irresolute. On the one side was the 
 beseeching of Coquette, on the other was the feather-brained 
 husband, who apparently would not interest himself in 
 anything but his lunch and his dinner. Yet the brave old 
 Scotchwoman had a glow of indignation burning in her 
 cheeks, over the wrong which she deemed to have been com- 
 mitted towards the girl intrusted to her charge. Coquette 
 put her hand on her arm, and gently led her away from 
 the room. 
 
 " That's right," said Sir Peter to them, as he turned to 
 his drumming on the window-panes, " keep your secrets to 
 yourselves — they are dangerous property to lend. I don't 
 want to hear any mysteries. I am for an easy life." 
 
 But Lady Drum was in no such careless mood ; and very 
 piteously Coquette had to beg of her not to make an 
 exposure of the matter. Indeed, the girl besought her 
 so earnestly that Lady Drum was driven into warm lan- 
 guage to defend herself, and at last she used the word 
 
COQUETTE'S FOREBODINGS. 273 
 
 "infamous." Then Coquette rose up, quite pale and 
 proud, and said — ■ 
 
 " I am sorry you think that, Lady Drum. Why ? 
 Because I must go from your house. If he is infamous, I 
 am infamous too, for I do not think he has done any 
 wrong." 
 
 " Not done wrong ! " cried the old lady. " Not done 
 wrong ! A married man who trifles wi' the affections of a 
 young girl ! " 
 
 " He did not do so," said Coquette, calmly. " It was a 
 misfortune that happened to us both — that is all. You do 
 not know the pain and misery it has caused him ; nor his 
 other troubles ; nor how we had determined not to see 
 each other again. Ah, you do not understand it at all, if 
 you think he is to blame. He is very miserable, that is 
 what I know — that is enough for me to know ; and if he 
 has done wrong, I have too ; and yet, Lady Drum, if my 
 mamma were here, I would go down on my knees before 
 her, and I would tell her all about it from the first day at 
 Airlie, and I do know she would not be angry with me for 
 what I have done " 
 
 Coquette turned away her head. Lady Drum went to her 
 and drew her nearer to her, and hid her head in her arms. 
 
 " You are very unfortunate, my poor girl — for you are 
 fond of him yet, are you not ? " 
 
 " Oh, Lady Drum ! " she cried wildly, bursting into tears, 
 " I do love him better than everything in the world — and 
 I cannot help it — and now he is gone, I shall never see him 
 again, neither here nor at Airlie, for he will not go back to 
 Airlie — and all I wish now is that I might be dead, and 
 not wake up morning after morning to think of him far 
 away " 
 
 " Hush, child ! " said the old woman, gravely. " You do 
 not know what these wild words mean. You must teach 
 yourself not to think of him. It is a sin to think of him." 
 
 " But if I cannot help it," sobbed the girl ; " if it always 
 comes back to me — all that happened at Airlie — and when 
 we were sailing in the summer time — how can I help 
 thinking of him, Lady Drum ? It is hard enough if I do 
 not see him — and I would like to see him only once, to say 
 that I am sorry for him — and that, whatever people may 
 
 T 
 
274 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 say, I know, and I will remember, that he was a good man — 
 and very gentle to me — and very kind to all people, as you 
 know, Lady Drum " 
 
 " You must think less of him, and more of yourself, my 
 girl," said the old lady, kissing her tenderly. " It is a mis- 
 fortune that has fallen ower ye, as you say ; but you are 
 young yet, with plenty o' life and spirits in ye, and ye must 
 determine to cure yourself o' an infatuation which is 
 dangerous beyond speaking or thinking. Coquette, what 
 for do ye look like that ? Are ye in a trance ? Bestir 
 yourself, my lassie — listen, listen, there is your cousin 
 come, and he is talking to Sir Peter in the hall." 
 
 " My cousin ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Coquette shuddered, and turned away her head. 
 
 " I cannot see him. Tell him, Lady Drum, I go back to 
 Airlie to-morrow ; and I will see him when he comes in the 
 autumn — perhaps." 
 
 " Why do you say ' perhaps ' like that, Coquette ? " 
 
 " The autumn is a long way off, is it not ? Perhaps he 
 will not be able to see me ; but I shall be at Airlie then ; 
 and perhaps I shall know that he has come into the 
 churchyard to look for me." 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 A LEGEND OF EAKLSIIOPE. 
 
 It was a wild night at Airlie. The sea could be heard 
 breaking with tremendous force all along the shore ; and 
 the wind that blew about the moor brought with it occa- 
 sional heavy showers of rain. Occasionally, too, there were 
 rifts in the clouds ; and a white gleam of moonlight would 
 shine out and down on the dark landscape. The villagers 
 kept themselves snug and warm indoors ; and were thankful 
 they were not out at sea on such a night. 
 
 Earlshope was more sheltered ; but if the house itself 
 was not much shaken by the storm, its inmates could hear 
 the moaning of the wind through the trees in the park, and 
 the howling of the gusts that tore through the fir-woods 
 beyond the moor. The male servants had gone away 
 
A LEGEND OF EARLSHOPE. 27$ 
 
 on some errand or another to Greenock ; and as the 
 women-folk did not like to be left quite alone, the Pensioner 
 had consented to come up from Airlie and sleep in the 
 liou.se that night. But first of all, of course, there was a 
 general supper in the housekeeper's room ; and then the 
 Pensioner and the housekeeper and the two girls began to 
 tell stories of old things that had happened in the neigh- 
 bourhood. By-and-by that, duty almost entirely devolved 
 upon the Pensioner, who was known to be skilled in 
 legends ; and as he had also brought with him his fiddle, 
 he set himself down generally to entertain the company, 
 fortifying himself from time to time with a tumbler of 
 whisky-toddy, which the housekeeper carefully replenished. 
 
 Somehow or other, as the night wore on, his stories and 
 his music assumed a more and more uncanny and mystic 
 tinge. Perhaps the howling of the wind in the chimneys, 
 or the more distant sound of its wailing through the big 
 trees in the park, lent an air of melancholy to the old 
 ballads and legends he recited ; but, at all events, the small 
 circle of listeners grew almost silent, and sat as if spell- 
 bound. He no longer played " There grows a bonnie brier 
 bush in our kailyard," but sang to them, in a quavering and 
 yet plaintive voice, the story of Ellen of Strathcoe, who 
 was rowed away over the lake when the moon was shining 
 and the breeze blowing lightly, but who never reached the 
 shore. And then the old man came nearer to his own 
 time, and told them of the awful stories of second-sight 
 that he had heard when a boy, over among the Cowai hills 
 — of warnings coming at the dead of the night — of voices 
 heard in churchyards — of visions seen by persons in their 
 own houses, as they sat alone in the evening. The girls 
 listened partly to him, and partly to the wind without. 
 The great house seemed to be even more empty than usual ; 
 and the creaking of a door or the shaking of a window 
 could be heard in distant rooms. Earlshope was a lonely 
 place at that time of night — so far away from all houses, 
 and so near to the wild moor. 
 
 " But there is no story about Earlshope," said one of the 
 girls. 
 
 She spoke in a quite timid voice ; as if she were listening 
 to the sounds without. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " Wass you never told, then, o' sa auld man that lived 
 here by himsel', and would ride about sa country at night, 
 and drink by himsel' in such a faishion as no man leevin' 
 would pelieve ? " 
 
 They did not answer him : they only looked — their eyes 
 grown apprehensive. 
 
 " It wass an auld Lord Earlshope, as I hef peen told, and 
 he wass a wild man for sa drink ; and no one in all sa 
 country side would go near him. Sa bairns would flee from 
 him as he came riding down sa road, and he would ride at 
 them, and frichten them, and gallop on wi' shrieks o' 
 laughin', just as if he wass sa teffle himsel'. And he would 
 ride about sa country at nicht, and knock at folk's doors or 
 windows wi' his stick, and cry in till them, and then ride 
 on again, wi' fearfu' laughin' and singin', just as if he wass 
 possessed. And sare wass a girl in Airlie — a bonnie young- 
 lass she wass, as I hef peen told, and he did sweer on a 
 Bible wis sa most dreadfu' sweerin', he would carry her 
 some nicht to Earlshope, or else set sa house on fire over 
 herself and her folk. And sa lass — she was so frichtened 
 she would never go outside sa house ; and it wass said she 
 wass to go to Greenock or to Glasgow into service — if sare 
 was service then, for it wass a long time ago." 
 
 The Pensioner here bethought him of his toddy, and 
 turned to his glass. During that brief pause there was a 
 dead silence — only some laurel bushes rustled outside in the 
 wind. The Pensioner cleared his throat and resumed his tale. 
 
 " And Lord Earlshope, as I hef peen told, did hear sat 
 she would go away from Airlie, and he was in a great rage, 
 and swore sat he would burn sa whole place down, and her 
 too, and all her folk. But one day it wass known to him 
 sat her parents would be over in Saltcoats ; and he had men 
 sare, and sa men got hold of sa lassie's folk, and clapped 
 them into a big boat, and took sem out to sea. And sa young 
 lass waited all sa afternoon, and say did not come home ; 
 nor yet at nicht, and she was all by herself, for she wass 
 afraid to go out and speer at sa neighbours. And then, as 
 I hef peen told, he went to sa house at sa dead o' nicht, 
 and pulled sa lassie out, and took her on sa horse, and rode 
 over wi' her to Earlshope — her screamin', him laughin' and 
 sweerin', as wass his ordinar'. And so wild wass he wis sa 
 
A LEGEND OF EARLSHOPE. 277 
 
 drink, sat he ordered all sa servants out 0' sa house, and sey 
 listened frae the outside to sa awful noises in sa rooms — ■ 
 him rag-in' and sweerin', and laughin', jist like sa teffle. 
 And then, as I hef peen told, a licht was seen — and it grew 
 — and it grew — and flames wass in all sa windows — and 
 sare was a roarin', and a noise, and a burnin' — and when 
 the mornin' wass come, Earlshope wass burned down to sa 
 ground, and nothing could be seen 0' sa young lass or sa 
 auld man either." 
 
 The Pensioner took another pull at the tumbler. It was 
 getting more and more late. 
 
 " And this, as I hef peen told, is a new Earlshope ; but sa 
 auld man hass never gone away from sa place. He is still 
 about here in sa night-time. I do not know he hass been 
 seen ; but many's and many's sa time he wass heard to 
 laugh in among the trees in the park, and you will hear 
 sometimes the sound of sa horse's feet not far from sa house. 
 Trop, trop ! — trop, trop ! — sat is it — licht, licht — and you 
 will not know whesser it is close by, or far away, only you 
 will hear sa laughin' close by, as if it wass at your ear." 
 
 Suddenly at this moment a string of the Pensioner's fiddle 
 snapped with a loud bang, and there was a simultaneous 
 shriek from the women. In the strange pause that followed, 
 when they all listened with a beating heart, it seemed to 
 them that at some distance outside there was a measured 
 beat on the soft earth, exactly like the sound of a horse 
 riding up to Earlshope. A miuute or two more and the 
 suspicion became a certainty. 
 
 " Listen ! " said one of the girls, instinctively seizing hold 
 of her neighbour's arm. The wind was still moaning 
 through the trees, but none the less the footfalls of the 
 horse became more and more distinct, and were obviously 
 drawing near to the house. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " exclaimed the housekeeper, with a scared 
 face. " AY" ha can it be at this time 0' nicht ? " 
 
 " It is coining nearer," said another. 
 
 " Jeannie ! " cried the third, in a frenzy of desperation, 
 "dinna hand me by the airm — a body canna listen ! " 
 
 The measured sounds grew nearer, until they ceased, 
 apparently, at the very door. Then there was the sharp 
 clink of the bell-handle on the stone, and far away in a 
 
278 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL 
 
 hollow corridor a boll jangled hideously. The housekeeper 
 uttered a cry and started to her feet. 
 
 " Gude forgi'e me, but there's no a Bible near at hand ! " 
 she exclaimed in an agony of trepidation. " Mr. Lamont, 
 Mr. Lamont, what is to be done ? This is fearfu' — this is 
 awfu' ! Jeannie, what for do ye no open the door ? " 
 
 " Open the door ? " said the girl, faintly, with her eyes 
 starting out of her head. 
 
 " Ay, open the door ! " said the housekeeper savagely. 
 " Isn't it your business ? " 
 
 " But — but — but — " stammered the girl, with her teeth 
 chattering, " n — no to open the door to the deevil ! " 
 
 " I will open sa door ! " said the Pensioner, calmly. 
 
 When he rose and went into the dark hall the women 
 followed close at his heels, all clinging to each other. 
 Another vigorous pull at the bell had nearly brought them 
 to their knees ; but Neil Lamont, groping his way to the 
 door, began to fumble about for the bolts, using much florid 
 and unnecessary Gaelic all the while. At last the bolts were 
 withdrawn, and the door opened. On the threshold stood 
 the dusky figure of a man ; beyond him the horse from 
 which he had dismounted, and which he held by the bridle. 
 The women shrank back in affright — one of them uttering a 
 piercing scream. The Pensioner stood for a moment ir- 
 resolute, and then he advanced a step, and said, with a fine 
 assumption of courage — 
 
 " "Who sa teffle are you, and what for you will come to 
 disturb a quiet house ? What is it sat you want ? " 
 
 " Confound you, send somebody to take my horse ! " was 
 the sharp reply he met with from the mysterious stranger. 
 "What's the matter ? Is there no one about the place but a 
 pack of frightened women ? " 
 
 " It is his lordship himsel' ! " cried Neil. " Eh, wha did 
 expect to see you sa nicht ? " 
 
 " Come and take my horse, you fool ! " 
 
 " Sat I will ; but it is no use calling names," answered 
 Neil, while the women began to breathe. 
 
 The Pensioner got the keys of the stable, and led off the 
 horse, while Lord Earlshope entered the hall, called for 
 lights, and began to rub the rain out of his eyes and hair. 
 The whole house was presently in a scurry to have his 
 
A LEGEND OF EARLSHOPE. 279 
 
 lordship's wants attended to ; but there was considerable 
 delay, for none of the women would go singly on the shortest 
 errand. When, after some time, Neil returned from feeding 
 and grooming the horse in a rough-and-ready fashion, he 
 infused some little courage into the household ; and at 
 length the turmoil caused by the unexpected arrival subsided 
 somewhat. Finally, Lord Earlshope called the housekeeper 
 into his study and said to her — 
 
 "I shall leave early to-morrow morning. There have 
 been no visitors at Earlshope recently ? " 
 
 " No, your lordship." 
 
 "It is very likely that a woman — a Mrs. Smith Arnold 
 she calls herself — will come here to-morrow and ask to be 
 shown over the place. You will on no account allow her to 
 come into the house, — you understand ? " 
 
 " But wha can come here the morn ? " said the house- 
 keeper ; " it's the Sabbath." 
 
 " This person may drive here. In any case, you will 
 allow no stranger to come into the place." 
 
 " I wish the men folk were coming back afore Monday," 
 said the housekeeper, who was still a trifle perturbed by the 
 Pensioner's stories. 
 
 " Cannot three of you keep one woman from coming into 
 the house ? You can lock the doors — you need not even 
 talk to her." 
 
 Having received her instructions, the housekeeper left ; 
 and Lord Earlshope went to a writing-desk, and addressed 
 an envelope to a firm of solicitors in London. The words 
 he then hurriedly wrote and enclosed in the envelope were 
 merely these — " Withhold payment to Mrs. Smith Arnold, if 
 demanded. The stipulations have not been observed. I will 
 call on you in a few days. — Earlshope." 
 
 It was close on midnight when he entered the house ; 
 and shortly after daybreak next morning he had again set 
 out, telling no one of his intentions. The servants, ac- 
 customed to his abrupt comings and goings, were not 
 surprised ; but none of them forgot the manner in which 
 Lord Earlshope had ridden up at midnight in the fashion 
 of his notorious ancestor. As for the housekeeper, she was 
 more consequential than ever, having been intrusted with a 
 secret. 
 
28o A DA UGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVL 
 
 THE MINISTER'S PUBLISHER. 
 
 On the morning of the day on which Lord Earlshope 
 paid this sudden visit to Airlie, the Minister came down 
 into the parlour of the Manse, where Leezibeth was placing 
 the breakfast things. 
 
 " Miss Cassilis is coming home to-day," he said. 
 
 "Atweel, I'm glad to hear't," said Leezibeth, uttering 
 that peculiar sigh of resignation with which most elderly 
 Scotchwomen receive good news. 
 
 The boys were all rejoiced to hear that Coquette was 
 coming ; for they had not forgotten the presents she had 
 promised them ; and they knew from of old that she was 
 as little likely to forget. This being Saturday, and a wet 
 Saturday, too, they unanimously resolved to stay at home, 
 and play at " bools " in the lobby until Coquette should 
 arrive from Glasgow. But the restraint of this form of 
 amusement became insufferable. Leezibeth's remonstrances 
 about their noise — the Minister being then engaged with 
 his sermon — at last drove them out of the house and up 
 into the hay-loft, where they had unlimited freedom of 
 action and voice. 
 
 When Leezibeth delivered to Andrew the necessary orders 
 about the dog-cart it was in a somewhat defiant way— she 
 knew he would not regard very favourably the return of 
 the young lady. But Andrew kept most of his grumbling 
 to himself ; and Leezibeth only overheard the single word 
 * Jezebel ! " 
 
 " Jezebel ! " she cried, in a sudden flame of anger. 
 " Wha is Jezebel ? Better Jezebel than Shimei the 
 Benjamite, that will be kenned for ever by his ill-temper 
 and his ill-tongue." 
 
 Leezibeth stood there, as if daring him to say another 
 word. Andrew was a prudent man. He began to tie his 
 shoe, and as he stooped he only muttered — 
 
 " H'm ! If Shimei had had a woman's tongue, David 
 micht hae suffered waur. And it's an ill time come to us 
 
THE MINISTER'S PUBLISHER. 281 
 
 if we are a' to bend the knee to this foreign woman, that 
 can scarcely be spoken o' withoot offence. Better for us 
 a' if the Minister's brither had been even like Coniah, 
 the son of Jehoiakim. As it was said o' him, ' I will cast 
 thee out, and thy mother that bare thee, into another 
 country, where ye were not born, and there shall ye die. 
 But to the land whereunto they desire to return, thither 
 shall they not return.' " 
 
 " Od, I wish Maister Tammas could hear ye ! " said 
 Leezibeth, in desperation at being out-talked. 
 
 " Ay, ay, Maister Tammas ; it was an ill day for him 
 that she came to the Manse. Mark my words, the Minister 
 '11 repent him o't when he sees his auldest son a wreck and 
 a ruin, and a by-word i' the country-side. Ay, indeed : 
 when the young man turns away from his ain folk, 
 Leezibeth, to marry ane 0' the daughters 0' Heth." 
 
 " What for no ? " cried Leezibeth, boldly. " Where could 
 he wale out a bonnier lass ? I wish ye'd stop yer yaumering, 
 and look oot some plaids and rugs for the dog-cairt, for 
 there's wind and rain enough to last us for the rest 0' the 
 year." 
 
 A very surly man was Andrew Bogue when he set out at 
 mid-day to drive over to the station. He was enveloped so 
 that only the tip of his nose could be seen ; for the wind 
 was dashing heavy showers over the moor, and the sea was 
 white with the breaking of the great waves. It was not a 
 day to improve a man's temper ; and when, at last, 
 Coquette arrived, Andrew was not the most pleasant person 
 to bid her welcome. 
 
 Coquette was alone. Sir Peter was for accompanying 
 her on the brief railway journey ; but she would not hear 
 of it, as she knew that the dog-cart would await her 
 arrival. Coquette came out into the little station. She 
 asked Andrew to get her luggage ; and while he was gone 
 she turned and looked up to the high country beyond 
 which Airlie lay. How dismal it looked! The wind was 
 moving heavy masses of dull grey cloud across the sky ; 
 and between her and the gloomy landscape hovered the 
 mist of the rain, underneath which the trees drooped, and 
 the roads ran red. She had no view of the sea ; but the 
 plain of tumbling waves would not have brightened the 
 
282 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 prospect much. And so at last she took her seat on the 
 dog-cart ; and hid herself in thick shawls and rugs ; and 
 was driven away through the dripping and desolate country. 
 It was so different from her first coming hither ! 
 
 " They are all well at Airlie ? " she said. 
 
 " Weel aneuch," said Andrew ; and that was all the con- 
 versation which passed between them on the journey. 
 
 They drew near Earlshope, and Coquette saw the 
 entrance to the park, and the great trees hanging wearily 
 in the rain. There was the strip of fir-wood, too, near 
 which she had parted with Lord Earlshope but a short time 
 ago, on that pleasant summer morning. The place looked 
 familiar, and yet imfamiliar. The firs were almost black 
 under the heavy sky ; and there was no living creature 
 abroad to temper the loneliness of the moor which 
 stretched beyond. It seemed to Coquette that she was now 
 coming back to a prison, in which she must spend the rest 
 of her life. Hitherto all had been uncertainty as to her 
 future, and she had surrendered herself to the new and 
 sweet experiences of the moment with scarcely a thought. 
 But now all the past had been shut up as if it were a sealed 
 book, and there remained to her — what ? Coquette began 
 to think that she had seen the best of life ; and that she 
 would soon feel old. 
 
 She went into the Manse. It did not look a cheerful 
 place just then. Outside, damp and cold ; inside, the wind 
 had blown the smoke down one of the chimneys, and the 
 atmosphere of the house was a dull blue. But Leezibeth 
 came running to meet her ; and overwhelmed her with 
 fussy kindness about her wet garments ; and hurried her 
 upstairs ; and provided her with warm slippers, and what 
 not ; until Coquette — who had abandoned herself into her 
 hands — became aware that she was ungratefully silent about 
 those little attentions. 
 
 " You are very kind to me, Leesiebess," she said. 
 
 " 'Deed no, I'm fair delighted to see ye back, miss," said 
 Leezibeth, " for the Manse has been like a kirkyaird since 
 the day ye left it. The Minister has been shut up in the 
 study from mornin' till nicht ; the laddies at the schule ; 
 and that cantankerous auld Andrew grumbling until a body's 
 life was like to be worried out. And I'm thinking Glasgow 
 
THE MINIS TER *S P UB LIS HER. 283 
 
 doesna agree wi 1 ye, miss. Ye are looking a wee bit worn 
 and pale ; but running about the moor will soon set ye up 
 again." 
 
 "It is not pleasant to go on the moor now," said 
 Coquette, as she looked out of the window on the dreary 
 prospect. 
 
 " But it canna be aye rainin' — though it seems to try 
 sometimes," said Leezibeth. " I wish it had been ordained 
 that we should get nae mair weet than the farmers want — 
 it is just a wastery o' the elements to hae rain pourin' down 
 like that." 
 
 Then Coquette began to inquire why her uncle had not yet 
 come to see her ; and Leezibeth explained that the Minister 
 v. as fairly buried alive in his books ever since he had began 
 seriously to work at his Concordance. So she ran down- 
 stairs, and went into the study, and went up to him and 
 dutifully kissed him. 
 
 The Minister looked up with dazed eyes, and a pleased 
 look came into the sad grey face. 
 
 " You have come back, my bairn ? And you are well ? 
 And you have enjoyed yourself in Glasgow ? " 
 
 He failed to notice the somewhat tired air that had not 
 escaped Leezibeth's keen scrutiny. 
 
 " You have been hard at work, uncle, I can see ; and I 
 am come back to interrupt it." 
 
 " Why ? " said the Minister, in some alarm. 
 
 " Because I cannot let you kill yourself with your books. 
 When the weather does become fine again, you will go out 
 with me, and leave your books alone for a time." 
 
 " I cannot do that," he said, looking at the sheets before 
 him. " I have purposed having this work finished by the 
 end o' the year, so that, if I am spared and in health, I 
 might even undertake another with the incoming o' the 
 new year. But sometimes I fear my labour will be thrown 
 away. I am not familiar wi' the booksellers and such 
 persons as undertake to bring out new works. The 
 expense of it woidd be far too great for my own means, and 
 yet I do not know how to recommend it to the notice of 
 those whose business it is to embark money in such 
 enterprises. I do not desire any profit or proceeds from 
 the sale of the book, but I am not sufficiently acquainted 
 
2S4 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 with such things to know whether that will be an induce- 
 ment. The cost of bringing out such a work must be 
 great — -Mr. Gillespie, the schoolmaster, did even mention 
 so large a sum as one hundred pounds, but I am afraid not 
 with sufficient caution or knowledge." 
 
 Coquette knelt down beside the old man, and took his 
 hand in both of hers. 
 
 " Uncle," she said, " I am going to ask you for a great 
 favour." 
 
 " And what is it ? " 
 
 " No, you must promise first." 
 
 " It is impossible — it is contrary to the teaching of 
 Scripture to promise what it may be impossible to perform," 
 said the Minister, who was perhaps vaguely influenced by 
 the story of the daughter of Herodias. 
 
 " Ah, well, it does not matter. Uncle, I want you to let 
 me be your publisher." 
 
 " What do you mean, Catherine ? " 
 
 "Let me publish your book for you. You know my 
 papa did leave me some money ; it is useless to me ; I do 
 nothing with it ; it becomes more and more every year, 
 and does nothing for anybody. This would be an amuse- 
 ment for me. I will take your book, uncle ; and you shall 
 have no more of bother with it ; and I will get it printed ; 
 and my Cousin Tom — he will send me word how the 
 people do buy it in Glasgow." 
 
 " But — but — but — " stammered the Minister, who could 
 scarcely understand at first this astounding proposal, " my 
 child, this generosity you propose might entail serious loss, 
 which I should feel more than if it were my own. It is a 
 grave matter, this publishing of a book — it is one that 
 young people cannot understand, and is not lightly to be 
 undertaken. We will put aside this offer of yours, 
 Catherine " 
 
 " No, uncle, you must not," she said, gently, as she rose 
 and put her hand on his shoulder. And then she drooped 
 her head somewhat, as if in shame, and said to him in a 
 low voice, quite close to his ear : " If my mamma were here, 
 she would do it for you, uncle, and so you must let me." 
 
 And then she kissed him again, and went away to call 
 the boys, who were rather anxiously awaiting that summons. 
 
THE MINISTER'S PUBLISHER. 285 
 
 They were taken up to her sitting-room, and thither also 
 came Leezibeth, partly to preserve order, and partly to 
 open one of Coquette's boxes, which was placed on a side- 
 table. Coquette, by this time, had plucked up her spirits 
 a little bit. The tire was burning more brightly in the 
 room ; and Leezibeth had prepared some tea for her. And 
 so, when this box was finally opened, she proceeded to 
 display its contents in the fashion of a small show-woman ; 
 delivering a grave lecture to the circle of boys, who looked 
 on as hungry-eyed as hawks. That decorum did not last 
 long. In a very little while there was a turmoil in the 
 room, and boyish shrieks of laughter over Coquette's 
 ironical jokes went pealing all over the house. For she 
 had brought this for that cousin, and that for the other 
 one ; and there was a great deal of blushing, of confused 
 thanks, and of outrageous merriment. Coquette seemed 
 to have purchased an inexhaustible store of presents ; 
 and what astonished them more than all was the ex- 
 ceeding appropriateness and exceptional value of those 
 gifts. 
 
 " Look here, Coquette," said Dugald, " who told you 
 I lost that knife with the corkscrew and the gimlet and 
 the hie in it — for this ane is jist the same ? " 
 
 " Look here, Dugald," remarked the young lady, standing 
 before him. " Will you please to tell me how you addressed 
 me just now ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Dugald, boldly, " the Whaup never called 
 ye anything else, and ye seemed well enough pleased." 
 
 Here there was some covert laughter at Coquette's 
 expense ; for these young gentlemen had formed their own 
 notion of the relations between their brother and Coquette. 
 
 " Then," she said, " when you are as tall as the Whaup, 
 and as respectful to me as he is, you may call me Coquette ; 
 but not till then, Master Dugald." 
 
 In the midst of all this noise, a sudden lull occurred. 
 Coquette turned and saw the tall, spare figure of her uncle 
 at the half-opened door, where he had been for some time 
 an unperceived and amused spectator of the proceedings. 
 One or two of the boys had caught sight of him, and had 
 instantly curbed their wild merriment. But even although 
 this was Saturday, it was clear the Minister was not in an 
 
286 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL 
 
 impatient mood with their uproar. On the contrary, he 
 walked into the room, and over to Coquette, and put his 
 hand affectionately on her head. 
 
 " You are a very good girl, Catherine," he said. 
 
 The boys looked on this demonstration of kindliness with 
 the utmost surprise. Seldom, indeed, had they seen their 
 father forget that rigour of demeanour which the people in 
 many parts of Scotland retain as the legacy of Puritanical 
 reticence in all matters of the feelings and emotions. And 
 then the compliment he paid to her ! 
 
 " I hope you are not being troubled by those unruly boys, 
 who have much to learn in manners," said the Minister, with 
 a tranquil gravity. " But Leezibeth must see to that ; 
 and so, since you are come home, Catherine, I begin to 
 think I should like to hear the sound of music again. I 
 think the Manse has not been quite so cheerful since you 
 left, somehow ; and I have missed you much in the 
 evenings. As for music, I have had occasion lately to 
 notice how much King David was in the habit of speaking 
 of it, and of musical instruments, and the singing of the 
 voice. Perhaps we in this country have an unwarrantable 
 prejudice against music — an exercise that we know the 
 chosen people of the Lord prized highly." 
 
 It was now Leezibeth's turn to be astonished. To hear 
 the Minister ask for music on a Saturday — the day of his 
 studying the sermon ; and to hear him disagree with the 
 estimation in which that godless pastime was held by all 
 decent, sober-minded, responsible folk, were matters for 
 deep reflection to her, and not a little surprise and pain. 
 Yet in her secret heart she was not sorry that Coquette sat 
 down to the piano. Had she dared, she would have asked 
 her to sing one of the old Scotch songs that had first drawn 
 her towards the young French girl. 
 
 But Coquette, also remembering that it was Saturday, 
 began to play " Drumclog ; " and the beating of the wind 
 and rain without was soon lost in the solemn and stately 
 harmonies of that fine old air. And then, as in days gone 
 by, she played it sharply and triumphantly ; and a thrill 
 went through the Minister's heart. He drew his chair 
 nearer to the piano ; and heard the close of the brief per- 
 formance with a sigh. 
 
THE MINISTER'S PUBLISHER. 287 
 
 " Catherine," he said, rather absently, " was there not a 
 song you used to sing about returning to your home after 
 being away from it for a time ? It was a French song, I 
 think ; and yet the music of it seemed to me praise- 
 worthy." 
 
 " 1 do know that song," said Coquette, in a low voice. 
 " But — but — I cannot sing it any more." 
 
 The Minister did not notice the distress that was visible 
 on her face. 
 
 " Yet perhaps you remember the music sufficiently to 
 play it on the instrument without the help of the voice," 
 said the grey -haired old man — apparently forgetting alto- 
 gether that the boys were in the room, and Leezibeth at the 
 door. 
 
 Coquette began to play the air. It was the song that 
 told of the happy return to France after three long years of 
 absence. She had returned to her home, it is true — leaving 
 behind her many wild, and sad, and beautiful memories ; 
 and now that she was back at Airlie, it seemed as though 
 the desolate wind and rain outside were but typical of the life 
 that awaited her here. Coquette played the air as if she 
 were in a dream ; and, at last, her cousin Dugald, standing 
 at the end of the piano, was surprised to see her face get 
 more and more bent down, and her fingering of the keys 
 more and more uncertain. 
 
 •" What for are ye greetin' ? " he said to her, gently ; but 
 Coquette could make no answer. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 AN APPARITION. 
 
 Coquette had never got accustomed to the depressing 
 Btillness and gloom of the Sabbath as it was kept at Airlie ; 
 and on this, the first morning of what seemed to be the 
 beginning of a new era of her life, she almost feared what 
 she would have to encounter. She dreaded the death-like 
 silence of the neighbourhood ; the sombre procession of the 
 people to church ; the sharp, imperative jangle of the bell ; 
 and then the long, drowsy, monotonous day spent indoors, 
 with the melancholy sound of Leezibeth reading aloud to 
 
288 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 herself in the kitchen. Once, as she lay ill, she talked to 
 Leezibeth about the pleasant Sundays she had learnt to love 
 in her youth — the cheerful gathering of friends and 
 acquaintances at the small church in the early morning — 
 the mysterious music — the solemn lights in the recesses of 
 the building : then out into the clear air again, and home 
 to meet all manner of relatives and friends who had come 
 to spend a quiet holiday. Against all this, Leezibeth 
 naturally protested strongly ; and even warmed into poetic 
 language, as elderly Scotchwomen will, who have been 
 familiar all their life with the picturesque phraseology of 
 the Bible. 
 
 " It is the day set apart," she said ; " it is the day of 
 the Lord ; and He walks about on that day, and looks on 
 what He has made, as it was efter a new creation." 
 
 " And are you afraid of Him," said Coquette, as she lay 
 half -dreaming on the sofa ; " are you afraid of Him, that 
 you all keep indoors on that day, and scarce speak to each 
 other, and let no sound be heard ? " 
 
 On this particular morning the whole world was steeped 
 in gloom. The storm had so far abated that the trees 
 no longer bent before the wind, and there was no rain ; 
 but overhead and stretching far to the horizon was 
 a pall of thick, lurid, steel-blue cloud ; and the moun- 
 tains of Arran threw sombre shadows deep down into the 
 cold grey of the sea. The fir woods near at hand seemed 
 almost black ; those on the slopes going southward lay as a 
 series of dusky and indistinguishable patches on the misty 
 greys and greens of the landscape. The road going across 
 the moor had been washed red ; and the rapid and drumly 
 stream had overflown its narrow banks. 
 
 The boys were in their Sunday clothes, and were secretly 
 caressing in their pockets daring the time of family worship 
 the presents Coquette had brought them from Glasgow. 
 Leezibeth was particular that Coquette should put on thick 
 boots, as the roads were so wet ; and by-and-by, after much 
 hurrying, and whispering, and admonition, they all set out 
 for church. 
 
 It was a cheerless day, cold and damp ; and the wind 
 had a raw feeling about it. The cracked bell of the old 
 church was pealing out its summons, and up from Airlie 
 
AN APPA RITION. 2S9 
 
 came the struggling and solemn procession of people, 
 seemingly afraid to speak to each other, nearly all of them 
 dressed in stiff and ungainly black garments. Fortunately 
 for Coquette, she was overtaken by an old friend of hers ; 
 and she welcomed him gladly ; for she knew that he would 
 talk to her even to the church door. It was the Pensioner. 
 
 " And I wass told you would pe pack, Miss Cassilis," said 
 Neil, " and richt glad was I to hear't ; and how is that you 
 will like Glasgow ? " 
 
 " I did like it very much," said Coquette. 
 
 " Oh, it is sa grand place — but you will need to know 
 where to go for sa goot whisky before you will go to 
 Glasgow." 
 
 Coquette hinted that she had not discovered the pet 
 public-house that Neil evidently had in his mind's eye ; 
 whereupon the old Highlandman was profuse and earnest 
 in his apologies — he had not " meant it was for sa likes o' 
 her to think o' a public-house," and so forth. 
 
 Just at this moment, when the party from the Manse 
 had nearly reached the path across the moor to the church, 
 and were therefore on the point of joining the slow stream 
 of people that came up from the village, the noise of a 
 carriage was heard behind them. Instantly all the faces of 
 the people were turned. Such a sound had rarely indeed 
 been heard at Airlie on a Sunday morning ; and there was 
 a manifest lingering on the moorland road to see who this 
 might be that was outraging the solemn and decorous 
 gravity of the Sabbath. 
 
 Coquette, the Pensioner, Leezibeth, and the boys, stepped 
 to one side, to let the carriage pass. But it had not passed 
 them when the loud voice of a woman was heard ordering 
 the driver to stop. The vehicle, indeed, halted close by 
 the party from the Manse ; and Coquette found to her 
 astonishment and dismay that she was confronted by the 
 woman who had walked up to Lord Earlshope and herself 
 in the Park. 
 
 " What ! The little Spanish princess ! " cried the 
 woman, with her bold, black eyes fixed on the girl with a 
 look of impudent merriment. " So this is where you come 
 from, is it ? Here, won't you shake hands with me ? " 
 
 Slic sat round in the carriage, and put her hand over the 
 
 U 
 
290 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 side. Coquette shrank back a step, and inadvertently 
 caught hold of Neil's arm. 
 
 " She is afraid of me," said the woman in the carriage to 
 her companion — another woman, less gaudily dressed, who 
 sat opposite her. " She cuts me ! Our country beauties 
 are proud ! But you were not born and bred in this 
 desolate hole, were you ? " she added, addressing Coquette. 
 
 The girl was too much alarmed to reply. The whole 
 scene was visible to the people, who made no pretence of 
 walking on to the church, but stopped and stared at the 
 strange spectacle of a bold, red-faced, impudent woman 
 addressing the Minister's niece, and breaking the stillness 
 of the Sabbath morning with her loud talking and her 
 indecent laughter. 
 
 The scene only lasted for a couple of seconds, however. 
 The Pensioner walked boldly up to the side of the carriage, 
 and said — ■ 
 
 " What is it you will want wis sa Minister's niece ? " 
 
 For reply* he got a handful of raisins and almonds tossed 
 into his face ; and then, with another shriek of laughter, 
 in which her companion joined, the woman called aloud to 
 her coachman — 
 
 " Drive on to Earlshope." 
 
 " To Earlshope ! " whispered the villagers among them- 
 selves ; and then they looked at Coquette, who, pale and 
 yet apparently self-possessed, had crossed into the path 
 with Leezibeth, and was already walking slowly towards 
 the church. 
 
 For an instant or two the Pensioner stood looking at 
 the retreating carriage, his whole frame trembling with 
 rage at the insult he had received. Of the rapid Gaelic he 
 uttered there and then it was fortunate the villagers could 
 overhear or understand but little. Then, with a proud 
 and dignified air, he drew up his shoulders, and marched in 
 military fashion after Coquette, whom he overtook. 
 
 " Earlshope ! Earlshope ! " said the old man, puffing and 
 snorting with indignation. " It will be no Earlshope she 
 will see sa day. Oh, I will know all apout it. We wass 
 warned — and when his lordship did ride away this 
 morning, his last words was apout this leddy that might be 
 for coming to look at sa house." 
 
AN APPARITION, 291 
 
 " Was Lord Earlshope here this morning ? " said 
 Coquette, quickly. 
 
 The Pensioner was startled to find what he had done. 
 In his indignation, he had told not only what he knew 
 himself, but also that which had been given him as a 
 profound secret by the housekeeper. Never in his life 
 before had he been so indiscreet ; and in his perplexity and 
 consternation he made wild and desperate efforts to recover 
 the ownership of these mysteries. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " he said, hurriedly, and with every token 
 of vexation. " It will pe all nonsense that sa woman has 
 put into my head. His lordship at Earlshope ? He 
 hassna been sare for many and many's sa day, as sure as I 
 will pe porn ! " 
 
 The Pensioner gave this last assurance with a downcast 
 head and in a sort of anxious whisper ; for they were now 
 near the church door, where outspoken lies might be 
 dangerous cattle to deal with. Coquette's calm eyes 
 looked at the old man, and saw his perturbation. She 
 perceived that he had unintentionally revealed a secret. 
 Lord Earlshope had left the neighbourhood only that 
 morning ; and with that, and this wild escapade of his wife, 
 to think over — even if she had nothing of her own to 
 trouble her mind — she entered the small building. For a 
 moment she could not help reflecting that if, instead of 
 listening to the harsh psalm-singing, she could have gone 
 away and knelt down all by herself in one of the small, 
 twilight recesses in a certain little chapel on the Loire, she 
 would have been happy. It would have been to her like 
 bendinsr down once more at her mother's knee. 
 
 CHAPTER XLYIII. 
 
 EARLSHOPE IS INVADED. 
 
 Me an while the carriage had been driven to the gates 
 of Earlshope. The lodgekeeper came out, and naturally 
 opened the gates, although sufficiently surprised to see 
 anybody arrive at such a time. When, at last, the landau 
 arrived at the house, the occupants alighted. The house- 
 
 u 2 
 
292 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 keeper was already standing there, in front of the open 
 door, glaring defiance. 
 
 The first of the two women walked up the stone steps in a 
 slow and pompous fashion, and, with an air of mock-heroic 
 gravity, produced a card, on which was printed Mrs. Smith 
 Arnold. 
 
 " 'Deed no ! " said the housekeeper, rather incoherently. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold looked at her companion, and shrugged her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " My good woman, I suppose you can't read. That is 
 not a begging letter. It is a card. I have the permission 
 of Lord Earlshope to look over the house : I don't mean 
 to steal anything, but you may come with us wherever we 
 go, if you please." 
 
 The housekeeper began to wax warm. 
 
 " Canna read ! I can read weel aneugh ; and what I 
 say is, that not one step into this house will ye gang the 
 day, his lordship's permission or no permission." 
 
 " What do you mean, woman ? " said Mrs. Arnold, with 
 an assumption of haughtiness. 
 
 " I mean what I say," said the Scotchwoman, doggedly. 
 " And I havena been kept frae the kirk a' for nothing, as 
 ye'll find out, gin ye attempt ony o' your fine airs wi' me." 
 
 These latter words were spoken rather hotly ; and both 
 the women who stood before her looked surprised. How- 
 ever, the so-called Mrs. Arnold picked up some temper, and 
 merely exclaiming — " Oh, the creature's mad ! " brushed 
 past into the house, along with her companion. Lord 
 Earlshope's plenipotentiary was at once stupefied and 
 powerless. In order to avoid a public scandal on the 
 Sabbath morning, she had sent the other servants to 
 church, confident that her own authority would be sufficient 
 to repulse any casual visitor. Now she found the house 
 invaded by two strange women, and she was placed in an 
 awkward dilemma. If she went through the house with 
 them, she would condone their offence, and be unable to 
 eject them ; if she went for help to the lodge, they, in the 
 meantime, might pillage and plunder in every direction. 
 Eventually, after a moment of incensed hesitation, she 
 followed them. 
 
 And gradually she perceived that they were not thieves. 
 
EARLSHOPE IS INVADED. 293 
 
 Indeed, Mrs. Smith Arnold betrayed a singular acquaintance 
 with many objects in the house, particularly in a small 
 drawing-room or morning-room which Lord Earlshope was 
 scarcely ever known to enter. 
 
 " But where is my portrait ? " she said. 
 
 " Your portrait ! repeated the housekeeper, with all her 
 indignation welling up again. 
 
 " Woman, you are an ass — a microcephalous idiot in fact ; 
 but you don't know it, and it is no matter. He might 
 have brought my portrait here ; it is a dull hole, and it 
 might have cheered him. And this is the place he used to 
 talk about with something like rapture ! Good heavens ! 
 it is dismal as a church. Look at the deserted country and 
 the bare shore and the black sea. What's the name of 
 those mountains over there ? " 
 
 " Ye had better ask them," said the housekeeper, " since 
 ye can make free enough to come into a strange house, and 
 talk as if everything belonged to ye ! " 
 
 " And so it does — so it does ; that is the joke of it. 
 You would understand it if you were not such an ass, my 
 good w T oman ; but I am afraid you are a very stupid 
 person." 
 
 " Are ye going to leave this house ? " said the house- 
 keeper, in a blaze of anger. 
 
 But the temper of the housekeeper was nothing to the 
 sudden passion that shot into the black eyes of this woman, 
 as she said — ■ 
 
 " Don't talk to me ! I tell you, don't talk to me, or 
 I will dash a bottle of vitriol in your face, and blind 
 you, blind you, blind you ! " 
 
 Then she burst into an ironical lauo:h. 
 
 " What a fool you are — an ass— an idiot ! You haven't 
 got the brains of a slow-worm. My good woman, believe' 
 me, you are an ass ! " 
 
 She began to turn over the things on the table — books, 
 photographs, cards, and what not. The housekeeper started 
 and listened. There was a sound of footsteps on the stair. 
 In a minute or two, the Pensioner made his appearance at 
 the door, tall and erect. 
 
 At the sight of this ally, all the housekeeper's courage and 
 anger returned. She denounced the strangers as thieves 
 
294 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 and pick-pockets. She appealed to the Pensioner to help her. 
 She conjured him to turn them out of the house. 
 
 " Sat is what I will do," observed Neil, advancing calmly, 
 with the sort of deferential and yet firm air of the private 
 soldier. 
 
 " Please, mem, will ye go, or will I pit ye out o' sa 
 house ? " 
 
 " Lay a finger on me, and I will set fire to the place, and 
 burn you and it into cinders. Savages that you are — and 
 idiots ! " 
 
 " You will say what you please," observed Neil, who pro- 
 bably considered these phrases as rather feeble when com- 
 pared with some that he knew in his native tongue ; " but I 
 mean to put ye both out o' sa house. I will not strike you 
 — Cootness knaws ; but I will jist tek ye up, one by one, 
 and carry ye down sa stairs, and out into sa gairden, and 
 leave ye there. Will ye go, or will ye not go ? " 
 
 " Do you know who I am, you idiot ? " cried the woman, 
 with her face grown purple with passion. 
 
 Her companion laid her hand on her arm ; she shook 
 her off. 
 
 " I do not care," said the Pensioner. 
 
 " I am Lady Earlshope, you ignorant brutes and beasts ! " 
 she cried. " And I will have every one of you starved until 
 a crow would not pick your eyes out, and I'll have you 
 whipped, and starved, you ignorant hounds ! " 
 
 " Lady Earlshope ! " said the housekeeper, rather falling 
 back. 
 
 The quieter of the two women again interposed and 
 endeavoured to pacify her companion. She, indeed, seemed 
 rather frightened. Eventually, however, she managed to 
 get her infuriated mistress coaxed out of the room and down 
 the stair ; and as they were descending they nearly stumbled 
 over a third person — the lodgekeeper, who, fancying that 
 there was something amiss, had come along out of curiosity. 
 
 " Who are you ? " she asked. " Oh, I remember. I 
 suppose you have been listening. Well, you can go and tell 
 your babbling neighbours of the reception Lady Earlshope 
 met with in her own house." 
 
 And that is precisely what the man did. He had over- 
 heard much of the stormy scene in the drawing-room, and, 
 
EARLSHOPE IS INVADED. 295 
 
 being -of a prudent disposition, did not wish to have 
 anything to do with it. When the carriage drove off, 
 he went quietly back to the lodge, leaving the housekeeper 
 and the Pensioner under the delusion that they alone knew 
 the relationship of this woman to Lord Earlshope. But the 
 lodgekeeper revealed the secret, in an awe-stricken way, 
 to his wife ; who whispered it, in profound confidence, to 
 one of the female servants ; who subsequently told it to her 
 mother in the village. 
 
 There it ran the round, with such exaggerations and 
 comments as may be imagined ; and if Coquette had been 
 looked on rather askance from the moment of her coming to 
 Airlie, this news placed her under the ban of a definite sus- 
 picion, and even horror. What were her relations with the 
 drunken and passionate woman who had accosted her, in the 
 open face of day, on that memorable Sabbath morning ? 
 What was the meaning of her intimacy with Lord Earlshope, 
 and the cause of his visits to the Manse ever since she had 
 come to live there ? 
 
 Even the children caught the fever of distrust, and 
 avoided Coquette. That would have been a bitter thing for 
 her to bear, had she noticed it ; but she was perhaps too 
 much occupied then with her own sad thoughts. Nor was 
 the Minister aware that his own conduct in harbouring this 
 girl was forming the subject of serious remark in the village. 
 The excuses made for him were in themselves accusations. 
 He was withdrawn from worldly affairs. He was engrossed 
 in his books. He was liable to be imposed on. All this 
 was said ; but none the less was it felt that the duty of 
 looking sharply after the conduct of his household and the 
 persons around hinvwas specially incumbent on one whose 
 business it was to "see narrowly to the interests of the 
 Church, and set an example to his Christian brethren. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 coquette's soxg. 
 
 For a long period Coquette's life at Airlie was so uneventful 
 that it may be dismissed with the briefest notice. It seemed 
 to her that she had passed through that season of youth and 
 
296 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 springtime when romance and love and anticipation ought 
 to colour for a brief while the atmosphere round a human 
 existence as if with rainbows. That was all over — if, 
 indeed, it had ever occurred to her. There was now but a 
 sad, grey monotony ; a going by of the weeks and months 
 in this remote moorland place, where the people seemed 
 hard, unimpressionable, unfriendly. She began to acquire 
 notions of duty. She began to devise charitable occupa- 
 tions for herself. She even began various studies which 
 could never by any chance be of use to her. And she 
 grew almost to love the slow, melancholy droning by the 
 old Scotch folk of those desolating passages in the Prophets 
 which told of woe and wrath and the swift end of things, or 
 which, still more appropriately, dealt with the vanity of life, 
 and the shortness of man's days. 
 
 The Whaup would sometimes talk of marriage — she put it 
 farther and farther off. He seldom indeed came to Airlie ; 
 his hospital-work kept him busy ; and he was eagerly look- 
 ing forward to the junior partnership that Dr. Menzies had 
 promised him. But on one of these rare visits he said to his 
 cousin — • 
 
 " Coquette, you are growing very like a Scotch girl." 
 
 " Why ? " she asked. 
 
 " In manner, I mean ; not in appearance. You are not as 
 demonstrative as you used to be. You appear more settled, 
 prosaic, matter-of-fact. You have lost all your old childish 
 caprices ; and you no longer appear to be so pleased with 
 every little thing that happens. You are much graver than 
 you used to be." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " she said, absently. 
 
 " But when we are married I mean to take you away from 
 this slow place, and introduce you to lots of pleasant people, 
 and brighten you up into the old Coquette." 
 
 " I am very content to be here," she said, quietly. 
 
 " Content ! Is that all you ask for ? Content ! I suppose 
 a nun is content with a stone cell eight feet square. But 
 you were not intended to be content ; you must be 
 delighted, and you shall be delighted. Coquette, you never 
 laugh now ! " 
 
 " And you," she said, " you are grown much serious too." 
 
 " Oh, well," he said, " I have such a deal to think about. 
 
COQUETTES SONG. 297 
 
 One has to drop robbing people's gardens some day or 
 other." 
 
 " I have some things to think about also," she said — " not 
 always to make me laugh." 
 
 " What troubles you, then, Coquette ? " he demanded 
 gently. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot be asked questions, and questions always," 
 she said, with a trace of fretful impatience, which was a 
 startling surprise to him. " I have much to do in the 
 village, with the children — and the parents, they do seem 
 afraid of me." 
 
 The "Whaup regarded her silently, with rather a pained 
 look in his face ; and then she, looking up, seemed to 
 become aware that she had spoken harshly. She put her 
 hand on his hand, and said — 
 
 " You must not be angry with me, Tom. I do often find 
 myself getting vexed, I do not know why ; and I ask myself, 
 if I do stay long enough at Airlie, whether I shall become 
 like Leezibeth and her husband." , 
 
 " You shall not stay long enough to try," said the Whaup, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Then he went away up to Glasgow, determined to work 
 day and night to achieve his dearest hopes. Sometimes he 
 reflected, when he heard his fellow T -students tell of their gay 
 adventures with their sweethearts, that his sweetheart, in 
 bidding him good-bye, had never given him one kiss. And 
 on each occasion that he went down to Airlie, Coquette 
 seemed to him to be growing more and more like the beau- 
 tiful and sad Madonnas of early Italian art, and he scarce 
 dared to think of kissing her. 
 
 So the days went by, and the slow, humdrum life of 
 Airlie crept through the seasons, bringing the people a little 
 nearer to the churchyard up on the moor that had received 
 their fathers and their forefathers. The Minister worked 
 away with a patient earnestness at his Concordance to the 
 Psalms ; and had the pride of a young author in thinking 
 of its becoming a real, bound book with the opening of the 
 new year. Coquette went systematically and gravely about 
 Jier charitable works in the village, and took no notice of 
 the ill-favour with which her efforts were regarded. All 
 that summer and winter Earlshope remained empty. 
 
298 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 One evening, in the beginning of the new year, Mr. 
 Gillespie the Schoolmaster came up to the Manse, and was 
 admitted into the study, where Coquette and her uncle sat 
 together, busy with an array of proof-sheets. The School- 
 master had a communication to make. Mr. Cassilis, 
 enjoying the strange excitement and responsibility of 
 correcting the sheets of a work which would afterwards 
 bear his name, was forced to beg the Schoolmaster to be 
 brief ; and he, thus goaded, informed them, after a short 
 preamble, that Earlshope was to be sold. 
 
 The Schoolmaster was pleased with the surprise which 
 his news produced. Indeed, he had come resolved to watch 
 the effect of these tidings upon the Minister's niece, so that 
 he might satisfy his mind of her being in secret collusion 
 with the young Lord of Earlshope ; and he now glared at 
 her through his gold spectacles. She had started on hearing 
 the intelligence — so that she was evidently unacquainted 
 with it ; and yet she showed no symptoms of regret over 
 an event which clearly betokened Lord Earlshope's final 
 withdrawal from the country. 
 
 "A strange, even an unaccountable thing, it may be 
 termed," observed the Schoolmaster, "inasmuch as his 
 lordship was no spendthrift, and had surely as much as 
 could satisfy all his wants or necessities, as one might say. 
 Yet he has aye been a singular young man — which may have 
 been owing, or caused by, certain circumstances, or relation- 
 ships of which you have doubtless heard, Mr. Cassilis." 
 
 "I have heard too much of the vain talking of the 
 neighbourhood about his lordship and his affairs," said the 
 Minister, impatiently turning to his proofs. 
 
 "I will venture to say, Mr. Cassilis," remarked the 
 Schoolmaster, who was somewhat nettled, "that it is no 
 vain talking, as no one has been heard to deny that he is a 
 married man." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the Minister, looking up. " Of what 
 concern is it to either you or me, Mr. Gillespie, whether he 
 is a married man or not ? " 
 
 The Schoolmaster was rather stunned. He looked at 
 Coquette. She sat apparently unimpressionable and still. 
 He heaved a sigh, and shook his head ; and then he rose. 
 
 "It is the duty o' a Christian — which I humbly hope 
 
COQUETTE'S SONG. 299 
 
 that I am, sir, — no' to think ill of his neighbours ; but I 
 confess, Mr. Cassilis, ye go forward a length in that airt, or 
 direction, I might term it rather, which is surprising." 
 
 The Minister rose also. 
 
 " Let me see you through the passage, Mr. Gillespie, 
 which is dark at these times. I do not claim for myself, 
 however, any especial charity in this matter ; for I would 
 observe that it is not always to a man's disfavour to believe 
 him married." 
 
 As the passage was in reality exceedingly dark, the 
 Schoolmaster could not tell whether there was in the 
 Minister's eye a certain humorous twinkle which he had 
 sometimes observed there, and which, to tell the truth, he 
 did not particularly like, for it generally accompanied a 
 severe rebuke. However, the Schoolmaster had done his 
 duty. The Minister was warned ; and if any of his house- 
 hold were led astray, the village of Airlie could wash its 
 hands of the matter. 
 
 At last there came people to make Earlshope ready for 
 the auctioneer's hammer : and then there was a great sale, 
 and the big house was gutted and shut up. But neither it 
 nor the estate was sold ; though strangers came from time 
 to time to look at both. 
 
 Once more the still moorland neighbourhood returned to 
 its quiet ways ; and Coquette went the round of her simple 
 duties, lessening day by day the vague prejudice which had 
 somehow been stirred up against her. It was with no such 
 intention, certainly, that she laboured ; it was enough if 
 the days passed, and if the Whaup were content to cease 
 writing for a definite answer about that marriage which 
 was yet far away in the future. Leezibeth looked on this 
 new phase of the girl's character with an esteem and 
 approval tempered by something like awe. She could not 
 tell what had taken away from her all the old gaiety, and 
 wilfulness, and carelessness. Strangely enough, too, Leezi- 
 beth was less her confidante now ; and on the few occasions 
 that Lady Drum came over to Airlie, the old lady was 
 surprised to find Coquette grown almost distant and reserved 
 in manner. Indeed, the girl was as much alone there as if 
 she had been afloat on a raft at sea. All hope of change, 
 of excitement, of pleasure, seemed to have left her. She 
 
300 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 seldom opened the piano ; and, when she did, " Drumclog " 
 was no longer a martial air, but a plaintive wail of grief. 
 
 Perhaps, of all the people around her, the one that 
 noticed most of her low spirits was the Whaup's young 
 brother Dugald, of whom she had made a sort of pet. Yery 
 often she took him with her on her missions into the 
 village, or her walks into the country round. And one day, 
 as they were sitting on the moor, she said to him — 
 
 " I suppose you never heard of an old German song that 
 is very strange and sad ? I wonder if I can remember the 
 words and repeat them to you. They are something like this — 
 
 Three horsemen rode out to the gate of the town : Good-bye ! 
 Fine-Sweetheart, she looked from her window down: Good-bye! 
 And if ill fate such grief must bring 
 Then reach me hither your golden ring! 
 Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 
 Ah, parting wounds so bitterly ! 
 
 And it is Death that parts us so: Good-bye! 
 Many a rose-red maiden must go : Good-bye ! 
 He sunders many a man from wife : 
 They knew how happy a thing was life. 
 Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 
 Ah, parting wouuds so bitterly ! 
 
 He steals the infant out of its bed : Good-bye ! 
 And when shall I see my nut-brown maid ? Good-bye ! 
 It is not to-morrow : ah, were it to-day, 
 There are two that I know that woulel be gay ! 
 Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 
 Ah, parting wounds so bitterly ! 
 
 " What does it mean ? " asked the boy. 
 " I think it means," said Coquette, looking away over the 
 moor, " that everybody in the world is miserable." 
 " And are you miserable, too ? " he asked. 
 " Not more than others, I suppose," said Coquette. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 COQUETTE FORSAKES HER FRIENDS. 
 
 The dull, grey atmosphere that thus hung over Coquette's 
 life was about to be pierced by a lightning-flash. 
 
 Two years had passed away in a quiet, monotonous 
 
COQUETTE FORSAKES HER FRIENDS. 301 
 
 fashion ; and very little had happened during that time to 
 the people about Airlie. The Minister, it is true, had 
 published his Concordance to the Psalms ; and not only 
 had he received various friendly and congratulatory letters 
 about it from clergymen standing high in the estimation of 
 the world, but notice had been taken of the work in the 
 public prints, and that in a manner to fill the old man's 
 heart with secret joy. Coquette cut out those paragraphs 
 which were laudatory (suppressing ruthlessly those which 
 were not) and placed them in a book. Indeed, she 
 managed the whole business ; and, especially in the 
 monetary portion of it, insisted on keeping her negotiations 
 with the publishers a profound secret. 
 
 " It is something for me to do, uncle," she said. 
 
 " And you have done it very well, Catherine," said the 
 Minister. "I am fair surprised to see what a goodly 
 volume it has turned out — the smooth paper — the clear 
 printing : it is altogether what I would call a presentable 
 book." 
 
 The Minister would have been less surprised had he 
 known the reckless fashion in which Coquette had given 
 instructions to the publishers, and the amount of money 
 she subsequently and surreptitiously and cheerfully paid. 
 
 " There are newspapers," said the Minister, " which 
 they tell me deal in a light and profane fashion wi' religious 
 matters. I hope the editors will read my Concordance 
 carefully, before writing of it in their journals." 
 
 " I do not think it is the editor who writes about books," 
 remarked Coquette. " An editor of a Nantes newspaper 
 did use to come to our house, and I remember his saying to 
 my papa, that he gave books to his writers who could do 
 nothing else ; so you must not be surprised if they do make 
 mistakes. As for him, uncle, I am sure he did not know 
 who wrote the Psalms." 
 
 " Very likely — very likely," said the Minister. " But the 
 editors of our newspapers are a different class of men, for 
 they write for a religious nation and must be acquainted wi' 
 such things. The Schoolmaster thinks I ought to write to 
 the editors, and beg them to read the book wi 1 care." 
 
 " I wouldn't do that, uncle, if I were you," said Coquette ; 
 and somehow or other, the Minister had of late got into 
 
302 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 such a habit of consulting and obeying Coquette that her 
 simple expression of opinion sufficed, and he did not write 
 to any editor. 
 
 At times during that long period, but not often, the 
 Whaup came down to Airlie, and stayed from the Saturday 
 to the Monday morning. The anxious and troubled way in 
 which Coquette put aside any reference to their future 
 marriage struck him painfully ; but for the present he was 
 content to be almost silent. There was no use, he reflected, 
 in talking about this matter until he could definitely say to 
 her, " Come, and be my wife." He had no right to press 
 her to give any more definite promise than she had already 
 given, when he himself was uncertain as to time. But, 
 even now, he saw at no great distance ahead the fortunate 
 moment when he could formally claim Coquette as his bride. 
 Every day that he rose, he knew himself a d;iy nearer to the 
 time when he should go down to Airlie and carry off with 
 him Coquette to be the wonder of all his friends in 
 Glasgow. 
 
 Sometimes, as he looked at Coquette, he felt rather 
 anxious ; and wished that the days could pass more quickly. 
 
 "Iain afraid the dulness of this place is weighing very 
 heavily on you, Coquette," he said to her one Saturday 
 afternoon that he had got down. 
 
 • " You do say that often to me," she said, " and I find 
 you looking at me as if you were a doctor. Yet I am not 
 ill. It is true, I think that I am becoming Scotch, as you 
 said once long ago ; and all your Scotch people at Airlie 
 seem to me sad and resigned in their faces. That is no 
 harm, is it ? " 
 
 " But why should you be sad and resigned ? " 
 
 " I do catch it as an infection from the others," she said 
 with a smile. 
 
 Yet he was not satisfied ; and he went back to Glasgow 
 more impatient than ever. 
 
 " For," he said to himself, " once I can go and ask her to 
 fulfil her promise, there will be a chance of breaking this 
 depressing calm that has settled on her. I will take her 
 away from Airlie. I will get three months' holidays, and 
 take her down to see the Loire, and then along to 
 Marseilles, and then on to Italy, and then back through 
 
COQUETTE FORSAKES HER FRIENDS. 303 
 
 Switzerland. And only think of Coquette being always 
 with me ; and my having to order breakfast for her ; 
 and see that the wine is always quite sound and good for 
 her ; and see that she is wrapped up against the cold ; and to 
 listen always to her sweet voice, and the broken English, 
 and the little perplexed stammer now and again — isn't that 
 something to work for ? Hurry 011, days, and weeks, and 
 months, and bring Coquette to me ! " 
 
 So the time went by, and Coquette had no news of Lord 
 Earlshope — there was not even the mention of his name. 
 But one dull morning in March, she was walking by herself 
 over the moor ; and suddenly she heard on the gravel of the 
 path in front of her a quick footstep that she seemed to 
 recognise. Her heart stood still, and for a second she felt 
 faint and giddy. Then, without ever lifting her head, she 
 endeavoured to turn aside and avoid him. 
 
 " Won't you even speak to me, Coquette ? " 
 
 The sound of his voice made the blood spring hotly to 
 her face again, and recalled the beating of her heart ; but 
 still she remained immovable. And then she answered, in 
 a low voice — 
 
 " Yes, I will speak to you if you wish." 
 
 He came nearer to her — his own face quite pale — and 
 said — ■ 
 
 " I am glad you have nearly forgotten me, Coquette ; I 
 came to see. I heard that you looked very sad, and went 
 about alone much, and were pale ; but I would rather hear 
 you tell me, Coquette, that it is all a mistake." 
 
 " I have not forgotten anything," said Coquette. 
 
 " Nothing ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all." 
 
 " Coquette," he cried, coming quite close to her, " tell 
 me this — once for all — have you forgotten nothing as I 
 have forgotten nothing ? — do you love me as if we had just 
 parted yesterday ? — has all this time done nothing for 
 either of us ? " 
 
 She looked round, wildly, as if seeking some means of 
 escape ; and then, with a sort of shudder, she found his 
 arms round her as in the olden time, and she was saying, 
 almost incoherently — 
 
 " Oh, my dearest, my dearest, I love you more than ever 
 
3^4 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 — night and day I have never ceased to think of you — and 
 now — now my only wish is to die — here, with your arms 
 round me ! " 
 
 " Listen, Coquette, listen ! " he said. " Do you know 
 what I have done ? A ship passes here in the morning for 
 America : I have taken two berths in it, for you and for 
 me : to-morrow we shall be sailing away to a new world, 
 and leaving all those troubles behind us. Do you hear me, 
 Coquette ? " 
 
 The girl trembled violently : her face was hidden. 
 
 "You remember that woman," he said, hurriedly. 
 " Nothing has been heard of her for two years. I have 
 sought everywhere for her. She must be dead. And so, 
 Coquette, you know, we shall be married when we get 
 out there ; and perhaps in after years we may return to 
 Airlie. But now, Coquette, this is what you must do ; the 
 Caroline will be waiting off Saltcoats to-night ; you must 
 go down by yourself ; and I will tell you how to have 
 the gig come for you. And then we are to intercept the 
 ship, darling ; and to-morrow you will have turned your 
 face to a new world, and will soon forget this old one, that 
 was so cruel to you. What do you say, Coquette ? " 
 
 " Oh, I cannot, I cannot ! " murmured the girl. " What 
 will become of my uncle ? " 
 
 "Your uncle is an old man. He would have been as 
 lonely if you had never come to Airlie, Coquette ; and we 
 may come back to see him." 
 
 She looked up now, with a white face, into his eyes, and 
 said slowly — 
 
 " You know that if we go away to-night I shall never see 
 him again — nor any one of my friends." 
 
 He shrank somehow from that earnest look ; but none 
 the less he continued his eager and piteous pleadings. 
 " What are friends to you, Coquette ? " he said. " They 
 cannot make you happy." 
 
 It was but a little while thereafter that Coquette was on 
 her way back to the Manse, alone. She had promised to 
 go down to Saltcoats that night, and she had sealed her sin 
 with a kiss. 
 
 She scarcely knew what she had done ; and yet there was 
 a dreadful consciousness of some impending evil pressing 
 
COQUETTE FORSAKES HER FRIENDS. 305 
 
 upon her heart. Her eyes were fixed on the ground as 
 she went along ; and yet it seemed to her that she knew 
 the dark clouds were glowing with a fiery crimson, and 
 that there was a light as of sunset glaring over the moor. 
 Then, so still it was ! She grew afraid that in this fearful 
 silence she should hear a voice speaking to her from the sky 
 that appeared to be close over her head. 
 
 Guilty and trembling she drew near to the Manse ; and, 
 seeing the Minister coming out of the gate, she managed to 
 avoid him, and stole like a culprit up to her own room. 
 The first thing that met her eyes was a locket containing a 
 portrait of her mother. She took it up, and placed it in a 
 drawer, along with a crucifix and some religious books to 
 which Leezibeth had objected. She put it beside them 
 reverently and sadly — as though she knew she never dared 
 touch them any more. And then she sat down, and buried 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 She was unusually and tenderly attentive to her uncle 
 at dinner-time ; and in answer to his inquiries why she 
 scarcely ate anything, she said that she had taken her 
 accustomed biscuit and glass of port wine — which Dr. 
 Menzies had recommended — later than usual. The answer 
 did not quite satisfy the Minister. 
 
 " We must have Lady Drum to take ye away for a 
 change," he said, " some o' these days." 
 
 When she had brought her uncle the silk handkerchief 
 with which he generally covered his face in anticipation of 
 his after-dinner nap, Coquette went upstairs, and placed a 
 few odd things in a small reticule. She came downstairs 
 again, and waited patiently until tea was over, and the boys 
 sent off to prepare their lessons for the next day. 
 
 Then Coquette, having put on her shawl and hat, stole 
 out of the house, and through the small garden. She 
 looked neither to the right nor to the left. Of all the 
 troubles she had experienced in life, the bitterest was 
 nothing in comparison to the ghastly sense of guilt that 
 now crushed her down. She knew that in leaving the 
 Manse she was leaving behind her all the sweet conscious- 
 ness of rectitude, the purity and innocence which had 
 enabled her to meet trials with a courageous heart. She 
 was leaving behind her the treasure of a stainless name, the 
 
 x 
 
306 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 crown of womanhood. She was leaving behind her her 
 friends, who would have to share her shame, who would 
 have to face on her behalf the cruel tongues of the world. 
 She was leaving behind her even the treasured memories of 
 her mother — for Heaven itself would be closed against her, 
 and she would be an exile from all that a pure and true 
 woman could hold dear. 
 
 There were no tears in her eyes ; but there was a cold, 
 dead feeling at her heart ; and she trembled at the slight 
 sound she made in closing the gate. 
 
 What a strange, wild evening it was, as she got outside, 
 and turned to cross the moor over to the west. Through 
 a fierce glare of sunset, she could see that all along the 
 horizon there stood a wall of dense and mysterious blue 
 cloud. Underneath this the sea lay black ; the wind had 
 not stirred the waves into breaking ; and she could only 
 tell that the great dark plain moved in lines and lines, as 
 if it were silently brooding over the secrets down in its 
 depths. But above this dense wall of cloud flared the wild 
 light of the sunset, with long fierce dashes of scarlet and 
 gold ; while across the blaze of yellow there drifted streaks 
 of pure silver, showing the coming of a storm. Up here on 
 the moor, the stretches of dry grey grass which alternated 
 with brown patches of heather had, as it were, caught fire ; 
 and the blowing and gusty light of the west burned along 
 those bleak slopes until the eye w T as dazzled and pained 
 by the glow. Even in the far east the clouds had a blush of 
 pink over them, w T ith rifts of green sky between ; and the 
 dark fir woods that lay along the horizon seemed to dwell 
 within a veil of crimson mist. 
 
 There was a strange stillness around, despite the fact that 
 the wind was sufficient to move the flaming clouds hither 
 and thither, causing now this and now that stretch of the 
 grey moor to burn red under the shifting evening sky. 
 There was quite an unusual silence, indeed. The birds 
 seemed to have grown mute ; not even the late blackbird 
 sang in the hawthorn bushes by the side of the moorland 
 stream. Coquette hurried on, without letting her eyes 
 wander this way or that ; there was something in the 
 appearance of the moor and in the wild light that alarmed 
 her. 
 
COQUETTE FORSAKES HER FRIENDS. 307 
 
 Suddenly she was confronted by some one ; and, look- 
 ing up with a stifled cry, she found the Pensioner before 
 her. 
 
 " I hope I hefna frichtened ye, Miss Cassilis," he said. 
 
 " No," said Coquette. " But I did not expect to meet 
 any one." 
 
 " Ye will pe going on a vcesit ; but do not go far, for it 
 iss a stormy-looking nicht, and you will maybe get ferry wet 
 before sat you will be home again." 
 
 " Thank you. Good-night," said Coquette. 
 
 " Good-night," said the Pensioner. 
 
 Then he turned, and said, before she was out of hearing — ■ 
 
 " Miss Cassilis, maype now you will know if his lordship iss 
 never coming back to Earlshope any more, not even if he 
 will pe unable to let sa house ? " 
 
 " How should I know ? " said Coquette, suddenly struck 
 motionless by the question. 
 
 " Oh, indeed, now," said the Pensioner, in a tone of 
 apology. " It wass only that some 0' the neebors wass seeing 
 you speaking to Lord Earlshope this morning, and I wass 
 thinking that very likely he wass coming back to his own 
 house." 
 
 " I know nothing about it," said Coquette, hurrying on, 
 with her heart overburdened with anguish and dread. 
 
 For now she knew that all the people would learn why she 
 had run away from her uncle's house ; and they would carry 
 to the old man the story of their having seen her talking to 
 Lord Earlshope. But for that, the Minister might have 
 thought her drowned or perished in some way. That was all 
 over; and her shame would be publicly known; and he 
 would have to bear it in his old age. 
 
 Down at the end of the moor, she turned to take a last 
 look at the Manse. Far up on the height, the windows of 
 the small building were twinkling like gleaming rubies ; the 
 gable and the wall round the garden were of a dusky red 
 colour ; overhead the sky was a pure, clear green, and the 
 white sickle of a new moon was faintly visible. Never before 
 had Airlie Manse seemed to her so lovable a place — so still, 
 and quiet, and peaceful. And when she thought of the old 
 man who had been like a father to her, she could see no 
 more through the tears that came welling up into her eyes, 
 
 X '2 
 
308 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 and she turned and continued on her way with many bitter 
 sobs. 
 
 The wind had grown chill. The wall of cloud was slowly 
 rising in the west, until it had shut off half of the glowing 
 colours of the sunset ; and the evening was becoming rapidly 
 darker. Then it seemed to Coquette that the black plain of 
 the sea was getting strangely close to her ; and she began to 
 grow afraid of the gathering gloom. 
 
 " Why did he not come to meet me ? " she murmured to 
 herself. " I have no courage — no hope — when he is not 
 near." 
 
 It grew still darker ; and yet she could not hurry her 
 steps, for she trembled much, and was like to become faint. 
 She had vague thoughts of returning ; and yet she went on 
 mechanically, as if she had cast the die of her fate, and 
 could be no more what she was. 
 
 Then the first shock of the storm fell — fell with a crash 
 on the fir woods, and tore through them with a voice of 
 thunder. All over now the sky was black ; and there was a 
 whirlwind whitening the sea, the cry of which could be 
 heard far out beyond the land. Presently came the rain in 
 wild, fierce torrents that blew about the wet fields and raised 
 channels of water in the roads. Coquette had no covering 
 of any sort. In a few minutes she was drenched ; and yet 
 she did not seem to care. She only staggered on blindly, in 
 the frantic hope of reaching Saltcoats before the night fell. 
 She would not go to meet Lord Earlshope. She w r ould creep 
 into some hovel ; and then, in the morning, send a message 
 of repentance to her uncle ; and go away somewhere ; and 
 never see any more the relations and friends whom she had 
 betrayed and disgraced. 
 
 Nevertheless, she still went recklessly on, her eyes con- 
 fused by the rain, her brain a prey to wild and despairing 
 thoughts. 
 
 The storm grew in intensity. The roar of the heavy surf 
 could now be heard far over the cry of the wind ; and the 
 rain-clouds came across the sea in huge masses, and were 
 blown down upon the land in hissing torrents. And still 
 Coquette struggled on. 
 
 At last she saw before her the lights of Saltcoats. But 
 the orange points seemed to dance before her eyes. There 
 
COQUETTE FORSAKES HER FRIENDS. 309 
 
 was a burning in her head. And then, with a faint cry of 
 " Uncle, uncle ! " she sank down by the roadside. 
 
 Almost at the same moment there was a sound of wheels. 
 A waggonette was stopped just in front of her, and a man 
 jumped down. 
 
 " What is the matter wi' ye, my lass ? Bless me, is it you, 
 Miss Cassilis ! " 
 
 The girl was quite insensible, however ; and the man, who 
 happened to know Miss;Cassilis, lost no time in carrying her 
 to the waggonette, and driving her to his own house, which 
 was but a few hundred yards farther on, at the entrance to 
 the town. There his wife and one of the servants restored 
 Coquette to consciousness, and had her wet clothes taken off, 
 and herself put to bed. The girl seemed already feverish, if 
 not delirious. 
 
 " But what does she say of herself ? " asked this Mr. 
 M'Henry, when his wife came down. " How did she come 
 to be on the way to Saltcoats a' by herself ? " 
 
 " That I dinna ken," said his wife ; " but the first words 
 she spoke were, * Take me back to Airlie, to my uncle. I 
 will not go to Saltcoats.' " 
 
 " I would send for the Minister," said the husband, " but 
 no human being could win up to Airlie on such a nicht. We 
 will get him down in the morning." 
 
 So Coquette remained in Saltcoats that night. Under 
 Mrs. M'Henry's treatment, the fever abated ; and she lay 
 during the darkness, and listened to the howling of the 
 storm without. Where was Lord Earlshope ? 
 
 " I hope he has gone away by himself to America, and 
 that I will never see him again," she murmured to herself. 
 " But I can never go back to Airlie any more." 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 A SECRET OF THE SEA. 
 
 Next morning there was a great commotion in Saltcoats. 
 Despite the fierce gusts of wind that were still blowing, 
 accompanied by squally showers of rain, numbers of people 
 were out on the long stretch of brown sand lying south of 
 the town. Mischief had been at work on the sea over- 
 
310 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 night. Fragments of barrels, bits of spars, and other 
 evidences of a wreck were being brought in by the waves ; 
 and two smacks had even put out to look around for any 
 larger remains of the lost vessel or vessels. Mr. M'Henry 
 was early abroad ; for he had gone into the town to get a 
 messenger ; and so he heard the news. At last, amid the 
 gossiping of the neighbours, he learned that a lad had just 
 been summoned by a certain Mrs. Kilbride to go up on an 
 errand to Airlie, and he resolved to secure his services to 
 carry the message. 
 
 Eventually, he met the lad on his way to the moorland 
 village ; and then it turned out that the errand was merely 
 to carry a letter to Miss Cassilis, at the Manse. 
 
 " But Miss Cassilis is at my house," said Mr. M'Henry. 
 " Give me the letter, and gang you on to the Manse and ask 
 Mr. Cassilis to come down here." 
 
 So the lad departed, and the letter was taken up and placed 
 on the table where Coquette was to have her breakfast. 
 
 She came down, looking very pale ; and she would give 
 no explanation of how she came to be out on such a night. 
 She thanked them for having sent for her uncle, and sat 
 down at the table, but ate nothing. 
 
 Then she saw the letter, and with a quick, pained flush 
 of colour leaping to her cheeks, she took it up and opened 
 it with trembling fingers. She read these words — 
 
 " Dearest, — I cannot exact from you the sacrifice of your 
 life. Remorse and misery for all the rest of our years 
 would be the penalty to both of us by your going with me 
 to-night, even though you might put a brave face on the 
 matter, and conceal your anguish, I cannot let you suffer 
 that, Coquette. I will leave for America by myself ; and I 
 will never attempt to see you again. That promise I have 
 broken before ; but it will not be broken this time. Good- 
 bye, Coquette. My earnest hope is that you will not come 
 to Saltcoats to-night ; and, in that case, this letter will be 
 forwarded to you in the morning. Forgive me, if you can, 
 for all the suffering I have caused you. I will never forget 
 you, my dearest love, but I will never see England or you 
 
 again. 
 
 " Earlshope." 
 
A SECRET OF THE SEA. 311 
 
 There was almost a look of joy on her face. 
 
 " So I did not vex him," she thought, " by keeping him 
 in anxiety and fear ? And he has conquered too ; and he 
 will think better of himself and of me away over there, for 
 many years to come, if he does not forget all about Airlie." 
 
 But that reference to Airlie recalled the thought of her 
 uncle, and of his meeting with her. As the time drew near 
 for his approach, she became more and more downcast. 
 When, at last, the old man came into the room, where she 
 was sitting alone, her eyes were fixed on the ground, and she 
 dared not raise them. 
 
 He went over to her, and placed his hand on her head. 
 
 " What is all this, Catherine ? Did you miss your way 
 last night ? What made ye go out on such a wild evening, 
 without saying a word to any one ? " 
 
 She replied in a low voice, which was yet studiously 
 distinct — 
 
 " Yesterday afternoon I went away from the Manse, not 
 intending to go back." 
 
 The Minister made a slight gesture as if some twinge had 
 shot across his heart ; and then, looking at her in a sad and 
 grave way, he said — 
 
 " I did not think I had been unkind to you, Catherine." 
 
 This was too much for Coquette.- It broke down the 
 obduracy with which she had been vainly endeavouring to 
 fortify herself ; she fell at the feet of her uncle ; and, 
 with wild tears and sobs, told him all that had happened, 
 and begged him to go away and leave her, for she had 
 become a stranger and an outcast. Stunned as the old 
 man was by these revelations, he forgot to express his sense 
 of her guilt. He saw only before him the daughter of his 
 own brother — a girl who had scarce a friend in the world 
 but himself — and she was at his feet in tears, and shame, 
 and bitter distress. He raised her, and put her head on his 
 breast, and tried to still her sobbing. 
 
 " Catherine," he said, with his own voice broken, " you 
 shall never be an outcast from my house, so long as you 
 care to accept its shelter." 
 
 " But I cannot go back to Airlie — I cannot go back to 
 Airlie ! " she said, almost wildly. " I will not bring 
 disgrace upon you, uncle ; and have the people talk of me, 
 
312 A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. 
 
 and blame you for taking me back. I am going away — I 
 am not fit to go back to Airlie ! You have been very good 
 to me — far better than I deserve ; but I cannot tell you 
 now that I love you for all your kindness to me — 'for now it 
 is a disgrace for me to speak to any one " 
 
 " Hush, Catherine," he said. " It is penitence, not des- 
 pair, that must fill your heart. And the penitent has not to 
 look to man for pardon, nor yet to fear what may be said of 
 him in wrath. They that go elsewhere for forgiveness and 
 comfort have no reason to dread the ill-tongues of their 
 neighbours. * They looked unto Him, and were lightened ; 
 and their faces were not ashamed. This poor man cried, 
 and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his 
 troubles.' Out of all of them, Catherine. You will go 
 back to Airlie with me, my bairn. Perhaps you do not 
 feel at home there yet — three years is not a long time to 
 get accustomed to a new country. I am told ye sometimes 
 cried in thinking about France, just as the Jews in captivity 
 did, when they said, ' By the rivers of Babylon, there we 
 sat down ; yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.' But 
 maybe I have erred in not making the house lichtsome 
 enough for ye. I am an old man ; and the house is dull, 
 perhaps. But if ye will tell me how we can make it 
 pleasanter to ye " 
 
 " Oh, uncle, you are breaking my heart with your kind- 
 ness ! " she sobbed ; " and I deserve none of it — none of it ! " 
 
 It was with great difficulty that the Minister persuaded 
 her to go back with him to the Manse. At length, 
 however, a covered carriage was procured, and Coquette 
 and her uncle were driven up to Airlie. The girl sat now 
 quite silent and impassive ; only when she saw any one of 
 the neighbours coming along the road, she seemed nervously 
 anxious to avoid scrutiny. When they got up to the gate 
 of the Manse, which was open, she walked quietly and 
 sadly by her uncle's side across the bit of garden into the 
 house, and was then for going upstairs by herself. Her 
 uncle prevented her. 
 
 " Ye must come and sit wi' me for a little while, until 
 Leezibeth has got some breakfast ready for ye." 
 
 " I do not want anything to eat," said Coquette ; and 
 she seemed afraid of the sound of her own voice. 
 
A SECRET OF THE SEA, 313 
 
 " Nevertheless," said the Minister, "I would inquire 
 further into this matter, Catherine. It is but proper that 
 I should know what measure of guilt falls upon that young 
 man in endeavouring to wean away a respectable girl from 
 her home and her friends." 
 
 Coquette drew back, with some alarm visible on her face. 
 
 " Uncle, I cannot tell you now. Some other time 
 perhaps ; but not now — not now. And you must not 
 think him guilty, uncle — it is I who am guilty of it all — he 
 is much better than any of you think — and now he is away 
 to America, and no one will defend him if he is accused." 
 
 At the moment that she spoke, Lord Earlshope was 
 beyond the reach of accusation and defence. The Saltcoats 
 people, towards the afternoon, discovered the lid of a chest 
 floating about, and on it was painted in white letters the 
 word Caroline. Later, there came a telegram from Greenock 
 to the effect that during the preceding night the schooner 
 yacht Caroline had been run down and sunk in mid-channel, 
 by a steamer going to Londonderry ; and that, of all on 
 board the yacht, the steamer had been able to pick up only 
 one of the crew. And that same night the news made its 
 way up to Airlie, and circulated through the village, and at 
 length reached the Manse. Other rumours accompanied it. 
 For the moment, no one dared to tell Coquette of what had 
 happened ; but none the less was her flight from the Manse 
 connected with this terrible judgment ; and even Leezibeth, 
 struck dumb with shame and grief, had no word of protest 
 when Andrew finished his warnings and denunciations. 
 
 " There is no healing of thy bruise," said Leezibeth to 
 herself sadly, in thinking of Coquette. " Thy wound is 
 grievous : all that hear the bruit of thee shall clap the 
 hands over thee." 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 CONSENT. 
 
 Sharp and bitter was the talk that ran through Airlie 
 about the Minister's niece ; and Coquette guessed at it ; and 
 shrank away from the people ; and would fain have hidden 
 herself from the light, as one accursed. Now indeed she 
 knew what it was to have a ban placed upon her ; and all 
 
3H A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 the old fearless consciousness of rectitude had gone ; so 
 that she could no longer attempt to win over the people to 
 her by patience, and sweetness, and the charm of her 
 pleasant ways. She had fallen too far in her own esteem ; 
 and Leezibeth began to be alarmed about the effects of 
 that calm and reticent sadness, which had grown to be the 
 normal expression of Coquette's once light and happy face. 
 
 It Avas Leezibeth who unintentionally confirmed the 
 worst surmises of the villagers, by begging the Minister 
 to conceal from Coquette the knowledge of Earlshope's 
 tragic death. The Minister, anxious above all things for 
 the girl's health, consented ; and it then became necessary 
 to impose silence on those who were likely to meet 
 Coquette elsewhere. So it became known that mention of 
 Lord Earlshope was not to be made to this quiet and pale- 
 faced girl, who still, in spite of her sadness, had something 
 of a proud air, and looked at people with dark and troubled 
 eyes, as though she would ask them what they thought 
 of her. 
 
 Whether this policy of silence were advisable or not, it 
 was certainly not very prudent to conceal from the Whaup 
 likewise all intelligence of what had happened. He had 
 heard of Lord Earlshope's death, of course ; and was a 
 little surprised to be asked not to mention the matter in 
 his letters to Coquette ; but, beyond that, he was in 
 complete ignorance of all that had occurred at Airlie. 
 By-and-by however rumours came to him. He began to 
 grow uneasy. Finally, he saw Lady Drum ; and she, 
 seeing the necessity of being explicit, told him everything 
 in as gentle a way as she could. 
 
 "And so," he said, "my cousin is looked upon as an 
 outcast ; and the good people of Airlie say evil things of 
 her ; and I suppose wonder why she dares go into the 
 church ? " • 
 
 Lady Drum made no reply ; he had but described the 
 truth. 
 
 Then the Whaup rose up, like a man, and said — 
 
 " Lady Drum, I am going down to Airlie to get 
 Coquette to marry me ; and I will take her away from 
 there ; and the people may talk then until their rotten 
 tongues drop out." 
 
CONSENT. 315 
 
 Lady Drum rose too, and put her hand on his shoulder, 
 and said gently — 
 
 " If I were a man that is what I would do. Off wi' ye 
 to Airlie directly, and whether, she say yes or no, bring her 
 away wi' ye as your wife. That will mend a great many 
 i natters." 
 
 So the Whaup went down to Airlie ; and all the way in 
 the train his heart was on lire with varied emotions of 
 pity, and anger, and love ; and his brain was busy with 
 plans and schemes. He would have liked another year's 
 preparation, perhaps ; but his position now with regard to 
 Dr. Menzies was fully secured ; and his income, if not a 
 very big one, sufficient for the meantime. And w T hen he 
 arrived at Airlie, and reached the Manse, he made no 
 inquiries of anybody ; he went at once, in his old straight- 
 forward way, into the room where he expected to find 
 Coquette. 
 
 Coquette was alone ; and, when he opened the door, he 
 found her eyes fixed on him. 
 
 " Oh, Coquette, you are ill ! " he said, seizing both her 
 hands and looking into her face. 
 
 " No," she said, " I am not ill. You must not vex 
 yourself about me — it is only I have not been much out of 
 late." 
 
 " Ah, I know why you have not been out," he said ; 
 " and I am come down to put all these things straight. 
 Coquette, you must marry me now. I won't go away 
 unless you go with me as my wife. That is what I have 
 come down for." 
 
 The girl started, as though a whip had stung her ; and 
 now a Hush of shame and pain was visible in her face. 
 She withdrew her hands from his, and said, with her eyes 
 cast down — 
 
 "I understand why you have come. You know what 
 they say of me. You wish to marry me to prove it is 
 not true, and give me some better opinion of myself. 
 That is very good of you — it is what I did expect of you — 
 but — but I am too proud to be married in that way, and I 
 do not wish any sacrifice from anybody." 
 
 M What is the use of talking like that, Coquette ? " he 
 said, impetuously. " What has sacrifice or pride got to do 
 
3i6 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 between you and me ? Why need you care what the 
 people at Airlie, or the people all over the world, think of 
 you ? I am going to take you away from here, Coquette. 
 I will teach you what to think of yourself, and then you 
 will talk no more of sacrifice. Sacrifice ! If there is any 
 sacrifice, it is in your thinking of marrying a good-for- 
 nothing fellow like me. It is like a princess marrying 
 a gamekeeper, or something like that ; and you talk of 
 sacrifice, and what the wretched idiots of a ridiculous 
 little village think of you ! It is absurd, Coquette ! It 
 all comes of your being shut up here, and seeing nothing, 
 and being left to your own dreams. You are getting 
 distorted views of everything in this dismal place. It's 
 like conducting experiments in a vacuum : what you want 
 is to get braced up by the actual atmosphere of the world ; 
 and learn how things work there ; and discover the value 
 that people will put upon you. What can the croaking 
 frogs of a marsh like this know of your value, Coquette ? 
 Don't you remember how you w r ent about Lady Drum's 
 rooms like a queen ; and everybody waited on you ; and 
 I scarcely dared come near you ? Sacrifice ! You ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself, Coquette ! " 
 
 He spoke in the old and rapid fashion with which she 
 used to be familiar ; and his cheeks were flushed with 
 enthusiasm ; and his handsome face full of daring and 
 confidence, as though he would have laughed at her 
 scruples and defied the world for her sake. Perhaps he 
 did not despise Airlie altogether as much as he said ; but 
 in the hot haste of his eloquence there was no time to be 
 particular, or even just. 
 
 " You are as impetuous as ever ; and you are as generous 
 as ever ; but you are grown no wiser," she said, looking at 
 him in a kindly way. " For me, I have grown much older 
 than when we went about here. I do see many things 
 differently ; and just now I must tell you what is right and 
 best for both of us. You must not say any more about our 
 marriage ; but go up to Glasgow again, and forget all about 
 me. If it is painful for you in the meantime, I am sorry ; 
 it will be better for you by-and-by. If you did marry a 
 wife who had not a good name among all people — strangers 
 as well — you might not care for a little while ; but you 
 
CONSENT. 317 
 
 would remember of it afterwards ; and that would be very- 
 sorrowful for both." 
 
 With that she rose and would have passed him, and gone 
 to the door. But he stood in her way, and confronted her, 
 and said, with a certain formality of tone — 
 
 "You must answer me one question, Coquette, clearly 
 and truthfully. Is all that you say merely an excuse for 
 breaking off our marriage altogether ? " 
 
 She looked surprised. 
 
 " Then you do no longer believe I speak the truth ? An 
 excuse; — that is something untrue. No — I have no need of 
 excuses." 
 
 She would have left the room then ; but he caught her 
 hand and said — 
 
 " We are no longer children, Coquette. This is too 
 serious a matter to be settled by a mere misunderstanding 
 or a quarrel. I want to know if you have no other reason 
 to postpone our marriage, or break it up altogether, than 
 the foolish talk that prevails in the village ? " 
 
 "You do forget," she said, evidently forcing herself to 
 speak in a cold and determined manner, " that the people 
 have some right to talk — that I did go away from the 
 Manse, expecting " 
 
 She could get no further. She shuddered violently ; and 
 then, sitting down, covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " I know all about that, Coquette," he said, sadly. " It 
 was very bitter for me to hear it " 
 
 "And then you did come here, despising me, and yet 
 wishing to marry me, so that I might not be too cast down. 
 It is very generous — but you see it is impossible." 
 
 M And you mean that as a final answer, Coquette ? " 
 
 She looked up into his face. 
 
 " Yes," she said, with her eyes fixed on his. 
 
 " Good-bye, then, Coquette," said he. 
 
 Anxious as was her scrutiny, she could not tell how he 
 received this announcement ; but the tone in which he bade 
 her good-bye went like a knife through her heart. She 
 held out her hand and said, or was about to say, " Good- 
 bye,"i when, somehow, she failed to reach his hand, and 
 the room swam round her. Then there was a space of 
 blank unconsciousness ; followed by the slow breathing of 
 
318 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 returning life ; and she knew that he was bathing her 
 forehead with a handkerchief and cold water. 
 
 " You must not go away like that," she said to him, when 
 she had somewhat recovered ; " I have not many friends." 
 
 And so, sitting down besidej her, he began to tell her, in 
 a gentle and, at times, somewhat embarrassed voice, the 
 story of his love for her, and all the plans he had formed, 
 and how his only hope in the world was to marry her. He 
 did not care what lay in the past ; the future was to be 
 theirs ; and he would devote himself to making her once 
 more the light-hearted Coquette of former days. He spoke 
 to her as if afraid to disturb her even by the urgency of his 
 affection ; and while he talked in this low and earnest 
 fashion, the girl's eyes were wistful and yet pleased, as if 
 she were looking at the pictures he drew of a happy future 
 for both of them, and beginning to believe in their 
 possibility. 
 
 "People have sorrows and disappointments, you know, 
 Coquette," he said ; " and yet they forget them in great 
 measure, for it is useless to spend a lifetime in looking 
 back. And people do weak things and wrong things that 
 haunt their conscience and trouble them bitterly ; but even 
 these are lightened by time. And the ill opinion of the 
 world — that, too, gets removed by time ; and all the old 
 years, with their griefs, and their follies, and mistakes, get 
 wiped out. You are too young to think that life has been 
 irretrievably spoiled for you. You have got another life to 
 set out on ; and you may depend on my making it as 
 pleasant and as happy as possible if you will only give me 
 the chance." 
 
 " You do talk as if it was my pleasure and happiness I did 
 think of," said Coquette. " No — that is not so. When I 
 did say I would not marry you — it was for your sake ; and 
 then, when you seemed to be going away estranged from 
 me, I thought I would do anything to keep you my friend. 
 So I will now. Is that all true you say, my poor boy, 
 about your caring only for one thing in the world ? Will 
 your life be wretched if I am not your wife ? Because 
 then I will marry you, if you like." 
 
 " Ah ! do you say that, Coquette ? " he said, with a flash 
 of joy in his eyes. 
 
CONSENT. 319 
 
 There was no such joy visible on her face. 
 
 " If you could say to yourself," she added, calmly, " after 
 a little time, ' I will keep Coquette as my friend — as my 
 best friend —but I will marry some other one,' that would be 
 !•; ttei for you." 
 
 " It would be nothing of the kind," he said, cheerfully, 
 " nor for you either. I am about to set myself the task of 
 transforming you, Coquette ; and in a year or two you 
 won't know yourself ! " 
 
 " In a year or two," she repeated, thoughtfully. 
 
 " You know I am a doctor now ; and I am going to 
 become your attendant physician ; and I will prescribe for 
 you, Coquette, plenty of amusement and holidays ; and of 
 course I will go with you to see that my orders are obeyed. 
 And you will forget everything that is past and gone ; for I 
 will give you plenty to think about in managing the details 
 of the house, you know, and arranging for people coming 
 to see you in the evenings. And then, in the autumn-time, 
 Coquette, you will get as brown as a berry among the 
 valleys and the mountains of Switzerland ; and if we come 
 through France, you shall be interpreter for me, and take 
 the tickets, you know, and complain to the landlords. All 
 that, and ever so much more, lies before you ; and what we 
 have to do in the meantime is to get you away from this 
 melancholy place, that has been making you wretched, and 
 pale, and sad. Now, Coquette, tell me when I am to take 
 you away ! " 
 
 She rose with almost an expression of anguish on her 
 face. 
 
 " Ah, not yet, not yet ! " she said. " You will think over 
 it first — perhaps you will alter your intentions." 
 
 "I shan't do anything of the kind, Coquette, unless you 
 alter yours. Mind you, I don't mean to goad you into 
 marrying me ; and if you say now that it vexes you to think 
 of it " 
 
 " It docs not vex me, if it will make you happy," she said. 
 
 " Then you don't wish to rescind your promise ? " 
 
 " No, I do not wish it." 
 
 "And you will really become my wife, Coquette ? " 
 
 She hesitated for a moment ; then she said, in a low 
 voice — 
 
32o A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 " I will be your wife if you wish it, and make you as 
 happy as I can ; but not yet, Tom — not yet ; and you 
 must not be vexed if I cannot set a time." 
 
 With that she left the room ; and he flung himself into a 
 chair to ponder over his recollections of an interview which 
 seemed very strange and perplexing to him. " It does not 
 vex me, if it will make you happy " — that was all he could 
 get her to say. No expression of interest — no hopeful look 
 — suoh as a girl naturally wears in talking of her coming 
 marriage. And these moods of fear, of despondency, even 
 bordering on wild despair, what did they mean ? 
 
 " There is something altogether wrong in her relations 
 with the people around her," he said. " She seems to 
 labour under a burden of self-constraint and of sadness 
 which would in another year kill a far stronger woman 
 than she is. The place does not suit her — the people don't 
 suit her. Everything seems to have gone wrong ; and the 
 Coquette I see bears no resemblance to the Coquette who 
 came here a few years ago. Whatever it is that is wrong, 
 our marriage will solve the problem, and transfer her to a 
 new sphere and new associations." 
 
 The Whaup endeavoured to reassure himself with these 
 anticipations ; but did not quite succeed, for there was a 
 vague doubt and anxiety hanging about his mind which 
 would not be exorcised. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 THE PALE BRIDE. 
 
 The Whaup telegraphed to Dr. Menzies for permission 
 to remain in Airlie another couple of days, and received it. 
 He made good use of his time. Some brief conversation 
 he had with Leezibeth in regard to Coquette quickened his 
 resolve. He went to his father, too, and told him of his wishes. 
 
 The old man could at first scarce credit this strange an- 
 nouncement. He had never even suspected his son of being 
 particularly fond of Coquette; and now his first idea was that 
 the Whaup, in an exceptionally chivalrous fashion, had pro- 
 posed to marry her as an answer to the evil rumours that 
 were afloat. He was soon disabused on this point. Con- 
 
THE PALE BRIDE. 321 
 
 fidences at such a crisis, between father and son, are some- 
 what embarrassing things, particularly in most Scotch 
 households, where reticence on all matters of the affections 
 is the established law ; but the Whaup was too deeply in 
 earnest to think of himself. With a good deal of rough 
 eloquence, and even a touch of pathos here and there, he 
 pleaded the case of Coquette and himself ; and at the end 
 of it the Minister, who was evidently greatly disturbed, said 
 he would consider the subject in privacy. The Whaup left 
 his father's study with a light heart ; he knew that the 
 Minister's deep-seated tenderness for his niece would carry 
 the day, were all Airlie to sign a protest. 
 
 The Whaup was in the garden. His brothers were at 
 school ; Coquette had disappeared, he knew not whither ; 
 and he was amusing himself by whistling in reply to a 
 blackbird hid in a holly tree. The Minister came out of 
 the house, and gravely walked up to his son, and said — 
 
 " You have done well in this matter. I do not say that, 
 under other circum tai.ces, I might not have preferred seeins: 
 you marry a wife of your own country, and one accustonu d 
 to our ways and homely fashion of living, and, above all, 
 one having more deeply at heart our own traditions of 
 faith. But your duty to your own kinswoman — who is 
 suffering from the suspicions of the vulgar — must count for 
 something " 
 
 " But what counts most of all, father," said the Whaup 
 — who would not have it thought he was conferring a 
 favour on Coquette — " is her own rare excellence. Where 
 could I get a wife like her ? I don't care twopence-farthing 
 for all that Airlie, and a dozen neighbouring parishes, may 
 think or say of her, when I know her to be what she is. 
 And you know what she is, father ; and the best thing you 
 can do for her is to persuade her to be married as soon as 
 possible — for I mean to take her away from here, and see if 
 I cannot break that sort of dead calm that seems to have 
 settled over her." 
 
 " The Manse will be very lonely without her," said the 
 Minister. 
 
 " Look here, father," said the Whaup, with a great lump 
 rising in his throat, " the Manse would be very lonely if she 
 were to remain as she is much longer. Leezibeth says she 
 
 Y 
 
322 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 eats nothing — she never goes out — only that dull, uncom- 
 plaining monotony of sadness, and the listless days, and the 
 reading of religious books. I know how that would end if 
 it went on — and I don't mean to let Coquette slip out of 
 our fingers like that — and I " 
 
 The Whaup could say no more. He turned aside, and 
 began to idck the gravel with his foot. The Minister put 
 his hand on his son's shoulder and said — > 
 
 " My boy, you may have more watchful eyes than mine in 
 such matters ; and, if this be as you suspect, I will use all 
 my influence with her, although her marriage will make a 
 great difference to me." 
 
 The Whaup, however, was not one to have his wooing 
 done by proxy. During the remainder of his brief stay in 
 Airlie, he urged Coquette with gentleness, and yet with 
 earnestness, to fix a time for their marriage. At first she 
 was startled by the proposal, and avoided it in a frightened 
 way ; but at length she seemed to be won over by his 
 representations and entreaties. He did not tell her his 
 secret reason for thus hurrying on her departure from Air- 
 lie. It was entirely as securing his own happiness that he 
 drew pleasant pictures of the future ; that he sat and talked 
 to her of all she would see when they went away together ; 
 that he endeavoured to win her consent. Then, on the last 
 evening of his visit, they were in a corner of the hushed 
 parlour, speaking in low tones, so as not to disturb the 
 reading of the Minister. 
 
 " I do think it is v a great misfortune that you are so fond 
 of me," she said, looking at him with rather wistful eyes ; 
 " but it seems as if the world were all misfortune ; and if it 
 will make you happy for me to marry you, I will do that ; 
 for you have always been very kind to me ; and it is very 
 little that I can do in return ; but if this will please 
 you, I am glad ; and I will make you as good a wife as 
 I can." 
 
 That was her reply to his entreaties ; and, in token of 
 her obedience, she took his hand and pressed it to her lips. 
 There was something in this mute surrender that was 
 inexpressibly touching to the Whaup ; and for a moment 
 his conscience smote him ; and he asked himself if he were 
 not exacting too much of a sacrifice from this tender- 
 
THE PALE BRIDE. 323 
 
 hearted girl, who sat pale and resigned even in the moment 
 of settling her marriage clay. 
 
 " Coquette," said he, " am I robbing you of any other 
 happiness that you could hope for ? Is there any other 
 prospect in life that you are secretly wishing for ? " 
 
 " There is not," she said, calmly. 
 
 "None ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 " Then I will make this way of it as happy for you 
 as I possibly can. And when, Coquette ? You have never 
 named a time yet." 
 
 " Let it be whenever you please," she answered, looking 
 down. 
 
 The Whaup rose, and pulled himself up to his full height, 
 as if, for the first time, he could breathe freely. 
 
 " Father," said he, " have you any objection to my going 
 across the moor and ringing the church bell ? " 
 
 The Minister looked up from his MSS. 
 
 " We are going to have a wedding in the Manse in two 
 or three weeks," said the Whaup. 
 
 Coquette went over to the old man's chair, and knelt 
 down by his side, and took his hand in hers. 
 
 " I shall be sorry to lose you, Catherine ; but I trust you 
 will be more cheerful and happy in your new home than 
 you could be in this dull house." 
 
 " You have been very kind to me, uncle," she said. 
 
 With that, the Whaup went outside, and clambered up 
 into the hayloft, and roused his brothers, who were in bed, 
 if not all asleep. 
 
 " Get up, the whole of you ! " he said ; " get on your 
 clothes, and come into the house. Look sharp — there's 
 something for you to hear." 
 
 Leezibeth was alarmed by the invasion of the Manse 
 which took place shortly thereafter ; and came running to 
 Bee what had brought the boys in at that time of night. 
 The Whaup bade Leezibeth come into the parlour to 
 witness the celebration ; and they were introduced by 
 the Whaup — who made a pretty speech — to their future 
 sister-in-law ; and they were ordered to give her good 
 wishes ; and then they all sat down to a sumptuous, 
 if hastily prepared, banquet of currant bun, with a 
 
 y 2 
 
324 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 glass of raspberry wine to each of them. Coquette 
 was pleased ; and the tinge of colour that came to her 
 cheeks made the Whaup think she was beginning to look 
 like a bride. As for the boys, they expressed their delight 
 chiefly by grinning and showing their white teeth as they 
 ate the cake ; one of them only remarking confidentially — 
 
 " We a' kenned this would be the end o't." 
 
 The chorus of laughter which greeted this remark showed 
 that it expressed a general sentiment. Nor was their merri- 
 ment lessened when the Whaup cut off a very small piece of 
 cake, and said to Leezibeth — 
 
 " Take this to Andrew, with my compliments. He will be 
 delighted with the news." 
 
 " Andrew or no Andrew," said Leezibeth, who seemed 
 rather inclined to cry out of pure sympathy ; "ye may be a 
 proud man on your wedding day, Maister Tammas ; and 
 ye'll take good care o' her, and bring her sometimes down to 
 Airlie, where there's some maybe that likes her better than 
 they can just put into words." 
 
 And so it was that, on a fresh June morning, when the 
 earth lay warm and silent in the bright sunshine, and the far 
 sea was as blue and clear as the heart of a sapphire, Coquette 
 arrayed herself in white garments. There was a great stir 
 about the Manse that morning ; and the boys were dressed 
 in their Sunday clothes. Flowers were all about the place ; 
 and many innocent little surprises in the way of decoration 
 had been planned by the Whaup himself. The Manse 
 looked quite bright, indeed ; and Leezibeth had assumed an 
 unwonted importance. 
 
 Coquette's bridesmaids were the Misses Menzies ; and the 
 Doctor was there too ; also Lady Drum and Sir Peter. 
 According to the custom of the country, the marriage was to 
 take place in the house ; and when they had all assembled in 
 the largest room, the bride walked slowly in, followed by her 
 bridesmaids. 
 
 In a church, amid a crowd of spectators, there would have 
 been a murmur of wonder and admiration over the myste- 
 rious and pensive beauty of this delicately modelled girl, 
 whose dark and wistful eyes seemed all the darker by reason 
 of the snowy whiteness of her dress, and the paleness of the 
 
THE PALE BRIDE. 325 
 
 pearls that shone in the splendid luxuriance of her hair. 
 But her friends there almost forgot how beautiful she wafl 
 in regarding the expression of her face — so immovably calm 
 it was, so strangely sad. Lady Drum's heart was touched 
 with a sudden fear. This was not the look of a bride ; 
 but the look of a woman — far too young to have any such 
 expression — who seemed to have abandoned all hope in 
 1 his world. She was not anxious, or perturbed, or pale 
 through any special excitement or emotion ; she stood 
 throughout the long and tedious service as though she were 
 unconscious of what was happening ; and, when it was 
 over, she received the congratulations of those around her 
 as though she had awakened out of a dream. 
 
 The Whaup, too, noticed this look ; but he had seen 
 much of it lately ; and was only rendered the more anxious 
 to take her away and lighten her spirits by change of scene. 
 And now that he found himself able to do so, he was full of 
 confidence. There was no misgiving in his look. As he 
 stood there, taller by a head than his own father, with his 
 light-brown hair thrown carelessly back from a face bright 
 with health and the tanning of the sun, it was apparent that 
 the atmosphere of the great city had not had much effect on 
 the lithe, and stalwart, and vigorous frame. And his voice 
 wafl as gentle as that of a woman when he went forward, 
 for the first time after the ceremony, and said to Coquette — 
 
 " You are not tired with standing so long, Coquette ? " 
 
 She started slightly. Then — perhaps noticing that the 
 eyes of her bridesmaids were upon her, and recollecting that 
 slie ought to wear a more cheerful expression — she smiled 
 faintly, and said — 
 
 " Yon must not call me that foolish name any more. 
 It is part of the old time when we were girl and boy 
 ther." 
 
 " But I shall never find any name for you that I shall like 
 better," said he. 
 
 About an hour thereafter all preparations had been made 
 for their departure; and the carriage was waiting for them. 
 There was a great shaking of hands, and kissing, and leave- 
 taking ; and then, last of all, the Minister stood by the gate 
 as Coquette came out. 
 
 k> Good-bye, my dear daughter," he said, placing his hand 
 
326 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 on her head ; " may He that watched over Jacob, and 
 followed him in all his wanderings with blessings, watch 
 over and bless you at all times and in all places ! " 
 
 Coquette's lips began to tremble. She had maintained her 
 composure to the last ; but now, as she kissed her uncle, she 
 could not say farewell in words ; and when at length she was 
 driven away, she covered her face with her hands and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 " Coquette," said her husband, " are you sorry, after all, 
 to leave Airlie ?" 
 
 There was no answer but the sound of her sobbing. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 So blinded by his exceeding happiness was the Whaup, 
 that for a little time he could scarcely tell how the rapid 
 change of scene and incident following their marriage was 
 affecting Coquette's health and spirits. He was so near 
 her now, tending her with an extreme and anxious care, 
 that he could not regard her critically and judge 
 whether the old sad look was leaving her eyes. Did she 
 not express her pleasure at the various things she saw ? 
 Was she not so very kind and affectionate towards him that 
 he had to protest against her little submissive attentions, 
 and point out that it was his business to wait upon her, 
 not hers to wait upon him ? 
 
 They went to Edinburgh first ; and then to Westmore- 
 land ; and then to London, which was in the height of the 
 season. And they strolled into the Park on the summer 
 mornings and on the busier afternoons ; and sat on the 
 little green chairs under the lime-trees ; and looked at the 
 brilliant assemblage of people there — Cabinet Ministers, 
 actresses, Gun-club heroes, authors, artists, and all the rank 
 and file of fashion. So eager was the Whaup to interest 
 his companion, that it is to be feared he made rather 
 random shots in identifying the men and women who were 
 cantering up and down, and conferred high official dignities 
 on harmless country gentlemen who were but simple M.P.'s. 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 327 
 
 " There are many pretty ladies here," said Coquette, with 
 a smile, " and yet you do not seem to know one." 
 
 " I know one who is prettier than them all put together," 
 said the AYhanp, with a glow of pride and admiration in his 
 face ; and then he added, " I say, Coquette, how did you 
 manage to dress just like those people when you lived away 
 down in Airlie ? I think you must have sent surrepti- 
 tiously to London for the dresses that used to astonish the 
 quiet kirk-folk. Then you always had the knack of 
 wearing a flower or a rosebud here or there, just as those 
 ladies do, only I don't think any flowers are so becoming 
 as those little yellow blossoms that are on a certain little 
 white bonnet that a particular little woman I know wears 
 at this moment." 
 
 " Ah, it is of no use," said Coquette, with a sigh of 
 resignation. " I have tried — I have lectured — I have 
 scolded — it is of no use. You do not know the rudeness 
 of talking of people's dresses, and paying them rough 
 compliments about their prettiness, and making inquiries 
 which gentlemen have nothing to do with. I have tried 
 to teach you all this — and you will not learn — and you do 
 not know that you have very savage manners." 
 
 "Coquette," said he, " if you say another word I will 
 kiss you." 
 
 " And I should not be surprised," she answered, with the 
 slightest possible shrug. " I do not think you have any 
 more respect for the public appearances than when you did 
 torment the people at Airlie. You are still a boy — that 
 is true — and I do wonder you will not sing aloud now, 
 * Come lasses and lads,' or some such folly. You have 
 grown — yes. You wear respectable clothes and a hat, 
 — but it is I who have made you dress like other people 
 instead of the old careless way. You do know something 
 more — but it is all got out of books. What are you 
 different from the tall, big, coarse, rude boy who did 
 break windows, and rob gardens, and frighten people at 
 Airlie ? " 
 
 " How am I different ? " said the Whanp. " Well, I used 
 to be bullied by a schoolmaster ; but now I'm bullied by a 
 schoolmistress ; and she's the worse of the two. That'sall 
 the change I've made." 
 
328 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 And sometimes, when they had gone on in this bantering 
 fashion for a while, she would suddenly go up to him — if 
 they were indoors, that is to say — and put her hand on his 
 arm and timidly hope that she had not annoyed him. At 
 first the Whaup laughed at the very notion of his being 
 vexed with her, and dismissed the tender little penitent 
 with a rebuke and a kiss ; but by-and-by he grew to dread 
 these evidences of a secret wish to please him and be sub- 
 missive. He began to see how Coquette had formed some 
 theory of what her duties were, and continually referred to 
 this mental table of obligations rather than to her own 
 spontaneous impulses of the moment. She seemed to 
 consider that such and such things were required of her ; 
 and while there was something to him very touching in her 
 mute obedience, and in her timid anticipation of his wishes, 
 he would rather have beheld her the high-spirited Coquette 
 of old, with her arch ways, and her fits of rebellion and 
 independence. 
 
 " Coquette," he said, " I will not have you wait upon me 
 like this. It is very kind of you, you know ; but it is 
 turning the world upside down. It is my business to wait 
 on you, and see that everything is made nice for you, and 
 have you treated like a queen. And when you go about 
 like that, and bother yourself to serve me, I feel as uncom- 
 fortable as the beggars in old times must have felt who had 
 their feet washed by a pious princess. I won't have my 
 Coquette disguised as a waiting-maid." 
 
 " You are very good to me," she said. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " he replied. " Who could help being good 
 to you, Coquette ? You seem to have got into your head 
 some notion that you owe kindness and thoughtfulness to 
 the people around you ; whereas you are conferring a benefit 
 on everybody by being merely what you are, and showing 
 those around you what a good thing is a good woman. 
 Why should you have this exaggerated humility ? Why 
 should you play the part of a penitent ? " 
 
 Was she playing the part of a penitent ? he sometimes 
 asked himself. Had she not forgotten the events of that 
 bygone time which seemed, to him at least, a portion of a 
 former existence ? When the Whaup and his young wife 
 returned to Glasgow, he had more leisure to speculate on 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 329 
 
 this matter ; and he came to the conclusion that not only 
 had she forgotten nothing, but that a sombre shadow from 
 the past was ever present to her and hung continually over 
 her life. 
 
 In no way did she lessen her apparent desire to be dutiful 
 and submissive and attentive to him. The Whaup, who 
 could have fallen at her feet and kissed them in token of 
 the love and admiration he felt for the beautiful young life 
 that was only now revealing to him all its hidden graces of 
 tenderness, and purity, and rectitude, could not bear to 
 have Coquette become his slave. 
 
 " And may I not show to you that I am grateful to you 
 for all your kindness ever since I did come to this country ? " 
 she said. 
 
 " Grateful to me ! " he cried. " Coquette, you don't know 
 your own value 1 " 
 
 " But if it pleases me to be your servant ? " she said. 
 
 " It does not please me," he retorted ; " and I won't have 
 it." 
 
 " Yoyez un peu ce tyran ! " said Coquette, and the Whaup 
 laughed and gave in. 
 
 It may be supposed that that was not a very unhappy 
 household in which the only ground of quarrel between 
 husband and wife was as to which should be the more kind 
 and attentive to the other. And indeed, to all outward 
 semblance, the Whaup was the luckiest of men ; and 
 his friends who did not envy him rejoiced at his good 
 fortune ; and bore unanimous testimony to the sweetness 
 and gentleness and courtesy of the small lady who received 
 them at his house. It was noticed, it is true, that she was 
 very quiet and reserved at times ; and that occasionally, 
 when she had somehow withdrawn out of the parlour circle, 
 silent and dhtfuite, her husband would follow her with 
 anxious looks, and would even go to her side and endeavour 
 to wean her back into the common talk. As for Ins affec- 
 tion for her, and pride in her rare beauty and accomplish- 
 ments, and devotion to her, all were the subject of 
 admiration and encomium among the women of many 
 households, lie never sought to conceal his sentiments on 
 that score. On the rare occasions when he visited a friend's 
 house without her", all his talk was of Coquette, and her 
 
330 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 goodness, and her gentle ways. Then he endeavoured to 
 draw around her as many friends as possible, so that their 
 society might partly supply the void caused by his pro- 
 fessional absences ; but Coquette did not care for new 
 acquaintances, and declared she had always plenty of 
 occupation for herself while he was away, and did not wish 
 the distraction of visits. 
 
 Down in the old Manse of Airlie the Minister heard 
 of his son and of Coquette through various channels ; 
 and he was rejoiced beyond measure. Lady Drum was so 
 affected by her own description of the happiness of these 
 two young people, that in the middle of her narration she 
 burst into tears ; and a sort of sob at the door might have 
 let the Minister know that Leezibeth had been listening. 
 The Minister, indeed, paid a brief visit to Glasgow some 
 few weeks after Coquette's return, and was quite over- 
 whelmed by the affectionate attentions of his daughter-in- 
 law. 
 
 " Surely," he said to Lady Drum, the evening before he 
 set out for home again, " surely the Lord has blessed this 
 house. It has never been my good fortune to dwell under 
 a roof that seemed to look down on so much of kindliness, 
 and charitable thoughts, and well-doing ; and it would ill 
 become me not to say how much of this I attribute to her 
 who is now more than ever a daughter to me." 
 
 " When I come to speak of her," said Lady Drum, " and 
 of the way she orders the house, and of her kindness to 
 every one around her, and of her conduct towards her 
 husband, I am fair at a loss for words." 
 
 The bruit of all these things reached even down to Airlie ; 
 and the Schoolmaster was at length induced, being in 
 Glasgow on a certain occasion, to call on the Minister's 
 son. The Whaup received his ancient enemy with royal 
 magnanimity ; compelled him to stop the night at his house ;. 
 gave him as much toddy as was good for an elder ; while 
 Coquette, at her husband's request, left her fancy-work and 
 played for them some old Scotch airs. By-and-by she left 
 them to themselves ; and, warmed with the whisky, the 
 Schoolmaster imparted a solemn and mysterious secret tD 
 his remaining companion. 
 
 " You are a young man, sir, and have no knowledge, or, 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 331 
 
 as I may term it, experience, of the great and wonderful 
 power of public opeenion. Nor yet, considering your 
 opportunities, is it likely, or, as one might say, probable, 
 that ye pay sufficient deference to the reputation that your 
 neebors may accord ye. Nevertheless, sir, reputation is a 
 man's public life, as his own breath is his private life. 
 Now, I will not conceal from ye, Mr. Thomas, that evil 
 apprehensions have been entertained, or even, one might say, 
 expressed, in your native place, regarding one who holds an 
 important position as regards your welfare " 
 
 With which the Whaup bounced up from his chair. 
 
 " Look here ! " said he. " Do you mean my wife, Mr. 
 Gillespie ? Don't think I care a rap for the drivelling 
 nonsense that all the old women in Airlie may talk ; but if 
 a man mentions anything of the kind to me, by heavens, I'll 
 throw him out of the window ! " 
 
 " Bless me ! " cried the Schoolmaster, also rising, and 
 patting his hands before him as if to defend himself. 
 " What's the use o' such violence ? I meant no harm. On 
 the contrary, I was going to say, man, that it would be my 
 bounden duty when I get back to Airlie to set my face 
 against all such reports, and testify to the great pleasure I 
 have experienced in seeing ye mated wi' such a worthy, 
 and amiable, and " 
 
 Here the Schoolmaster's encomium was cut short by the 
 entrance of Coquette herself, who had returned for some- 
 thing she had forgotten ; and a more acute observer might 
 have noticed that no sooner was her footfall heard at 
 the door than all the anger fled from the Whaup's face, 
 and he only laughed at Mr. Gillespie's protestations of 
 innocence. 
 
 " You must forgive me," said the "Whaup, good- 
 naturedly. "You know, I married one of the daughters 
 of Heth ; and so I had to expect that the good folks at 
 Airlie would l»c deeply pprieved. 
 
 "A daughter of Heth ! " said Mr. Gillespie. "Indeed, 
 I remember that grumbling body. Andrew Bogoe, makin 1 
 use o' some such expression on the very day ye were 
 married ; but if the daughters o' Hah were such as she is, 
 Kebekah need not have put herself about, or, in other 
 words, been so apprehensive of her son's future." 
 
332 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 And the Schoolmaster was as good as his word ; and took 
 down to Airlie such a description of the Whaup and his 
 bride as became a subject of talk in the village for many a 
 day. And so the patience and the gentleness of Coquette 
 bore their natural fruit, and all men began to say all good 
 things of her. 
 
 There was one man only who regarded this marriage 
 with doubt, and sometimes with actual fear, who was less 
 sure than all the others that Coquette was happy, and who 
 looked to the future with an anxious dread. That one man 
 was the Whaup himself. With a slow and sad certainty, 
 the truth dawned on him that he had not yet won 
 Coquette's love ; that he was powerless to make her forget 
 that she had married him in order to please him ; and that, 
 behind all her affectionate and friendly demonstrations 
 towards himself, there lay over her a weight of despair. 
 The discovery caused him no paroxysm of grief, for it was 
 made gradually ; but in time it occupied his constant 
 thoughts, and became the dark shadow of his life. For 
 how was he to remove this barrier that stood between 
 himself and Coquette ? The great yearning of love he felt 
 towards her was powerless to awaken any response but that 
 mute, animal-like faithfulness and kindliness that dwelt in 
 her eyes whenever she regarded him. And it was for her, 
 rather than for himself, that he was troubled. He had 
 hurried on the marriage, hoping a change of scene and of 
 interest would break in on the monotony of sadness that 
 was evidently beginning to tell on the girl's health. He 
 had hoped, too, that he would soon win her over to himself 
 by cutting her away from those old associations. What 
 was the result ? He looked at the pale and calm face, and 
 dared not confess to himself all that he feared. 
 
 One evening, entering suddenly, he saw that she tried to 
 avoid him and get out of the room. He playfully inter- 
 cepted her, and found, to his astonishment, that she had 
 been crying. 
 
 " What is the matter, Coquette ? " he said. 
 
 " Nothing," she answered. " I was sitting by myself — ■ 
 and thinking, that is all." 
 
 He took both her hands in his, and said, with an infinite 
 sadness in his look — 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE. 333 
 
 " Do you know, Coquette, that for some time back I have 
 been thinking that our marriage has made you miserable." 
 
 "Ah, do not say that ! " she said, piteously looking up in 
 his face. "I am not miserable if it has made you happy." 
 
 " And do you think I can be happy when I see you trying 
 to put a good face on your wretchedness, and yet with your 
 eyes apparently looking on the next world all the time ? 
 Coquette, this is driving me mad. What can I do to make 
 you happy ? Why are you miserable ? "Won't you tell 
 me ? You know I won't be angry, whatever it is. Is there 
 nothing we can do to bring you back to the old Coquette, 
 that used to be so bright and cheerful ? Coquette, to look 
 at you going about from day to day in that sad and re- 
 signed way, never complaining, and always pretending to be 
 quite content — I can't bear it, my darling." 
 
 "You must not think that I am miserable," she said, 
 very gently, and then she left the room. He looked after 
 her i<>r a moment ; then he sank into a chair ; and covered 
 his face with his hands. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 THE CHUCHYARD ON THE MOOR. 
 
 At last it occurred to him that Coquette ought to be told 
 of Lord Earlshope's death. He would not confess to 
 himself the reason why such a thought arose in his mind ; 
 but endeavoured, on the contrary, to persuade himself that 
 there was no further need for holding back that old secret. 
 He and Coquette were at Airlie at the time, on their first 
 visit after their marriage. The Minister was anxious to see 
 his daughter-in-law ; and the YVhaup, while she stayed 
 there, would take occasional runs down. So Coquette was 
 ing at the Ma: 
 
 " I cannot get her to go out as she used to do," said the 
 Minister, the first time the Whaup arrived from Glasgow. 
 "She serins better pleased to sit at the window by herself 
 and look over the moor ; and Leeziheth tells me she is in 
 very low spirits, and does not look particularly well. It is 
 a pity she dislikes going out ; it is with difficulty I can get 
 her even into the garden ; and once or twice she has shown 
 
334 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 a great repugnance to going anywhere near Earlshope, so 
 you must not propose to go in that direction in asking her 
 to accompany you." 
 
 Then the Whaup said, with averted eyes : " You know 
 she is not aware of Lord Earlshope having been drowned, 
 and she may be afraid of meeting him. Suppose we tell her 
 of what happened to the yacht ? " 
 
 " I am of opinion it would be most advisable," said the 
 Minister. 
 
 The Whaup got Coquette to go out and sit in the garden ; 
 and there, while they were by themselves, he gently told 
 her of the loss of the Caroline. The girl did not speak nor 
 stir ; only she was very pale ; and he noticed that her hand 
 was tightly clenched on the arm of the wooden seat. By- 
 and-by she rose and said — 
 
 "I should like to walk down to Saltcoats, if you will 
 come." 
 
 " To Saltcoats ! " said her husband. " You are not 
 strong enough to walk all that way and back, Coquette." 
 
 " Very well," she said, submissively. 
 
 " But if you very much want to go we could drive, you 
 know," said he. 
 
 " Yes, I should like to go," she said. 
 
 So the Whaup, late as it was in the afternoon, got out 
 the dog-cart, and drove her away to the old-fashioned little 
 seaport town which they had together visited in bygone 
 years. He put the horse up at the very inn that he and 
 Coquette had visited ; and then he asked her if she wished 
 to go for a stroll through the place. Her slightest wish 
 was a command to him. They Avent out together ; and in- 
 sensibly she led him down to the long bay of brown sand on 
 which a heavy surf was now breaking. She had spoken but 
 little ; her eyes were wistful and absent ; and she seemed 
 to be listening to the sound of the waves. 
 
 " It blows too roughly here, Coquette," said he. " You 
 won't go down on the beach ? " 
 
 " No," she said. " Here I can see more, and hear more." 
 
 For a considerable time she stood and looked far over the 
 heaving plain of water, which was of a dark green colour, 
 under the cloudy evening sky. And then she shuddered 
 slightly, and turned to go away. 
 
THE CHURCHYARD ON THE MOOR. 335 
 
 " You are not vexed with me for coming ? " she said. 
 "And you know why I did come." 
 
 " I am not vexed with anything you do, Coquette," he 
 answered her. 
 
 " It is his grave," she said, looking once more over the 
 wild waste of waters. " It is a terrible grave ; for there 
 are voices in it, and cries, like drowning people ; and yet 
 one man out there would go down and down, and you would 
 hear no voice. I am afraid of the sea." 
 
 " Coquette," he said, " why do you tremble so ? You 
 must come away directly, or you will catch cold — the wind 
 blows so fiercely here." 
 
 But on their way back to Airlie, this trembling had 
 increased to violent fits of shuddering ; and then all at 
 once Coquette said faintly — 
 
 " I do feel that I should wish to be still and go to sleep. 
 Will you put me down by the roadside, and leave me there 
 awhile, and you can go on to Airlie ? " 
 
 " Why, do you know what you are saying, Coquette ? 
 60 on to Airlie, and leave you here ? " 
 
 She did not answer him ; and he urged on the pony 
 with all speed, until at length they reached the Manse. 
 
 " Tom," she said, " I think you must carry me in." 
 
 He lifted her down from the vehicle, and carried her 
 like a child into the house ; and then, when Leezibcth 
 brought a light, he uttered a slight cry on finding that 
 Coquette was insensible. But presently life returned to 
 her, and a quick and flushed colour came to her face. She 
 was rapidly got to bed ; and the Minister, who had a vivid 
 recollection of the feverish attack from which she had 
 Buffered in the north, proposed that a doctor from Saltcoats 
 should be sent for. 
 
 "And I will telegraph to Dr. Menzies," said the "Whaup, 
 scarcely knowing what he said, only possessed by some wild 
 notion that he would form a league to drive off this subtle 
 enemy that had approached Coquette. 
 
 All that followed that memorable evening was a dream to 
 him. He knew, beeause he was told, and because he him- 
 self could see, that the fever was laying a deeper and deeper 
 hold on a system which was dangerously weak. Day after 
 day he went about the house ; and, as Coquette got worse, he 
 
336 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 scarcely realised it. It was to him as though a weight out 
 of the sky were crushing down the world, as if all things 
 were slowly sinking into darkness. He was not excited, nor 
 wild with grief ; but he sat and watched Coquette's eyes ; 
 and seemed not to know the people who came into the room, 
 or whom he met on the stairs. 
 
 The girl, in her delirium, had violent paroxysms of terror 
 and shuddering, in which she seemed to see a storm rising 
 around her, and waves threatening to overwhelm her ; and 
 then no one could soothe her like her husband. His mere 
 presence seemed enough ; for the old instinct of obedience 
 still remained with her ; and she became submissively quiet 
 and silent in answer to his gentle entreaties. 
 
 " You are very good to me," she murmured absently to 
 him one evening, half -recognising him although the delirium 
 had not left her, " and I cannot thank you for it, but my 
 mamma will do that when you come up to our house. We 
 shall not stop in this country always ? — when mamma is 
 waiting for me in the garden, just over the river, you know. 
 . . . And she has not seen you, but I will take you up to her, 
 and say you have been very, very kind to me. I wish we 
 could be there soon, for I am tired, and I do think 
 this country is very dark, and the sea is so dreadful round 
 about it — it goes round about it like a snake, that hisses, and 
 raises its fierce head, and it has a white crest on its head and 
 eyes of fire, and you see them glaring in the night-time. 
 But one can get away from it ; and hide close and quiet in 
 the churchyard on the moor — yes, yes ; and when you come 
 in, Tom, by the small gate, you must listen, and whisper 
 ' Coquette,' you know, just as you used to do when I lay on 
 the sofa, and you wished to see if I were awake ; and — and 
 — if I cannot speak to you, it will be very hard, but I shall 
 know you have brought me some flowers. And you will say 
 to yourself, 'My poor Coquette would thank me if she 
 could.' " 
 
 He laid his hand on her white fingers. He could not speak. 
 
 By-and-by the delirium left, and the fever abated ; but 
 the frail system had been shattered, and all around saw 
 that she was slowly sinking. One night she beckoned her 
 husband to come nearer, and he went to her, and took her 
 thin hand in his. 
 
THE CHURCHYARD ON THE MOOR. 337 
 
 " Am I going to die, Tom ? " she asked, in a scarcely 
 audible voice ; and when, in answer, he only looked at her 
 sad eyes, she said, " I am not sorry. It will be better for 
 you and for every one. You will forgive me for all that 
 happened at Airlie when you think of me in after-times ; 
 and you will not blame me because I could not make your 
 life more happy to you — it was all a misfortune, my coming 
 to this country " 
 
 " Coquette, Coquette ! " he said, beside himself with grief, 
 " if you are going to die, I will go with you too — see, I will 
 hold your hand, and when the gates are open, I will not 
 let you go — I will go with you, Coquette ! " 
 
 Scarce half an hour afterwards, the gates were opened, 
 and she so quietly and silently passed through, that he only 
 of all in the room knew that Coquette had gone away from 
 them and bidden a last farewell to Airlie. They were 
 startled to see him fling his arms in the air ; and then as 
 he sank down by the bed a low cry broke from his lips — 
 " So near — so near ! and I cannot go with her too ! " 
 
 One day, in the early spring-time, you might have seen 
 a man in the prime of youth and strength — yet with a 
 strangely worn look on his face — enter the small church- 
 yard on Airlie moor. He walked gently on, as if fearing 
 to disturb the silence of the place ; and at last he stood by 
 the side of a grave on which were many spring flowers — 
 snowdrops, and violets, and white crocuses. He, too, had 
 some flowers in his hand ; and he put them at the foot of 
 the grave ; and there were tears running down his face. 
 
 " These are for my Coquette," he said ; " but she 
 cannot hear me any more." 
 
 For a little while he lingered by the grave, and then he 
 turned. And, lo ! all around him was the fair and shiniun 
 country that she had often looked on ; and far away before 
 him lay the sea, as blue and as still as on the morning when 
 he and Coquette were married. How bright and beautiful 
 was the world that thus lay under the clear sunshine, with 
 all its thousand activities busily working, and its men and 
 women joyously thinking of to-morrow, as if to-morrow 
 were to be better than to-day. To him all the light and 
 joy of the universe seemed to be buried in the little grave 
 
 z 
 
338 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 
 
 beside him ; there would never come any morrow that could 
 bring him back the wonder of the days that were. He 
 walked to the gate of the churchyard, and, leaning on it, 
 looked wistfully over the azure plain in which the mountains 
 of Arran were mirrored. 
 
 " Why have they taken away from us the old dreams ? " 
 he said to himself, while his eyes were wet with bitter tears. 
 " If one could only believe, as in the old time, that Heaven 
 was a fair and happy island lying far out in that western 
 sea, how gladly would I go away in a boat, and try to find 
 my Coquette ! Only to think that some day I might see 
 the land before me, and Coquette coming down to tbe 
 shore, with her face grown wonderful and calm, and her 
 gentle eyes full of joy and of welcome. Only to believe that 
 — only to look forward to that — would be enough ; and if 
 in the night-time a storm came, and I was sunk in the 
 darkness, whatf matter, if I had been hoping to the last 
 that I should see my Coquette ? " 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON. 1 FBINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 ITAMFOBD STREET AND CHARINO CBOSS. 
 
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