THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 JOHN RANDOLPH HAYNES 
 
 AND DORA HAYNES FOUNDATION 
 
 COLLECTION
 
 BAWBEE JOCK 
 
 BY 
 
 AMY MCLAREN 
 
 "The law of unselfishness : Not to live for the individual 
 But for the Divine whole: That is the will of God." 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 l?nfcfeerbocfcer press 
 1911
 
 Ube ttnicfccrbocber press, flew BorR
 
 /jf 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A STRANGER ON HIS OWN ESTATE . I 
 
 II. ANGELA EXERTS HER FASCINATION . 13 
 
 III. THE COMMUNION OF TWO . . 28 
 
 IV. THE ROMANCE OF OLD CLOTHES . 49 
 V. IN THE ANCESTRAL HALL . . 6l 
 
 'VI. AN ACCIDENT IN THE GLEN . . 78 
 
 VII. A JEALOUS GUARDIAN ... 93 
 
 VIII. HEART'S CONFESSION . . . 106 
 
 IX. ANGELA BREAKS THE NEWS . .121 
 
 X. BAWBEE JOCK'S PARSIMONY . . 129 
 
 XI. THE EVE BEFORE THE WEDDING . 144 
 
 XII. A MARRIAGE IN THE HIGHLANDS . 15! 
 
 XIII. THE PROMISED LAND . . . 159 
 
 XIV. EXPLORING THE NEW HOME . .170 
 
 XV. WORD FROM THE SCAPEGRACE . 1 88 
 iii 
 
 859675
 
 iv Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVI. THE HARVESTING . . . -199 
 
 XVII. IN THE GRIP OF DEEP FEELING . 2IO 
 
 XVIII. AN AMIABLE TORMENTOR . .221 
 
 XIX. BAWBEE JOCK IS OUTRAGED . . 233 
 
 XX. A DISCUSSION .... 240 
 
 XXI. CHRISTMAS-TIDE .... 248 
 
 XXII. ANGELA'S SECRET . . . . 259 
 
 XXIII. THE SECRET IMPARTED . . . 268 
 
 XXIV. LADY DI TAKES POSSESSION . . 28 1 
 
 XXV. CHRISTINA! 295 
 
 XXVI. AN IMPERATIVE SUMMONS . . 30 1 
 
 XXVII. THE LIGHT ON BURYING ISLAND . 312 
 
 XXVIII. THE LAST SOLEMNITIES . . . 327 
 
 XXIX. A STRUGGLE WITH DEATH . . 338 
 
 XXX. ANGELA'S CONFESSION . . . 350 
 
 XXXI. THE RIFT IN THE CLOUD . . 359 
 
 XXXII. THE UNION OF THREE . . . 373
 
 BAWBEE JOCK
 
 Bawbee Jock 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A STRANGER ON HIS OWN ESTATE 
 
 MR. MACKENZIE!" 
 The butler announced the name loudly, but 
 there was such a babel of talk and laughter resounding 
 through the long oak-panelled hall that the advent of 
 the newcomer passed unnoticed. 
 
 "Hawkins! Bring some more more teacups." 
 
 The voice sounded plaintive, and rather helpless. 
 
 "Yes, madam," answered the butler, and vanished, 
 leaving the visitor he had announced to his fate. 
 
 He stood: a tall, broad-shouldered figure, in the 
 background, looking painfully conscious of the fact 
 that no one was aware of his presence. His hostess 
 was pouring out tea and talking inconsequently to a 
 masculine-looking woman, eccentrically dressed, who 
 was standing on the hearthrug, and who, in a strident 
 voice, was laying down the law on a matter of sporting 
 etiquette. Half a dozen men lounged about, smoking, 
 and discussing the day's shoot and the prospect of to- 
 morrow's; and in the embrasure of a window, sunk 
 
 i
 
 2 Bawbee Jock 
 
 deep in the massive thickness of the walls, a small 
 group had gathered round a table on which one of the 
 party had collected all the cakes and eatables he could 
 find. He was "pressing" them on the attention of a 
 very pretty girl, whose laughing protests he met with 
 a running fire of commentary. 
 
 "Cookies! Scotch for buns. Shortbread! Ex- 
 cellent! but look out for those white dots on the top. 
 They 're none so innocent. They call them ' sweeties ' 
 here, and they 're as hard as nails. Scones ! My dear 
 Angela, this is your first visit to the Land of Cakes, 
 therefore let me warn you to pronounce that word 
 properly. Don't call it 'scoanes'! It annoys the 
 natives. Beauty, you lazy beggar! what do you 
 mean by leaving your teacup on the floor for me to 
 walk into?" 
 
 "It 's empty," murmured a languid voice from the 
 depths of an armchair. "As you 're on your feet, 
 Flossie, fetch me a fresh brew, will you?" 
 
 Flossie promptly sat down. 
 
 "It 's a great mistake to be seen standing on your 
 feet," he said. "You're always being asked to do 
 things, and I never encourage laziness on principle." 
 
 The languid voice was raised, and drawled out: 
 
 " Don't be an ass, Flossie. You 're not good-looking 
 enough to have principles. With a face like a gong, 
 you can't " 
 
 A cushion spun into the air and, descending at 
 exactly the right angle, extinguished the remainder of 
 the sentence. The man in the chair struggled into an 
 upright position and tucked the cushion in at his back. 
 
 "Thanks," he said "just what I wanted." And 
 the girl looked at him and laughed.
 
 A Stranger on His Own Estate 3 
 
 He was very good to look at: tall, clean-limbed, 
 with a handsome, well-bred face. The features were 
 almost too perfect, but about the eyes were lines which 
 ought not to have been there. It was not the years 
 alone which had drawn these lines on Beauty de 
 Burgh's face. 
 
 Flossie was a striking contrast to his companion. 
 He was short and plump, with a smooth, round, pink 
 face ; and his appearance gave a general impression of 
 guileless innocence. He was dressed rather fancifully, 
 for the reason that all his women-friends helped to 
 dress him. His stocking- tops and his waistcoat and 
 his tie all bore witness to the fact. 
 
 Flossie seated himself on a three-legged stool, and 
 picked out a piece of shortbread from the plate in 
 front of him. 
 
 "Good gracious!" he exclaimed, staying his hand. 
 "Who 's that?" He was short-sighted, and felt for 
 his eye-glass. 
 
 Captain de Burgh turned his head in the direction 
 of the door. 
 
 "Bawbee Jock!" he ejaculated. 
 
 "So it is," said Flossie. "That idiot Hawkins 
 shoots people into the room as though he were click- 
 ing tourists through a turnstile." 
 
 "He 's come for to-morrow's grouse-drive. I knew 
 Monty had asked him," said Captain de Burgh. 
 
 "Well, my dear chap, you might go and help the 
 poor beggar," said Flossie. "Your sister has n't the 
 foggiest notion that he 's there." 
 
 "Dolly 's the worst hostess in Christendom," 
 answered Captain de Burgh. "Probably she 's 
 forgotten that he 's been asked."
 
 4 Bawbee Jock 
 
 He turned his head again. 
 
 "It 's all right; my good brother-in-law has gone to 
 the rescue." 
 
 A stout red-faced man had detached himself from 
 the group by the fireplace, and, making his way 
 across the hall, was seen shaking hands with the 
 newcomer. 
 
 Flossie dropped his eye-glass. He began to nibble 
 his shortbread, and handed the plate to the girl beside 
 him. 
 
 Angela Tempest was watching the newcomer. 
 
 "What did you call him? " she said. " I saw him at 
 the station, and I heard him asking about his luggage, 
 and I felt sure that he was coming here; but the 
 chauffeur did not wait for him. It was so stupid, be- 
 cause there was plenty of room in the motor." 
 
 Captain de Burgh laughed softly. 
 
 "What a sell for Bawbee Jock! He must have had 
 to hire a 'macheen' all to himself." 
 
 "But who is he?" repeated Angela, who was accus- 
 tomed to having her questions answered promptly. 
 
 "Bawbee Jock!" drawled Captain de Burgh, 
 "otherwise John Murdoch Mackenzie of that ilk. 
 1 Ilk 'means 
 
 "If you 're going in for Scotch definitions, you 'd 
 better swallow the dictionary," interrupted Flossie. 
 
 "Go on eating shortbread and let me finish my 
 story," was the lazy retort. 
 
 Beauty de Burgh turned and leant a little forward. 
 
 "The young man who has aroused your interest, 
 Miss Tempest, is our landlord my brother-in-law's 
 landlord, to be correct. He is the proud owner of 
 these lordly halls. Jolly fine halls they are, too; I
 
 A Stranger on His Own Estate 5 
 
 wish they were mine. He also owns some of the best 
 grouse-shooting in Scotland." 
 
 "Why does n't he live here himself?" asked Angela. 
 
 "Ah! you're a stranger in the land," broke in 
 Flossie. "Let me initiate you into some of the 
 peculiar characteristics of the natives. A Scotchman 
 makes money by saving it. Get that firmly fixed into 
 your head and it will help you to understand a lot." 
 
 Captain de Burgh glanced across at the subject of 
 the discussion. 
 
 " I can't see where the fun of his screwing comes in," 
 he said. " No one seems to know why he screws. He 
 lets nearly every acre of his ground, and lives on one 
 of his farms on " 
 
 "Porridge and whiskey," chimed in Flossie; "and 
 counts his bawbees every Saturday night before he 
 goes to bed." 
 
 Angela Tempest's brows drew together in a puzzled 
 frown. 
 
 "What is a bawbee?" she asked. 
 
 "It's a ha'pen " Captain de Burgh broke off 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Hi, Flossie! What the! Keep off my toes, 
 can't you!" 
 
 "A bawbee, my dear Angela," ran on Flossie glibly, 
 "if used as a prefix, means a term of respect or 
 endearment, or ! But it 's so much more inter- 
 esting to receive information from the fountain-head, 
 so to speak. Ask the young man himself. He will 
 explain it better than I can." 
 
 "I shall do nothing of the sort," retorted Angela. 
 She laughed, and looked at Captain de Burgh. " You 
 gave it away. I know quite well what it means.
 
 6 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Bawbee Jock! It means that he 's a screw. Tell 
 me" she lowered her voice "does he know that 
 he 's called Bawbee Jock?" 
 
 "Well, it 's not exactly chucked at his head," said 
 Flossie. 
 
 "He looks lonely," said Angela. "Hasn't he got 
 any belongings?" 
 
 Flossie smiled. 
 
 "If you mean, is there a female Bawbee, or any 
 little Bawbeelites, I answer, not to my knowledge." 
 
 "There was a brother in the Blues," interposed 
 Captain de Burgh. "I don't know what 's become of 
 him. He chucked the service, and went off ranching 
 to South America, or some out-of-the-way place. A 
 good-looking boy, and he spent his money pretty 
 freely. He was n't a pincher like this one." 
 
 "I think you are both rather horrid," said Angela. 
 "I should like to go and talk to Bawbee Jock, and 
 make him feel more comfortable." 
 
 Flossie held up his finger warningly. 
 
 "My dear Angela, we all know the power of your 
 wiles I I mean charms; but in this case they will 
 not prevail. The young man abjures female society. 
 Whether it 's fright, or Scotch caution, or what, I 
 don't know; but you might as well try to make an im- 
 pression on a shortbread sweetie as on the heart of 
 Bawbee Jock." 
 
 " Poor Bawbee Jock ! " said Angela. " Look Lady 
 Di has swooped down on him. I 'm sure he 's dread- 
 fully afraid of her." 
 
 "No wonder," murmured Captain de Burgh. 
 "She 'd frighten a scarecrow!" And his eyes strayed 
 towards the masculine-looking lady standing on the
 
 A Stranger on His Own Estate 7 
 
 hearthrug who had captured the newcomer, to his 
 evident embarrassment. 
 
 Captain de Burgh's eyes came back to Angela's 
 face and he said gravely: 
 
 " I suppose you know, Miss Tempest, that when you 
 come out with the guns to-morrow you '11 be expected 
 to wear the same kind of thing as what Lady Di 's 
 got on. She calls it her kilt." 
 
 "Shall I?" Angela laughed; and then she looked 
 Flossie up and down and laughed again. " That 's the 
 only thing that has disappointed me in the High- 
 lands," she said. " I have not seen a man in a kilt yet. 
 I expected you to meet me at the station dressed in 
 a kilt, Flossie. Why did n't you?" 
 
 "Oh, indeed," retorted Flossie, "and be snap- 
 shotted from the train as it was moving out of the 
 station by some beastly newspaper correspondent." 
 
 "It needn't have been a beastly one," corrected 
 Angela. "Perhaps some quite nice one. And he 
 would have put you in his paper and said something 
 interesting about you. 'Lord Francis Carleton is 
 paying his usual round of visits in the Highlands and 
 has adopted the national dress.' Or or perhaps he 
 would have mistaken you for a real chief. Oh! Flos- 
 sie, think of that a real Highland chief!" 
 
 Captain de Burgh's eyes ran slowly over Flossie's 
 smooth pink face and plump figure. 
 
 "It would tax the imagination of even a newspaper 
 correspondent to take you for a Highland chief," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " Oh ! they stick at nothing," answered Flossie airily. 
 "Do you remember that time at Monte Carlo when I 
 was helping you to recruit from the scars of battle?
 
 8 Bawbee Jock 
 
 the night in the smoking-room, when we surprised that 
 mixed lot round the table where the English illus- 
 trateds were laid out?" 
 
 Flossie spread out his hands and addressed Angela. 
 
 " My dear, I rashly drew near to see what the row 
 was about, and one of them spotted me and went off 
 like a squib. There was not much entente cordiale in 
 the air then. I used to look for a pro-Boer under my 
 bed every night. This chap, he kept on banging the 
 table and thumping at something, and then shouting 
 at me. He had n't even the modesty to shout in his 
 own language. 
 
 " ' Your zoldjers ! Ze are nodding but old veemans ! 
 Ze ride in ze petticoat ! ' he bellowed at me. 
 
 "I meekly tried to defend our forces, but he flour- 
 ished the paper in my face. There it was a gaudy 
 illustration of a Highlander, and written underneath 
 it, "The Scottish Horse.' There was nothing left for 
 me to do but look silly. I murmured something 
 vaguely explanatory, but he only leered at me, most 
 offensively, and said: 
 
 " 'Ven ze vind blows, vat vould ze do, zese old 
 veemens who ride in ze petticoat?' 
 
 " 'They 'd sit tight and let the wind blow, and swish 
 your blooming head off if you came too near,' I an- 
 swered, and walked away. No decent foreigner would 
 have said a thing like that, but Ugh! By the way, 
 Beauty, did you ever find out about that most 
 misleading caricature, or whatever it was?" 
 
 "No; but I believe that the officers of the Scottish 
 Horse do wear a kilt, as a sort of ball mess-dress. The 
 paper would n't take the trouble to explain that." 
 
 "Well, I am very disappointed," said Angela, look-
 
 A Stranger on His Own Estate 9 
 
 ing round the room. "No one is in a kilt not even 
 Bawbee Jock." 
 
 "I never saw him out of one before," said Captain 
 de Burgh. 
 
 "What a funny little green coat that is of Lady 
 Di's," continued Angela. "It's trimmed with such 
 crowds of buttons." 
 
 "She calls that her doublet," said Flossie. "Did 
 you ever see such a heap of buttons? I tried to count 
 them when she was sitting beside me at lunch, and it 
 made me feel quite giddy." 
 
 "You did n't account for many birds after lunch, I 
 noticed," said Captain de Burgh. 
 
 Flossie rose with dignity. 
 
 "I shall take no notice of that remark," he said; 
 " I 'm going to play bridge." 
 
 Angela watched his retreating figure with smiling 
 eyes. 
 
 "Is n't he a dear?" she said. "It 's so nice to see 
 him again." 
 
 Captain de Burgh was also watching Flossie. 
 
 "I never can quite reconcile the idea of Flossie 
 being a guardian," he said. 
 
 "My guardian, you mean. Why?" asked An- 
 gela. 
 
 "Oh! I don't know. He 's not the kind of cut of a 
 figure for a guardian, somehow." 
 
 "I think my father must have been a very clever 
 man to choose Flossie as my guardian," said Angela. 
 "There is nothing Flossie can't do if he wants to. 
 He has been the cleverest and kindest and nicest 
 guardian that any girl could have had." 
 
 "Well, he 's unique, anyhow," admitted Captain de
 
 io Bawbee Jock 
 
 Burgh. "Flossie is everything that you would think 
 by the look of him that he was not." 
 
 "Of course he is," answered Angela with asperity. 
 "And that is what makes him so nice. Obvious 
 people are dreadfully dull." 
 
 "He can shoot, and he 's quite good on a horse, 
 and he can talk about anything. And he 's a mar- 
 vellous organiser runs people's shows for them better 
 than they can for themselves," mused Beauty lazily. 
 "Good old Flossie! He always does the right thing; 
 even to going away when he 's not wanted." 
 
 Angela raised her eyebrows. 
 
 "I did not wish him to go away," she said. 
 
 "Did n't you? Well, I did." 
 
 The words were spoken in a low voice, so softly 
 that they sounded almost like a caress. Captain de 
 Burgh drew his chair round a little farther. This at- 
 titude gave the impression of isolating himself and his 
 companion. No one understood the value of mono- 
 polising a position more thoroughly than "Beauty" 
 de Burgh, as he was commonly called in his own set. 
 He was a past-master in the art of wooing a woman, 
 whether he loved her or not. But it happened that in 
 this case he was very much in love, more so than he 
 found at all comfortable for his peace of mind ; and the 
 fact that the object of his affection gave him no clue 
 to the state of her feelings added enormously to her 
 charm. 
 
 Angela leant back in her chair and drew her gloves 
 backwards and forwards through her slim fingers and 
 gently pulled out the creases. She listened silently to 
 the soft caressing voice; sometimes flashing a side- 
 glance at the speaker from under her dark lashes.
 
 A Stranger on His Own Estate n 
 
 This man had persistently and systematically made 
 love to her for a whole year; but so many other men 
 had done the same thing. From her cradle upwards 
 men had been her slaves. She accepted their homage 
 unquestioningly, for she had never known a time when 
 it had not been offered to her. 
 
 There were people who accused Angela of being a 
 flirt. In the common sense of the word she was not, 
 because she never angled for admiration. An innate 
 pride and fastidiousness would have told her that it 
 was vulgar to cheapen herself to the crowd. She did 
 not require to do that. 
 
 Angela's friends were beginning to wonder a little 
 what she was going to make of her life. She was 
 twenty-one, and she was her own mistress, controller 
 of her own destiny. She seemed as heart-whole at 
 twenty-one as she had been at seventeen; sometimes 
 she wondered herself what she was going to make of 
 her life. She could not prevent men falling in love 
 with her; and, in justice to herself, it must be said 
 that when the inevitable happened she was always 
 sorry. 
 
 Had she a heart, or had she not? she often asked 
 herself. Sometimes a vague, intangible something 
 spoke to her in a language which she could not read: 
 spoke to her in the voice of a song, in the innocent 
 eyes of a child, in the twilight hush of a summer's 
 night. Sometimes she longed to love passionately, 
 unreasoningly; and then recoiled in shrinking terror 
 when the thing men called love was poured out 
 slavishly at her feet. 
 
 A shrewd, worldly-wise old man had prophesied of 
 Angela when she was still at the stage of short frocks
 
 12 Bawbee Jock 
 
 and pinafores: "If she marries the right man, he '11 
 make her; if she marries the wrong one, then God help 
 the man!" 
 
 He was still waiting to see the fulfilment of his 
 prophecy.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ANGELA EXERTS HER FASCINATION 
 
 DOLLY POTTER was, as her brother had re- 
 marked, a bad hostess. Not from intention, 
 but a curious kind of vagueness characterised her 
 actions; and she had no sense of proportion with 
 regard to time. 
 
 She was a pretty, fragile creature; and she wore 
 beautiful clothes, with an odd, unfinished sort of artis- 
 tic untidiness, as though she had dressed in a hurry 
 and forgotten to look at herself in the glass before she 
 came downstairs. 
 
 At twenty minutes past the dinner hour, when the 
 latest laggard amongst her guests was beginning to 
 despair, she fluttered into the drawing-room, dropping 
 confused apologies from right to left, and then came to 
 a standstill, looking wistfully round her, as if in search 
 of help. 
 
 "It 's all right, dear lady," said a soothing voice at 
 her elbow, and Flossie appeared with a green flower- 
 pot under his arm. ' ' We 're making the ladies draw for 
 whom they 're to take in to dinner," he said. "Only 
 two papers left. Now, that 's me that little curled- 
 up one in the corner. Do take it ! It 's so discourag- 
 ing always being passed over. Thanks! so kind of 
 you," and he whisked away the flower-pot before 
 
 13
 
 14 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Dolly had time to hesitate, and presented it to Angela, 
 who was standing close by. 
 
 "The last," he whispered; " you Ve no choice. I Ve 
 been keeping it up my sleeve for you all the tune. 
 Don't let him see it. It f s for your eye alone." 
 
 Angela unrolled the scrap of paper. "Bawbee 
 Jock" was written across it in Flossie's neat 
 handwriting. 
 
 Captain de Burgh was seen making his way across 
 the room; he stopped in front of Angela. 
 
 "I hope I am the lucky man?" he said. 
 
 She shook her head gently. 
 
 The Beauty scowled. 
 
 "Silly rot, this game of Flossie's," he said crossly. 
 "I was to take you in to dinner. Dolly knew that." 
 
 "I thought you said Flossie always did the right 
 thing," said Angela sweetly. Her glance went past 
 him. "Lady Di drew you, and she's always very 
 cross when she 's hungry, so I should advise you not 
 to keep her waiting. Talk vegetarianism to her. 
 That always soothes her." 
 
 With a little nod the Beauty found himself dis- 
 missed, and Angela stood quietly watching the oddly- 
 assorted procession of men and women, very few of 
 whom seemed to have been rightly paired, file past 
 her through the folding-doors into the dining-room. 
 
 One other watcher, half-hidden in the shadow of a 
 curtain, stood alone, and when any one approached 
 him he drew back and flushed nervously under his 
 deep tan. A handsome woman with sleepy eyes and a 
 wicked mouth swept up to her host who was standing 
 near. With a significant "You 're my boy, Monty," 
 she put her hand through his arm and passed on. Her
 
 Angela Exerts Her Fascination 15 
 
 trailing skirts brushed the feet of the silent watcher, 
 and the heavy perfume of scent rose to his nostrils. 
 
 He gave a sigh of relief. One by one the other 
 couples had disappeared ; the room was almost empty ; 
 and he had not been claimed. Perhaps and he took 
 heart at the thought perhaps he had been forgotten, 
 or perhaps there were not enough women to go round. 
 
 "May I have the pleasure of taking you in to 
 dinner?" 
 
 The low, sweet voice sounded close beside him; he 
 started violently, and looked down into a radiant 
 flower-like face upraised to his. The dark eyes smiled 
 at him, and the lovely mouth which had just framed 
 the words smiled at him also, and the little rounded 
 chin was tilted expectantly upwards. She was wait- 
 ing for him to answer; and a paralysing numbness 
 held him tongue-tied. 
 
 "I hope that I have not made a mistake," went on 
 the pretty voice. "But we 're the only two left, so I 
 think you must be Are you Mr. Mackenzie?" 
 
 "Yes," he stammered; and after that he did not 
 remember very well what happened. He must have 
 offered her his arm; for the next thing that he was 
 conscious of was that her hand was resting on it and 
 that they were passing through the folding-doors into 
 the dining-room. He had a perturbed recollection 
 afterwards of having trod on her dress when he stood 
 back to allow an officious footman to draw out her 
 chair, and that she said, "Oh, it doesn't matter." 
 Then he found himself sitting at his own dinner-table 
 in an unaccustomed place, and his surroundings were 
 familiar, but he felt an utter stranger amongst them. 
 The lights and the flowers and the faces were all
 
 1 6 Bawbee Jock 
 
 jumbled up together in a kind of mist; and the only 
 thing which appeared real was his mother's face, look- 
 ing down at him from the painted canvas on the wall 
 opposite. 
 
 Her eyes seemed to reproach him. There was a 
 sad, yearning appeal in their gaze. Something gripped 
 at his throat something that he choked back and 
 tried to stifle. "I can't do it"; and then a kind of 
 terror seized hold upon him, for he thought he had 
 said the words aloud. 
 
 "Please would you mind passing me the salt? 
 I 'm so sorry to have to ask for it so often." 
 
 "I I beg your pardon. I'm afraid I wasn't 
 listening." 
 
 Jock Mackenzie blurted out the words spasmodic- 
 ally. 
 
 The corners of Angela's mouth twitched. Never, 
 in her experience of men, had one of them dared to 
 confess that he was not listening when she spoke. It 
 was a new sensation, and she liked new sensations. 
 Her smile was very sweet as she glanced up into the 
 face above her. 
 
 It was a plain face, with strongly marked features. 
 His hair was just on that doubtful borderland between 
 red and sandy; it was very short, and showed the 
 suspicion of a little crimp where it was brushed back 
 from his temples. Exposure to all weathers had 
 tanned his skin deeply, and from out of the very 
 brown face a pair of blue eyes met Angela's dark ones. 
 They were curiously blue, and were fixed upon her 
 with a concentrated intentness which was evidently 
 characteristic of their owner. 
 
 " He 's very much in earnest," murmured Angela to
 
 Angela Exerts Her Fascination 17 
 
 herself. "Poor thing! he 'd be so much happier if he 
 was n't." 
 
 She finished her soup, and, taking a piece of toast 
 from the little silver rack beside her plate, began to 
 break it up slowly. Then she clasped her hands on 
 the edge of the tablecloth and exclaimed impulsively : 
 
 "This is the first time that I have ever been in 
 a Scotch house, and I think it is charming quite 
 charming." 
 
 A quick flash of pride, surprised pleasure, shone for 
 a moment in the eyes of the man looking down at her, 
 and then vanished. 
 
 " And your country ! Your moors ! All these miles 
 and miles of heather! It is simply glorious!" 
 
 Angela was generous in her praise and impetuous 
 of expression when her sympathies were aroused. 
 
 "I made the chauffeur drive slowly, coming from 
 the station this afternoon which I 'm sure he did not 
 like," she said. "And once I made him stop alto- 
 gether, and I jumped out and gathered a great bunch 
 of heather. It smelt like honey; and the colour of it! 
 I never saw such a colour. Oh ! it was all quite beauti- 
 ful, and not like anything I have ever seen before." 
 
 "It's been a fine season for the heather," said 
 Jock. 
 
 The answer amused Angela. 
 
 "You say that as if you were talking about cab- 
 bages, or green peas. Don't you love these moors? 
 You must. How can you help it?" 
 
 The footman's arm and an entree dish intervened; 
 she did not see the effect of her words, and there 
 was no answer. 
 
 The lack of response to her enthusiasm surprised her
 
 1 8 Bawbee Jock 
 
 a little. It was so unusual for her to have an unre- 
 sponsive listener, and the novelty of it stirred her 
 sense of humour. She was saying such nice things to 
 this young man, making herself so charming; and he 
 did not seem to realise that quite an unusual favour 
 was being bestowed on him. 
 
 She glanced across the table. Through a vista of 
 flowers and candelabra and trailing smilax she caught 
 a glimpse of Flossie's face. "I told you so!" was 
 written plainly all over it. She looked down and bit 
 her lip; a sparkling light of mischief flickered under 
 her lowered lashes. 
 
 During the half -hour which followed there was no 
 doubt whatever that Angela Tempest used every sub- 
 tle charm, every seductive art, every soft inflection of 
 voice of which a pretty woman is mistress, for the 
 subjugation of this big, shy, plain-featured young 
 man. For some unaccountable reason he had aroused 
 her interest. 
 
 How could he resist her? He would have been 
 astonished and incredulous had he been told that any 
 woman would think it worth her while to try to en- 
 slave him. He had a very modest opinion of him- 
 self. He was very single-minded, and entertained a 
 diffident reverence for women. Those soft dark eyes ! 
 That low voice, which had such a delicious quality of 
 sweetness in its vibrations! Those pretty, impulsive, 
 sympathetic nothings which fell from her lips ! They 
 opened to him the gates of a new world and spoke to 
 him in a new language. 
 
 His perceptions quickened, vitalised. He stole 
 glances at her when he thought she was not looking. 
 He realised that she was different to every other
 
 Angela Exerts Her Fascination 19 
 
 woman in the room. Man-like, he could not have told 
 what she wore, and an elusive and subtle charm made 
 Angela's clothes subjective to her personality; but 
 her dress appeared to him very simple, and its sim- 
 plicity pleased him. No ornaments spoilt the lovely 
 curves of her neck and arms ; they were soft and white 
 and rounded as a child's. The only thing that he 
 could have described about her definitely, was the bit 
 of sky-blue ribbon which twisted with fascinating 
 inconsequence in and out of her dark hair. It had a 
 fluttery end, which almost brushed his shoulder when 
 she moved her head, and there was something about 
 that bit of blue ribbon which made him feel that he 
 had known it all his life. A beautiful ancestress of his 
 own, whose portrait hung in the hall, was painted with 
 a blue ribbon in her hair; and often in his boyish days 
 he had stood underneath the picture and shyly adored 
 the proud beauty who looked scornfully down on her 
 plain little descendant. 
 
 He could not have analysed his sensations or de- 
 scribed how they affected him; he only knew that 
 she was different from any woman he had ever 
 seen or that his imagination had pictured. Every- 
 thing she did and said and looked and was, was 
 vitally distinctive of herself. He saw her through 
 the glamour of the spell which she had thrown over 
 him. 
 
 When she rose from the table she made him a little 
 mocking bow and left him with some pretty words 
 ringing in his ears. They meant, "Till we meet 
 again"; and his eyes followed her as she passed out 
 through the folding-doors. 
 
 There was a very sulky expression on Captain de
 
 2O Bawbee Jock 
 
 Burgh's handsome face as he opened the door for 
 the ladies to leave the dining-room. 
 
 "I hope you have had a pleasant time," he said 
 to Angela, as she passed out. 
 
 "Very," she answered. And it did not improve 
 his temper to find, when he entered the drawing-room 
 later, that she appeared serenely unaware that he was 
 cross. She ignored his attempts to monopolise her 
 society. Some exuberant spirits started playing 
 childish games, and she allowed herself to be drawn 
 into their circle, and played as happily as a little girl 
 at her first party. 
 
 Flossie was the ringleader of the revels. He did 
 not take any important part in them himself; he sug- 
 gested, and started them, and then looked on. 
 
 "Oh, Flossie, I 'm so hot!" pleaded Dolly after 
 half an hour's violent exercise. She sank exhausted 
 into a chair. "Do think of a game that makes us 
 sit still." 
 
 Flossie looked round on the dishevelled remnants 
 of his band; the only one who remained cool and un- 
 ruffled was Angela. 
 
 "Get out the roulette board, and hand me that 
 black velvet bag," said Lady Di in her strident voice; 
 and Flossie did as he was told. 
 
 "Old harridan!" he murmured to Angela. "She 
 cleaned us all out last night." 
 
 Angela drew in her chair to the table; there was a 
 vacant seat beside her and she glanced over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Mr. Mackenzie, won't you come and play?" she 
 said. 
 
 Jock had not joined in the games, but Angela was
 
 Angela Exerts Her Fascination 21 
 
 quite aware of the fact that he had been watching 
 her. She laid her hand on the vacant seat. 
 
 "Please," she said softly. 
 
 The colour rushed up to his temples. 
 
 "I I don't play," he said. 
 
 She still kept her hand on the chair. 
 
 " You need not play. Look on, and wish me luck." 
 
 He hesitated, and was lost. 
 
 " I 'm afraid I '11 be no use," he said as he sat down. 
 "I 'm not a lucky person." 
 
 "Perhaps you will be lucky when you are wishing 
 me luck. You shall stake for me"; and she glanced 
 up into his face and laughed. It was such a pretty 
 laugh. It sent all kinds of odd thrills running through 
 his veins, and that fluttering end of ribbon was almost 
 touching his shoulder again. The grey, dull, emotion- 
 less self the self which rigid discipline had almost 
 ground him down to be what he appeared to be 
 slipped momentarily from him. A smile lit up his 
 face. It transformed the plain features so magically 
 that Angela gave a little gasp of astonishment. She 
 turned her head aside quickly; swift compunction, a 
 sharp unreasoning pity for she knew not what, 
 brought the tears to her eyes. She could not have ex- 
 plained to herself what the feeling meant; she thrust 
 it away from her quickly. 
 
 "Flossie, do begin! What are we waiting for?" 
 she cried, and then added, " Mr. Mackenzie is going to 
 stake for me, and we 're going to win everything 
 are n't we?" 
 
 She laid a small jewelled purse on the table and 
 pushed it towards him. 
 
 "What am I to do with it?" he asked.
 
 22 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Count how much there is inside," she answered; 
 and he obeyed. To unfasten the clasp, to handle 
 a thing which belonged entirely and exclusively to 
 herself, gave him a kind of fearful joy. 
 
 He laid the money out on the green cloth. There 
 was very little, and she touched each coin with the 
 tips of her fingers. He noticed what pretty hands she 
 had, and she wore no rings. 
 
 "My" she hesitated "my b-bawbees," she said, 
 with a soft stammer. 
 
 Jock's eyes fixed her with that look of intensity. 
 
 " I did not think you would have known the mean- 
 ing of that word," he said. 
 
 She shook her head, and the blue ribbon fluttered. 
 
 "Perhaps I don't." 
 
 "But you must! You used it right," he said. 
 
 "It 's time to stake," she answered quickly. "You 
 choose a number, and be sure and bring me luck." 
 
 The wheel spun its round. Time after time Angela's 
 stake was risked; time after time she saw her little 
 pile swept away and added to some one else's pile, 
 until she had staked her all, and lost. 
 
 Flossie was holding the bank. She stretched out 
 her hand and asked him to lend her some money. 
 
 "Sorry I can't oblige you," he said, "but Lady 
 Di''s broke the bank." 
 
 "What a shame! I did so want to win back," she 
 exclaimed, appealing to the man who was watching 
 her, and who was miserably conscious of the fact that 
 i was he who had brought her her bad luck. 
 "Let me be your banker!" he said impulsively. 
 
 Excitement had brought a lovely colour to her 
 cheeks. She nodded and smiled.
 
 Angela Exerts Her Fascination 23 
 
 "How nice of you!" she answered. "We'll 
 have one more gamble. How much shall it be? A big 
 one?" 
 
 He took a small handful of loose silver from his 
 pocket. 
 
 "That 's all I have on me," he said. 
 
 "We'll stake it at one go," she cried recklessly. 
 "I '11 choose the number this time. Now, watch!" 
 
 Whiz! Round spun the needle. It slowed, wa- 
 vered, gave a final quiver, and stopped on the 
 number next to Angela's. 
 
 "How perfectly maddening!" she exclaimed. She 
 spread out her hands, palms uppermost. " What shall 
 I do? All my money gone! All my savings lost!" 
 She made a rueful grimace. "Bankrupt! I shall 
 have to wear cleaned gloves and travel third class for 
 the next six months. Is n't it awful?" 
 
 "I 'm so sorry," he said remorsefully. "It was all 
 my fault. I ought not to have allowed you to make 
 me your 'luck.' ' 
 
 "Oh! that was my own doing; I took the risk," she 
 answered. "How much do I owe you? I forgot to 
 count." 
 
 "Never mind," he answered hastily. "I lost all 
 yours first, you know. You put on for me that last 
 time. We 're quits." 
 
 "Partners in misfortune," she laughed. 
 
 "Partners," he repeated after her slowly. 
 
 Glennfoira was an old house, and had not as yet 
 been modernised by electricity or any other up-to- 
 date mode of lighting. Good-nights were exchanged 
 round a long table in the hall, on which was laid out a 
 glittering row of bedroom candlesticks.
 
 24 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Take care and don't dribble the grease on the 
 stair-carpet," said Flossie, as he handed Angela her 
 candlestick. "It's so bad for the housemaid's 
 morals." 
 
 "You 're a very bad lighter of candles," retorted 
 Angela, paying no attention to his remark. "Mine 
 has gone out already." 
 
 They were standing quite at the end of the long 
 table, and beyond it the hall was in shadow. 
 
 Flossie scratched a match, and Angela blew it out 
 with a soft little "poof." He put the match-box in 
 his pocket. 
 
 "Very well," he said, "you can go to bed in the 
 dark, and there 's a ghost ! It walks about with its 
 head under its arm. It will serve you jolly well right 
 if it walks into your room. Your behaviour this even- 
 ing has been scandalous ! I blushed for you all through 
 dinner, and afterwards ! The way you rooked Bawbee 
 Jock!" 
 
 "Flossie!" remonstrated Angela. 
 
 " May the ghosts of his ancestors haunt your slum- 
 bers," murmured Flossie; and, slipping past her, he 
 picked up his candlestick and disappeared. 
 
 Angela turned, to find the man of whom they had 
 been speaking standing close beside her. He must 
 have heard their remarks. If she had had any hopes 
 that he had not, her first glance at his face unde- 
 ceived her. She was beginning to understand what 
 that look in the blue eyes meant. Its directness was 
 disconcerting. 
 
 "Do they call me that?" he said, with an odd jerk 
 in his voice. 
 
 Angela flushed.
 
 Angela Exerts Her Fascination 25 
 
 "People are never given nicknames unless they 're 
 unless they 're liked," she said hurriedly. 
 
 "Do you know why they call me that?" he asked. 
 
 "I " she caught her breath quickly. Then she 
 raised her head; the light danced in her eyes and the 
 corners of her mouth trembled. "B-bawbee! Don't 
 you think it 's a dear little name? " she said. " I do 
 I like it ! I think I think ' Bawbee Jock ' sounds very 
 pretty." 
 
 She had saved the situation. That rare swift 
 smile flashed across the plain face and transformed it 
 almost to beauty. The colour mounted again to his 
 temples. 
 
 "It does when you say it," he answered. 
 
 Upstairs in her own room Angela sat in front of her 
 looking-glass and regarded herself with a frown 
 puckering her brow. She wore a long white dressing- 
 gown and her hair had been brushed out for the night. 
 
 "You can go to bed, Antoinette," she said in 
 French to a tall woman in black, who was standing in 
 the background. And Antoinette, whom a midnight 
 journey and a long motor-drive had made cross as 
 well as sleepy, accepted her mistress's dismissal with- 
 out demur. 
 
 Angela was not at all sleepy. She sat on, her chin 
 resting on her clasped hands, and began to talk to her 
 own reflection. She had a childish trick of hold- 
 ing conversation with herself; she sometimes did it 
 unconsciously. 
 
 "It 's quite true what Flossie said you 've been 
 behaving scandalously! You ought to be ashamed 
 of yourself ! You Ve been flirting ! You 've never 
 done such a thing before, and you don't know why you
 
 26 Bawbee Jock 
 
 did it. 'Bawbee Jock.' ' She murmured the name 
 softly under her breath ; then she paused, and frowned 
 at the eyes which looked back at her. "It was like 
 hurting a child to play with him the way you did. 
 And you did play! You played deliberately. Why 
 did you do it?" 
 
 Yes, why had she done it? It was a question she 
 could not answer. Had she been prompted by piqued 
 vanity? a whimsical curiosity to find out if she had 
 limitations? No! If something in this man's per- 
 sonality had not interested her, she would have left 
 him alone. There was nothing small in Angela's 
 nature. The satisfaction of a petty triumph would 
 not have appealed to her. 
 
 "I hope you will be punished as you deserve," she 
 said to the face in the glass. She finished her un- 
 dressing and, blowing out the candles, jumped into 
 bed in a hurry because she suddenly remembered 
 Flossie's threats of ghostly terrors, and fell into a 
 dreamless, untroubled sleep, whilst the object of her 
 reflections stood at the open window of his room on 
 the floor above, and, looking out across the wide 
 moorlands to where a pale glow lightened the northern 
 sky, wondered if a new heaven and a new earth had 
 been born for him since the rising of that morning's 
 sun. 
 
 He raised his arms above his head and stretched his 
 limbs, like a man who longs to rid himself of some 
 weary burden. 
 
 " If I were free ! If I could only see the end of it ! If 
 it was my own hand I was fighting for ! " he murmured. 
 
 He dropped his arms; the hopelessness of finality 
 was in the gesture.
 
 Angela Exerts Her Fascination 27 
 
 "It 's like pouring water into a sieve! I never felt 
 the grind of it so badly before." 
 
 He moved away from the window to the dressing- 
 table, and turned out his pockets. His expression 
 softened. 
 
 " 'Rooked me' that 's what that little man they 
 call Flossie said. She did n't. She wanted to pay 
 me back, and she 's poor. 'Bankrupt! All my sav- 
 ings gone!' That was what she said; and it was only 
 a few shillings that she lost. It must be rough on a 
 girl to go about amongst that lot and be poor, and 
 have to keep up with them." 
 
 He wound up his watch and put it under his pillow. 
 That night his sleep was haunted by a confused med- 
 ley of strange dreams. In and out of each fleeting 
 phantasy, and playing hide-and-seek with his elusive 
 grasp, fluttered a wisp of blue ribbon. He woke with 
 the dawn creeping through the open window, to find 
 that it was only a dream.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE COMMUNION OF TWO 
 
 " I AM starving! I could eat anything." 
 
 1 For goodness' sake, Angela, don't fix me with 
 that hungry glare, as if you wanted to eat me!" 
 
 Flossie skipped nimbly out of reach. 
 
 "My dear girl," he said, shaking the skirts of his 
 shooting-coat, which was very frilly below the waist 
 and bulged with pockets above, "do I look as if I 'd 
 got a haggis, or a bannock, or any other of the vile 
 comestibles of this heathen land hidden about me? 
 You make me feel quite nervous. Don't look like 
 that." 
 
 Angela clapped her hands together impatiently. 
 
 "Feed me at once!" she cried. "What is inside 
 that delicious-looking brown pot? It smells so good! 
 I never thought walking on heather could be so 
 exhausting. I feel as if I had been running in a 
 Marathon race." 
 
 Flossie plunged a long spoon into the hot-pot. 
 
 "Beauty, hand over those plates and make your- 
 self useful, will you?" he said. "I 'm so tired of see- 
 ing you standing about doing nothing. What put 
 you off your shooting this morning?" 
 
 "I drew a bad number to begin with, and I Ve had 
 no luck," grumbled the Beauty. 
 
 28
 
 The Communion of Two 29 
 
 He handed Angela her plate, and after supplying 
 her with everything that she required, brought his 
 own and sat down beside her. 
 
 The spot was an ideal one for a shooting-picnic. A 
 hollow in the hillside gave shelter from the sun and 
 wind, and a little stream, bubbling out from the grey 
 rock above, had burrowed a bed for itself in the peaty 
 soil. On every side stretched the moor, the pur- 
 ple heather basking hot in the sunshine. Down the 
 sloping shoulder of a low hill at the back could be 
 seen the line of butts which the shooters had just 
 vacated. 
 
 "These big drives are a nuisance, if they're not 
 properly managed," grumbled the Beauty, taking a 
 long, thirsty pull at his glass. "Monty Potter knows 
 as much about grouse-driving as he does about the 
 outside of a horse, and that 's not much." He lifted 
 his glass again to his lips, and set it down empty. 
 " He thinks it 's the swagger thing to take a moor. I 
 believe he hates it really." 
 
 "I suppose it 's a very good moor," said Angela. 
 Her gaze wandered to the great stretches of purple. 
 "It 's beautiful quite beautiful! It seems horrid to 
 want to eat when everything is so lovely." 
 
 The Beauty continued to grumble. 
 
 " Monty 's got thirteen guns out to-day. A rotten 
 bad lot the most of them are, too." 
 
 " Who are all these men? " asked Angela. " They 're 
 not stopping in the house. I don't recognise half of 
 them." 
 
 Captain de Burgh glanced round carelessly. 
 
 "The man who rents the next shooting has brought 
 over his party," he said. "That 's what Monty likes:
 
 30 Bawbee Jock 
 
 a crowd, and a big fat lunch. Such a waste of a 
 place; it 's never properly shot." 
 
 "Does he always come up here?" asked Angela. 
 . The Beauty nodded. 
 
 "He 's got the place on lease. I expect it makes 
 Bawbee Jock rather sick to see what a nice muddle 
 Monty makes of things. Bawbee Jock may be what 
 he likes, but he 's a rattling good shot a sportsman 
 through and through." 
 
 Angela looked at the Beauty with a kinder ex- 
 pression in her eyes than she usually favoured him 
 with. 
 
 "It is nice of you to say that," she said. "I like 
 to hear men say generous things of each other." 
 
 Beauty began to look sentimental, and she changed 
 the subject hastily. 
 
 ; "I want something more to eat," she said, "and I 
 don't know what to choose. There seems to be such 
 mountains of food. No wonder you chaffed Flossie 
 about not shooting well after lunch." 
 
 It was certainly a luxuriously appointed lunch which 
 was spread out on the long tables set up on the green 
 plateau in the hollow of the hillside. They groaned 
 under the weight of every luxury which the skill of a 
 French chef could evolve. In the background, be- 
 side the bubbling stream, stood a large ice- tub, and the 
 heads of champagne bottles glinted over its side; and 
 on the grass beside it lay more bottles, large and 
 small. In attendance hovered a flock of very English- 
 looking men-servants, who appeared strangely out of 
 keeping with the scenery. 
 
 Neither the host nor the hostess seemed to be taking 
 any particular responsibility with regard to their
 
 The Communion of Two 31 
 
 guests. Occasionally Dolly Potter's voice was raised 
 plaintively. 
 
 "Flossie! Colonel Leach wants to know about this 
 caviare. Where does it come from? Flossie! Lady 
 Di says that eggs are n't allowed in her vegetarian list 
 they turn into chickens, you know; and Hawkins 
 has put some in her salad sauce. And, Flossie " 
 
 Angela caught hold of the flapping end of Flossie's 
 waistband as he was passing and pulled him up with 
 a jerk. 
 
 " Sit down ! " she said peremptorily. " You have n't 
 eaten a single morsel of lunch yet. Never mind these 
 nasty, greedy people. It will do them good to clamour 
 for what they can't get." 
 
 "But they '11 keep on clamouring," groaned Flossie. 
 
 " Never mind. Turn your back on them and don't 
 listen." 
 
 Flossie was made to sit down on the heather. He 
 took off his cap and mopped his forehead with a mauve 
 silk pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 "You poor dear," said Angela, "you are hot! 
 There!" and she placed on his knee a plate of grouse 
 pie which had just been handed to her. "Get him 
 something to drink," she said, turning to Captain de 
 Burgh. 
 
 Flossie picked up a knife and fork and attacked the 
 pie. 
 
 "What was Lady Di making such a fuss about?" 
 asked Angela. 
 
 "About how long it would take for a hard-boiled 
 egg to turn into a chicken," mumbled Flossie with his 
 mouth full of pie. "Lord! I wouldn't be a vege- 
 tarian for a monkey-full of nuts. She 's sitting there
 
 32 Bawbee Jock 
 
 gloating over a beastly-looking mess of lettuce and 
 cucumber and radishes, and the devil knows what. 
 You should have seen her offering some to that old 
 gourmet Leach. He looked at it with rather a pinched 
 smile and said he was afraid his salad days were over. 
 Ugh!" Flossie grunted. "She went on munching. 
 The kind of stuff you 'd imagine Nebuchadnezzar 
 devouring with his claws." 
 
 "I believe old Leach is trying to marry her," said 
 Beauty. "She 's got pots of money. Do you think 
 he knows about number one and number two? Num- 
 ber one ran off with the cook, and number two " 
 
 "O Lord! he was an out-and-out loony," chimed 
 in Flossie. " If you went to call, you found him mow- 
 ing the lawn in a pot hat and pyjamas. He said he 
 had something the matter with his inside." 
 
 "So would you, if you were fed on lime-juice and 
 radishes," murmured Beauty. "He died that was 
 Edwin. When it was full moon he used to chuck all 
 the china out of the drawing-room window, and then 
 go to bed and say there had been an earthquake." 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 "Poor Lady Di!" she said. "She always used to 
 think it was her duty to tell Flossie how he ought 
 to bring me up. Did n't she, Flossie? And it made 
 you so cross, especially when she talked about your 
 not understanding the duties of a mother." 
 
 " Dried-up old stick ! " growled Flossie. " What did 
 she know about mothers? Never heard the cheep of 
 a chicken of her own!" 
 
 "Flossie, what are you going to do with that 
 merry- thought?" said Angela. "Do pull it with 
 me."
 
 The Communion of Two 33 
 
 Flossie held out the merry-thought, and Angela, 
 giving it a little pull, snapped off the bigger end. 
 
 ' ' There ! ' ' she said gaily. ' ' You can prepare for my 
 wedding." 
 
 "I never go to weddings," said Flossie. "People's 
 emotions get so fizzy. I might be kissed by mistake." 
 
 "Well, you wouldn't be kissed on purpose, any- 
 how," said the Beauty. "Give me a cigarette, Flos- 
 sie. Thanks! I wonder how long this orgy is going 
 to last?" He looked at his watch. "Half-past 
 two. We '11 be lucky if we get in another couple of 
 drives." 
 
 "Oh well, it's a ladies' innings," said Flossie. 
 "They 're all coming into the butts after lunch." 
 
 Captain de Burgh turned to Angela, and dropping 
 his voice to the low, persuasive tone which he gener- 
 ally found so irresistible, said, "You will come into 
 my butt with me, won't you?" 
 
 "What does that mean?" she answered. "What 
 am I expected to do? I 've never been out on a day 
 like this before, you know." 
 
 Captain de Burgh proceeded to explain, but An- 
 gela was either not listening attentively or else he was 
 not making his subject sufficiently interesting, for in 
 the middle of one of his most careful descriptions, she 
 exclaimed suddenly: 
 
 "Flossie, do go and save that poor man. Mrs. 
 Devereux has got hold of him." She flushed up. 
 "Horrid woman! why is she here?" 
 
 The sleepy-eyed woman with the wicked mouth, 
 who had borne off her host the night before with such 
 scant ceremony, was sitting a little distance away, and 
 Jock Mackenzie was sitting next to her.
 
 34 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Captain de Burgh followed the direction of Angela's 
 gaze. 
 
 "I suppose she made Monty ask her," he said. 
 
 "Why did n't Dolly say she would n't have her?" 
 answered Angela hotly. 
 
 The Beauty shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "No good," he said. 
 
 Flossie was still eating, and taking no share in the 
 conversation. Angela appealed to him again. 
 
 "Flossie, I insist upon your helping that poor 
 thing. She 's trying to make him drink cherry 
 brandy, and he 's too polite to say he does n't want 
 to." 
 
 The Beauty laughed drily. 
 
 "Leave him alone, Flossie. The Devereux is an 
 excellent instructress of ingenuous youth. Bawbee 
 Jock might learn a few useful lessons from her." 
 
 But Angela looked at Flossie, and Flossie rose and, 
 shaking some crumbs from his shooting-coat, made a 
 step in the direction of the group opposite, and then 
 paused. 
 
 "What do you want me to do?" he said. "I can't 
 go up to Bawbee Jock and say, ' Miss Tempest thinks 
 it is n't good for your morals to drink cherry brandy 
 with a lady whose chequered past ahem ! ' If I don't 
 go into particulars, he won't see the point! He 's 
 Scotch, you see." 
 
 "Bring him here," said Angela peremptorily. " Tell 
 him oh, tell him anything!" 
 
 Flossie moved away and she turned to Captain de 
 Burgh. 
 
 "I wonder if you could find my coat for me?" she 
 said. "It was put into the lunch-cart, I think."
 
 The Communion of Two 35 
 
 Beauty stood up. 
 
 " I '11 fetch it," he said. " And remember ! you have 
 promised to come into my butt with me." 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 "Indeed, I have not promised to do anything of the 
 kind. I never make rash promises." 
 
 Captain de Burgh found the coat, but when he came 
 back Angela was not where he had left her. He 
 looked round. At a short distance from the luncheon- 
 tables the game had been laid out on the heather. 
 Round it several gillies and loaders were loitering, 
 waiting for the party to move on, and keeping a watch- 
 ful eye on the guns and cartridge-bags which were 
 lying ready for the next drive. 
 
 Angela was standing between Jock Mackenzie and 
 an old man in rough grey homespun. The old man 
 was evidently amusing her, for Beauty heard her 
 light laugh and saw that her face was sparkling with 
 animation. 
 
 He laid the coat on the heather and sat down beside 
 it. He was offended, and he intended to show her 
 that he was offended. He struck a match sulkily and 
 lit a fresh cigarette. 
 
 Angela was talking eagerly to the old gillie. The 
 soft air, blowing across the moor, had ruffled her hair 
 and brought a lovely colour to her cheeks. Jock 
 looked down at her with shy, proud pleasure. He did 
 not quite know how it came about that she was there, 
 but it gratified him very much ; and she had singled out 
 old Donald for her preference. 
 
 "Do make him go on talking," she was pleading. 
 " I Ve never heard Gaelic spoken before, and it sounds 
 so funny! As though he were scolding dreadfully
 
 36 Bawbee Jock 
 
 hard. Is he cross? Is he angry with me for 
 laughing?" 
 
 "Oh no, he is not angry," said Jock; "he 's only 
 trying to explain something." And he said a few 
 words to the old man, which made Angela exclaim 
 quickly: 
 
 "Why, you can talk it too!" 
 
 Jock laughed. It was a hearty, boyish laugh, which 
 was as much a surprise to Angela as had been that 
 sudden, swift smile of the evening before. 
 
 " It 's my native tongue," he said. "When I was a 
 little chap oh, until I was nearly ten I could hardly 
 speak English. My father liked us to talk Gaelic." 
 His voice softened. "My father was a very staunch 
 Highlander. Donald!" he said, addressing the old 
 man, "this lady has never been in the Highlands be- 
 fore, and she does n't understand the Gaelic. You 
 must speak to her in your best English and welcome 
 her to Glenmoira." 
 
 Donald dragged off his Scotch bonnet with nervous 
 eagerness and gave an odd bob of his grey head. He 
 peered at Angela from under his thick brows. His 
 eyes had the curious inner glow in their depths so 
 characteristic of the Celt; as though he were looking 
 beyond the now to the unseen. 
 
 " It will be a goot welcome that I will be giving ; and 
 it is proud that I am to welcome such a beautiful 
 lady to the glens, whatever." 
 
 When he spoke in English, his voice had a soft, sing- 
 song plaint in its tone which was peculiarly sweet. 
 
 Angela clapped her hands like a delighted child. 
 
 ' ' What a pretty speech ! ' ' she exclaimed. ' ' Donald ! 
 Did you call him Donald?" And Jock acquiesced
 
 The Communion of Two 37 
 
 silently. "Thank you, Donald!" she cried, and she 
 took the horny old hand in hers and shook it warmly. 
 "I never had such a pretty speech made to me before 
 never! I think your glens are beautiful quite 
 beautiful." 
 
 Her quick, English-speaking voice puzzled the old 
 man. He looked at Jock questioningly. There was 
 a kind of dog-like, trusting devotion in the look. Then 
 his eyes went back to Angela's face and rested there. 
 The wind caught his grey locks and blew the hair 
 back from his forehead, and he raised his hand with a 
 gesture of prophetic solemnity. 
 
 "It will be to the glens that you haf come, and it 
 will be in the glens that you will stay, and it is our 
 chief, Glenmoira himself whatever, that will be know- 
 ing that it is true." 
 
 He lifted his eyes to the sky and then looked down, 
 and stood motionless. 
 
 Angela moved a little nearer to Jock, who was 
 watching Donald curiously. 
 
 " What does he mean? " she asked in a hushed voice. 
 
 Jock roused himself. 
 
 "It 's just his way of expressing himself," he said 
 hurriedly. " It it was part of the welcome." 
 
 "His chief! Glenmoira himself! What did he 
 mean by that?" persisted Angela. Then a light 
 flashed into her eyes. "Are you Glenmoira? Are 
 you? Yes, I know! I remember! Of course! High- 
 landers are called after the names of their places, 
 aren't they?" 
 
 "Well, it 's a kind of necessity," Jock hastened to 
 explain. "There are so many of us of the same name, 
 that one has to make some kind of distinction."
 
 38 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I see," said Angela; and she looked round: at the 
 hills, and the great expanse of moor stretching to 
 where it met the low line of the horizon. " Is all this 
 Glvinmoira?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes," he answered slowly; and she did not ask 
 any more questions. There was something in his voice 
 which told her that it hurt him to speak of Glenmoira. 
 
 The luncheon party had now broken up and was 
 beginning to scatter in the direction of the line of 
 butts on the slope of the hill. 
 
 "What are we going to do now?" asked Angela. 
 
 "I believe we are to shoot from the same line of 
 butts as we did before," said Jock. "The beaters 
 have been bringing the birds back whilst we were at 
 lunch." 
 
 "What a lot of fussing and arranging it seems to 
 take," said Angela, glancing at a group in front of 
 them, in which Lady Di was the central figure. 
 
 A gleam of humour, swift and fleeting, lit up Jock's 
 face. 
 
 "It is a ladies' drive," he said. 
 
 "You mean that we are going into the butts with 
 the men?" she answered. 
 
 "Yes." He seemed to hesitate, and then added: 
 "I I suppose you Ve made your choice? I mean 
 you Ve arranged who you are going with?" 
 
 "No, I have not," answered Angela, without a 
 moment's hesitation. 
 
 "Will you come with me?" 
 
 The words were out before he realised the magni- 
 tude of his own audacity. 
 
 "May I?" she answered. "But shouldn't I be in 
 your way? I know nothing about it."
 
 The Communion of Two 39 
 
 "Oh no, you would not be in the way. I shall feel 
 very much honoured if you will come into my butt 
 with me." 
 
 Jock bent his head a little, and spoke with a simple 
 old-fashioned courtesy which sat very well on him. 
 Then he turned and said something to Donald, who 
 brought him his gun and cartridge-bag. 
 
 Donald looked at Angela and muttered something. 
 
 "He 's not pleased with me," she said. 
 
 Jock smiled. 
 
 "Not that. But he thinks I can't get on without 
 him." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "He 's been loading for me, you see, all morning. 
 If you have two guns out, you can't get on without 
 a loader. The birds come over, at such a pace that 
 you have to be very quick to get your double shots in, 
 in front and behind." 
 
 "Then I shall be in the way," exclaimed Angela. 
 "You want him much more than you want me." 
 
 "Oh no!" protested Jock quickly. "I don't want 
 him. I 'd much rather I" He broke off. "I 'm 
 only going to take one gun." 
 
 "Can't I help?" said Angela, still uncertain. "Do 
 let me help. I love to learn how to do things real 
 things, that mean something." 
 
 Her comradeship was very sweet dangerously 
 sweet; the colour deepened under Jock's tan. 
 
 "You could hand me my cartridges," he said 
 "that helps a lot. I '11 give you the bag when we get 
 into the butt and show you what to do." 
 
 "I '11 do exactly what you tell me," she answered 
 eagerly. She drew in a long breath. "It's all so
 
 40 Bawbee Jock 
 
 new and interesting and real. I think I 'm going to 
 love the Highlands more than any place I 've ever 
 been in before." 
 
 "I 'm so glad," he said. 
 
 The big party had now formed itself into some 
 kind of order, and Angela and Jock moved slowly on 
 to join it. As they passed the place where the lunch- 
 eon-tables had been laid out, they came upon a 
 straggling group of laggards, and Angela heard Flossie 
 in dulcet tones inviting Mrs. Devereux to come with 
 him into his butt. 
 
 "Why did you do that?" she asked, as he overtook 
 her a few seconds later. "You know you can't bear 
 her!" 
 
 "My dear," he answered, glancing cautiously over 
 his shoulder, "it was such a good opportunity. I 
 have to ask her once in a way, as a penance for my 
 reputation. She 'd say such catty things about me, 
 if I did n't; and as I had just heard her accept Monty's 
 invitation to go into his butt, I seized the opportunity 
 of a rebuff. Who are you going with? Beauty has 
 marched off by himself with a suicidal expression 
 on his face, and he 's boned my cigarette case, the 
 beggar!" 
 
 "I 've been invited by " Angela inclined her 
 head ever so slightly. Jock had walked on a few paces 
 when he saw that her attention had been claimed. 
 
 Flossie's eyebrows nearly disappeared into the little 
 fluff of down above his forehead, which he called hair. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that Bawbee Jock has asked 
 you into his butt?" 
 
 "Yes," said Angela demurely. 
 
 "Ye gods! Ton my word, Angela, it's a quick
 
 The Communion of Two 41 
 
 thing! I shall write a comic tragedy in three acts, 
 and call it The Taming of the Screw. 11 
 
 Angela stamped her foot impatiently. 
 
 "Be quiet, Flossie!" she exclaimed. "He isn't a 
 screw ! I know he is n't. I think you are quite, quite 
 horrid." 
 
 She turned away indignantly. Jock heard his 
 name called, and he stopped and came back to her 
 side. 
 
 "Why did you desert me?" she said, with a petu- 
 lant prog of her stick in the heather. 
 
 "I thought you wanted to talk to Lord Francis," 
 said Jock. "You know him very well, don't you?" 
 
 Jock's pleasure at being recalled was obvious. It 
 somehow appeased Angela's wrath. 
 
 "Yes, I know him very well," she answered. A 
 smile rippled over her face, and her petulant mood 
 vanished. "He is my guardian at least, well, I sup- 
 pose I am my own guardian now, because I am 
 twenty-one. But Flossie will always go on taking 
 care of me. I never remember the time when he did 
 not. He is a kind of relation. My father loved him 
 just like a brother, and I had no other relations, so he 
 left me to Flossie. I am very relationless : I have no 
 one but Flossie." 
 
 They walked on for a few minutes in silence, and 
 then Angela said softly: 
 
 " Flossie talks great nonsense, you know, and people 
 think that he is just a frivolous little butterfly; but 
 he is not. He has the kindest, tenderest heart in 
 the world. He " She did not finish her sentence 
 and her gaze went on ahead. 
 
 Flossie had run past and made up to a group walk-
 
 42 Bawbee Jock 
 
 ing on in front. Dolly Potter's voice, with its 
 plaintive note of helplessness, which seemed part of 
 herself, was borne back on the breeze. 
 
 "What a lot of things are no use," Angela re- 
 marked irrelevantly, after a pause. 
 
 She did not expect Jock to understand. He did, 
 so far as to know that something had touched the 
 brightness of her mood with a wave of sadness. He 
 would like to have shown her that he knew, but words 
 did not come readily to him. 
 
 Angela changed the subject. 
 
 "What funny-looking things!" she said pointing to 
 the butts, to which they had now drawn near. " Do 
 let me choose which one we go into! Have I said 
 anything stupid?" she added. 
 
 "Oh no!" he said. "But I'm afraid we've no 
 choice. The butts are numbered, you see. You 
 ballot for your place in the morning, and then you go 
 down two places each drive, so you never get the same 
 butt twice. It makes it fairer. Some places are bet- 
 ter than others." 
 
 Angela nodded. 
 
 "I see. I want you to tell me all about it. Now, 
 which is our butt? for it seems to me that they are 
 all being snapped up and we shall be left out. I 
 want to begin at once." 
 
 "I 'm afraid we shall have to have patience," said 
 Jock. "We may have to wait for a bit yet until the 
 beaters get round." 
 
 His eyes narrowed and took that look of con- 
 centrated intensity which Angela was beginning to 
 understand. They seemed to take in everything 
 from the patch of heather at his feet, to where the hills
 
 The Communion of Two 43 
 
 above Glenmoira cut their jagged outline against the 
 misty blue of the August sky. 
 
 "Perhaps we had better take our places," he said. 
 "You have n't much of a climb. That is our butt 
 there." He pointed with his finger. "It 's the best 
 place I Ve had to-day." 
 
 "Ah! perhaps I Ve brought you luck," said Angela 
 gaily. "It will make up for last night." 
 
 The half-hour of waiting did not seem long to either 
 of them. There was so much to learn on Angela's 
 part, and the task of teaching her was so sweet. 
 Perhaps she taught Jock as much as he taught her: 
 taught him that it was quite a mistake to suppose 
 that heaven always dwelt up beyond the blue of the 
 sky. Heaven came down to earth at times, and 
 could dwell in a cramped little hole with a turf wall 
 round it. A shooting-butt could make a paradise of 
 its own. 
 
 Jock showed her how to hold his cartridges, with 
 the ends towards him, so that he could slip them 
 easily into his gun, and she insisted upon having the 
 cartridge-bag slung over her shoulder, although he 
 told her that it was too heavy. 
 
 "But I will have it so," she declared. "I am sure 
 Donald would wear it over his shoulder, and I am 
 Donald. And you ! you are Glenmoira whatever ! ' ' 
 
 She mimicked the old gillie's soft drawl, and Jock 
 thought he had never seen anything so pretty as her 
 lips when she said the word "Glenmoira." 
 
 "I don't think you ought to take off your gloves," 
 he said. "The cartridges may make your fingers 
 dirty." 
 
 "Donald would not wear gloves," she answered in-
 
 44 Bawbee Jock 
 
 dignantly. "And 'muffled cats can't hunt.' Don't 
 you know that proverb?" 
 
 When the cries of the beaters were heard, her ex- 
 citement grew intense. 
 
 "I shall drop the cartridges," she half whispered 
 "I know I shall! My fingers are beginning to shake 
 already." 
 
 "Oh no, you won't," he said reassuringly. And 
 when the birds began to come overhead, with a great 
 rush of strong wings, she saw a sharp, keen glint come 
 into his eyes, and a feeling of complete confidence in 
 him banished her sense of nervousness. 
 
 He took up his position easily: he never missed his 
 chance, bringing down his bird cleanly and neatly. 
 When the gillies came to pick up the game, theirs was 
 the biggest count. 
 
 "Is n't it splendid!" said Angela. "I am so glad. 
 I was so afraid I would spoil sport for you." 
 
 "Spoil it! You helped more than half. You 
 were so quick. You 're the best loader I 've ever 
 had!" exclaimed Jock with a burst of enthusiasm 
 which was very unusual to him. 
 
 The colour in Angela's cheeks deepened. She 
 thanked him for his praise, not in words, but with her 
 eyes. 
 
 When the day's work was over, they walked home 
 together across the moor; for Angela said that she was 
 not tired, and refused to be driven back with the rest 
 of the shooting-party. 
 
 "I should love to walk," she said to Jock frankly. 
 "And of course you will know the way, and we can 
 cut off the corners." 
 
 It filled Jock with a tremulous joy to think that she
 
 The Communion of Two 45 
 
 should wish to stay with him, that she should ask him 
 to be her guide. And yet it seemed natural and sim- 
 ple that they should be together. Angela was like a 
 child who had found a playmate that she liked to play 
 with ; and as they breasted the long sweeping slopes 
 of heather, or scrambled down some rocky bank, or 
 crossed and recrossed the brawling stream, there was 
 something at every turn of the way which called for 
 interest. 
 
 They found a wounded grouse, which Jock merci- 
 fully killed ; and the little incident gave rise to his tell- 
 ing her things about birds and their habits which she 
 had never given a thought to before. Her quick, 
 eager sympathy led him on from one subject to an- 
 other, until he lost his shyness in her presence and 
 showed her glimpses of his real self the self which he 
 was only dimly conscious of possessing. 
 
 She marvelled as she listened, for she was seeing 
 through the eyes of one who had lived so close to 
 Nature that her mantle seemed to have fallen upon 
 him. A clean, pure wholesomeness, a simplicity of 
 strength, marked this man out as different from any 
 man she had ever met before. 
 
 When they came to the low turf- wall which bounded 
 the edge of the moor above the house, Jock gave her 
 his hand to help her over. From the top she looked 
 down at him and shook her head and laughed. 
 
 "I 'm going to sit here for a little while and rest," 
 she said. She settled herself comfortably on a dry 
 sod and planted her heels firmly into the soft soil. 
 "I don't feel ready to go in yet," she said confiden- 
 tially. "They will all be at tea, and there will be such 
 a chattering and smell of hot things: cigarettes, and
 
 46 Bawbee Jock 
 
 whiskeys-and-sodas like yesterday, when I arrived. 
 Here it is so heavenly, so sweet and fresh and wild ! 
 What is it that smells so sweet? Not the heather 
 something different: a wild, sweet smell." 
 
 Jock had taken the cartridges out of his gun and 
 leant it against the wall. He went back a few steps, 
 and picking some sprigs of green from a low shrubby 
 plant, brought them to her. 
 
 "Yes, that 's it," she said. "It has such a spicy 
 smell." 
 
 "It 's the bog-myrtle," he said. "Roid we call it 
 in Gaelic." 
 
 She tried to say the word after him, rolling out the 
 r with exaggerated broadness. 
 
 "I should very soon learn to speak Gaelic, 
 shouldn't I?" she said. "What a nice day it has 
 been! Everything has been nice. I don't think I 
 ever learnt so many interesting things in one day 
 before." 
 
 He was standing close beside her, resting his arms 
 on the top of the turf- wall; the western sunlight was 
 shining full on his face. 
 
 "I am glad that you have had a good day," he said. 
 "And that you like Glenmoira." 
 
 "I love it," she answered. 
 
 She was silent for a few moments, and then she 
 broke out impetuously: 
 
 "How can you bear to let other people have it? I 
 could n't if it was mine I simply could n't ! To see 
 a a Cockney stockbroker ordering about your peo- 
 ple, and Oh, it 's hateful! How can you stand 
 it? I could n't." 
 
 "It means money," he said slowly. He was star-
 
 The Communion of Two 47 
 
 ing straight out in front of him and did not turn his 
 head. 
 
 She had forgotten the conversation of the day be- 
 fore, and Captain de Burgh's slighting remarks about 
 his brother-in-law's landlord; now the remembrance 
 of what he had said rushed back to her with a signifi- 
 cance which roused her to sudden anger against the 
 man beside her. It was true, then! He was dis- 
 loyal to his place and his people. And it was for the 
 sake of money for the mere love of it. 
 
 " I can't think how you can let another man take the 
 position you ought to take," she exclaimed, flushing 
 hotly. 
 
 Jock kept his head still averted. 
 
 "He gets what he wants, and I get what I want," 
 he said. 
 
 "Money," said Angela scornfully. 
 
 "Money," he repeated. 
 
 The scorn in her voice hurt him. He longed for just 
 one word of understanding, one glance of sympathy. 
 He picked off a bit of dry turf from the wall and 
 crumbled it down through his fingers. 
 
 " Of course I know what you think," he said in a low 
 voice. "You think that I am what they say a 
 screw." 
 
 "I don't know what I think," she retorted. She 
 felt angry with herself for having led the conversation 
 into its present vein. All the little chaffing trifles 
 which she had laughed over with Flossie and Captain 
 de Burgh came back to irritate and annoy her. 
 
 Jock forced himself to look at her at last, and his 
 eyes met hers steadily. 
 
 "I must get money somehow. There 's a reason,"
 
 48 Bawbee Jock 
 
 he said slowly. "I don't want you to misunder- 
 stand it hurts." 
 
 He saw the scorn die out of her face. She flushed, 
 and bending down, for she was above him, she said 
 gently: 
 
 "I am so glad you told me. I won't misunder- 
 stand now. It it is very nice of you to trust me."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF OLD CLOTHES 
 
 AS Angela had predicted, there was a great deal of 
 noise and chattering going on round the tea- 
 table in the hall as they entered so much so that the 
 tardy appearance of the late-comers caused no ques- 
 tion, and they passed in almost unnoticed. Captain 
 de Burgh was one of the few who did notice. He felt 
 that Angela had treated him very badly and that he 
 had a just cause for grievance. All the same, he 
 could not keep away from her. 
 
 Angela did not feel very penitent, but her manner 
 was gracious to him when he followed her up the long 
 room to the bow-window where she had sat the pre- 
 vious afternoon. 
 
 "I hope you have come to ask me if I want some 
 tea," she said. "I do! Please may I have it here?" 
 
 She had dismissed Jock, on entering, with a smile, 
 which bewildered him a good deal and left him won- 
 dering what it meant. 
 
 "I hope you had a pleasant walk home," said the 
 Beauty. He sat down at the table which he had 
 drawn in beside her chair, and placed his cup on it, 
 close to hers. 
 
 "Very, and I've learnt such a lot of interesting 
 4 49
 
 50 Bawbee Jock 
 
 things about grouse, and oh! all kinds of other 
 things." 
 
 Captain de Burgh looked at the bunch of bog- 
 myrtle which was tucked into the buckle of her 
 waistband. 
 
 "I see you've got some of that stuff." He 
 dropped his voice. "Won't you give me a bit? I 
 think you might be a little kind. You treated me 
 very badly in breaking your promise to come into my 
 butt; and I took care of your coat for you. I brought 
 it back." 
 
 " Thank you so much; but I did not break a promise, 
 because I never made one." 
 
 She took no notice of his remark about the bog- 
 myrtle and changed the conversation by drawing 
 his attention to a portrait hanging on the wall 
 opposite. 
 
 "What a lovely picture!" she said. "Isn't she a 
 beauty? Her dress is so charming. Look how the 
 light falls on the white satin of her train. It 's so 
 funny the way fashions come round again. Do you 
 see the blue ribbon twisted in and out of her hair? I 
 wore a ribbon in my hair like that last night." 
 
 "Yes, she is a beauty," said Captain de Burgh, 
 turning his head lazily. "One of Bawbee Jock's 
 great-great-grandmothers, I suppose. Pity she has 
 not passed her good looks on to him." 
 
 Angela took no notice of his speech. She was 
 studying the portrait attentively. 
 
 "It would make a lovely subject for a tableau," 
 she remarked presently. An idea struck her. "Why 
 should we not get up tableaux this evening? I heard 
 some one saying that the people who came over to
 
 The Romance of Old Clothes 51 
 
 shoot were stopping to dine. Dolly will want some 
 amusement for them." 
 
 "You won't find men wanting to dress up for 
 tableaux after a day's grouse-driving," said Beauty. 
 
 "But I want to dress up myself," retorted Angela. 
 "Those who don't want to, can look on. Flossie!" 
 She raised her voice. "Come here! We are in- 
 spired with a brilliant idea. Come and help us to 
 work it out." 
 
 Flossie sank down into the chair she pushed towards 
 him. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear, for rescuing me," he said. 
 "I 've been passing through a most painful experi- 
 ence. Lady Di 's learning to knit a stocking. It 's 
 got a green leg with a tartan top to it. She 's been 
 making me read out the directions. 'Cast on six 
 stitches, knit them all together. Drop seven. Keep 
 on dropping seven. Get up from your chair and turn 
 round three times and sit down again. Slip five and 
 throw up six. If the pattern does n't come out right, 
 keep on throwing up.' Ugh! I feel so sick." 
 
 Angela laughed and glanced across the room. 
 
 "Lady Di always likes to learn the industries of the 
 country," she said. "I wonder what poor man she '11 
 give the stocking to." 
 
 Her glance went from Lady Di and her knitting to 
 a small group who were sitting beyond Mrs. Dev- 
 ereux and her host and another man. Mrs. Devereux 
 was eating grapes and trying to light her cigarette 
 from a half -smoked one which Mr. Potter was holding 
 out to her. There was a fatuous smile on Monty 
 Potter's coarse red face. 
 
 Angela's chin tilted scornfully.
 
 52 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Lady Di's eccentricities are funny and harmless. 
 Whatever she does, you would never mistake her for 
 anything but a lady," she said. 
 
 " 'The daughter of a thousand earls,' " quoted 
 Beauty. 
 
 "Flossie, listen to my brilliant idea," continued 
 Angela, and she proceeded to propound her brilliant 
 idea. 
 
 "Tableaux! My dear, they're so exhausting for 
 the stage-manager, and I suppose you 'd expect me to 
 be that! And where are the clothes to come from?" 
 
 "I should love to wear a dress like that!" said 
 Angela, with her eyes on the picture. "And the way 
 her hair is done is so pretty. Is n't the blue rib- 
 bon fascinating, Flossie? Antoinette could copy it 
 exactly." 
 
 Jock was standing near, talking to a fine-looking old 
 man in a kilt, who was one of the party that had come 
 over for the grouse-drive that day. Flossie rose from 
 his chair and, without saying what he was going to do, 
 went up to Jock, and a few seconds later was seen 
 bringing him back with him. 
 
 He politely offered Jock a chair and re-seated 
 himself. 
 
 "We wish to consult you on a matter of import- 
 ance," he said. "Miss Tempest wants to get up 
 tableaux, and she would like to know" Flossie bowed 
 towards the portrait on the wall "how she can 
 represent herself in imitation of that extremely beauti- 
 ful lady, who, I conclude, is an ancestress of yours." 
 
 "Flossie!" expostulated Angela. 
 
 "Well, my dear, is n't that what you wish to do?" 
 
 Flossie again addressed Jock,
 
 The Romance of Old Clothes 53 
 
 " It would be well to let her have her way. She is 
 dangerous when she 's thwarted. I call her request 
 rather swagger, you know. She fancies she 's like 
 the picture." 
 
 Jock looked at Angela, and then at the portrait, 
 and thought of the blue ribbon she had worn in her 
 hair the night before. 
 
 " I think it is like you," he said shyly. " Would you 
 care to put on the dress, and and see for yourself? " 
 
 "How could I?" exclaimed Angela, flushing vividly. 
 
 "I think I could find the dress," said Jock. 
 "There 's a locked-up room at the top of the house. 
 I 'm almost sure it 's in there. If you like, I '11 get 
 the key and look." He hesitated. "Mrs. Potter 
 would n't mind, would she? She knows that I have 
 the key." 
 
 "Dolly! Oh no, Dolly would n't mind," answered 
 Angela quickly. "But you! May I really see the 
 dress? I should love to, even if I did not wear it. 
 Perhaps you would not like to see a stranger dressed 
 up in your great how many greats is she? grand- 
 mother's clothes." 
 
 "I would like to see you wearing the dress," said 
 Jock simply, and with obvious sincerity. He looked 
 at Flossie. "If you want to get up tableaux, there 
 are a lot of funny old-fashioned things up there, and 
 you are quite welcome to use them, if you like. I 
 don't know much about them," he added. " Perhaps 
 the moths have made away with them." 
 
 Angela was all eagerness and expectancy. 
 
 " If you really don't mind letting us have the things 
 to play with," she said persuasively. "When may 
 we go and see them?"
 
 54 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I will get the key now," said Jock, rising. 
 
 "Flossie, we won't tell about the tableaux," said 
 Angela, as she watched Jock leave the hall. "I 
 mean, we need only tell the ones we want to act. 
 You go round and pick your company; then we can 
 slip out and go and choose the clothes quietly." 
 
 ' ' Quietly ! ' ' echoed Flossie. ' ' They '11 all be scram- 
 bling for the best bits like Jews at an auction. Who 
 shall we have?" He lit a cigarette and took stock of 
 the room. "You and I and Beauty, to begin with. 
 Then, let me see not Dolly; we '11 get up our enter- 
 tainment as a surprise for her. Lady Di. No! I 
 can't undertake to place her, and she 's so interfering : 
 she must knit, and look on. Those two Fuzzy- 
 Buzzy girls, and old Leach. We might put them on as 
 twin Cupids and a Satyr! Mrs. Devereux." He 
 glanced at the grape-dish. "Good for a Bacchante." 
 
 Angela frowned. Her lips tightened an ominous 
 sign of rebellion. 
 
 " If she comes, I won't play," she said. 
 
 "All right," said Flossie shortly. He rose. "I '11 
 pick out the ones we want and get them smuggled 
 through the hall, and we '11 waylay Bawbee Jock as he 
 comes back." 
 
 Jock found the key that he wanted hanging in a 
 cupboard in the smoking-room. As the Potters only 
 occupied Glenmoira for a few weeks at the beginning 
 of the shooting-season, he frequently had reason to 
 go into the house, and knew where to find what he 
 required. 
 
 The fine-looking old Highlander, whom he had been 
 talking to in the hall when Flossie had interrupted 
 Mm, was sitting by the fire in the smoking-room. He
 
 The Romance of Old Clothes 55 
 
 was the only occupant of the room, and had collected 
 the day's newspapers round him and was filling his 
 pipe. He watched Jock to see what he was doing. 
 
 "Found what you wanted, my boy?" he said, as 
 Jock locked the cupboard door and came over to the 
 fireplace. 
 
 Jock held up the key. 
 
 "Yes, I wanted this." 
 
 Colonel Grant put on his spectacles and looked over 
 the top of them. 
 
 "Who 's the girl?" he asked, and there was a 
 twinkle in the kindly old eyes. 
 
 "What girl?" answered Jock, reddening. 
 
 The old soldier flicked his newspaper across Jock's 
 legs. 
 
 "What girl? There's only one girl! You know 
 that as well as I do." And Jock went out of the room 
 with his cheeks tingling. 
 
 In the corridor outside he found a footman laying 
 the contents of the post-bag, which arrived late in the 
 afternoon at Glenmoira, on a long table by the win- 
 dow. His eye caught his own name on an envelope, 
 and he took up the letter. It was a letter which had 
 been redirected to him from his home address, and 
 as he recognised the handwriting his face clouded 
 over. 
 
 At that moment the door into the hall opened, and 
 Angela and Flossie and a little crowd of followers 
 flocked out into the corridor. He crushed the letter 
 into his pocket and came forward to meet them. 
 
 "Well," said Angela, "have you found the key?" 
 
 "Yes," he said; "here it is!" 
 
 Up the narrow stone staircase they trooped, one
 
 56 Bawbee Jock 
 
 by one. Up up, and still up. The house was an 
 old, many-storied building, with little turrety towers 
 and gables, and the labyrinth of passages to be tra- 
 versed seemed endless. 
 
 "Here we are at last; I 'm afraid it 's been rather a 
 climb," said Jock apologetically, as he stopped before 
 a low door and fitted the key into the lock. 
 
 The door opened inwards with a stiff grating sound, 
 and he looked back at Angela over his shoulder. 
 
 "Take care of the cobwebs," he said. "The place 
 is very dusty. I hope you won't mind it being in such 
 a mess." 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 "We want dust and cobwebs; that 's part of the 
 romance of old clothes." 
 
 She peeped round his arm, and was the first to enter 
 through the narrow doorway ; but the rest of the party 
 followed quickly on her heels, pushing and jostling 
 each other. 
 
 For the next half-hour wild pandemonium reigned 
 in that dusty, musty-fusty, mouse-smelling old attic. 
 The treasures contained in its cupboards and boxes 
 would have driven a collector of antique wardrobes 
 wild with envy. 
 
 "Don't you hate to see them tearing at the things 
 like a pack of hungry hounds?" said Angela indig- 
 nantly to the owner of all this wealth. 
 
 She was not taking part in the scramble, and neither 
 was Jock. They were sitting together on a little old 
 brown box at the end of the room and looking on. 
 
 Jock shook his head. 
 
 "I don't mind," he said. "Why should they not 
 get some fun out of them? They 're doing no good
 
 
 The Romance of Old Clothes 57 
 
 lying here." He touched the brown box they were 
 sitting on. "I would not have allowed them to pull 
 this about. This is yours." His voice lingered on 
 the last words; and he added in a lower key, "As long 
 as we sit on it together, like this, they won't see it, 
 will they?" 
 
 A dimple showed at the corner of Angela's mouth. 
 She had been curiously touched by his treatment of 
 that little old brown box. He had spirited it away 
 from the others with a secretive cunning for which 
 she would hardly have given him credit ; and deposit- 
 ing it in a dark corner, had asked her if she would sit 
 on it, saying in a whisper, which gave the action a 
 delightful feeling of conspiracy: 
 
 "The dress you want is in here. Do you mind very 
 much not opening the box just now? I I Ve al- 
 ways had a kind of feeling about that portrait, since 
 I was quite a little chap. I used to stand in front of 
 it, and look at it, and wonder if I wished hard enough 
 whether she would step out of her frame and come 
 down." 
 
 "What a pretty idea!" said Angela, and her eyes 
 shone softly. "No, I won't say anything about the 
 box. They would all want to know what was inside, 
 and you would not like to see the things you loved 
 pulled about, would you?" 
 
 "I '11 carry it downstairs for you, and give it to one 
 of the servants to put in your room, and then you can 
 do what you like with it," answered Jock. 
 
 "What a rash thing to say!" laughed Angela. "I 
 might run away with it!" 
 
 "You may do just what you like with it," he re- 
 peated; and she saw a look come into his eyes before
 
 58 Bawbee Jock 
 
 which her own fell, and neither of them spoke for a 
 few minutes. 
 
 Little screams and gurgles and gasps, broken by 
 shouts of laughter from the men at the other end of 
 the room, made them both look up. 
 
 "What are they doing?" said Angela. "Flossie is 
 trying to put something on over his head, and Captain 
 de Burgh is trying to pull it off. It 's a regular tug- 
 of-war." 
 
 To her surprise she saw Jock double himself up as 
 though suddenly seized with a fit of internal agony. 
 The next minute he was rocking himself backwards 
 and forwards in a paroxysm of convulsive laughter. 
 She had never seen any one in such a state of painful 
 mirth before. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked anxiously. "You will 
 make yourself ill. I 'm sure it hurts." 
 
 "Oh! don't you see?" gasped Jock hysterically; 
 the tears were running down his cheeks. " He 's got 
 hold of a kilt, and he 's trying to put it on upside- 
 down. I did n't think such a thing was possible. 
 Oh !" He was seized with a fresh paroxysm of 
 agony. 
 
 " It 's all right," said Angela. " Look ! it has turned 
 inside-out again. Oh dear! what is he going to do 
 now? He 's quite mad. He is taken like that 
 sometimes." 
 
 With wonderful agility, considering his figure, 
 Flossie had sprung on to the top of an old wooden 
 table which stood near, and was executing a flourish 
 of pas seuls and pirouettes which would have won him 
 a round of encores on the boards of a variety theatre. 
 
 "Hands off! hands off! Don't come tiddly-
 
 The Romance of Old Clothes 59 
 
 winkin' round me," he cried, as the two fluffy-headed 
 sisters, whom he called the Fuzzy-Buzzy girls, pressed 
 forward. "I'm the Tully-gorum on his native 
 heath!" and he snapped his fingers in the air. 
 "Hihuroosh! Macgilly-cuddy-reeks, Ballyhooly!" he 
 yelled. And spinning round on the tips of his shoot- 
 ing-boots with a velocity which sent his kilt fanning 
 out round him like a huge cheese-cake, he jumped 
 from the table, blowing kisses to the four corners of 
 the room. 
 
 He landed on the bare boards, and sat rubbing the 
 seat of his knickerbockers ruefully. 
 
 "Beastly hot things, kilts! And it 's the devil of a 
 hard floor," he remarked. 
 
 " Quite, quite mad," murmured Angela, down whose 
 cheeks the tears were also running. 
 
 "He did it very well," said Jock. "I couldn't 
 have done a thing like that to save my life." 
 
 Angela looked at him. 
 
 "Why don't you wear a kilt?" she said. "You 're 
 a Highlander." She laughed, and mimicked old Don- 
 ald's sing-song drawl. "Aren't you Glenmoira 
 himself whatever?" 
 
 Jock flushed a little. 
 
 "I always do wear the kilt," he answered. 
 
 "What a story! You are dressed just like any of 
 the other men. You have not got one on now." 
 
 "No." He hesitated. "I did not come straight 
 from home here. I had been south on business." 
 
 Angela glanced across the room at Flossie and the 
 group who had gathered round him. 
 
 "Was it really that? or was it because, as we were all 
 Sassenachs, you thought it was not worth while?"'
 
 60 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " Worth while ! Oh ! I never thought of that. I 'm 
 much more at home in my kilt than I am in anything 
 else." 
 
 "Then do wear it. Wear it to-night, at dinner. 
 Please do!" Angela's voice sounded very pretty and 
 persuasive, and she continued quickly: "You will 
 not be peculiar, because that splendid-looking old 
 man that you were talking to in the hall wears a kilt." 
 
 "Colonel Grant," said Jock. "He was a friend of 
 my father's," he added, and the doubtful look on his 
 face cleared as though he saw his way out of a diffi- 
 culty. "I have not got my own kilt with me," he 
 said. "But if you really wish it, there 's a dress kilt 
 of my father's, which I have worn before, in one of 
 those boxes. I could wear that. Do you really wish 
 it?" 
 
 "Of course I do," she answered. "I wish it very 
 much indeed."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IN THE ANCESTRAL HALL 
 
 PHE tableaux ran the course of most such amateur 
 1 performances, affording more amusement to the 
 actors than to the audience. There were the inevitable 
 long waits between the scenes, and the sticking fast of 
 the curtain at the crucial moment; but as only an 
 hour's time had been given to the stage-manager to 
 organise his company, it was not to be marvelled at 
 that there were difficulties. 
 
 "Very badly managed," remarked Lady Di, who 
 had sat in the front row with her tartan stocking, and 
 made audibly uncomplimentary remarks throughout 
 the entertainment. "If I hadn't had my knitting, 
 I should have been bored to death. Were you stage- 
 managing, Flossie? I thought so! YOU know as 
 much about stage-managing as my grandmother's 
 cat." 
 
 "The pertness of the old thing!" exclaimed Flossie 
 to Angela afterwards. "I'll be shot if she'll see 
 sixty again, and she snapped at me like a saucy minx 
 in curl-papers and a pinafore." 
 
 "She was offended because you did not ask her to 
 play," said Angela. 
 
 "What could I have done with her?" retorted Flos- 
 sie. "A complexion like brown paper and a nose like 
 
 61
 
 62 Bawbee Jock 
 
 a trumpet ! And she would n't have said ' Thank you ' 
 for a comic part." 
 
 Jock took no share in the tableaux. He sat as far 
 back as he could, in the shadow of a curtain, and 
 watched for one picture alone. He had to wait a 
 long time; but it came at last, very near the end, 
 and he did notjjrudge the waiting. The dream of his 
 childhood had come true; the painted canvas had 
 come to life. He had never seen anything so lovely 
 and so altogether desirable and perfect. 
 
 He sat with downcast eyes after the curtain had 
 fallen for the last time, for the tableau was beautiful 
 and was recalled again and again. He was trying to 
 bring it all back : to see her through his closed eyelids. 
 He felt a hand on his shoulder, and, looking up, saw 
 his old friend Colonel Grant standing beside him. 
 
 "I'd have liked your father to have seen that, 
 Jock, my boy. I think he would have thought she 
 was in her right place, eh?" and the old soldier smiled. 
 
 Jock did not answer. He could not quite trust 
 himself to speak. The hand rested on his shoulder for 
 a moment, and there was a suspicion of moisture in 
 the colonel's eyes as he passed on. 
 
 "Poor laddie!" he murmured to himself, "he's 
 taking it badly. She 's as pretty as a summer's 
 morning and Highland blood 's hot." 
 
 "And you really were pleased? and you think that 
 I looked like the picture? It was very good of you 
 to lend me the dress." 
 
 They were standing in the hall together, Jock and 
 Angela; and the candlesticks were being handed 
 round. Angela still wore the dress she had acted in.
 
 In the Ancestral Hall 63 
 
 She knew that she looked lovely in it, and she wished 
 to look lovely. 
 
 " And my hair? " She put up her hand and touched 
 a little curl above her forehead: "I would not let 
 It took ages to do. It looks as if it might be easy, but 
 it is n't. And do you know, I found a bit of blue 
 ribbon exactly the same colour as the ribbon in the 
 picture. Do you see?" 
 
 "You wore it last night," said Jock. 
 
 "Did I?" she asked innocently. But she was glad 
 that he had remembered. "And you! You look 
 splendid!" Her eyes sparkled. "Do you know, I 
 hardly recognised you when I saw you first. Is that 
 a very rude thing to say?" 
 
 She did not tell him that from a bend in the stair- 
 case, as she was coming down-stairs, she had seen him, 
 herself unseen. Could this radiant figure be the shy, 
 diffident young man of the evening before? she had 
 asked herself. And she had watched him pass up the 
 long, stone-vaulted corridor, and she had drawn back 
 and the colour had risen to her cheeks. 
 
 Many a time had the old chief of Glenmoira passed 
 up that same corridor, in that same dress; and that 
 night his son looked no unworthy successor to the old 
 name and the old chieftainship. He walked with easy 
 grace, carrying himself with an innate pride of bear- 
 ing, the heavy pleats of his kilt swinging lightly in 
 time to his step. And Angela had watched him until 
 he had passed out of sight through the folding-doors 
 into the drawing-room beyond; and then she had 
 walked downstairs with her head held proudly, and 
 she knew what had brought the blood flushing warmly 
 to her cheeks.
 
 64 Bawbee Jock 
 
 They were standing close underneath the picture, 
 and she looked up at the painted canvas. 
 
 "Your beautiful lady wears a rope of pearls," she 
 said. She touched her bare neck and shook her 
 head sadly. "But I have no pearls only my own 
 neck." 
 
 "I wish I could have given you the pearls," mur- 
 mured poor Jock, but so low that she did not hear. 
 
 "And she wears a rose," continued Angela, intent 
 on the picture. "I had no rose, so I wore a sprig of 
 my r-roid look! tucked in here. It is dreadfully 
 squashed, but it smells all the sweeter for that!" 
 
 Jock felt as if his heart would burst with pride. He 
 could not trust himself to say a single word. 
 
 She turned away from the picture and, stepping 
 back a little, surveyed him critically. 
 
 "Yes, you do look fine!" and she walked round him. 
 "Now tell me what all these beautiful things mean," 
 she said. " I know they must have funny names, and 
 I shall try to pronounce them after you." 
 
 And so he had to tell her about all the different 
 characteristics of his dress which he did rather 
 shyly; and at her command he showed her their 
 different uses. His sporran and his dirk, and the 
 skean-dhu sticking out of the folded-down top of 
 his stocking, interested her enormously. Even his 
 buckled shoes did not escape her notice; and the 
 great cairngorm brooch which caught up the folds of 
 his plaid on his shoulder was so beautiful, she declared, 
 that she must stand on her tiptoes to look at it. 
 
 "I am glad you are pleased," said Jock, reddening 
 at her enthusiasm. "Of course this is a full-dress 
 kilt to wear on big occasions." He laughed. "I
 
 In the Ancestral Hall 65 
 
 don't get myself up like this when I 'm working on my 
 farm." 
 
 "Where is your farm?" she asked. 
 
 "Over the hill in the next glen. A good few miles 
 from here." 
 
 "And you live there? And you really work?" 
 
 "Rather! I work very hard," he answered. The 
 interest in her voice was so sweet. It encouraged him 
 to go on. ' ' I am my own agent for the place, you see, 
 and that gives me a lot to do. I live in a little house 
 over at the clachan on the loch side. We don't have 
 big farms up in the North here as in the Lowlands. 
 It 's quite a small bit; my father used to keep it up 
 as the home farm." 
 
 "What is a c-clacken?" asked Angela. "Oh dear! 
 I know I did not pronounce that right. You make it 
 sound much softer." 
 
 Jock had no fault to find with the sweet voice. 
 
 "A clachan is a small village," he said. "You 
 would call it a hamlet probably in England." 
 
 "Clack-chan." Angela nodded. "I managed it 
 better that time. Tell me some more about your 
 clachan? What else is there besides the village and 
 your house?" 
 
 " There 's a church. You would think it a bare kind 
 of place. It 's a Presbyterian church. In many 
 of our Highland glens the people are Roman Catho- 
 lics, but we are not up here. And there 's a very dear 
 old, minister, who lives in his manse close by the 
 church; and then there 's the loch, and the Burying 
 Island out in the middle of it." 
 
 Angela drew a little nearer. 
 
 "The Burying Island?" she repeated, in an
 
 66 Bawbee Jock 
 
 awestruck voice. "What do you do with a Burying 
 Island?" 
 
 "Bury people on it," said Jock. "We are a super- 
 stitious race, we Highlanders. Our people think that 
 to be surrounded by water wards off the evil spirits. 
 They bring their dead for miles from the outlying glens 
 to bury them on the island; and wherever they rest 
 the coffin on the way, they build a cairn of stones. 
 You will see these cairns dotted all over the country- 
 side." 
 
 "What a great many interesting things I am learn- 
 ing!" said Angela. "Only think of all that has been 
 crammed into this one day ! Learning to be a loader, 
 and how to shoot grouse, and how to pronounce 
 clacken I mean clachan! and I think the High- 
 lands are adorable. What shall we do to-morrow?" 
 
 "I 'm going away to-morrow," said Jock; and his 
 tone sounded rather flat. 
 
 "Going away? Oh, I 'm so sorry!" She did not 
 attempt to keep the frank regret out of her voice. 
 Angela never posed or pretended. Perhaps that was 
 what made her so dangerous. 
 
 "Yes, I have to " 
 
 "Now, then, Angela, what are you doing?" in- 
 terrupted Flossie, bustling up to the table with a 
 candlestick in his hand. "Still admiring yourself, 
 I suppose, and thinking you look like that!" He 
 flourished his candlestick towards the picture on 
 the wall and then held it out to her. "It 's time to 
 go to bed," he said. 
 
 "It's not time to go to bed," answered Angela. 
 "Every one has gone to the billiard-room. I heard 
 Dolly say they were going to play pool, and I don't
 
 In the Ancestral Hall 67 
 
 wish to play pool. I 'm learning Gaelic the mean- 
 ings of things. I want to stay here, and learn the 
 meanings of some more things." 
 
 "Oh indeed!" Flossie cocked his head on one side 
 like a pensive parrot and raised his eyebrows. Then 
 he began to sing softly, in a sweet falsetto voice: 
 
 " Little birdie on the tree, 
 Twittering to the baw-ing bee." 
 
 I mean bumbling bee I mean " 
 
 "Where did you get that from?" said Angela, eye- 
 ing him suspiciously. "I never heard you singing it 
 before." 
 
 "I composed it in my bath this morning," an- 
 swered Flossie modestly "all by myself! My most 
 burning inspirations always do come to me then if 
 the water is hot enough. I could have gone on com- 
 posing more, only I remembered I did n't like cold 
 porridge." 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 "You can go away and compose some more now, 
 because I am going to stay here and learn Gaelic. 
 Every one is doing what he likes, so why should not 
 I? It 's not bedtime. The only one who has gone 
 to bed respectably is Lady Di." 
 
 Flossie blew down the funnel of the lamp, and put it 
 out. 
 
 "If you 're going to say things like that, the less 
 light there is the better," he remarked. He put the 
 candlestick into her hand. "I shall give you just as 
 long as I think right. Not a second more!" 
 
 He shook his finger at her, and disappeared.
 
 68 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Angela looked at Jock across the flicker of the 
 candle-flame; her eyes were dancing. 
 
 "What shall we play at?" she half -whispered. 
 ' ' Ghosts ? It 's all so dark and shadowy and mysterious . 
 I know ! We will go round and talk to all the pictures ; 
 and you will tell me who they are, and what they did, 
 and whether they were nice or nasty, and who they 
 loved and who they hated, and and, everything." 
 
 She gave him the candlestick. 
 
 "You must carry it, because you are so tall and I 
 am so little. And you must hold it well above your 
 head, so that I can see the expressions on their faces 
 when we are talking about them." 
 
 Jock did as he was told. Was there anything he 
 would not have done at her bidding? 
 
 "We will begin with this fierce-looking man in the 
 kilt," said Angela. "I am so glad he can't jump out 
 of his frame. I don't like that daggery thing he is 
 flourishing above his head. He looks as if he were 
 shouting out something." 
 
 "That 'daggery thing' is his dirk," explained Jock, 
 "and he is shouting. It 's the slogan his battle-cry. 
 He was a great warrior; he fought at Langside for 
 Queen Mary." 
 
 "What did you call it?" asked Angela. "Slo 
 what?" 
 
 "Slogan. It means a battle-cry. Every clan has 
 its own battle-cry. It served as a watchword in cases 
 of sudden alarm, or in the confusion of battle, or in the 
 darkness of the night. The clansmen knew, when 
 they heard it, where to rally round their chief. That 
 and the clan badge were bound to distinguish them in 
 a fight."
 
 In the Ancestral Hall 69 
 
 "The clan badge!" echoed Angela. "What is 
 that? Oh dear! what a lot of funny things you High- 
 landers have." 
 
 Jock drew his dirk, and showed her, engraved on the 
 silver band which encircled the jewelled hilt, a finely 
 traced wreath of holly. 
 
 "That is our badge," he said "the holly. The 
 clansmen wore the badge of their clan in their bon- 
 nets. It marked them out as belonging to their own 
 particular clan. We wear the badge on other things 
 as well." 
 
 "I know!" exclaimed Angela. She raised herself 
 again on her tiptoes. "Yes, it 's round your brooch 
 too ! Such a dear little wreath ! Was n't it clever of 
 me to notice that?" 
 
 She regained her balance hurriedly, for the candle 
 had flashed its light on Jock's face, and its expression 
 betrayed him more than he knew. 
 
 " We will go on to the other pictures now," she said. 
 
 They made the tour of the hall, side by side; and 
 so long as Jock looked at the pictures, he managed to 
 keep his head fairly steady; but when he looked at 
 Angela, his story grew sadly confused and tangled. 
 Then she took up the tale, and weaved into it all 
 manner of quaint conceits and pretty fancies, at which 
 they both laughed and sighed, for she possessed a 
 wonderful power of drawing out the pathos as well as 
 the humour and romance from whatever appealed to 
 her ready tongue and brain. 
 
 "Now, we have finished them all," she said. "And 
 I think they ought to be very pleased to have been 
 taken so much notice of. It must be so dull always 
 having to look on and say nothing."
 
 70 Bawbee Jock 
 
 She caught up the train of her long satin gown and, 
 spreading it out, swept curtseys to right and left of 
 her, to each of the four walls in turn. 
 
 "There! all you painted ladies and gentlemen," she 
 said. "I am one of you to-night. Don't you recog- 
 nise my frock? I hope you are pleased with all the 
 nice things I have said about you." She went up to 
 the beautiful reflection of herself and dropped it the 
 lowest curtsey of all. "That is to appease her," she 
 said to Jock over her shoulder. "I don't expect she 
 likes to see me masquerading in her best gown. Per- 
 haps it makes her feel what Flossie would call rather 
 catty! I know it would me. I should long to cry 
 out, 'You little impostor! How dare you peacock 
 about in my clothes ! ' ' 
 
 "It looks so pretty to see you making these curt- 
 seys," said Jock. " The reflection of your dress shines 
 on the polish of the floor. And your feet ! They kind 
 of twinkle." 
 
 Angela looked down at her little satin-shod feet 
 which were peeping like white mice from under the 
 rich folds of her skirt. 
 
 "We ought to dance a minuet or something old- 
 fashioned, oughtn't we?" she said. "You are 
 dressed so beautifully. And so am I. Shall we? 
 just by ourselves, with no one looking on to criticise?" 
 
 "I 'm afraid I can't dance anything but a reel, or" 
 Jock hesitated "the sword-dance. But that's 
 only for one person." 
 
 " The sword-dance? What is that? " asked Angela. 
 
 "You lay two swords, crossing each other, on the 
 floor. And you dance in between the blades, and you 
 must not touch them with your feet."
 
 In the Ancestral Hall 71 
 
 "That sounds quite impossible," she exclaimed. 
 "You would be sure to trip over them." 
 
 Jock squared his shoulders. 
 
 "I should be very much annoyed with myself if I 
 did, if you were looking on," he answered. "My 
 father taught me my steps when I was a little chap and 
 reached no higher than his dirk ; and I got what-for if 
 I did not please him. He used to stand there, on that 
 deerskin rug by the fireplace, and my mother sat in 
 that big carved chair, with Alister, my my younger 
 brother, on her knee; and old Roderick, our piper, 
 walked up and down at the end of the room playing 
 the pipes, and I had to stand up and dance my 
 steps." 
 
 Angela came close up to him. She put her hands 
 behind her back, and said persuasively: 
 
 "Will you dance it the sword-dance, I mean for 
 me? now?" 
 
 Jock flushed and looked at her doubtfully. 
 
 "We have n't got the pipes," he said. "It is no- 
 thing without that except I might whistle the tune." 
 
 "Oh do please, do!" pleaded Angela. "And do 
 begin at once, in case Flossie or some of the others 
 come back and that would spoil it all." 
 
 Jock drew himself up. He offered her his hand, and 
 with a gallantry which sat well on him led her to the 
 big carved chair. 
 
 "You shall sit there, and look on," he said. 
 
 He fetched a footstool for her feet to rest on, for the 
 chair was high, and they did not nearly reach the 
 ground; and he placed the candle on a stand where 
 it would throw its circle of light on the dark shining 
 boards.
 
 72 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I feel so funny sitting perched up here," said 
 Angela "like the King opening Parliament." 
 
 "Like a Queen," said Jock, bowing to her. 
 
 He stood uncertainly for a few moments, looking 
 round him; and then, with his light step, flitted away 
 into the shadows. Angela felt a thrill of expectancy 
 tingling through her veins. Her hands clung tightly 
 to the arms of the big carved chair, and she waited 
 eagerly to see what he would do. The old hall, with 
 its painted beauties and grim warriors looking down 
 from their frames, the red glow from the peat-fire 
 smouldering on the hearth, the candle-light shimmer- 
 ing along the dark surface of the time-worn boards, 
 made a fitting background for the scene. She drew 
 in her breath with a sharp catch as she saw Jock flit 
 out again from the shadows. 
 
 Taking down from the wall, where they hung among 
 the old Highland targets and the Lochaber axes, the 
 two claymores over which he had so often been taught 
 to dance as a boy, he placed them with their blades 
 lightly crossing on the polished floor. 
 
 Standing gracefully, a little clear of the basket- 
 hilt of one of the swords, he was, in a moment, dancing 
 lightly round, outside them, with his arms held well 
 out, the hands a little above the level of the shoulders, 
 but swinging easily with every movement of his body, 
 and the body and feet keeping exact time to the 
 rhythm of the " Kellie Callum," which he half whistled 
 and half blew, as he or so it seemed in the dim light 
 of the old hall almost floated round the swords, so 
 quietly and gracefully did he move. 
 
 Coming back to the head of the sword from which 
 Jbe had started, with one quick, light spring he was
 
 In the Ancestral Hall 73 
 
 right in across the swords; and then, to any one who 
 knew, the real difficulty of the dance had begun. 
 
 Dancing almost on the points of his toes, he moved 
 with wonderful lightness from one square to another 
 over the swords, crossing first the blades and then the 
 hilts with such quickness that it seemed almost im- 
 possible that the old Andrea Ferraras, or the basket- 
 hilts in which they were fixed, could escape being 
 touched or moved. 
 
 But his balance was perfect; and it was clear from 
 the way in which every part of him kept time to his 
 half-whistled tune that he was a true Highlander and 
 a born dancer. 
 
 He only changed his step twice. Dancing lightly 
 backwards with the pretty "Cover the Buckle" step, 
 he finished beside Angela's chair. He was breathing 
 a little quickly. Angela was very pale, and she did not 
 speak, and he was afraid that he had not pleased her. 
 
 "I 've grown rather stiff," he said apologetically; 
 "I 'm out of practice. I have not danced it for so 
 long." 
 
 She still did not speak, but held out her hand. The 
 colour rushed up to his brow, and he took it, and held 
 it in his, and looked at it, and then looked at her. 
 
 "What am I to do with it?" he stammered un- 
 steadily. 
 
 She laughed, a little low laugh a laugh that lit her 
 eyes softly and rippled round her lips. 
 
 "What happens when a man receives an honour 
 from his Royal Master?" She raised her eyebrows 
 interrogatively. "They say 'He kissed hands on his 
 new appointment.' Kneel down!" she said, with a 
 pretty gesture of imperiousness.
 
 74 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Jock knelt down before her. She touched him 
 lightly on the shoulder just where the big cairngorm 
 brooch caught up the folds of his tartan plaid. 
 
 "I appoint you to be my what shall I say? My 
 most honourable Sword Dancer. Now you may 
 kiss my hand, and then Oh, please go and pick 
 up the swords and bring them here for me to look at!" 
 she concluded hurriedly. 
 
 Jock rose. He felt rather queer and dizzy about 
 his head; but he brought her the two old claymores, 
 and he answered all her questions about them, and 
 then he laid them at her feet and sat down beside them 
 on the deerskin rug in front of the fire and stared into 
 the glowing heart of the peat-sods ; and neither of them 
 spoke he, because he could not. This new and 
 wondrous passion of love was flooding his soul, sweep- 
 ing away all the old landmarks. He had been only a 
 big, honest, simple-minded boy at heart before, clean 
 and sound to the core, a child of Nature's teaching 
 and one of God's gentlemen. Love was revealing him 
 to himself, teaching him the mystery of his own man- 
 hood. He could not have expressed his emotion in 
 words if he had tried. There was no language big 
 enough for it. 
 
 And as he stared into the fire, other emotions 
 struggled within him. Something was gripping at his 
 throat, with a catch of bitter pain. 
 
 The irony of fate! This was his home the old 
 heritage which had been handed down to him from 
 generation to generation. Many a scene of feudal 
 pomp had that old hall witnessed. It had echoed to 
 the voices of fair women and gallant men, to the sound 
 of arms and the clash of steel. It was his, and he was
 
 In the Ancestral Hall 75 
 
 as a stranger within its walls; and yet, for one brief 
 space of time that night, he had grasped a fleeting 
 shadow of the old life and been given a heavenly 
 vision of the might-have-been. 
 
 He groaned in spirit. If only he were free free 
 to claim his home and his rank and his right of 
 heritage, and to lay them, as he had laid the old 
 battle-stained claymores, at her feet ! 
 
 And she? She did not speak; but she knew that 
 that night she had crossed the threshold and entered 
 into the enchanted land. Old doubts and old fears 
 had melted away, as night-mists melt before the 
 breath of dawn ; and her face was set to meet the dawn 
 and she was not afraid. For all her youth, she was 
 wise in the ways of the world, for she knew the world 
 she belonged to. Her girlish eyes had looked through 
 the portals of the gates of the garden of pleasure; and 
 her heart had sometimes stood still with a nameless 
 fear when she had thought of how her feet were to 
 tread its flowery paths. 
 
 She watched his face, with the peat-glow reflected 
 in his eyes, and she guessed his thoughts for they 
 were very transparent. She knew that he loved her; 
 and she knew that she had found her mate. It did 
 not make her feel abashed or ashamed to think that he 
 had not told her in words that he loved her. For 
 some reason he could not, and she felt for him some- 
 thing of the yearning pity and compassion of a mother 
 who sees her child perplexed and puzzled and be- 
 wildered and cannot hold out a helping hand. It was 
 the divine instinct of motherhood, which lies at the 
 root of love in every true woman's heart. 
 
 So they sat in the firelight, and did not speak she
 
 76 Bawbee Jock 
 
 because, being a woman, she could not; and he, 
 because the great love which he dared not utter 
 seemed to be tearing the heart out of his bosom. 
 
 Sounds from the billiard-room echoed in the dis- 
 tance the opening and shutting of doors, the shrill 
 sound of women's voices and the deeper tones of men's, 
 reached their ears. 
 
 Angela raised her head. 
 
 "Oh dear!" she murmured. "That means that 
 they are all coming back." 
 
 "Yes they are coming back," Jock repeated after 
 her in a dull, lifeless tone. 
 
 " In two minutes Flossie will run in and tell us that 
 the time is up," sighed Angela. "It would be fun to 
 blow out the candle and hide; and then he would go 
 fussing round, calling out, 'Angela! Angela! you 
 naughty puss! Come out at once!' That is what 
 he used to say when I was a tiny tot, and rolled my- 
 self up in the nursery curtains when he came to 
 play with me." 
 
 Jock had risen to his feet and stood looking down at 
 her, as she sat in the big chair. Her satin gown fell 
 in soft white folds about her little feet as they rested 
 on the high stool, and the candle-light caught the 
 sheen of the blue ribbon in her hair, and he could smell 
 the sweet, aromatic scent of the faded bunch of roid. 
 
 " Is is that your name? Angela? " he said huskily. 
 His lips trembled over the word. 
 
 "Yes," she answered softly. "Do you think it is 
 pretty? It is not at all appropriate, because I am 
 not an angel at all. Flossie would tell you that. 
 Oh, there he comes! Don't you hear him blowing his 
 nose like a motor-horn?"
 
 In the Ancestral Hall 77 
 
 "And this is good-bye?" stammered Jock. 
 
 Angela's eyes fell. She studied the points of her 
 shoes and murmured: 
 
 "Is the clack clachan, I mean too far away for 
 you to come back and pay calls? Oh dear! 
 there 's the motor-horn again. Flossie will give him- 
 self a dreadful headache if he blows so hard." She 
 pushed aside the footstool, but her feet could not 
 touch the floor. "Please help me," she said. And he 
 took the hand she gave him, and helped her down from 
 the big chair. "Thank you." She shook out her 
 satin skirts, and dropped him a curtsey, prettier than 
 any she had given to the painted ladies and grim war- 
 riors ; and the dimple at the corner of her mouth looked 
 very dangerous. There was a mischievous challenge 
 in her eyes as they flashed up at him. "You know, it 
 would really be quite the proper thing for you to come 
 and call, because" she smiled at her lovely counter- 
 part on the wall "because I am your great-great- 
 grandmother!" 
 
 Angela sat for a long time in front of her dressing- 
 table that night before she went to bed, and talked to 
 herself in the glass. She did not scold; there was a 
 misty look in her eyes, almost as though they shone 
 through tears; and a quivering smile hovered round 
 her lips which made the words they uttered sound 
 sweet and tender even to her own ears. 
 
 "He is just like a lost child. His dear, big, honest 
 heart was bursting, and he could not speak because 
 there is a reason. I am going to find out that reason. 
 I must I really must, for his own sake."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AN ACCIDENT IN THE GLEN 
 
 JOCK left soon after breakfast the following morn- 
 ing, and he said good-bye to Angela before a great 
 many people, and very few words passed between 
 them. 
 
 "How are you going to journey to your clachan?" 
 she had asked gaily. "With your knapsack in your 
 hand, and your gun over your shoulder?" 
 
 "My things will go with the post-gig," Jock had 
 answered. " I have some business to do up one of the 
 other glens, and I shall walk back over the hill." 
 
 Angela found the morning passing quickly, because 
 she was never dull nor allowed herself to be bored, 
 wherever she was. After lunch she explored the old- 
 fashioned walled garden, and made friends with the 
 gardener. He was very Highland, and spoke English 
 with the same sing-song drawl as old Donald. He 
 told her, among other things, that he had never been 
 out of Glenmoira all his life, and that he was sure that 
 there was no place like it in the world. 
 
 He was very polite, but it was evident that he did 
 not like the Sassenach rule at Glenmoira. Angela 
 humbly owned that she was a Sassenach herself, and 
 he looked at her doubtfully; but he was a true Celt, 
 and beauty appealed to him. He presented her with 
 78
 
 An Accident in the Glen 79 
 
 a bouquet, which she accepted with one of her radiant 
 smiles, and his heart passed for ever into her keeping. 
 
 She found a bench at the top of the garden, where 
 she sat down and was enjoying herself to her own 
 satisfaction, when her reveries were broken in upon by 
 the unexpected appearance of Captain de Burgh. 
 
 The Beauty arrived at a most unfortunate moment 
 for himself. She was looking so very pretty. There 
 was a sweet, happy, tender light in her eyes; and 
 he was not to know what had brought it there. He 
 lost his head, and rushing blindly on his fate, the in- 
 evitable happened. 
 
 Angela was very sorry. She had been feeling so 
 happy that she had forgotten about him altogether. 
 If she had been on her guard, she might have avoided 
 the crisis. She was very sorry kindly, gently sorry; 
 but she had to give him his dismissal. 
 
 The Beauty took his beating badly. He used every 
 argument of pleading, reproach, love, and indignation, 
 to try to shake her resolve. 
 
 "Then I shall go away," he said at last. "I can't 
 stay here. I shall leave to-night." 
 
 It was no use for Angela to remonstrate, or to assert 
 that it would be so much pleasanter to shake hands 
 and be friends, and take up life on a different basis; he 
 continued to make the same answer that he could 
 not stay at Glenmoira. He would go away that 
 night the sooner the better, he reiterated. 
 
 Angela felt very uncomfortable, as though she were 
 the culprit and ought to go away herself. The Beauty 
 took a gloomy satisfaction in making her feel that she 
 had treated him badly, and she resented it. It was 
 very petty of him to put her in the wrong, and it was
 
 80 Bawbee Jock 
 
 not fair, because she had not encouraged him to 
 believe that she cared for him. 
 
 He rose at length, and, looking very handsome and 
 sulky and injured, held out his hand and said good- 
 bye, leaving her seated on the old garden-bench. 
 
 She did not believe that he meant to leave Glen- 
 moira, or that his good-bye meant anything more se- 
 rious than holding himself aloof for the next few days 
 and scowling at her from a distance. She watched him 
 walk down the garden-path in the direction of the 
 house, and something in the way he carried himself 
 roused in her a little spirit of devilry. 
 
 "I 'm not one bit sorry for him," she murmured, 
 and her eyes sparkled maliciously. 
 
 The Beauty had wooed and won, and ridden away 
 so often, leaving broken hearts behind him. Perhaps 
 the cards of destiny were only dealing out to him 
 measure for measure, according to his deserts. 
 
 She leant back against the garden-bench. A row 
 of beehives ran down by the side of a wall near by, and 
 the hum of the busy little workers was borne over to 
 where she was sitting. It was a peaceful, drowsy 
 sound, soothing to listen to. 
 
 "But you are not really soothing at all," she said 
 severely to a heavy-laden bee as it droned past her. 
 She bent forward to watch the humming throng. 
 "Fussy, restless little things! So selfish and self- 
 absorbed and greedy, hoarding up your store of 
 honeyed bawbees, whilst your master, your poor chief, 
 has no bawbees to store!" 
 
 She smiled at the conceit of her own thought, and 
 then, looking at her watch, rose hastily. It was past 
 four o'clock. After the unpleasant scene she had just
 
 An Accident in the Glen 81 
 
 passed through with Beauty de Burgh she did not 
 wish to go back to the house and meet him, and if she 
 remained where she was, some officiously disposed 
 person might come and find her, to bring her in to 
 tea. The thought hurried her away in the opposite 
 direction from the house. 
 
 She found a gate which took her out of the garden, 
 and walking on for a little way, struck into a path 
 which led up to the turf wall skirting the edge of the 
 moor. She found the exact spot where she had sat 
 with Jock the day before, and where he had told 
 her that there was a reason and asked her not to 
 misunderstand. 
 
 She picked a bunch of roid from the same clump of 
 green that he had picked it from, and, fastening it into 
 her coat, continued her walk. A Highland moor is 
 alluring, even when there is no one to tell you the 
 meaning underlying every patch of heather or crotal- 
 stained boulder, and she wandered on, paying little 
 attention to how the time was flying or to where her 
 steps were leading her. 
 
 "I believe I have lost my way," she said to herself 
 at last, stopping and looking round. "I have not 
 seen the vestige of a path for ages." 
 
 She had strayed off the moor and was standing on 
 a ridge looking down into a wild, rocky glen. A little 
 stream ran noisily at the foot of it; in the distance 
 she saw a thin column of blue smoke rising into the 
 still air. 
 
 She went a short way down the steep bank, and 
 then hesitated. Should she go on, or turn back? She 
 glanced over her shoulder and gave a quick, frightened 
 gasp. A shaggy head with great horns, and tangled
 
 82 Bawbee Jock 
 
 tawny hair hanging round it, and a pair of eyes, stared 
 at her from over the top of a rock not six paces 
 away. 
 
 With a scream of terror she turned and fled 
 down the hillside, through the bracken and heather 
 towards the blue column of smoke. 
 
 The little Highland cow was quite harmless, and 
 did not attempt to follow her ; but as she never stopped 
 to look back, she did not know that it was merely 
 watching her with bovine placidity, and she fled on. 
 The ground was treacherous, the heather dragged at 
 her skirt, and the bracken twisted round her ankles, 
 but terror lent wings to her feet. She had come in 
 sight of the cottage from which the smoke was rising, 
 and was hurrying still faster with the hope of safety 
 near, when she stumbled and fell. She tried to re- 
 cover herself, but slipped, and rolling over and over, 
 landed finally on her back in a deep hollow. There 
 she lay, with such an excruciating pain stinging 
 through her foot that it made her sick and faint, and 
 she knew that she would have no strength to call out 
 or save herself when that terrible head made its ap- 
 pearance again. 
 
 How long she lay there she could not tell; the 
 hollow was deep, and she could see nothing beyond 
 it. Then she felt her heart stand still with fright, and 
 a clammy, cold chill crept through her limbs, for there 
 was the sound of heavy breathing close beside her. 
 She shut her eyes and turned her head aside. If she 
 was to be devoured, she would not look. The sound 
 of breathing drew nearer. It was close above her 
 a kind of deep panting; and then something cold and 
 soft and slimy touched her. With one final effort she
 
 An Accident in the Glen 83 
 
 tried to struggle to her feet, but with a moan of pain 
 she fell back and fainted away. 
 
 When she came to herself again, it was to a dreamy, 
 dazed kind of consciousness that she was being carried, 
 and that her cheek lay against something rough which 
 had a peculiar peaty smell of homespun about it, and 
 reminded her of sitting in the shooting-butt with Jock. 
 And then memory came back with a rush. She 
 remembered what had happened, and she knew who 
 was carrying her. 
 
 She opened her eyes and shut them again quickly. 
 She did not wish Jock to see that she was conscious. 
 He was so intent on picking his steps so as not to shake 
 her, that it would be a pity to distract his attention; 
 and although her foot hurt horribly, she was content to 
 lie still, for she knew that she was safe, and that he 
 would take care of her. The broad shoulder she 
 leant against made a restful pillow for her head, and 
 without quite opening her eyes, she could look 
 at him through her eyelashes. It gave her a differ- 
 ent view of him to what she had ever had before. 
 He wore his moustache very short and brushed 
 sharply back, and his mouth was the best feature in 
 his face. 
 
 She felt him stumble, ever so slightly, as a loose 
 stone rolled from under his foot, and he looked down 
 at her and she shut her eyes again very tightly. But 
 it was no use. She was betrayed, and she knew that 
 the colour was racing up into her cheeks and that it 
 was quite impossible to keep on pretending any longer 
 that she was in a dead faint. She opened her eyes 
 wide this time. 
 
 "Where are you taking me to?" she asked.
 
 84 Bawbee Jock 
 
 The anxious furrow on his brow cleared; a look of 
 relief came into his face; he stopped. 
 
 " I am so glad to hear you speak," he said. " What 
 happened? Where are you hurt?" 
 
 "It 's my foot," she murmured. She tried to raise 
 herself, and a stab of pain, like a burning knife being 
 driven into her ankle, made her fall back against his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "I am so sorry," he said. "I am afraid it is hurt- 
 ing you very badly." 
 
 "If I could only get my boot off!" she whispered 
 through her white lips. " It feels like a band of fire." 
 
 "Perhaps I can make that better," he said; and 
 kneeling down and still keeping her pillowed against 
 his shoulder, he felt for his knife, and taking her foot 
 in his hand he slit up the lace of her boot and gently 
 drew it off. 
 
 "Oh, what a relief!" she murmured faintly. 
 
 He slipped the little brown boot into his pocket. 
 
 "Do you feel well enough to go on?" he asked. 
 "We will be there in another minute and Sheila will 
 know what to do to make the pain better." 
 
 "Where is 'there'? and who is Sheila?" asked 
 Angela. The relief of feeling her foot free from the 
 pressure of the boot was immense, and she began to 
 revive. 
 
 "Sheila is old Donald's wife, and she lives in a 
 cottage quite near," explained Jock. 
 
 "That would be the cottage that I saw the smoke 
 coming from," said Angela. "I was trying to reach 
 it. I was running away from a beast with terrible 
 horns when I tripped and fell. I lay for ages expect- 
 ing to be eaten up; and something came and sniffed
 
 An Accident in the Glen 85 
 
 round me with a dreadfully cold nose. I was so 
 terrified that I suppose I fainted from fright." 
 
 "That was my dog," said Jock. "I might have 
 passed by if it had not been for him. Do you think 
 you can bear being moved again? I will try not to 
 hurt you." 
 
 He raised her carefully in his arms and moved 
 on. The little cottage from which the blue smoke 
 was rising was only a few hundred yards away 
 now. 
 
 "Sheila! Sheila!" he called as he drew near; and 
 Angela heard a woman's voice answer. 
 
 "I will carry you straight into the kitchen," he 
 said; "I won't jar you, so don't be frightened." 
 
 The doorway of the cottage was so low that he had 
 to bend his head to pass under it ; but he did not hurt 
 her, and the next minute Angela felt herself gently 
 lowered, and she was deposited in an old-fashioned 
 arm-chair drawn up beside a fireplace where a fire 
 smouldered on the low hearth. 
 
 A dark-eyed old woman, who yet did not look old, 
 drew near and curtseyed to her respectfully. She wore 
 a black skirt and a blue-and-white checked apron, and 
 a little green tartan shawl was crossed over her bosom. 
 Everything about her was spotlessly neat and fresh 
 and clean; and she wore the sweetest cap imaginable. 
 A white goffered frill encircled it, enclosing her face 
 like the petals of a flower, and it was tied with a tape 
 bow under her chin. Angela afterwards discovered 
 that it was called a mutch. 
 
 Jock spoke to her rapidly in Gaelic. He was evi- 
 dently explaining what was the matter, and Sheila 
 nodded, and appeared quite to understand, for she
 
 86 Bawbee Jock 
 
 gave him a bucket, and as he took it, he smiled 
 reassuringly at Angela. 
 
 "You 're all right now," he said. "Sheila knows 
 what to do. She doctors all of us in the glen here. 
 I 'm going to the spring to get some fresh cold water 
 for her to bandage your foot with"; and he went off 
 with the bucket. 
 
 Sheila drew another chair alongside of the big one, 
 and laid the poor foot tenderly on a pillow which she 
 fetched from the inner room. The foot was swollen 
 to nearly double its size, and Sheila touched it and 
 looked at Angela. 
 
 "It will be the goot stocking that I will have to 
 cut," she said, holding up a pair of scissors to show 
 what she wanted to do. She spoke like Donald, with 
 the same sweet, sing-song plaint in her voice, Angela 
 noticed. 
 
 " Oh yes ! cut it off . Do anything. I don't mind." 
 
 Sheila very gently cut away the stocking ; and then 
 she brought a small wooden tub and poured some stuff 
 into it from a black bottle which gave out a pungent 
 aromatic smell. When Jock came back with the cold 
 water she took the bucket from him at the door, 
 and then he disappeared and left Sheila to do her 
 doctoring. 
 
 The water was deliciously cool and Sheila's fingers 
 were light and tender. There seemed to be some- 
 thing magnetic in their touch. 
 
 "Thank you so much," said Angela gratefully, when 
 the last fold of the bandage had been fastened, and 
 Sheila had rearranged the pillow and made a kind of 
 cradle for the wounded foot to lie on. 
 
 Sheila smiled.
 
 An Accident in the Glen 87 
 
 "Is it petter already?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, much better!" sighed Angela. "How soon 
 will I be able to get on my boot and walk home? Not 
 that I want to hurry away," she added quickly, 
 glancing round the kitchen, where everything was so 
 clean and wore such a delightful air of homely comfort. 
 
 Sheila was tidying away the tub and the black bottle 
 and all the signs of her nursing with neat precision. 
 She came back to the arm-chair and, looking at the 
 bandaged foot, shook her head. 
 
 "It is not walking that you will be for many days," 
 she said. 
 
 "Many days!" exclaimed Angela. "But I must 
 get back to Glenmoira. I am staying there." 
 
 " It is not back at all that you will be getting. The 
 foot is a very bad foot whatever." Sheila spoke 
 gently, but with conviction. 
 
 "But I must get back," protested Angela. "I 
 could drive, could n't I? They would send a carriage 
 for me, I am sure." 
 
 "There is never a road where a carriage could drive 
 up the glen ; and it is far across the hill to Glenmoira. 
 A man could not carry you whatever ; and you cannot 
 ride, because it would not be goot for the foot." 
 
 A shadow darkened the window, and the next 
 minute there was a low knock at the door. 
 
 Sheila went to open it, and when Angela heard 
 Jock's voice speaking to her, she cried out: 
 
 "You may come in. The doctoring is all over, and 
 Sheila has taken nearly all the pain away." 
 
 Jock hesitated on the threshold. 
 
 "Do come and tell me what I am to do!" pleaded 
 Angela. " Sheila says that I shall not be able to walk
 
 88 Bawbee Jock 
 
 for days, and that no carriage can get up the glen, and 
 that I can't ride and What am I to do? How 
 am I to get back to Glenmoira?" 
 
 Jock came and stood beside her, and listened to all 
 she had to say with that anxious furrow again on his 
 brow. Then he spoke to Sheila in Gaelic. 
 
 "I am afraid it is a very bad sprain," he said. 
 " Sheila says you must not put your foot to the ground, 
 or shake it, or jolt it in any way, else it may give you 
 a lot of trouble. And it is true," he added, "there is 
 no road over the hill. And it would be dreadfully 
 rough going for you to try to ride." 
 
 Angela looked again round the dear little kitchen 
 and then at Sheila's sweet face framed in its white 
 mutch and then at Jock. 
 
 "What do you wish me to do? stay here?" she 
 asked. She spoke with a pretty appeal of confidence 
 in his judgment. 
 
 "I think I am afraid you will have to stay here," 
 he said earnestly. "Sheila will take great care of you, 
 I know she can. She is my housekeeper, you know. 
 She and Donald live up here because of his work 
 during the shooting- time; but she keeps house for 
 me all the rest of the year." 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 "What fun it would be!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "I would try to find some other way out of the 
 difficulty if I was n't quite sure that Sheila could 
 make you comfortable," continued Jock, still anxious. 
 "She was a servant with us at Glenmoira before she 
 married Donald. She would know quite well how to 
 look after you." 
 
 "I am sure she would," answered Angela quickly.
 
 An Accident in the Glen 89 
 
 " It is not that I mind for myself. I should love to 
 stay in this sweet little cottage; but it would give so 
 much trouble." 
 
 A great relief appeared on Jock's face. 
 
 "Sheila won't think anything a trouble," he an- 
 swered confidently. "She would love to have you 
 wouldn't you, Sheila?" And the fond look in the 
 woman's eyes, as she answered her young master's 
 question, almost brought the tears to Angela's. 
 
 "I can arrange for Donald to put up with one of 
 the other gillies," said Jock, "and then you won't be 
 bothered with any one coming in and out; and you 
 would like me to go back to Glenmoira and explain, 
 would n't you? It would be better than sending 
 word." 
 
 "You think of everything," said Angela gratefully. 
 " How much trouble I am giving you ! I am so sorry." 
 
 "It is no trouble. I " He paused. "Is there 
 anything you would like them to send over? I could 
 take a note, or a message." 
 
 Angela considered. 
 
 " If I am to stay here for a few days, I should want 
 some things, shouldn't I? I could write a note to 
 Ant " She caught herself up. "Whom shall I 
 send it to? Dolly is so vague ! I think I will write to 
 Flossie. He would understand. He is like ten great- 
 grandmothers rolled into one. But I have n't got 
 any paper to write with. Oh yes, I have." She 
 took a letter out of her pocket. " There 's a half -sheet 
 here." 
 
 Jock gave her a pencil ; and she scribbled hastily for 
 a few minutes and then folded up her note tightly into 
 a small square and gave it to him. As he put it into
 
 90 Bawbee Jock 
 
 his pocket, his hand came in contact with the little 
 brown boot, and he felt horribly guilty and deceitful 
 for not telling her that it was there ; but he would not 
 have parted with that little brown boot for anything 
 in the world. 
 
 "Perhaps I had better say good-bye and go," he 
 said, "or else they will be getting anxious. May I 
 come over to-morrow to ask how you are getting on? " 
 
 "All these miles across the hills from your clachan," 
 said Angela, opening her eyes wide. 
 
 "It is not really far; this is almost half-way to it. 
 And even if it was not, I " He stopped. "May 
 I come?" he concluded humbly. 
 
 Angela lowered her eyes. 
 
 "It would be kind of you to come. Perhaps I 
 might feel rather frightened and lonely here!" And 
 the dimple showed at the corner of her mouth. 
 
 "There isn't a creature in the glen that would 
 hurt you," answered Jock, "and I will be just over 
 the hill there." 
 
 "Do you think if I called very loud you would 
 hear?" 
 
 Then he saw the dimple, and knew that she was 
 playing with her words; and that sudden, swift smile 
 lit up his face. 
 
 "I think I would," he said. 
 
 They were alone, for Sheila had gone to milk her 
 little Highland cow, which had played such an im- 
 portant part in the day's adventure. There was no 
 one to look on and listen, except the round-faced 
 clock on the wall. 
 
 Angela thanked him very prettily for having found 
 her and taken such care of her.
 
 An Accident in the Glen 91 
 
 "But you said it was not you who found me," she 
 added, correcting herself. "Where is your dog? It 
 was he, was n't it?" 
 
 Jock went to the door and let in a big deerhound, 
 who had been sitting patiently waiting on the path 
 outside. He said something to the dog, who went up 
 to Angela's chair, and she stroked his head. 
 
 "Why did I never see him before?" she said. "He 
 was not with you at Glenmoira." 
 
 "No, he was not with me. I found him on the 
 moor this afternoon," said Jock. "They have won- 
 derful instincts, these deerhounds. I believe he 
 knew I was coming home to-day, and he had come to 
 meet me." 
 
 "What is his name?" asked Angela. 
 
 "Dileas. It means 'Faithful' in Gaelic." 
 
 Angela tried to pronounce the name after him. 
 
 "You must pronounce the D like a /," said Jock 
 "Jeelus." 
 
 Angela tried again and succeeded better. 
 
 "He looks so wise. It was very clever of him to 
 find me; I suppose he smelt me out," she said. 
 
 The dog turned his head and looked up at his 
 master, and Jock patted him. 
 
 "I don't know about that. His nose isn't much 
 good to him. These deerhounds run by sight, not 
 scent ; but I don't use him for sport. He is my faith- 
 ful companion a rare good one. Your name suits 
 you, old boy, does n't it?" And Jock took the dog's 
 ear and fondled it caressingly. He stooped down and 
 whispered something in Gaelic, and Dileas raised his 
 big grey paw and laid it on Angela's lap and gazed at 
 her mournfully with his tragic eyes.
 
 92 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Don't look so sad!" she said; and with her quick, 
 pretty impulsiveness she put her arms round Dileas's 
 neck and kissed his nose. "That is for finding me. I 
 am very grateful. Thank you," she said. 
 
 Angela slept that night in a tiny room in a box- 
 bed. The sheets smelt of heather and roid and all 
 the sweet clean things which they had lain on when 
 they were bleaching on the hillside. Through the 
 open window she heard the murmur of the stream, 
 and sometimes the cheep of a sleepy bird roosting in 
 the thatched roof above her head. It was all so 
 strange and quiet and peaceful; so near to Nature, so 
 far away from the fret and clamour of life. And 
 woven into her half-dreaming fancies came back the 
 haunting echo of old Donald's prophetic greeting. 
 She fell asleep, murmuring the words to herself: 
 
 "It is to the glens that you have come, and it is 
 in the glens that you will stay; and it is our chief, 
 Glenmoira himself, that will be knowing that it is 
 true."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A JEALOUS GUARDIAN 
 
 OHEILA had lit her fire, and cleaned her kitchen, 
 O and milked her cow, and finished a variety of 
 other domestic duties before Angela opened her eyes 
 in her new home the following morning. 
 
 Sheila had slipped once into the room noiselessly to 
 see if her guest were awake ; but she was not, and she 
 had bent over the bed and gazed for some minutes 
 with a dreamy tenderness in her eyes at the lovely 
 childlike face which lay so peacefully on the white 
 pillow. 
 
 The sense of prophetic intuition, so inherent in the 
 Highland nature, was more finely developed in Sheila 
 than in Donald. She was a woman of a higher in- 
 tellectual standard than the old gillie, whom she had 
 married somewhat late in life. The training of her 
 healing gift had given her a power of understanding, 
 of inward perception, which almost amounted to an 
 inspired sense. 
 
 That day of Angela's coming, she had known that 
 something was going to happen to her chief. She had 
 been sitting at her cottage door waiting, with a sweet 
 confidence and certainty, knowing that in some way 
 she was to be the means of giving him help; and as 
 she stood looking down at her sleeping charge, she 
 
 93
 
 94 Bawbee Jock 
 
 knew that under her humble roof she was sheltering one 
 who was very near to the heart of her beloved master. 
 
 She stood for some minutes watching, and then she 
 moved noiselessly about the room, setting it in order 
 against the time when Angela should awake. Sheila 
 knew the ways of gentlefolk; and as she unpacked 
 the bag, which one of the gillies had carried across the 
 hill from Glenmoira the night before, the pretty, 
 dainty trifles she found inside it did not surprise her 
 as they would have done any of the other cotters' 
 wives in the glen. 
 
 When Angela did at last awake, she found a cup of 
 tea ready for her, and Sheila helped her to dress, and 
 re-bandaged her foot, and finally settled her in the big 
 arm-chair beside the open door, for it was a lovely 
 morning. Then she drew up a table and laid the 
 breakfast upon it. 
 
 Angela had talked all the time she was being 
 dressed, and had learnt the meanings of a great many 
 more new things. 
 
 "I think it would be perfectly heavenly to live in a 
 cottage like this," she said. "Nothing but the hills 
 and the heather and everything that is good and sweet 
 all round about you! I should never tire of it. Oh! 
 what are you pouring into that funny little bowl? It 
 does smell nice!" 
 
 "It will be the porridge," said Sheila; and she gave 
 Angela a horn spoon, and placed the bowl on the 
 table beside her. 
 
 Angela made a hole in the middle of the porridge 
 with the horn spoon, and Sheila rilled it up with 
 cream. Such cream! thick and yellow, with frothy 
 bubbles on the top.
 
 A Jealous Guardian 95 
 
 "It is the most delicious thing I ever tasted," de- 
 clared Angela. "I am so glad I sprained my ankle." 
 
 Sheila smiled her strange, sweet, enigmatical smile, 
 and said she was very glad; and after putting every- 
 thing near, so that Angela should not require to move, 
 she disappeared to some back premises of her own to 
 churn the butter, and Angela was left to finish her 
 breakfast alone. 
 
 She had only just finished, and was leaning back in 
 the old chair, with a restful feeling of peace, content 
 to sit in the sunshine and dream her own dreams to 
 the music of the larks and the rippling murmur of the 
 water, when she heard a crunching step on the path 
 which led from the cottage down to the banks of the 
 stream below. She flushed warmly, and caught in her 
 breath. 
 
 "No," she murmured. "He walks more lightly 
 than that." And she bent to look through the open 
 door. 
 
 "Flossie!" 
 
 Yes, it was Flossie! A red Connemara cloak was 
 thrown over his shoulder and he carried a basket from 
 which bulged parcels and bundles of all shapes and 
 sizes. His cap was very much on the back of his head 
 and he was very hot. 
 
 "Oh, Flossie, Flossie, how funny you look!" cried 
 Angela. "Like little Red Riding Hood coming to 
 bring her grandmother jam and tea and - " 
 
 Riding Hood indeed! A nice dance you Ve 
 led me, miss." 
 
 Flossie put down the basket on the doorstep, and 
 taking out his pocket-handkerchief, passed it over his 
 face, which was very pink.
 
 96 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Poor Flossie!" said Angela. "How sweet of you 
 to come and look for me! You must have got up 
 dreadfully early, and I know you hate that. Come in 
 and sit down, dear Red Riding Hood. There is a 
 nice wooden stool for you to sit on, and you can screw 
 in your eye-glass the better to see me with. The 
 wolf is not anywhere near, so you are quite safe." 
 
 "I 'm none so sure." Flossie put his nose gingerly 
 round the corner of the door. "Where 's that brawny 
 savage that red-haired Heelander? Where 's Baw- 
 bee Jock?" 
 
 " He 's not a savage, and he has not red hair, and he 
 is not here of course he is not here. So you may 
 take that guardianly look off your face at once," 
 answered Angela indignantly. 
 
 "Well, I 'm glad you had the sense to send him 
 away," snapped Flossie. "Really, Angela, if you had 
 not me to look after you, I don't know what would 
 happen. I very nearly came over last night myself, I 
 was so fussed." 
 
 " But, dear, I told you so particularly in my note not 
 to!" remonstrated Angela. "I should have been 
 asleep by then, and it would have been so unnecessary. 
 I told you I was quite safe and all right, and 
 Where did you get that Red Riding Hood cloak from? 
 Is it for me?" 
 
 "Dolly sent it," said Flossie; "I don't know why. 
 I suppose she thought it looked comforting. It- was 
 beastly hot to carry." 
 
 "How like Dolly!" said Angela. "I hope you 
 have n't brought any food in that basket, because I 'm 
 living on the fat of the land. Literally! Look at 
 that cream what there is left of it. Is n't this a
 
 A Jealous Guardian 97 
 
 delicious place? I think I was so clever to sprain my 
 ankle and find it. Have you seen Sheila? She ex- 
 actly fits into the scene and makes it perfect." 
 
 "If you mean the lady in a nightcap, whom I 
 surprised turning the handle of a butter-machine 
 round the corner, I suppose I did." Flossie looked 
 about him critically. "Yes it's not bad. Quite 
 good of its kind. The sort of thing you 'd see at 
 Olympia with a hand up pointing to the 'Model 
 Highland Cottage ' ; and you 'd find an advertise- 
 ment for whiskey inside." He deposited the cloak 
 on a chair and drew in the wooden stool and sat 
 down. "How's the foot?" He glanced at Angela 
 suspiciously. "You look all right." 
 
 Angela shook her head. 
 
 "It 's a very bad sprain a dreadfully bad sprain. 
 Sheila says it will be ages before I can be moved. I 
 did not say too much about it in my note, because I 
 was afraid you would come hurrying over; but it 
 really is bad. Thank you so much for telling An- 
 toinette about my things. I thought it better to write 
 to you. Antoinette gets so ridiculously excited about 
 nothing!" 
 
 "It was just as well you did send the note to me," 
 answered Flossie. "I 've got a piece of news for you 
 that you may not quite like. Antoinette 's bolted!" 
 
 "Flossie!" Angela sat up and stared. 
 
 " Bolted ! " repeated Flossie. " Not with the spoons 
 or the second footman, but on the ground of 
 morals!" 
 
 "Morals! Flossie! And I thought she was so 
 respectable." 
 
 " That 's just it. She 's kicked up the devil of a row
 
 98 Bawbee Jock 
 
 because of her respectability. Dolly told me to tell 
 you the story, and I suppose it 's true, as she got it 
 from her maid. It 's that white-faced fool Hawkins." 
 
 "Hawkins!" echoed Angela. "And Antoinette!" 
 
 Flossie wagged his head solemnly. 
 
 "Yes, Hawkins! It seems there was a grand flare- 
 up at supper last night in the servants' hall. I '11 give 
 you the story as I heard it. I suppose you know I 
 did n't that in strictly aristocratic establishments it 
 is etiquette for the upper-ten-below-stairs to retire 
 from the servants' hall in a solemn procession before 
 the pudding course. They leave the common herd 
 and retreat into an inner sanctuary called The Room ! 
 a kind of Pugs' Parlour where they all sit round and 
 turn up their noses at each other and worry the most 
 toothsome of the bones that have fallen from the 
 rich man's table." 
 
 "But what has that got to do with Antoinette's 
 respectability?" said Angela. 
 
 "Don't be in such a hurry. I 'm coming to that. 
 Evening dress is de rigueur in Pugs' Parlour, and Haw- 
 kins fancies himself in a kilt! Can't you see him? 
 Knock-kneed, no insteps, and shoulders like a cham- 
 pagne bottle. Antoinette objected to sitting next him 
 on the grounds that he wore his knees out-of-doors. 
 She could not manger her pudding, or whatever suc- 
 culent morsel she was enjoying at the moment, with 
 such an immodest spectacle so near. If his knees are 
 the same colour as his face, I don't wonder she was 
 put off her feed. 
 
 "Last night matters reached a climax. Hawkins 
 had got a little extra whiskey inside him, I suppose, 
 and took to swaggering on the strength of it. Dolly's
 
 A Jealous Guardian 99 
 
 maid affirms that he was n't drunk, only a little 
 chatty. Anyhow, he climbed on to the table and 
 tried to dance a reel. My dear! What are you roll- 
 ing about like that for? Have you got a pain?" 
 
 "Yes," said Angela faintly "a pain just like what 
 poor Bawbee Jock had when you danced your reel on 
 the box-room table." 
 
 "Comparisons are invidious, and the circumstances 
 were quite different," said Flossie. "I had all my 
 own clothes on, and the Lord knows what Hawkins 
 had! Precious little, I expect; for he borrowed his 
 kilt from a genuine Scotchy, and you may bet your 
 boots that the stingy beggar would n't give him a rag 
 more than he could help." 
 
 "Oh, Flossie! surely " 
 
 Flossie held up his hand. 
 
 " My dear, we won't go into particulars. I Ve 
 always tried to bring you up nicely; but it 's a well- 
 known fact, and the reason is one of personal economy, 
 that you can't take the breeks off a Heelander. It 's 
 a national proverb. We will draw a veil over the 
 scene after that. I don't know whether Hawkins was 
 allowed to dance his reel or not." 
 
 " And then what happened? " said Angela. " Don't 
 make me laugh any more, Flossie. It 's so exhaust- 
 ing." 
 
 "Well, there was a nice row in Pugs' Parlour. The 
 upshot was that Antoinette went and packed her 
 boxes there and then, and departed in a state of 
 virtuous apoplexy. She does n't intend to come back 
 either. She left an address for you to send her her 
 wages." 
 
 "I am very glad she has gone," said Angela.
 
 ioo Bawbee Jock 
 
 Flossie looked at her sharply. 
 
 "What does that mean? Are you meditating a re- 
 tirement from the world?" He twisted himself 
 round on his stool. "If you are, you 'd better take 
 into consideration the fact that you can't do your own 
 hair. That thing you 've got stuck on at the back 
 of your head is more like a meringue than anything 
 else." 
 
 But Angela did not retort indignantly, as he had ex- 
 pected. She was gazing out through the open door, 
 and there was a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes. 
 
 "It is to the glens that you have come, and it is in 
 the glens that you will stay." 
 
 The old gillie's words seemed to have taken hold of 
 her imagination with a fateful persistency. 
 
 Flossie saw the look; for nothing that Angela did 
 was ever lost upon him, and something sharp and 
 unexpected struck a pang to his heart as though a 
 knife had been driven into it. It was the feeling that 
 a mother might agonise through when she realises 
 for the first time that a day may come when her 
 darling will be stolen from her; or that of a kind and 
 loving gardener, who has lavished his care on a sweet, 
 rare flower, and when he has trained it to perfection, 
 and it is unfolding its petals to show the beauty of 
 its gratitude, a stranger's hand snatches it away to 
 bloom in another soil. 
 
 For this quaint, frivolous, and fraudulently tender- 
 hearted little man loved Angela from the depths of his 
 soul. From the time when she had been given, a 
 helpless child, into his care, he had guarded her with 
 the vigilance of a watch-dog and the tenderness of a 
 mother. And because he had been taken by surprise,
 
 A Jealous Guardian 101 
 
 and was strangely afraid, he did what a man generally 
 does under such circumstances, he began to scold. 
 He planted his plump hands firmly, one on each knee, 
 and said in a voice which made Angela jump, and 
 hastily remove the telltale look of dreaminess from 
 her eyes: 
 
 "Angela! Answer me! Is that foot really bad 
 enough to keep you laid up here; or is it because you 
 have taken a fancy to the place that you 're pre- 
 tending that you can't leave it?" 
 
 "Oh no, it is not pretence really, Flossie, it is not. 
 And I never tell fibs you know I don't!" protested 
 Angela earnestly. "The pain was simply excruciat- 
 ing at first. I fainted; and if if Bawbee Jock had 
 not carried me very, very carefully, I would have gone 
 on fainting!" 
 
 "Carried you, did he? The beggar!" Flossie fixed 
 her with wrathful eyes. "How far?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Angela. "Sometimes it 
 seemed far, and sometimes it did n't." 
 
 " Humph ! " grunted Flossie. " How long does that 
 old woman in the nightcap say you will have to stay 
 here?" 
 
 ' ' Perhaps a week perhaps longer. ' ' Angela pointed 
 to the swathed heap on the cushion of the chair 
 opposite. "If you only saw my foot, Flossie, you 
 would be more sorry than cross. You can see the 
 outside, anyhow. It 's like an old gouty man's." 
 
 "How do I know what's underneath those inno- 
 cent-looking bandages?" Flossie glanced round the 
 kitchen. "And you can't sit in this stuffy little hole 
 for a week. We must get you out." He felt his 
 arms. "I might be able to carry you if "
 
 IO2 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Oh no, you could not," interposed Angela 
 quickly. "I mean it would not be good for you! 
 I 'm heavier than I look." She blushed rosy red, 
 much to her annoyance, and added, stammering con- 
 fusedly: "B-Bawbee Jock said something about com- 
 ing over to call to ask how my foot was ; and and he 
 would carry me. He knows how to do it, you see!" 
 
 "The devil he does!" It was the last straw, and 
 Flossie exploded violently. "Now look here, An- 
 gela! Please to understand this, that I will not have 
 you living up here alone for that old woman in the 
 nightcap does n't count and allow that fellow to be 
 hanging about, sitting in your pocket all day long. 
 I won't, and that 's flat!" 
 
 "He's too big to sit in my pocket," murmured 
 Angela. 
 
 "Don't be flippant! You know quite well what I 
 mean. Do you think I Ve moiled and toiled away the 
 best years of my life to keep you unspotted from the 
 world, to let you get into a mess now? No fear! 
 Where would your reputation be at the end of three 
 days? I would n't give a cock's feather for it." 
 
 Angela pouted. 
 
 "I don't see how any one can say horrid things 
 about me, if they can't see me." 
 
 "See you!" Flossie jerked his thumb over his 
 shoulder in the direction whence he had come. "Do 
 you think that lot over there won't be on the look- 
 out for some nice little tit-bit? They '11 be watching 
 you like a set of Peeping Toms the Devereux 
 woman! and that hoary-headed sinner Leach! And 
 Lady Di coming it over me with the duties of a 
 mother ! No ! The safe thing to do is to keep you in
 
 A Jealous Guardian 103 
 
 the public eye. I shall tell Dolly that you must n't 
 be left alone. She does n't like being left alone her- 
 self, so she '11 understand. I '11 arrange that there 's 
 always something going on. They 're to come over 
 to cheer you up. Ministering angels scattering 
 crumbs of kindness! I know them. They '11 all be 
 screaming to come. We '11 have picnics and tea- 
 parties, and comings and goings. I shall jolly well 
 see that you are not left alone, my dear." 
 
 "Oh, Flossie! and I thought I was going to have 
 such a delightful, quiet, peaceful time, away from all 
 the silly conventional things that don't mean any- 
 thing, and live with the big things that do: the hills 
 and the moors, and the great open sky, and " 
 
 "Bawbee Jock," growled Flossie, like an angry 
 mastiff. ' ' Not if I know it ! " 
 
 " But you can't keep him away altogether. If I am 
 to be carried out on to the heather, he must carry 
 me!" Angela's mouth tightened and her eyes looked 
 mutinous. "I mean it, Flossie! I won't allow any 
 one else to carry me except " and she nodded 
 defiantly at him. 
 
 "Well, I '11 give in so far," said Flossie grudgingly. 
 "But I '11 take care to be on the spot, to see how he 
 does it. He 's to be a kind of body-snatcher no- 
 thing more. Great strong beast! if I had his 
 muscle I would n't let him put a ringer on you." 
 
 "No, dear, I know you wouldn't," said Angela 
 soothingly: having gained her point, she was generous. 
 "And you would have carried me beautifully, I am 
 sure; but it is as well not to run any risks, is n't it?" 
 
 Flossie mumbled something unintelligible. 
 
 "Very well, I shall bring over a large party this
 
 IO4 Bawbee Jock 
 
 afternoon. And we '11 stay as long as we can, and he 
 can carry you out to some place that I shall choose 
 myself; and I '11 see him safely off the premises before 
 I leave you." 
 
 Angela was silent for a moment, and then she said 
 gently: 
 
 "Flossie, why are you fussing so? You never 
 fussed like this before." 
 
 "Because because I 'm in a beastly funk, I sup- 
 pose," burst out Flossie. He took her hand and 
 patted it, and the tears brimmed up to Angela's eyes, 
 for he showed his affection so seldom outwardly. 
 
 "Don't worry, Flossie," she said softly. "I shall 
 be very good, and do just what you say I am to do. 
 You always know best." 
 
 There was silence for quite a long time after that. 
 Then she saw his face change suddenly, and his eyes 
 began to twinkle. 
 
 " Beauty 's gone," he said. " Did you know he was 
 going? It seemed rather sudden." 
 
 Angela had the grace to blush. 
 
 " I did not think he would really go away," she said. 
 
 "Oh! you thought he would sit down and grump, 
 and make you feel uncomfortable. No! Poor 
 Beauty! he's hard hit. It was really you. It 
 was n't " 
 
 "I could not help it," interrupted Angela quickly. 
 
 Just then Sheila came in, carrying the butter she 
 had been churning, in a blue basin. Angela intro- 
 duced her to Flossie, and he fell in love with her, as 
 she knew he would, and paid her charming compli- 
 ments about her cottage and everything connected 
 with it, and stayed for the best part of the morning.
 
 A Jealous Guardian 105 
 
 As he rose to go, he gave a poke with his stick to 
 the basket which he had brought with him. 
 
 "You'll find some books and papers and your 
 letters in there, and a few other trifles to keep 
 you amused until some of us turn up later on," he 
 said. "Now, remember, if I find that that red- 
 headed " 
 
 "Flossie!" 
 
 "Well, that Bawbee Jock here before me, I shall be 
 extremely annoyed. And I '11 let him see that I am, 
 so that he '11 know not to do it again."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 HEART'S CONFESSION 
 
 p\ TIRING the homeward walk Flossie was conscious 
 of a depression which he could not shake off. 
 
 "It 's coming I feel it in my bones that it 's com- 
 ing," he soliloquised as he went along. "Of course I 
 knew it must come some time, but that does n't make 
 it any easier once it 's there. I 'm sure I tried to put 
 her off from the first. Perhaps that was the mistake. 
 She was always given to taking odd fancies. From 
 the days when she was in her perambulator she 'd 
 sooner have kissed a chimney-sweep than a duke. I 
 believe she liked his dirty face." 
 
 When he had mounted to the top of the long ridge 
 of moor, which ran east and west, and was a kind of 
 vantage-ground from which he could view the scene 
 on every side, he halted, and revolved slowly, until 
 his gaze came back to the place he had started from. 
 
 "A fine inheritance!" he murmured. "And he's 
 a chief a kind of barbaric royalty." He heaved a 
 deep sigh, which came from the bottom of his heart. 
 "The place has a charm, too. It will claim her, and 
 she '11 answer to the call of it. She '11 never be my 
 little girl again, and God knows what I 'm to do with- 
 out her." He swished off the top of a bracken with 
 his stick. "Yes, it 's coming I feel it in my bones; 
 
 1 06
 
 Heart's Confession 107 
 
 but as long as she 's up there alone in that God- 
 forsaken place I won't have him hanging about her 
 morning, noon, and night, to set all those infernal 
 tongues clacking I '11 be shot if I will!" And he 
 went on his way with a sad heart, and a ferocity of 
 expression which sat quaintly on his round pink face. 
 
 Angela bore her disappointment philosophically, 
 but it was a disappointment all the same. It was 
 only the early part of the mornings which she was 
 allowed to have to herself; but as Flossie provided her 
 with a constant supply of books, she enjoyed those 
 morning hours with a quiet delight which was one of 
 the peculiarities of her adaptable nature. 
 
 Sheila would drag the big arm-chair out into the 
 sunshine beside the kitchen door, and with the help of 
 a stick and Sheila's arm she would hobble out to it, 
 and with her foot propped up on another chair, would 
 bask in the warmth, and read, or lie idly thinking and 
 dreaming many dreams. No jarring sounds broke 
 the peace of those still hours. The hum of the bees 
 in the heather and the bubble and splash of the run- 
 ning water and the carolling of the larks were the 
 only sounds audible. 
 
 Sheila always brought her her dinner out to the 
 arm-chair; and Angela soon discovered that Sheila 
 was a very good cook. She would have shamed a gay 
 young grouse out of all knowledge of living vanity, 
 could he have seen himself sitting on a dish and smelt 
 the delicious flavour which pervaded the atmosphere 
 when the cover was removed. 
 
 Sheila had smiled when Angela had praised her 
 cooking. 
 
 "It is for the master himself that I must cook," she
 
 io8 Bawbee Jock 
 
 had answered; and Angela had laughed, and said she 
 thought the master was very much to be envied. 
 
 But when the Ministering Angels, as Flossie called 
 them, began to appear, the happy peace and sim- 
 plicity vanished. The Fuzzy-Buzzy girls tried her 
 the most sorely, because she never felt safe from their 
 ministrations. They fell in love with Sheila and her 
 cottage, and played in it the way they would have 
 played in a doll's house, learning to bake oatcakes and 
 to churn butter. Sheila tolerated them, putting to 
 rights the mess which they littered about in her spot- 
 less kitchen with wonderful patience. 
 
 Lady Di and Dolly and some of the men would 
 straggle in about tea-time, and there was always a 
 conflict of opinion as to where the camp was to be 
 pitched. The tea-hour was heralded by the appear- 
 ance of piles of hampers and tea-baskets, and Angela 
 would sit and watch the preparations. 
 
 "Lookers-on certainly do see most of the game," 
 she said to Flossie one day. But she did not tell 
 him, for it might have hurt his feelings, that nothing 
 amused her so much as to watch Flossie himself and 
 the attitude he had taken up towards poor Jock. The 
 latter was given very plainly to understand exactly 
 how much and how little was desired of him. 
 
 Punctually at four o'clock Angela would see, and 
 she watched for them she never deceived herself for 
 a moment as to that two figures coming over the 
 hill. They were Jock and Dileas, the deerhound, 
 faithful to his name, shadowing his master wherever 
 he went. But Flossie, whether he was shooting, or 
 whatever else he was doing, was always on the spot 
 ten minutes sooner than Jock, and Jock knew that;
 
 Heart's Confession 109 
 
 and although he was hopelessly in love, he was too 
 much of a gentleman to try to circumvent Flossie's 
 vigilance. 
 
 Jock lived for that one blessed bit of the day when 
 he was allowed to carry Angela from the arm-chair, 
 outside the cottage door, to whatever place the Min- 
 istering Angels had chosen for their camping-ground. 
 Even although Flossie was always at his heels, like a 
 terrier after a huge mastiff, no one could tear from him 
 those treasured moments when he actually held her 
 in his arms: and it filled him with a kind of wild 
 ecstasy of pride to know that she would not allow 
 any one else to carry her. To officious suggestions of 
 extempore chairs, and queen's-cushions, and such 
 like, she would laugh and shake her head and say, 
 " No ! I won't trust any of them." 
 
 As they were starting, just as Jock was lifting her, 
 she would put back the hood of Dolly's red Con- 
 nemara cloak and whisper, so that even Flossie could 
 not hear: 
 
 "Is it far away to-day? or is it quite near?" 
 
 If it was far away, Jock would say it was, with great 
 satisfaction; and if it was near, he would say, "No; 
 but it is a rough bit of ground, and I will have to go 
 very slowly" which meant finding stones where 
 there were none, and altogether behaving in such an 
 erratic manner that Flossie would call out from close 
 behind: "Hi! what are you doing there? staggering 
 about like a drunk policeman. Stick to the path, 
 can't you?" 
 
 Then Angela would laugh softly; and Jock knew 
 that she knew that he had been found out. 
 
 So the days passed, and they were happy days to
 
 1 10 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Angela, in spite of, or perhaps because of, the jars 
 and friction which gave zest to the pleasures. It was 
 'glorious weather, still and warm; the mornings and 
 evenings shadowed by a pearly mist, which lent a 
 glamorous charm to the wild glen and the grandeur of 
 the hills beyond. 
 
 If Jock felt inclined to kick against the pricks of 
 destiny, he did not show it, but bore himself on all 
 occasions with chivalrous dignity. And Flossie lost 
 his fears. 
 
 But inwardly Jock was neither calm nor resigned. 
 Sometimes he felt it was more than he could bear 
 to be near her and yet to be kept at a distance. On 
 more than one occasion, when he had done what 
 Flossie called his first turn at "body-snatching," he 
 would absent himself on some excuse of business, and 
 only return to the picnicking party when it was time 
 to carry Angela back to the cottage. 
 
 When he went away, he always left Dileas on guard 
 behind him. It was done quite unostentatiously; 
 even Flossie was deceived, for Jock spoke to the dog 
 in Gaelic, and therefore no one knew that Dileas was 
 being left on trust for his master. Dileas did not 
 like it. He looked at Jock pleadingly with his mourn- 
 ful eyes ; but Jock had only to whisper something in his 
 ear, and the old hound would lie down beside Angela 
 on the heather, and no blandishments or offered 
 dainties or any sort of bribery would tempt him from 
 her side until Jock came back and relieved him from 
 his guard. 
 
 Then a day arrived when Jock, crossing the hill on 
 his daily errand, came to the spot where he invariably 
 paused to look down at the little whitewashed cot-
 
 Heart's Confession in 
 
 tage nestling in the glen below. He could always see 
 Angela from there, because of the red Connemara 
 cloak. If it was not on her shoulders, it was hang- 
 ing over the back of the chair. That day no scarlet 
 speck caught his eye; and his heart gave a great 
 bound of fear, and then seemed to stand still. 
 
 What had happened? She had always been there, 
 waiting ; ready for him with a smile, and some pretty, 
 gay greeting on her lips. What did it mean? The 
 faint sound of voices floated up to him, for sounds rose 
 easily on the still air; and he saw that among the rocks 
 and broken ground by the banks of the stream figures 
 were moving, and the red cloak was amongst them. 
 It was not moving; it was stationary, enthroned on a 
 clump of heather. 
 
 Jock sat down on the bank, and Dileas came and 
 laid his head on his knee and gazed up at him with 
 mute sympathy. He knew that his master was in 
 trouble. 
 
 Jock put his arm round the old deerhound's neck. 
 
 "She does n't want me any more," he said. "She 
 can walk alone now." And there was a break in his 
 voice, for he spoke the words aloud; and Dileas 
 drooped his tail sorrowfully. "Yes, you know all 
 about it, old boy don't you?" Jock looked at 
 Dileas's nose. "She kissed you! lucky dog! You 
 don't know what a lucky dog you are." 
 
 Dileas wagged his tail and made a step suggestive 
 of moving on; but Jock shook his head. 
 
 "No, we won't go down not for a while, anyhow. 
 I would not be a bit nearer to her there than I am 
 here." 
 
 And so they sat on together, these two, on the hill-
 
 ii2 Bawbee Jock 
 
 side, and watched and waited Jock in a state of 
 stony misery, because he knew that this was the be- 
 ginning of the end, and that now that she was free 
 from her fetters she would take wing like a bird, and 
 he would never see her again. 
 
 Strangely enough, it was the apathetic misery which 
 circumstances forced upon him that was the means of 
 his salvation. He sat and watched, and the longer 
 he sat the more convinced he became that he could 
 not bear the ordeal of bidding her good-bye before all 
 that chattering crowd and pretending that he was 
 glad that she was well enough to walk without his 
 help. 
 
 "I can't do it, Dileas!" he repeated at intervals 
 "I can't do it!" 
 
 Then the time came for the picnickers to pack 
 up their baskets and go back across the moor to 
 dinner, and bridge, and hot rooms, and civilisation. 
 They trooped off in twos and threes ; the servants dis- 
 appeared with the hill-ponies which had brought over 
 the hampers; and one figure lingered behind the 
 others, and Jock knew that it was Flossie; then it also 
 vanished over the brow of the hill, and the red cloak 
 was left behind, quite alone. 
 
 Jock caught in his breath quick. His fingers had 
 been fondling the old hound's ear, and he pulled it 
 so hard that Dileas drew himself away with a whimper 
 from the loved hand, and then licked it apologetically. 
 
 Jock rose to his feet. He hesitated for a second, 
 and then went swinging down the hillside, straight 
 to the spot where the red cloak made a bright patch 
 of colour against the green bank. 
 
 And Angela saw him coming, and her cheeks went
 
 Heart's Confession 113 
 
 first pink and then white ; and he came and stood in 
 front of her, and looked at her and said nothing. 
 
 She saw, and understood. She knew by the ex- 
 pression in his eyes that he had passed through a great 
 conflict. Her woman's instinct told her that he had 
 been watching, and it told her what his thoughts had 
 been; and a yearning pity and love for him welled 
 up in her heart. She made a vow with herself that 
 she would not allow him to suffer; that she could 
 not; that, in spite of conventionality and laws and 
 prejudices, she would break down the barrier that 
 separated him from her. 
 
 Jock only looked his misery. The knowledge that 
 she could do without him, that she was willing to do 
 without him, was as present with him here beside 
 her as it had been on the hillside, and it paralysed 
 speech. 
 
 " How am I to let him understand that Flossie made 
 me walk?" said Angela to herself "that he said it 
 was all nonsense for me to pretend that I could not 
 and made Sheila confess that it would be good for me 
 to try to walk?" 
 
 The colour came back fitfully to her cheeks. She 
 felt afraid not because she was uncertain of him, 
 but because she knew that he was so sincere and 
 honest, and she wished to make her meaning so that 
 he would understand. She looked up at him, and 
 the smile of welcome he loved to see was in her eyes, 
 and the sweet lips were quivering a little. She laid 
 her hand on the heather beside her, and he obeyed 
 the mute request and sat down. He looked at her for 
 one moment, with a dumb passion of appeal in his 
 eyes, and then turned his head quickly aside, and sat
 
 ii4 Bawbee Jock 
 
 staring straight in front of him as though he saw 
 nothing. 
 
 Angela leant forward, with her elbow resting on her 
 knee, and her chin propped in the hollow of her hand, 
 and watched him, broodingly, meditatively, like a 
 mother who is watching her child, and wondering 
 which will be the best and most loving way of help- 
 ing him out of some trouble which he is keeping from 
 her. 
 
 "He will never speak. He has some terribly 
 earnest reason on his dear conscience which will not 
 let him speak, and it is horribly cruel to sit still and 
 allow him to keep on breaking his heart. I don't care 
 whether it is unwomanly or what it is and there is 
 no one to listen, so it does not matter but if he won't 
 speak, I I must!" she argued with herself. 
 
 "Why did you not come down this afternoon?" 
 she asked softly. 
 
 She saw a kind of shudder pass through him; the 
 muscles of his throat contracted as though he were 
 swallowing something bitter and hard, and then the 
 pent-up bitterness and hardness broke forth, the 
 flood-gates opened: 
 
 "Because you don't want me any more. You can 
 do without me now." And he turned his head away 
 again quickly, so that she could only see the back of 
 his round blue bonnet. 
 
 She waited for nearly a whole minute, but he did 
 not move; and then she stretched out her hand again 
 and laid it beside his, almost touching one of the 
 pleats of his kilt. 
 
 "That is not true," she said gently. "I do want 
 you."
 
 Heart's Confession 115 
 
 A breathless silence followed. It was as if that 
 little hand, lying there, mesmerised him. He did 
 not attempt to touch it. He simply sat and stared 
 at it. 
 
 "Is he afraid of me? or is he afraid of himself?" 
 Angela wondered, and moved her hand. He thought 
 that she was going to take it away, and his own 
 closed over it convulsively. 
 
 "Oh dear! How strong he is," she murmured. 
 " It 's like a vice." 
 
 Then he turned and looked at her with a wonder- 
 ment of love and pleading in his eyes, which made her 
 heart ache and throb. He slowly unclasped his 
 fingers. She could feel how they trembled, and he 
 looked down at the little hand which lay trustingly 
 in the palm of his. 
 
 "Do you mean " he stammered hoarsely. 
 
 Angela's eyes were swimming in tears. His face 
 seemed a blur, and her own voice sounded like a 
 faint, fluttering whisper coming from a long distance. 
 
 "I I mean you to keep it." 
 
 A strangled sob was smothered in Jock's throat, 
 and he put his other hand over hers and held it not 
 like a vice, but with a strength which told that no- 
 thing would ever take it from him; and they sat 
 together for some moments in a silence which drew 
 them nearer to each other than words. 
 
 Angela wanted him to speak to hear his voice. 
 She wanted to know why he had not told her before 
 that he loved her. She wanted to know what was 
 the trouble which had made him so miserable, and 
 doubtful, and wavering. She wanted to love him 
 and comfort him and mother him.
 
 n6 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I don't believe he knows, poor dear, that he has 
 not said any of the things that he ought to have said. 
 I 've had to do all the forwardness, and I '11 have to go 
 on doing it, if I am to help him. I must find out 
 about these reasons, and why he did not wish me to 
 misunderstand, and everything that has been making 
 him so unhappy. I must find out everything for 
 his own sake." 
 
 Jock did not know how she did it it was done so 
 sweetly and gently and lovingly. But then, she loved 
 him very dearly. 
 
 The story is not to be told in Jock's words, because 
 he told it very badly partly for the reason that he 
 was holding Angela's hand all the time and looking 
 into her eyes; and partly because it was a story which, 
 retold by the woman who loved him and who could 
 read between the lines, was a true story; and Angela 
 told it in its real light to Flossie the next day. 
 
 The evening shadows were beginning to creep up 
 the hillside, and the golden glory of sunset was gather- 
 ing in the western sky, and its radiance was reflected 
 in Jock's face, and a certain awe as well. 
 
 "What is he thinking about?" Angela asked her- 
 self. "He's far away in the clouds. He imagines 
 that I am an angel, and must not be treated like a 
 mortal." 
 
 Then Sheila's voice was heard in the distance. The 
 dew was falling, and it was growing cold. 
 
 "I suppose I ought to go in," suggested Angela. 
 
 "But you can't walk," said Jock "I mean, you 
 don't need to." 
 
 He had come down from the clouds with a start, 
 and there was a look of apprehension in his eyes.
 
 Heart's Confession 117 
 
 He clung desperately to the hand which still lay in 
 his. 
 
 "Perhaps one walk a day is enough for the first 
 time," answered Angela. "And Flossie is not here. 
 Oh, how funny it has all been! Didn't you hate it 
 all? Do say that you did." 
 
 But Jock was too intent on lifting her, and carry- 
 ing her in exactly the way he knew she liked to be 
 carried, to spare a thought for anything else. 
 
 Perhaps it was only when he held her in his arms 
 that he really did come down from the clouds, and 
 find that he was very human. He found it out be- 
 fore he had gone many paces; and if Flossie had been 
 there, he would certainly have told him to steady his 
 steps and look out where he was going. 
 
 He carried her into the little kitchen, where the 
 chair stood ready beside the fire. The room was in 
 shadow, and only the fire-glow shone upon his face. 
 Angela saw the light in his eyes, and she turned her 
 head aside and hid it on his shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, what a fraud you are! I thought you were 
 so shy, and so !" 
 
 It was some few minutes later, and she was sitting 
 upright in the old arm-chair. She put up her hand. 
 
 "How you have ruffled my hair!" 
 
 "I like it ruffled!" said Jock. His voice seemed to 
 have gained a new tone; it was full and strong. He 
 caught her hand. "Leave it like that. It all twists 
 in little curls about your ears. It 's much prettier 
 than it was before." He sat down on the wooden 
 stool which was always drawn in beside the fire, and 
 looked up at her. " Is it really true? " he said. " Am 
 I in my right senses?"
 
 n8 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "No, I don't think you are," she answered. "You 
 won't feel real uncomfortably real until you have 
 told Flossie what you 've done." 
 
 His eyes sharpened. They looked very blue, and a 
 kind of fighting glint came into them. 
 
 "He can't take you away from me," he said. 
 
 "No; but I wouldn't hurt him for the world. 
 We must be very nice to him. He has always taken 
 care of me, you see." 
 
 Jock sighed heavily. 
 
 "He won't think I'm good enough. I'm not! 
 How did I ever dare to tell you to ask you to 
 speak to ? " 
 
 Angela blushed. 
 
 "You did n't. It was all me. You Ve never pro- 
 posed to me properly yet." 
 
 But Jock was very much in earnest. 
 
 "We '11 be so poor," he said; and his eyes were 
 very troubled as they met hers. "Do you under- 
 stand? I mean really poor. If it was not that I 
 have heard you say so often that you loved living in 
 this little cottage, and that you were so happy with 
 simple things, I would never have dared to " 
 He glanced round the plain, whitewashed kitchen. 
 "I haven't anything much better than this to give 
 you." 
 
 "I don't want anything better," answered Angela. 
 She spoke low, and she bent over him. His blue 
 bonnet was lying on the floor and the firelight caught 
 his hair where there was that little crimp in it above 
 his temples. She was so near; he had not to strain his 
 ears to listen. "We are going to be poor together. 
 I would rather live with my Bawbee Jock in a cot-
 
 Heart's Confession 119 
 
 tage like this than in a palace with any one else." 
 Her voice fell to a soft whisper. " 'Bawbee Jock!' 
 I shall always love you by that name. Always 
 always ! Because it was the beginning of everything." 
 
 Presently the clock on the wall struck an ominous 
 number of strokes which made them both start and 
 look at it in astonishment. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to go," said Jock. "When may 
 I come back again? What time to-morrow?" He 
 looked at her with an intensity of anxiety in his eyes. 
 "You won't go away and leave me, will you? I 
 mean, if there is no one to keep you from me. You 
 said that you were very relationless. Do you remem- 
 ber? You won't keep me waiting long promise me 
 that you won't. Promise me that you will marry me 
 soon?" 
 
 The colour was flushing her cheeks; her lashes were 
 lowered, and he could not see the expression in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Say that you won't go away that you won't 
 leave me," he pleaded in a low voice. 
 
 "I can't promise anything until I have told 
 Flossie," she murmured hesitatingly. "I think " 
 She raised her eyes, and added quickly, "Let me 
 speak to him myself first. You see, I understand 
 him; and I think it would be better. Don't come 
 to-morrow until after Flossie has been here. Do you 
 mind very much?" 
 
 "I do mind very much," he answered. "But 
 perhaps you know best." 
 
 Shortly after that he said his last good-night and 
 went away. 
 
 On the brow of the hill he stopped. Dileas, who
 
 120 Bawbee Jock 
 
 was following him like a grey shadow, stopped too. 
 The moors were shrouded in the evening mist; the 
 hills stood out against the pale amber of the darken- 
 ing sky; a bank of purple cloud lay low on the horizon 
 line; and one golden gleam of light shone like a beacon 
 from out of the gathering gloom. 
 
 On every side stretched Glenmoira; and it was still 
 his own. 
 
 "I am fighting it for her sake now," he murmured 
 to himself "for her dear sake."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ANGELA BREAKS THE NEWS 
 
 next day no Ministering Angels appeared at 
 Sheila's cottage to work havoc in her tidy 
 kitchen and harass Angela with their importunate 
 attentions. 
 
 The morning passed quietly and peacefully, and 
 Angela was very happy. She had so much to think 
 about, and her thoughts were sweet and serious; and 
 many times her eyes wandered to the ridge of the hill 
 opposite and she wondered what Jock was doing and 
 whether he had climbed to the top of the ridge from 
 his side, and looked down to make sure that the little 
 cottage in the glen below had not taken wings and 
 flown away in the night. 
 
 After she had finished her early dinner, she asked 
 Sheila to bring her knitting and to sit down beside her 
 and tell her stories. Books did not satisfy her to- 
 day. She wanted real life. She made Sheila tell her 
 stories of Glenmoira and of the days when Jock's 
 father had held rule there; and then of Jock's life now, 
 among his people. 
 
 She loved to hear Sheila speak Jock's name; her 
 voice seemed to linger on it with a reverent affec- 
 tion. And she loved to listen to Sheila's description of 
 the clachan, and the old church, and the old minister, 
 
 121
 
 122 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Mr. MacPherson, who had christened, and married, 
 and buried all the members of the chief's family dur- 
 ing his term of office. 
 
 , Sheila's description of Jock, going to church every 
 Sunday accompanied by Dileas, interested her very 
 much. It seemed that it was the custom of Highland 
 dogs to accompany their masters to church, and that 
 they behaved quite as decorously as human beings. 
 
 In the summer-time, if the weather was fine, Sheila 
 told her, the services were held out-of-doors on the 
 hillside ; and Angela said she thought that was a most 
 beautiful and picturesque idea. 
 
 " It will be also a marriage that you can be seeing 
 on the hillside," said Sheila. 
 
 "A marriage ! " exclaimed Angela. " Have you ever 
 seen one? Oh, do tell me about it ! " And she listened 
 with intense earnestness to Sheila's description of a 
 marriage which she had herself witnessed the summer 
 before in the glen, when the ceremony had taken place 
 out-of-doors. 
 
 Angela was very silent and preoccupied for a long 
 time after Sheila had ceased speaking. Then she 
 gave a long, deep-drawn sigh, and there was a catch 
 at the end of it, like that of a child who is standing on 
 the brink of an unknown, unexplored land of mystery. 
 
 "Sheila," she said, "do you know what Donald 
 said to me when he was told to welcome me to 
 Glenmoira?" 
 
 Sheila smiled. 
 
 " It is himself that has told me the words that he has 
 said," she answered. 
 
 " 'It is to the glens that you have come, and it is 
 in the glens that you will stay,' " murmured Angela.
 
 Angela Breaks the News 123 
 
 For a little while she remained very still ; and Sheila 
 did not speak either, but sat with her knitting lying 
 idle on her lap and that strange, far-seeing light in 
 her eyes. 
 
 So the hours of the peaceful day crept on, and 
 Angela was very happy, although a little nervous and 
 expectant at the thought of what she was going to say 
 to Flossie about Jock. She hoped that he would come 
 alone, but that seemed almost too good to be allowed 
 to happen. When tea-time drew near, and still there 
 was no sign of either Flossie or the Ministering 
 Angels, she began to regret that she had told Jock so 
 decidedly that he must stay away. 
 
 She had grown so accustomed to counting the 
 minutes until the kitchen clock struck four, that she 
 felt a sense of loss and blankness stealing over her 
 when the chimes ticked off the hour and she realised 
 that they meant nothing. 
 
 "I have burnt my boats with a vengeance," she 
 said to herself with a rueful smile; and she asked 
 Sheila to give her Donald's stick, and began to prac- 
 tise walking backwards and forwards on a narrow 
 strip of level ground outside the cottage door. 
 
 "I believe I am ready for anything now!" she told 
 herself, and continued her walk until she reached 
 the place where she had sat with Jock the evening 
 before. 
 
 "That is far enough," she murmured, sinking 
 down on the yielding heather; and presently she saw 
 Sheila coming out with her tea. 
 
 Sheila was carrying a tray, with the teapot on it, 
 and scones and oatcakes and honey; and setting 
 everything down on the heather, she had only just
 
 124 Bawbee Jock 
 
 disappeared into the cottage again when Angela 
 saw Flossie coming down the glen-path from the 
 moor. 
 
 "Oh, there you are at last!" she cried. "I am so 
 glad to see you. Call out to Sheila to bring another 
 cup, and I will give you some tea." 
 
 But Flossie came straight to where she was sitting 
 and sank down with an exhausted air beside her. 
 
 "Nevermind a cup," he said; "give it me in the 
 slop-basin. Lord! I could drink anything! Put in 
 lots of milk to cool it; my throat feels like a lime-kiln. 
 Daniel's fiery furnace was nothing to it." 
 
 "You poor dear thing!" exclaimed Angela. 
 
 Flossie had emptied the basin and held it out to be 
 refilled before she began to ask questions. 
 
 "There! I feel better now," he said, taking a large 
 silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his 
 little downy moustache. 
 
 "Tell me all about it," said Angela. "Why have 
 I been left in such blissful peace? Not by you, I 
 mean, but by the Ministering Angels. Where are 
 they? Who are they ministering to?" 
 
 "Their own selfish selves," answered Flossie. 
 "They 've gone, my dear child." 
 
 "Gone!" echoed Angela. "Like Antoinette?" 
 
 Flossie smiled grimly. 
 
 "Not morals this time it 's scarlet fever!" 
 [ "Scarlet fever! Who?" 
 
 "No one that you know. One of the servants. 
 She went about, poor wretch! until she collapsed 
 in public ! You can imagine the scare that followed ! 
 It happened just as we were going to dress for dinner 
 last night."
 
 Angela Breaks the News 125 
 
 "But, Flossie, do you mean to say that they have 
 really all gone? How could they in the time?" 
 
 "My dear, it was like a football scrum. Does n't 
 my exhausted appearance speak for itself? Some one 
 had to help and " 
 
 "Oh, I know what that means!" cried Angela. 
 "You have been managing, and helping, and plan- 
 ning, and doing everything for everybody. You 
 always let yourself be victimised. It 's too bad the 
 way people take advantage of you." 
 
 Flossie shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I 've been doing chauffeur most of the day," he 
 remarked. "We 've had two motors going since 
 streak of dawn. It 's been a sweeping exodus. No; 
 I must give credit where credit is due. One little 
 maid stuck to the colours a veritable Trojan." 
 
 "And what has become of the poor scarlet-fever 
 thing?" asked Angela. 
 
 "She's shut up isolated. The doctor managed 
 that. A grim-looking beggar! It would take a 
 pretty nippy saint to slip through his fingers, I should 
 imagine." Flossie took out his cigarette-case and, 
 lighting a cigarette, lay back against the heather and 
 tilted his cap over his eyes. "It 's been very fuss- 
 ing," he said. "And and some of it was rather 
 trying." 
 
 "Kind Flossie!" said Angela. "You are so good; 
 you always rise to an emergency." 
 
 Flossie patted his chest. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, I 'm a man of parts. It 's very 
 useful." 
 
 "What are you going to do yourself?" asked 
 Angela.
 
 126 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I? Stay and look after you, of course. You 
 don't suppose I was going to bolt and leave you? By 
 the way, Dolly sent all kinds of messages. She was 
 so worried being sorry for every one. She had a bad 
 time." 
 
 "Poor Dolly!" said Angela. Her lip curled a 
 little. "I suppose Mr. Potter was amongst the first 
 to fly?" 
 
 Flossie did not answer for a moment. He was 
 apparently engrossed in watching a honey-laden bee 
 trying to take flight from a bunch of heather beside 
 him. Then he remarked irrelevantly: 
 
 "The Devereux left two days ago. I forgot to 
 mention it. And I heard Monty giving out at 
 lunch yesterday before the scare, of course that 
 his medical adviser had ordered him to Homburg." 
 
 Angela flushed hotly. 
 
 "Do you think that was true?" she said. 
 
 Flossie shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Monty 's pretty useful at economising the truth. 
 He 's taking Dolly with him." 
 
 "Flossie!" exclaimed Angela indignantly. 
 
 "Oh! he likes to keep a halo of respectability about 
 his head if it costs him nothing," answered Flossie. 
 He picked out a lump of moss from the bank. "And 
 Dolly can't rebel. She never does fight, you know. 
 She she 's like a little white dove in the hand of the 
 
 fowler." The lump of moss hit the bee. " Oh, ! 
 
 It 's a beastly hard world for women. There I feel 
 better. Sorry, dear, for using bad language, but I 
 could n't help it." 
 
 "Flossie, why do you allow it?" burst out Angela 
 vehemently. " He 's not a man he 's a brute ! Why
 
 Angela Breaks the News 127 
 
 don't you run away with her? She would go 
 she 's so accustomed to doing what you tell her; and 
 I don't believe it would be wrong." 
 
 Flossie shook his head. 
 
 "That's just it, dear. She's so accustomed to 
 trusting me, that perhaps she would; and I 'd be 
 a cad to take advantage. You see, she does n't 
 understand. I play the fool so well. No one finds 
 me out." 
 
 "Flossie, how can you? I know " 
 
 "What every woman knows?" quoted Flossie, 
 smiling; but the smile was very small and thin. 
 
 "What every woman does not know!" declared 
 Angela with sweeping scorn. "That you are the 
 straightest, best friend any woman ever had. And 
 oh! I am so sorry so dreadfully sorry." 
 
 "Thank you, dear." 
 
 Flossie shaded his eyes with his hand for a minute 
 and then he blew his nose. There was a lengthened 
 pause, and he laughed a whimsical, rather pathetic 
 laugh. 
 
 "My dear, when nature planned me out, she did n't 
 cast me for a Lothario or a Don Juan." He took 
 hold of the frilly skirts of his shooting-coat and flapped 
 them derisively. "Think of the legal proceedings! 
 What kind of figure would I cut in the witness-box? 
 Can't you hear the papers? 'Under a brilliant fire 
 of cross-examination, which lasted all day, the co- 
 respondent maintained an attitude of remarkable 
 equanimity.' . . . Then they 'd stick in something 
 about my clothes, and pile on the adjectives. No, no, 
 my dear; I 'm not cast for the part." He lit a fresh 
 cigarette. "Now then, to change the subject," he
 
 128 Bawbee Jock 
 
 said, sitting up and speaking briskly. "What's to 
 be done about you? By the way, where 's the body- 
 snatcher? Where 's Bawbee Jock?" 
 
 "He has not been here to-day," said Angela, with 
 a suspicious conciliatoriness in her voice. "I can 
 walk alone now, Flossie. I came out here all by 
 myself. Isn't it splendid?"'*" 
 
 Flossie nodded. 
 
 "Capital! Then you can make plans for moving 
 on." 
 
 Angela said nothing; and Flossie, with a facetious- 
 ness born of misguided confidence, ran on glibly: 
 
 "It's time you did make up your mind what 
 you 're going to do. This kind of mongrel existence 
 could n't last much longer. You 'd either have to 
 take to wearing a nightcap and settling down here 
 for good, or" he laughed "or marry Bawbee 
 Jock!" 
 
 Angela's cheeks went very pink and her eyes grew 
 wide and frightened. 
 
 "I I hope you won't mind very much, but " 
 She gave a gasp and took the plunge without allowing 
 her courage to slip. "Flossie, I am going to marry 
 Bawbee Jock. I have promised to marry him." 
 
 She held out her hand, and her eyes and lips pleaded 
 eloquently.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 BAWBEE JOCK'S PARSIMONY 
 
 THE blow had fallen at the moment when he least 
 expected it. Flossie did not need to question, 
 or to look at her even, to know how much it all meant. 
 She was in sweet, serious earnest; he had not studied 
 her moods from the time that she could only express 
 her thoughts in baby language, not to know that. 
 
 "Flossie!" whispered Angela, after a few minutes' 
 throbbing silence. " Do say something ! Don't look 
 like that, as if as if Oh, I never saw you look like 
 that before. You want me to be happy, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Flossie mechanically, "I want 
 you to be happy ; but are you sure he can make you 
 happy? My dear, you know so little about him; and 
 what you do know " He took off his cap and 
 rumpled up the fluff of hair above his forehead. " I 'm 
 sure what I told you was n't particularly taking." 
 
 Angela leant forward eagerly. 
 
 "That was all a mistake, every bit of it. I can't 
 think how you, who are so good at understanding, 
 did not guess, or get to know, or find out somehow, 
 that it was a mistake. I suppose because you did 
 not fall in love with him." 
 
 "I expect that had something to do with it," said 
 Flossie drily. 
 
 9 129
 
 130 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "It was all a mistake," reiterated Angela. "I will 
 tell you the real story. He told it to me last night. 
 Yes, we sat out here until it was almost dark. He 
 put things so that sometimes I could have hugged him, 
 because they were n't a bit true, although he tried to 
 make me think they wer.e. But I am going to tell you 
 the story in the way I know it to be true. Now 
 listen. I think you had better light a fresh cigarette." 
 
 Flossie lit his cigarette and, leaning back against 
 the bank, half shut his eyes. He did not wish her to 
 see how much they might tell, and he mumbled some- 
 thing to the effect that she might "go ahead, and stick 
 to facts." 
 
 "Not so very long ago," began Angela, "Glen- 
 moira was like a little kingdom. Jock's father was 
 a great chief, and his mother was very beautiful, and 
 they kept open house for weeks at a time. There were 
 meetings and gatherings, and pipers of course, and 
 torch-light processions the clansmen with their 
 claymores. You see, I Ve got all the names of the 
 things right, have n't I? And " 
 
 "Did Bawbee Jock tell you all this piffle?" inter- 
 posed Flossie. "Rather swagger of him, if he did." 
 
 " No ! He never swaggers you know he does n't," 
 retorted Angela indignantly. "Sheila has told me 
 things. She tells beautiful stories." 
 
 "Hump!" grumped Flossie, "so it seems. Well, 
 go on." 
 
 "I 'm making it romantic and feudal and out of 
 the common," said Angela. 
 
 "Is it all to show why Bawbee Jock had to take to 
 screwing? Because his ancestors squandered their 
 heritage in riotous living?" asked Flossie.
 
 Bawbee Jock's Parsimony 131 
 
 "You really are most interrupting. Do listen and 
 keep quiet. The old chief was a splendid chief. He 
 could quite afford to be a king! Up here, you know, 
 where he lived in the way that his ancestors did." 
 
 "On what they could steal from their neighbours," 
 murmured Flossie. "I 've always heard that High- 
 landers were a thieving lot." 
 
 But Angela went on with her story unheedingly. 
 
 "The old chief kept up all the ancient customs and 
 traditions in the way that his forefathers had done be- 
 fore him for generations. And he brought up his son 
 to feel the same as he did about his responsibilities 
 to his people, and what he owed to the honour of the 
 old name. You 're listening, Flossie, are n't you?" 
 
 Flossie's response was inaudible. 
 
 "You can imagine what Glenmoira is to J-Jock," 
 Angela stumbled a little over the name. "Think 
 what it must be to him to see some one else here 
 taking his place. He is such a good sportsman, too! 
 you know that. He sees the good in everything 
 that has to do with Nature." The misty look of 
 dreaminess came into her eyes. She went on shyly: 
 "I found that out for myself that day when he asked 
 me to go into his butt with him, and we walked home 
 across the moor afterwards. I think it must have 
 begun that day. It was the kind of difference, the 
 contrast getting away from all that was conven- 
 tional to what was really real; the strong, sweet, pure 
 things of Nature, things which have not changed for 
 centuries; the hills and the moors, with their memories 
 of what has been ! Think of what scenes these places 
 have witnessed, Flossie! The fights!" Angela's 
 cheek flushed. "Jock's ancestors were tremendous
 
 132 Bawbee Jock 
 
 fighters. They raised a whole regiment once. And 
 the regiment still exists. Jock's father was in it, and 
 Jock went into it. But I 'm hurrying on too quick." 
 
 "My dear, I don't object to a little skipping," re- 
 marked Flossie politely. 
 
 " Of course he went to school like any ordinary boy, 
 but he always loved to get back to Glenmoira and into 
 his kilt, and be Highland again. And now I 'm 
 coming to the important bit. There was a brother, 
 and he was younger than Jock, and his name was 
 Alister. I don't think he can have been like Jock 
 in any possible way. Jock says he was very good- 
 looking, and " 
 
 "That settles it," said Flossie. "You needn't 
 explain." 
 
 Angela continued, ignoring the interruption: 
 
 " He was a selfish, spoilt creature ! Every one seems 
 to have spoilt him. His mother worshipped him, and 
 gave in to him in everything, and made Jock give in to 
 him too. From the time that Jock was almost a 
 baby himself, he was always told that he must give 
 up the best of everything to Alister. Of course Jock 
 did n't put it in that way to me. He made it seem 
 that, because he was the elder, he should take care of 
 Alister. But I know! I read between the lines. I 
 don't believe Jock has ever been properly loved. 
 Flossie, do you hear? Do you realise what that 
 means?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, my dear. But I 'm anxious to get to 
 some point in the story. Can't you skip on a chapter 
 or two?" 
 
 "I thought I was making it so interesting," sighed 
 Angela.
 
 Bawbee Jock's Parsimony 133 
 
 "So you are. But what next? You left him 
 going into the regiment that had been raised by his 
 ancestor." 
 
 "Jock went abroad with his regiment, the 
 
 Highlanders; and Alister went into the Guards." 
 
 "The Blues," said Flossie. "Alister Mackenzie! 
 Beauty thought he knew about him, but I knew more. 
 A nice young scamp." 
 
 "I 'm sure he must have been," said Angela quickly. 
 "Jock, of course, is loyal and won't say so. But I 
 must hurry on or else you will get bored. The 
 troubles began after Jock's father died, because then 
 Alister was able to go his own way. Jock was abroad, 
 and his mother would not live at Glenmoira; she 
 wanted to be near Alister. And so Glenmoira was 
 left deserted and everything went wrong. I don't 
 know exactly what happened about Alister. It had 
 to do with money, of course; Jock won't give him 
 away. It must have been something very bad 
 disgraceful! Jock's mother sent for him to come 
 home, and he got leave, and came back as soon as 
 he could; but Alister had bolted. Yes! He had 
 run away! Right out of the country, and left his 
 mother heart-broken literally heart-broken. She 
 was dying. Flossie, are you listening? I want you 
 to pay attention to this bit very particularly." 
 
 "Yes, yes, my dear; I 'm listening," said Flossie. 
 
 "She died! Really of a broken heart. And do 
 you know what she made Jock promise? That, if he 
 could not save Alister his name and reputation, and 
 pay off this disgraceful whatever it was in any 
 other way, he would sell Glenmoira. Only think of 
 what that meant ! The place he loved so dearly, and
 
 134 Bawbee Jock 
 
 his people, and all that his father had brought him 
 up to be to them. And he promised. Glenmoira is 
 entailed; but he could break the entail with Alister's 
 consent, because Alister was the next heir. His 
 mother knew that, of course, and she made him 
 promise that, if it was to save Alister if nothing 
 else would save him he would break the entail, 
 and sell Glenmoira. He has not done it yet; he has 
 sacrificed everything to prevent it. But he gave 
 his word. And it is always hanging over him that 
 he may have to keep it." 
 
 Angela paused and touched Flossie's shoulder. 
 
 "Now you understand," she said. "Are you not 
 sorry for having misjudged him? Not that I mind 
 your having called him Bawbee Jock," she added 
 quickly. "I love that name I always shall." 
 
 Flossie fidgeted and straightened his cap. 
 
 "Well yes! I retract what I may have said 
 under the influence of a common misunderstanding," 
 he admitted. "But how was I to know?" 
 
 "I knew I guessed there was something from the 
 first," answered Angela. 
 
 "And so all his aim, by way of screwing, has been 
 to pay off that young scamp's debts?" said Flossie. 
 
 "Yes," said Angela. Her voice saddened. "It is 
 the hopelessness of it that has taken all the heart out 
 of Jock. He has started Alister afresh, time after 
 time; and it is no use. He can't keep straight; and 
 then he comes back on Jock to help him. Jock owns 
 himself that it is hopeless. He says he can't throw 
 him over, and yet it is like pouring water into a sieve 
 to try to help him. Flossie, think .what Jock has had 
 to give up! his position, his rank really! He won't
 
 Bawbee Jock's Parsimony 135 
 
 go about and stay with people. He says he can't, 
 because they would not understand. They would 
 expect him to take his proper place as" Angela 
 raised her head proudly "as the Chief of Glen- 
 moira, which he is. He shields Alister, you see, and 
 no one would understand why he could not do the 
 things which were expected of him. He lives up here 
 all alone, and tries to keep things together, so that if 
 possible he can save Glenmoira. Sheila told me such 
 a pathetic bit of the story, which Jock could not. You 
 know, Flossie, these Highlanders are just like children 
 about their chief. They expect to be led and cared 
 for by him. When Jock came back to live amongst 
 them, they came crowding round him, crying really 
 like children, and imploring him never to go away 
 again, but to stay with them always, and take care 
 of them. Now, Flossie, do you understand? I think 
 the lonely life he has led has made him dreadfully 
 sensitive too sensitive, perhaps. I think he thought 
 that he had no right to be happy. That because he 
 was so poor he had no right to well, to ask any one to 
 marry him." 
 
 Flossie sat up. He tapped the end of a fresh cigar- 
 ette meditatively against his knee as he felt for his 
 match-box, and looked at Angela out of the corners 
 of his eyes. 
 
 " It strikes me he did n't lose much time once he did 
 get his chance," he remarked drily. "Pretty good 
 cheek of him to wait until I was out of sight, and then 
 walk in. It seems to me as if he knew his way about 
 pretty usefully." 
 
 Angela blushed. 
 
 "It was my fault I mean it hurt him dreadfully
 
 136 Bawbee Jock 
 
 to see that I could walk alone. It was that did it. 
 He thought I did not want him any longer; and I 
 could not allow him to be miserable, and so I had to 
 tell him. I don't quite remember what I told him; 
 but that 's how it happened. Now you know! And 
 you are going to be the dear that you have always 
 been, Flossie, and help me. Because I 'm going to 
 do it. I 'm going to marry him." She stopped, a 
 little breathless, but she looked very determined. 
 
 "Angela! Angela!" was all that Flossie could 
 manage to say. 
 
 He felt weak and helpless. She had always been 
 sweetness and obedience itself to him on occasions 
 when she knew that he knew best; but this was an 
 occasion in which no one could judge for her but her- 
 self, and she knew that. 
 
 " I hope he knows what a lucky devil he is," he said. 
 "I hope he understands you. Neither of you know 
 much about each other, so far as I can see. My dear 
 child, I feel all this very deeply; you Ve been a great 
 charge to me. He 's taking a big responsibility on his 
 shoulders. I hope he realises that." 
 
 Angela had been sitting very still, with her eyes 
 on the distant hills. A soft light was shining in 
 them when she turned and fixed them on Flossie's 
 face. 
 
 "I I don't think he realises anything but me," 
 she said, half under her breath. "Yes, really! It 's 
 beautiful, and quite adorable of him; but he he 
 does n't want anything but me." 
 
 Flossie paused in the act of striking a match. 
 
 "Do you mean to say," he exclaimed, "that the 
 man 's such a benighted fool as not to Great
 
 Bawbee Jock's Parsimony 137 
 
 Scott, Angela! Does he know anything about you 
 at all? Does he even know if you 're respectable?" 
 
 Angela shook her head slowly and kept her eyes 
 fixed on Flossie's. 
 
 "It 's just me," she reiterated softly. "He wants 
 me; that 's all. And that 's all that I want him 
 to want." 
 
 Flossie smothered an exclamation. He threw away 
 the match and laid down his cigarette unlighted. 
 
 "Angela, what do you mean?" he said. 
 
 And she answered him, very slowly and deliberately. 
 
 He sat for some time after she had ceased speak- 
 ing, staring at her with a kind of stupefaction on his 
 face; and then he rose, and walked over to the bank 
 which overhung the stream, and stood for a few 
 minutes looking down at the running water. Then 
 he came back and took up his position in front of her. 
 He had a great deal to say, and he could always 
 speak best when he was on his feet. At the end of half 
 an hour he was still on his feet, and Angela was still 
 listening to him. Her face was as white as the hand- 
 kerchief which she was twisting round and round in 
 her fingers, but it was set and determined. Flossie's 
 cheeks were as pink as Angela's were white. 
 
 "Ridiculous and impossible! impossible and most 
 ridiculous!" he kept repeating with vehement per- 
 sistency; but it was the persistency of baffled im- 
 potence. He had not shaken her determination by 
 a hair's breadth. This was a new Angela to him. 
 He was not pitting his strength against the whim of a 
 romantic girl: this was a woman, who knew her own 
 heart and her own mind, and had the will and the 
 determination to abide by her purpose.
 
 138 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Flossie stopped at last. He was still standing, and 
 his expression was one of puzzled despair. 
 
 The set look on Angela's face melted. She smiled, 
 and stretching out her hand, took his, and pulled 
 him down beside her. 
 
 "You are going to let me have my own way. I 
 know you are," she said persuasively. "And I am 
 going to be married in the way I want to be married ; 
 and you are going to help me, and be my angel of a 
 guardian, and give me away your very own self 
 you are, are n't you?" 
 
 "Angela!" groaned Flossie helplessly. 
 
 Angela smiled again, this time radiantly. 
 
 "Flossie, you can't think how beautiful Scotch 
 marriages are so easy and simple." 
 
 "Are they? What heathen rite constitutes a 
 Scotch marriage? Child! child! I don't like it at 
 all"; and Flossie groaned again. 
 
 Angela raised her head with dignity. 
 
 "You forget, Flossie, that Jock is a chief. I be- 
 lieve he could command a marriage just like royalty ! 
 He has a minister of his own who marries and buries 
 all the family. You don't know about all these 
 beautiful old Highland customs; but I do. Sheila 
 told me this morning about a marriage she had seen 
 herself; and it was out-of-doors on the hillside, 
 with " 
 
 Flossie raised his voice. 
 
 "My dear girl, if you think that I 'm going to lend 
 my presence to any theatrical experiments about 
 things that I don't understand the meaning of, you 
 are very much mistaken." He pushed back his cap 
 and rubbed his forehead impatiently. "What the
 
 Bawbee Jock's Parsimony 139 
 
 dickens am I to do with you? Do you know what 
 you want yourself?" 
 
 The colour flushed up to Angela's cheeks. She was 
 looking beyond Flossie to the heather-clad slope 
 above, to where a little green track wound like an 
 emerald ribbon in and out of the patches of purple 
 bloom and bracken. It passed Sheila's cottage and, 
 wandering on to the right of it, lost itself under the 
 drooping branches of a mountain ash. 
 
 In the shade of the tree, under the canopy of lace- 
 like foliage and clusters of scarlet berries, which 
 glistened in the afternoon sunlight, lay a long, grey 
 slab of rock. Its level top was smooth as a table, 
 and about its base clustered a tiny forest of oak-fern 
 and nodding clumps of harebell. 
 
 She pointed. 
 
 "Do you see that lovely tree? They call it a 
 rowan tree here. Is n't it a pretty name? And do 
 you see that long grey stone underneath it, like a 
 table? I should like to be married there! The 
 Bible would lie on that stone that would be the 
 altar; and the old minister would stand behind it, 
 and Jock and I would stand in front and he would 
 marry us. We would want nothing but the Bible and 
 a wedding ring." Her eyes, sweet and grave, with 
 a shadow of awe in their depths, sought Flossie's be- 
 seechingly. "Think how beautiful it would be! 
 Where could you find a grander church? The blue 
 sky above, and the song of the birds and the ripple of 
 the water for music. Heaven and the angels look- 
 ing down on us; nothing to jar and fret; nothing to 
 spoil the solemnity, and the reality of what we are 
 going to promise to be to each other." Her voice
 
 140 Bawbee Jock 
 
 trembled. "Don't you think a marriage like that 
 would be very near to what God meant it to be?" 
 She slipped her hand into the unresponsive one be- 
 side her. "I believe I Ve made you feel it just as 
 I feel it. Let yourself go, Flossie, and be good and 
 kind; and help me to have the wish of my heart." 
 
 Flossie rubbed away something out of the corner 
 of his eye which might have been an eyelash, but 
 Angela knew that it was not. 
 
 "Well, dear," he said rather huskily, "I won't 
 make rash promises. I '11 find out if it 's possible. 
 And I '11 have a very serious conversation with 
 Bawbee Jock before I give my unconditional consent. 
 And I must see that 'family minister.' Where does 
 he live? In the same God-forsaken place as you 're 
 going to?" His fingers closed tightly over the hand 
 which had crept into his. "Dear child, have you 
 thought of that? the loneliness, the isolation? 
 These wilds are positively cut off from civilisation 
 in the winter time. Have you thought of all that? 
 How do I know that he knows how to take care 
 of you?" 
 
 "I 'm not afraid. I trust him. I would trust 
 him with my life I am going to," she answered. 
 
 Flossie sat for some time in meditative silence; 
 then he said abruptly: 
 
 "How much longer do you intend to stay here?" 
 
 Angela blushed. 
 
 "I don't know. I can't live on here much 
 longer with Sheila, can I? And I can't go back 
 to Glenmoira." 
 
 "I suppose he wants you to marry him straight 
 away a kind of royal command," said Flossie drily.
 
 Bawbee Jock's Parsimony 141 
 
 "Well he wants to marry me very soon." 
 
 "Humph!" grunted Flossie. "These red-haired 
 chaps are smouldering volcanoes. As you 're set on 
 marrying him, you 'd best keep that in mind." 
 
 He was lost in meditation again for some minutes. 
 And then Angela heard him chuckling softly to 
 himself. 
 
 " What a nice sell it will be for " He chuckled 
 again. "You '11 hurt a good many people's feelings, 
 my dear." 
 
 "I don't want to hurt any one's feelings," said 
 Angela. ' ' And I am doing nothing that I am ashamed 
 of." She drew herself up. " I am proud of the man 
 that I am going to marry. I am proud of everything 
 that belongs to him, and it 's all quite open." 
 
 "Very open!" said Flossie, glancing at the rowan 
 tree. "Supposing it's a wet day. Will you be 
 married under an umbrella?" 
 
 "Don't make fun of my beautiful idea," pleaded 
 Angela. She looked up at the sky. "This lovely 
 weather is going to last for ages for another week, 
 at any rate." 
 
 "Are you going to be married in a week? " exclaimed 
 Flossie, aghast. 
 
 But Angela did not answer. She was looking away 
 to where the sunset light was bathing the hill-tops. 
 The day was dying, but there would be a to-morrow; 
 and to-morrow would bring her lover back to her 
 again. 
 
 " I must be off," said Flossie. " It 's getting late." 
 
 Angela started, and returned to earth. 
 
 "You have been so good," she said. "I could not 
 have done it without you; nothing would have been
 
 142 Bawbee Jock 
 
 right. You will always be my guardian, won't you? 
 And if people ask questions, you will know what to 
 say." She broke into a rippling laugh. "Flossie, I 
 would so love to hear the things that you will say 
 when people ask you questions. And you will have 
 to own that you were at the wedding, and you said 
 you remember? that you never went to weddings, 
 because you were afraid of being kissed." She bent 
 forward. "You have been such a dear! I should 
 like to kiss you now." 
 
 "For goodness' sake, don't!" said Flossie, looking 
 over his shoulder. "How do you know that Bawbee 
 Jock is n't watching from behind one of those bunches 
 of heather?" 
 
 1 ' But it would not matter if he were. He would not 
 hurt you." 
 
 " I 'd rather not give him the chance. Highlanders 
 are only half civilised. He 'd have that spiky thing 
 he carries about in his stocking stabbed into my 
 back before I had time to run away." 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 "Very well. You can imagine that you Ve been 
 kissed." 
 
 "Thanks, dear; I will. It 's safer! Now really I 
 must be off. I have a hundred things to see to." He 
 rose and shook himself and pulled down the skirts of 
 his coat. Then he sighed. "To-morrow, I suppose 
 I 'm to take up the r61e of heavy father and interview 
 that red " 
 
 "Flossie!" Angela held up her finger. "I won't 
 have him called names." Then she added in a con- 
 ciliatory tone, "Shall I send him to see you? I would 
 rather not be too near, when you meet."
 
 Bawbee Jock's Parsimony 143 
 
 Flossie considered for a moment. 
 
 " He '11 be here at cock-crow, I suppose? Yes, send 
 him straight on to me. He can come to me first; and 
 after I Ve done with him, you can have what 's left. 
 Keep him out of the way! I 'm going to make an 
 expedition over to that clachan to-morrow, or what- 
 ever you call it, and spy the land for myself. I don't 
 want him prowling round and trying to stuff me with 
 the show bits. I 'm going to see things as they are!" 
 He stooped and picked up his stick. "I '11 let you 
 know the result, and if I find anything I don't like, 
 you '11 hear about it, you may be quite sure of that." 
 
 "Good-night, Flossie dear," said Angela; "and 
 thank you so much. I hope you will be taken care 
 of. Can the little maid the Trojan cook? Will 
 she be able to give you some dinner?" 
 
 "She '11 try she '11 stick at nothing. You should 
 have seen my lunch. A row of cutlets with long legs. 
 No petticoats frills, you know; and a spadeful of 
 potatoes in the largest dish she could find." 
 
 Angela watched him disappear over the brow of the 
 hill. She saw him silhouetted against the sky-line; 
 and he paused to wave his stick to her before he 
 vanished from sight.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE EVE BEFORE THE WEDDING 
 
 OTRETCHED his full length on the heather, 
 O with his head pillowed upon his folded arms, 
 Jock lay and kept vigil with himself and the God 
 who, in the simple sincerity of his boyhood's faith, 
 he believed looked down on him from the star-lit sky 
 above. 
 
 It was the eve of his wedding-day. To-morrow his 
 love would give him the precious gift of her sweet 
 self, and the immensity of what that meant seemed 
 almost more than he could bear. He must be alone 
 with himself: to take communion with the divine 
 spirit of Nature which had taught him to reverence 
 all that was pure and good ; and to cleanse his soul in 
 the presence of his Maker. 
 
 Standing on the threshold of the new life which 
 would break with the rising dawn, those past days of 
 waiting now seemed to him like a dream. There had 
 been times when he had been afraid; when with 
 trembling fear he had not dared to allow himself to 
 believe that the reality of his dream could be accom- 
 plished; times when in the dark watches of the night 
 he had stretched out his arms and cried dumbly in 
 the passion of his longing, "Give her to me, at any 
 cost! I cannot live without her." 
 
 144
 
 The Eve before the Wedding 145 
 
 The material details of that waiting time had left 
 him with an odd sense of irresponsibility. All his 
 life he had been the one on whom responsibility fell. 
 He never remembered the day when it had been other- 
 wise; but he was conscious of no resentment, or feel- 
 ing of having been put aside. He did not try to 
 analyse his state of mind. Perhaps he was not normal 
 enough to do so. One circumstance had brought 
 home to him the reality of the step which he was about 
 to take; and that was when, the Sunday before, sit- 
 ting in the little box-like gallery of the old church, he 
 had listened to the proclamation of the banns of 
 marriage between "John Murdoch Mackenzie, bach- 
 elor, and Angela Tempest, spinster, for the first, 
 second, and third time of asking." 1 
 
 They were to be married early in the day, under 
 the rowan tree, as Angela had wished; and then he 
 was to mount his bride on one of the broad-backed hill 
 ponies, and bear her away with him to his home over 
 the hills. It was to be like a page out of some old- 
 world romance, but infinitely more beautiful, because 
 it was real. Nothing sordid or mercenary! nothing of 
 the turmoil of the outside world, was to be allowed to 
 smirch the whiteness of that day. 
 
 Circumstances had made Jock curiously unworldly 
 in some respects. When Angela had told him, as 
 they had said good-bye for the last time that even- 
 ing, that she had not a wedding gown, no wreath or 
 veil, not even a sprig of orange-blossom, he had looked 
 at her with that expression of concentrated intensity 
 which made his eyes so very blue. 
 
 1 In the Scotch church, banns can be proclaimed for the first, 
 second, and third time, in one proclamation.
 
 146 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Ought I to have given you these things?" he had 
 asked anxiously. "I don't like veils; I want to see 
 your face all the time." 
 
 Angela had smiled. 
 
 "A bridegroom is allowed to give his bride a bou- 
 quet. It generally smells dreadfully strong of orange- 
 blossom, and I don't like orange-blossom; so I 'm 
 glad you can't give me one." 
 , But Jock's brow had cleared. 
 
 "I can give you something instead of the orange- 
 blossom. You must look out for it the very first 
 thing in the morning. Remember, won't you?" 
 ; " Where? " she had asked. 
 
 "On your window-sill," he had answered. 
 
 As he lay on the heather, under the star-lit sky, 
 with the faithful deerhound's muzzle resting against 
 his knee, Jock had been going over, bit by bit, the 
 twenty-six years of his young life, taking the measure 
 of what was past, making his vows for what was to 
 come. It had been a good life; but he reviewed it, 
 as it passed before his mental vision, with the dis- 
 passionate honesty which was the integral backbone 
 of his character reviewed its failures and its victories, 
 where he had stumbled, where he had buckled on his 
 armour; there, where a lurking devil had lain in wait 
 to tempt him; there where a helping hand had been 
 stretched out to save. 
 
 And a great peace seemed to fall upon his spirit. 
 The moon had risen, a yellow harvest-moon, and 
 flooded the hills in lambent light; only where the 
 corries scored the rocky sides of the glen the shadows 
 lay black, like patches of dark velvet. 
 
 The hound moved. Dileas knew that it was not
 
 The Eve Before the Wedding 147 
 
 his master's custom to sleep out on the heather. He 
 wished to show his sympathy, and the fact that he was 
 aware that something unusual was happening. 
 
 Jock laid his hand on the dog's head. 
 '. "You understand, old boy, don't you?" he said. 
 
 He roused himself. The moonlight made the scene 
 almost as bright as day, and he looked round, and 
 then above, to where, clear cut as a cameo, against 
 the sky, a solitary cairn stood out in bold relief. 
 
 He rose and stretched his arms the pressure of his 
 pillowed head had cramped them and then he started 
 to climb the steep hillside. 
 
 It was a stiff climb, but he never paused or slack- 
 ened his pace. He was too true a Highlander not to 
 know how to breast his native hills, and he did not 
 stop to draw breath until he stood in the shadow of 
 the cairn. 
 
 He knew it well. It marked the spot from where 
 many a beacon-fire had sent its flash of warning far 
 and wide to gather the clansmen to rally round their 
 chief in days of old. 
 
 Jock stood, silently looking down at the moonlit 
 beauty and grandeur of the scene. These lands were 
 the lands which his forefathers had held and fought 
 for, shed their blood for, suffered exile for, clung to 
 through generations of war and peace, and on him lay 
 the burden and the right to uphold the honour of the 
 old name. 
 
 "It would break my heart to give it up! I 
 cannot!" 
 
 The bitter cry was wrung from his lips. He stood 
 with drooped head, for he could not bear to look at the 
 loveliness stretched out before him. The thought of
 
 148 Bawbee Jock 
 
 a stranger's rule was agony. Love of the soil, so 
 deeply rooted in the Celtic nature, had twined its 
 tendrils like bands of steel about his heart. He had 
 been bred and born and nurtured on these lands ; they 
 were part of his very life; the muscles and sinews of 
 his strength owed to them their being. 
 
 Dileas thrust his nose into his hand. 
 
 "Yes, it 's time you woke me up," said Jock. "We 
 came to find something. I have not much to give 
 her, but she shall have that." 
 
 He began to walk in a circle round the cairn, widen- 
 ing his circle at each round ; then he retraced his steps, 
 and suddenly brought himself up with an exclama- 
 tion. The moonlight threw a misty sheen on the 
 heather, whitening it like silver, and he had almost 
 walked over the thing he was in search of. He had 
 known that it must be there, if he could only find it ; 
 there was always a plant of white heather in that 
 particular spot. He drew his dirk and, stooping, cut 
 the sprigs carefully, choosing only the best. 
 
 "I can't arrange it; but she will know what to do," 
 he said to himself, as he twisted a fibry piece of stalk 
 round the stems of the bunch. He made a loop, so 
 that it could hang from his finger, and not be crushed 
 by his hand ; and then he took his way down the hill 
 again, swinging lightly over the ground, until he 
 came to the banks of the stream below. At one place, 
 where the water had sapped into the spongy moss, 
 scrubby clumps of bog-myrtle grew in scattered 
 patches. He drew his dirk again, and a sweet spicy 
 scent rose on the night-air as his sharp blade cut into 
 the tough stems. He gathered some wet moss, and 
 wrapped in it the green shoots he had cut, for the roid
 
 The Eve before the Wedding 149 
 
 would fade quicker than the heather; and then he 
 went on his way again, very quietly and noiselessly 
 now, for immediately above him on the bank was 
 Sheila's cottage, and it was to a little window which 
 he saw open, although the dimity curtain was pulled 
 across it, that he must make his way, without dis- 
 turbing the sleeper within. 
 
 It was close upon midnight; in another few hours 
 the dawn would be glimmering in the east the dawn 
 of his wedding-day. 
 
 He was light of foot, even for a Highlander who 
 has trod the heather all his life, and he made no more 
 sound as he mounted the bank than did the grey 
 shadow which followed at his heels. When he drew 
 quite near, he hesitated and made a wider circuit, 
 for the moonlight was strong, and the whitewashed 
 cottage lay bathed in it, all except the bit of wall 
 from which the window with the dimity curtain 
 projected. 
 
 There a deep shadow fell, and into the shadow he 
 crept; and stretching out his arm he laid his bridal 
 gift, the only offering he had to give to his love, upon 
 the ledge of her window-sill. He stepped back and 
 stood motionless in the shadow. The woman he 
 loved was sleeping under that humble roof close by; 
 and he had kept his vigil on the lone hillside. He 
 took off his bonnet and raised his face to the moonlit 
 sky. 
 
 "Help me to be worthy of her. Keep my heart 
 clean and my hands strong. And if ever I fail in my 
 trust, deal with me as I deserve." 
 
 That was Jock's prayer on the eve of his wedding- 
 day. And as he walked back across the hill to the
 
 150 Bawbee Jock 
 
 old farmhouse which had been his home for three 
 lonely years, his heart was singing, for before an- 
 other sun would rise and set, it would be lonely for 
 him no longer.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A MARRIAGE IN THE HIGHLANDS 
 
 ANGELA was married under the rowan tree as she 
 had wished to be married ; and Flossie, standing 
 a few paces behind her, for it was his duty to guard her 
 to the last, owned to himself that nothing could have 
 been more reverently beautiful, with the reverence of 
 its own simplicity, than that hillside ceremony. 
 
 Angela's white frock was relieved by no ornaments; 
 but she wore her lover's bridal gift, and she had 
 twisted a tiny little wreath of it into her dark hair. 
 
 Flossie thought he had never seen anything so 
 tender and sweet as the radiance of happiness which 
 shone in her eyes as she stood with her hand clasped 
 in that of the man to whom she was plighting her 
 troth. 
 
 Jock looked what he was that day. And he carried 
 himself with a dignity which won for him the respect 
 and admiration of that solitary wedding guest. For 
 there was no bridal party, no following to carp or 
 criticise, to admire or envy. There was no one but 
 Flossie and the faithful deerhound, who stood behind 
 his master. 
 
 Sheila watched and prayed from the shelter of her 
 cottage door; and old Donald in the background, 
 holding the rein of the hill-pony which was to bear
 
 152 Bawbee Jock 
 
 his chief's bride away on her homeward journey, 
 stood bareheaded, muttering Gaelic blessings which 
 sounded like incantations from the spirits of another 
 world. 
 
 Behind the grey stone altar the old minister, in his 
 flowing black gown, struck a grave note of dramatic 
 solemnity. His fine head with its wealth of silvery 
 hair was framed against the drooping boughs of the 
 rowan tree; and in his deep-set eyes shone a light of 
 paternal love as they rested on the face of the young 
 bridegroom. He had known him as a helpless infant 
 held up in his father's arms to receive the sign of the 
 cross; he had known him as a child; he had known 
 him through youth to manhood ; and he loved him as 
 he would have loved his own son. 
 
 He closed the Bible and raised his arms in the final 
 benediction, pouring out his blessing with a fervent 
 sincerity which was wrung from the depths of his soul ; 
 and for some moments after he had ceased to speak 
 his lips continued to murmur an inward prayer over 
 the heads of the two kneeling before him, whom he had 
 made man and wife. 
 
 Slowly he dropped his outstretched arms, but Jock 
 did not move. His eyes were riveted, not on Angela's 
 face, but on the gold band which shone on the finger 
 of the hand he held in his. Mr. MacPherson waited; 
 then he stooped and whispered something in an under- 
 tone, and Jock rose, and still holding that precious 
 hand in his, he led her along the green track, that 
 wended its way like an emerald ribbon through the 
 carpet of heather to the door of Sheila's cottage. 
 
 Sheila was standing just inside, and curtseyed low 
 to her master and his bride.
 
 A Marriage in the Highlands 153 
 
 " It is the many years of happiness that I am wish- 
 ing whatever," she said with shining eyes, and mur- 
 mured something in Gaelic which Jock understood 
 but which Angela did not. 
 
 I Then Mr. MacPherson came in, and Flossie. An- 
 gela went up to the old minister and his kind eyes 
 smiled into hers. 
 
 "Is that all we have to do?" she asked. "Is it 
 really true that we are married?" 
 
 "Yes, it will be true," he answered. His voice had 
 the sweetly musical tone of the educated Highlander. 
 He bowed his silvery head, with a beautiful old- 
 world courtesy which she thought perfect. "You 
 are our lady now the wife of our chief." 
 | She looked at Jock; and he kissed her, gently and 
 reverently, before them all, and then she knew that it 
 was true. 
 
 For a few moments she was silent, her eyes dim 
 with tears, her heart too full for words; and then she 
 turned and saw Flossie standing close behind her, and 
 she threw her arms impulsively round his neck. 
 
 "I don't care whether you like it or not," she half- 
 sobbed "I must kiss you, Flossie. I can't help 
 it." 
 
 Flossie winced; he was being sorely tried, but he 
 bore himself bravely. He gently disengaged him- 
 self, and, going over to the fireplace, stood with his 
 back to her, his arm resting on the mantelshelf. He 
 could not speak it was no use trying; and Angela 
 found that she was in the little kitchen alone with him, 
 for Mr. MacPherson and Sheila had slipped out un- 
 observed, and Jock had whispered to her that he 
 would go and see if Donald had saddled the pony
 
 154 Bawbee Jock 
 
 right, and she had smiled her gratitude to him for 
 understanding so well. 
 
 Flossie did not look round. She put her hand into 
 his, in the way she had been used to do when, as a 
 child, she had come to him with her joys and sorrows, 
 and she spoke to him out of the depths of the love 
 which was flooding her senses with a new-born light of 
 understanding. She told him what he had been to 
 her: what she might have been, but for him. 
 
 "No one can take your place no one," she said at 
 the end. "It will always be there for you just the 
 same. It is quite different to any other love that can 
 come into my life, because it has helped to make what 
 the other will be I mean what I hope it will be." 
 
 " Thank you, dear," said Flossie huskily. " You 've 
 been a good child. I 've tried to bring you up to 
 know your world. I did n't blindfold you." 
 
 There was a long silence, which Angela herself 
 broke at last. 
 
 "How bare the little kitchen looks!" she said, 
 glancing round. "The cottage is to be shut up. 
 Sheila is going to take care of us. She will go one way, 
 and we will go another, but she will arrive first. We 
 are not to arrive until the end of the day, although it is 
 only a few miles across the hills." Flossie did not 
 respond; but she continued, trying to speak lightly, to 
 appeal to something in him which would break the 
 strain. "The journey is to be our honeymoon. 
 Quite patriarchal, and different to any honeymoon 
 that has ever been before. It will be like the wander- 
 ings of the Children of Israel looking for the Promised 
 Land. I am to wander on the back of a pony, and 
 Jock is to lead it."
 
 A Marriage in the Highlands 155 
 
 Flossie dropped his arm from the mantelshelf and 
 turned round. His voice had recovered its usual tone 
 of easy lightness when he spoke. 
 
 "I hope you'll find your belongings all right. 
 They were to be sent by the road. Are you sure that 
 you have everything that you want?" 
 
 "Quite sure," answered Angela. "What a good 
 thing it was that Antoinette ran away, was n't it? 
 She would have been such a nuisance." 
 
 Flossie gave a short laugh. 
 
 "The Fates have certainly combined to allow you 
 to carry out your fancy for a romantic wedding, my 
 dear," he said. "This scarlet-fever scare has helped 
 to isolate you pretty successfully. Well !" It 
 was drawing near the time to face the inevitable part- 
 ing, and he must not throw a cloud on what ought to 
 be the happiest day of her life. He took both her 
 hands in his, and looked at her with an expression on 
 his face which would have been a revelation, even to 
 those who knew him best. "God bless you, dear!" 
 he said gravely. "You have chosen your husband: 
 be faithful to him." Then he dropped her hands 
 quickly, and moved to the door. She heard him 
 talking to Sheila outside, and he put his head in 
 again and called in a brisk, authoritative voice: 
 "Madam! Your palfrey, or whatever you call this 
 animal out here, is saddled and bridled and pro- 
 visioned for a siege, by the look of it. It ought 
 to have been a camel to carry out your 'Promised 
 Land' idea of a honeymoon." 
 
 Angela came to the door. 
 
 "Where did that beautiful tea-basket come from?" 
 she said. " I thought we were to carry our provisions
 
 156 Bawbee Jock 
 
 for the day tied up in a bundle. I 'm sure the Children 
 of Israel carried everything in bundles." 
 
 "That 's my wedding present," said Flossie, pat- 
 ting the basket. "It may not look Israelitish, but 
 it 's got something a deal more appetising inside it 
 than manna, as you '11 find by lunch time, after a little 
 wandering in search of the Promised Land." 
 
 Jock was talking to Donald, and Flossie, without 
 giving Angela time to express her thanks for the tea- 
 basket, called to him peremptorily: 
 
 "Look here, my good man! Just begin to use your 
 authority with this young woman whom you have 
 taken to yourself, with, allow me to remark, an ex- 
 traordinary lack of the national caution which a 
 canny Scot is supposed to possess. Tell her to go 
 and take that wreath off her head, and put on a hat. 
 I hope it 's a shady one," he added, "for it 's going 
 to be a blazing hot day, although we have jumped into 
 September." 
 
 "You are in a great hurry to get rid of me," pouted 
 Angela. 
 
 "I have to catch a train," retorted Flossie. 
 
 Angela vanished inside the cottage and reap- 
 peared after a few minutes' absence with her hat on, 
 and carrying a cardboard box tied up with a piece of 
 string. Her hat was wide and shady, and it had a 
 blue ribbon twisted round the crown, and the ends fell 
 over the edge of the brim. 
 
 She shook her head at Jock, who was watching her 
 from the other side of the pony's broad back ; and the 
 blue ends fluttered and she saw the light which leapt 
 up into his eyes. 
 
 " You recognise it, don't you? The very same blue
 
 A Marriage in the Highlands 157 
 
 ribbon," she said. She held out the box to Flossie. 
 " Tie that on very carefully. Would you like to guess 
 what 's inside it? Look at the label." 
 
 Flossie read out the name of a well-known boot- 
 shop. 
 
 "What 's inside?" he said. "Not boots, if I know 
 anything of woman's ways. Curling tongs, or a 
 powder-puff." He wagged his head solemnly at 
 Jock. "O you poor innocent! what shocks you'll 
 get, once you begin to find her out." 
 
 But Angela only laughed, and shook the boot-box at 
 him. 
 
 "It 's my wedding wreath," she said. "If we meet 
 any inquisitive wayfarers in our wanderings, and 
 they look askance at me, I shall open my box. Or" 
 she blushed and held out her finger "perhaps that 
 would be more convincing. Is n't it a beautiful ring? 
 So big and plump and shiny." 
 
 "It ought to have been through your nose," said 
 Flossie, "if you 're going to play at Biblical history. 
 That 's where Rebekah had hers clipped on by that 
 marauding old scoundrel of Abraham's who was sent 
 to steal a bride for Isaac. Now then, my dear !" 
 He took out his watch. " Good gracious ! I shall have 
 to run all the way back if I 'm to catch my train." He 
 glanced grudgingly at Jock. "Who 's to mount her? 
 You or I?" 
 
 Angela flashed a look which Jock interpreted aright, 
 and said quickly: 
 
 "Why, you, of course, Flossie." 
 
 "All right. You have n't far to go. Now then!" 
 And he lifted her into the saddle. 
 
 The incident gave him a last twinge of pain. He
 
 158 Bawbee Jock 
 
 had mounted her so often; they had had many a 
 good hunt together. 
 
 "What a broad back!" said Angela. "I could n't 
 fall off, if I tried." She threw the bridle over Jock's 
 arm. " I 'm going to sit still and do nothing, and you 
 are to lead always." Her voice dropped on the last 
 word. 
 
 The final good-bye had been said. Jock's fingers 
 still tingled from the grip of Flossie's parting hand- 
 shake, and his farewell words rang in his ears: 
 
 "Take care of her. If you don't by the Lord, 
 I '11 slay you with my own hand!" 
 
 On the brow of the hill, where he had paused once 
 before, Flossie stopped and looked back. They were 
 moving slowly down the side of the glen; Jock with 
 the bridle over one arm, the other thrown across the 
 pony, and his hand resting on the saddle, and Dileas 
 following. 
 
 That was the picture which Flossie carried away 
 with him; and it remained ever in his memory the 
 figures a little faint and luminous, not from distance, 
 but because the eyes which saw them were dimmed 
 with tears.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE PROMISED LAND 
 
 DOWN the glen path, to where the brown, peat- 
 stained water of the hill stream widened out 
 into a shallow bed of pebbly gravel, the little cavalcade 
 wended its way. There were stepping-stones to cross 
 the stream by, slabs of rock which made a natural 
 causeway from bank to bank, and Flora MacDonald, 
 the little broad-backed pony, was sure-footed as a 
 mountain goat. 
 
 "But she might make a mistake," said Jock; and 
 so it was safer that he should put his arm round 
 Angela's waist and hold her firmly; and going up the 
 steep side of the hill opposite there was always the 
 chance that she might slip back in the saddle, and that 
 would have been very uncomfortable, so it was better 
 that the arm should remain where it was. 
 
 " It 's like sitting in a rocking-chair," said Angela 
 " a rocking-chair with a very funny back, " she added, 
 laughing. "How strong you are! You move so 
 steadily, and we are going up a place like the side of 
 a house, and you are not even breathing one scrap 
 quicker." 
 
 "I 'm accustomed to it," said Jock. "I have done 
 it all my life." 
 
 "Climbed hills with your arm round a girl's waist? 
 
 159
 
 160 Bawbee Jock 
 
 O Jock, what an admission!" And he looked up at 
 her and laughed. 
 
 It pleased her to see how well he was beginning 
 to understand her. How the tears had brimmed up 
 to her eyes, she remembered, when she had seen that 
 first smile flash across his face and transfigure it to 
 positive beauty. Now he responded; caught the 
 reflection of her gaiety and the sparkle of her humour. 
 
 "He has been starved for want of love," she would 
 tell herself. " He is only just beginning to know what 
 happiness is." 
 
 And so they climbed the hill together not too 
 quickly, for there was no need to hurry; and Angela 
 would make Jock turn Flora MacDonald sideways, 
 wherever a strip of level ground gave footing; and 
 they would pause for some minutes and look down 
 into the valley they had left. 
 
 "I 'm so glad you chose to be married in this kind 
 of way," said Jock. It was the last halt before breast- 
 ing the topmost ridge of the hill, and he was standing 
 at her side. 
 
 " I could not have been married in a more beautiful 
 way," she answered. 
 
 "But most people would have liked to have had all 
 their friends round them, and a show, and pretty 
 frocks, and things like that," said Jock. "I should 
 never have dared to suggest that we should be married 
 like this myself. It was your wish. And it 's always 
 the woman that chooses these things, is n't it?" 
 
 "Yes, it was all my doing," she answered. "But, 
 you see, there was no one to be considered. That 
 made a difference. If you have crowds of relations 
 who want a fuss, you have to humour them. I had
 
 The Promised Land 161 
 
 only Flossie to think of, and he was angelic, was n't 
 he? So were you," she added. "I mean about 
 Flossie. He hated giving me up. It would not have 
 mattered whom it was to ; and you let him do things 
 for me, and did not interfere. It was sweet of you 
 not to mind." 
 
 "But I did mind," said Jock. "That time before 
 I knew you cared, when I used to come over the hill 
 to carry you, and he never let you out of sight or 
 hearing for a moment, just did n't I care! I had to 
 go away often; I could n't stand it." 
 
 "But you were very good up to the last. You let 
 him mount me; that pleased him so much." 
 
 "I knew it was the last," said Jock. 
 
 "And we had no inquisitive newspaper people 
 and photographers and staring crowds, had we?" 
 continued Angela. 
 
 "Is that what happens?" said Jock. "I don't 
 know much about weddings." 
 
 "I don't suppose you ever read society papers, do 
 you?" 
 
 "No, never," he answered. An anxious look 
 crossed his face. "Of course I '11 get any papers you 
 want. You '11 miss things like that. I get in a panic 
 sometimes, and wonder if you realise how isolated 
 we are up here. I 've dropped out of everything." 
 
 "How heavenly!" murmured Angela. 
 
 They continued their way. A few more turns of 
 the zigzag path, and then the summit would be 
 reached. 
 
 "Jock, I 'm so excited," exclaimed Angela. "I 
 wish my neck were longer, so that I should get my 
 first glimpse of the Promised Land a second sooner
 
 1 62 Bawbee Jock 
 
 than you. But of course you know what it 's like 
 I forgot that." 
 
 "I am as excited as you are," said Jock. "And 
 I 'm very anxious. You may not like what you see." 
 
 But he need not have been afraid. 
 
 A minute later, with both hands pressing hard on 
 his shoulder, she was leaning over him, her eyes 
 sparkling, and the words tumbling out of her mouth 
 so fast that she could not frame them coherently. 
 
 "O Jock! why did you not tell me it was so lovely, 
 so perfectly I don't know what to say. It is not 
 a bit like Sheila's glen. That is so wild and rocky, 
 it might be gloomy sometimes. But this ! Is n't it 
 beautiful, and peaceful, and ? Is that the loch? 
 And there are trees! They grow right down to the 
 water's edge." 
 
 Jock bent back his head against her arm. 
 
 "Are you really pleased?" 
 
 "Pleased!" She gave his shoulder a shake. Then 
 she dropped her voice. "The Burying Island! 
 Where is that? Not that I 'm ready for it yet." 
 
 "Do you see where the loch takes a bend?" said 
 Jock, pointing. "It's just round the corner from 
 there. I '11 row you up some day. You can't see it, 
 even from the house." 
 
 "I 'm glad of that," said Angela. "It might be 
 depressing always to be reminded of your burying- 
 place every time you looked out of the window." 
 She waved her hand from side to side. "It really 
 is like the Promised Land, overflowing with milk 
 and honey. Are n't those dear little yellow squares 
 cornfields? And I see cows grazing on the green 
 patches by the side of the lock."
 
 The Promised Land 163 
 
 "You must call it loch. You are a Highlander 
 now," corrected Jock. 
 
 A loose end of lace brushed his cheek, and he 
 smoothed it back, the pride of possession beginning to 
 dawn upon him with a quick throb. 
 
 But she was gazing down at the Promised Land. 
 
 "Is that all your farm? And do you cut the corn 
 and do everything yourself?" 
 
 "Yes. It will soon be time to begin our harvest, 
 and then you will see!" 
 
 "I will work too," she exclaimed. "If you're a 
 working man, I 'm a working man's wife." 
 
 "It's pretty hard work," he answered. "You 
 may sit amongst the stooks and look on." 
 
 "Stocks! What are stooks? Jock, will I ever come 
 to the end of your funny Scotch words?" 
 
 "Stooks are the bundles of corn after they 're cut 
 and tied up," he explained. 
 
 "And where 's the clachan? Oh, I see! Where 
 that kind of blue mist hangs." 
 
 "That 's the peat smoke. It hangs like that on a 
 still day. I 'm so glad you Ve seen the glen the first 
 time on a day like this. It does look pretty." 
 
 She bent her head. 
 
 "You have often been very lonely there, haven't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered simply "very lonely." 
 
 She bent lower. 
 
 "But now, when you feel sad or unhappy about 
 things, I will be able to comfort you. It will be quite 
 different now, won't it?" 
 
 The corners of his mouth quivered. 
 
 "So long as I have you nothing else matters."
 
 164 Bawbee Jock 
 
 And there was silence for the space of time that 
 twenty heartbeats could throb in unison. 
 
 Flora twitched at her bridle and swished her long 
 tail impatiently. The flies were annoying her. 
 
 "Jock dear! I 'm dreadfully hungry," said Angela. 
 
 "Are you?" he exclaimed remorsefully, and looked 
 at his watch. "Why, it 's past two o'clock! Lower 
 down there 's a spring, and a place where we can 
 lunch." 
 
 "I hope it 's a shady place," said Angela. "It 's 
 ever so much hotter on this side of the hill than it is on 
 the other." 
 
 "This is the sunniest glen in the Highlands," 
 answered Jock. He brought his hand down on Flora's 
 shaggy quarters. "Come up, old girl," he said; and 
 Flora moved forward. A few more turns of the path 
 and he led her round the corner of a great rock which 
 jutted out from the hillside. "Here is our dining- 
 room ! All in the shade ; a carpet of bluebells for your 
 feet, and the spring bubbles up by that big grey stone. 
 I Ve passed this place many a time; I little thought 
 I should eat my wedding breakfast here." 
 
 He lifted her from Flora's back, and the brown 
 basket was unstrapped, and a tartan plaid that had 
 been rolled up on the saddle was shaken out and spread 
 on the soft turf for her to sit on. 
 
 " I don't think the ground is damp," he said, " but it 
 might feel chilly." 
 
 Angela picked up a fold of the plaid and held it 
 against his kilt. 
 
 "It 's the same," she said. 
 
 "You don't expect I 'd let you sit on any tartan 
 except my own," he answered in astonishment. He
 
 The Promised Land 165 
 
 threw an end of the plaid over her shoulder. " There ! 
 You 're christened. A true Highlander! That used 
 to]be my regimental plaid. It 's yours now." 
 
 She looked up at him and smiled, and rubbed her 
 cheek against the tartan. 
 
 " I like the feel of it," she said. "And oh, Jock dear, 
 the Highland air does make you hungry. Have you 
 got the last strap of that basket undone? Do open it 
 quick and let us see what is inside." 
 
 There was everything inside which the most 
 epicurean bride and bridegroom could possibly have 
 desired for their honeymoon lunch. Jock did all the 
 unpacking and laying out of the table, and was very 
 much in earnest over it. 
 
 "I am accustomed to waiting on myself," he said, 
 when Angela remarked on his neatness. " But I shall 
 have to be more particular now that I have you." 
 
 "You don't want much training," she answered. 
 "Flossie has been very extravagant! I wonder how 
 he managed to get all these delicious things. The 
 Trojan never cooked them, I 'm sure!" She peeped 
 into the basket. "And these bottles! what can be 
 inside them? They are for you. He knows I don't 
 like any kind of drinks. Do you think the water in 
 that spring will be nice and cool? I 'm so thirsty." 
 
 " It 's always cool. It 's like ice on the hottest day 
 in summer," said Jock. And he dipped a tumbler in 
 the cup-like basin of the spring, and brought it to her 
 with the misty vapour rimming the edge, and laid it 
 beside her plate. 
 
 They spent a long time over their wedding lunch. 
 On that never-to-be-forgotten day of days the hours 
 were so precious that each one must be lived to the
 
 1 66 Bawbee Jock 
 
 full, and not the fragment of a moment slurred over 
 or hurried. 
 
 "Jock, you have not even looked at the labels of 
 these tempting bottles that Flossie has provided for 
 you so carefully," said Angela. 
 
 "Whiskey 's good enough for me," said Jock. " And 
 that spring water was nice and cool, was n't it? Shall 
 I fetch you some to dabble your fingers in?" 
 
 She said " Yes." And he brought her the water in a 
 dish which he found in the brown basket amongst the 
 tea things, and he dried her fingers for her very care- 
 fully; and then, lying down on the grass, he pillowed 
 his head on his arms. 
 
 "We won't tidy up yet," he said. "There's 
 nothing to hurry for." 
 
 No, there was nothing to hurry for. Flora, with the 
 reins twisted loosely round the pommel of her ^saddle, 
 was cropping the sweet hill grass a few yards away. 
 She would come at Jock's call, and the Promised 
 Land, in the valley below, was within reach whenever 
 they chose to go down and take possession of it. 
 
 "Don't you want to smoke?" said Angela. "Do 
 you know, I don't remember ever to have seen you 
 with a cigarette in your mouth." 
 
 "Too expensive a luxury for a working man," said 
 Jock. "I smoke a pipe when I want to smoke." 
 
 "How funny it will be finding out our likes and dis- 
 likes, and the things that we agree about and disagree 
 about," said Angela. She was looking down at him, 
 her chin in her hand and her elbow on her knee. She 
 shook her head meditatively. "I shall be much more 
 difficult to find out than you. I shall always be giving 
 you shocks and surprises. You are so single-minded.
 
 The Promised Land 167 
 
 A thing is either right or wrong. Women are more 
 subtle in the way they get what they want than men. 
 When I give you shocks, you will look at me with that 
 terribly intense look in your eyes which makes them so 
 blue, and I shall feel very small and hate myself!" 
 She laughed at his expression. "Yes, I often hate 
 myself," she said. " I often hate myself so much that 
 I should like to go and drown myself." 
 
 "Angela!" protested Jock. 
 
 "Angela?" she echoed. "You so seldom call me 
 by my name." 
 
 " It 's because I have all kinds of names for you that 
 I never speak out loud," said Jock. He moved his 
 head nearer to her, and his bonnet fell off, and she 
 picked it up. 
 
 She laid it on her lap and gave it a pat. 
 
 "It likes lying there," she said, watching him. 
 "Are n't you sorry your head is n't inside it now?" 
 
 Jock looked at his blue bonnet longingly; and 
 then: 
 
 "You 're an old goose," she said a few minutes 
 later. "I believe you 've wanted to lay your head 
 there all along! Have n't you?" 
 
 Jock was gazing up at her, an adoring awe on his 
 face. 
 
 "If you could only see how you look from where I 
 see you!" he said. "The brim of your hat makes a 
 kind of " 
 
 "Hal-loo!" suggested Angela. 
 
 But he was too much in earnest to be put off with 
 flippancy. 
 
 "Yes, it's the kind of pale gold that halos are made 
 of. And your hair looks so soft against it. And a
 
 1 68 Bawbee Jock 
 
 bit of blue ribbon is hanging over the edge, just the 
 same colour as the sky, as if " 
 
 " As if a cherub had chipped off a bit and tumbled it 
 down on the top of me," laughed Angela. "Jock, 
 what a ridiculous creature you are ! You ought to be 
 a poet." 
 
 "And there 's a piece of white heather sticking in 
 your hair," continued Jock, "just behind your ear. 
 Oh, don't take it off!" 
 
 He tried to catch her hand, but Angela found the 
 piece of white heather. 
 
 "It clings so firmly with its little spikes," she said. 
 " It was such a pretty idea of yours to lay my wedding 
 wreath on my window-sill. It was the first thing that 
 greeted me in the morning when I looked out." 
 
 She disentangled the bit of heather, and bending 
 over him, she fastened it into his coat. Then she did 
 what she had never done before, for during the days of 
 their brief engagement she had lavished few caresses 
 upon him. She laid her hand on his hair and smoothed 
 it back with a tender touch. It was her left hand, and 
 he could feel the pressure of her wedding ring against 
 his brow. He shut his eyes ; he could hardly bear the 
 thrill of ecstasy which trembled through every nerve. 
 
 When he opened his eyes again and looked up, she 
 was still bending over him. A luminous light seemed 
 to float above and around her, wrapping him too in its 
 radiance. 
 
 He stretched up his arms and drew her face down to 
 his. 
 
 "Is it can it really be true that you are my 
 wife?" he whispered. 
 
 "I hope so," she whispered back.
 
 The Promised Land 169 
 
 "Are you happy?" he murmured. "Kiss me, and 
 tell me that you are happy." 
 
 "Very happy," and she kissed him soft kisses 
 which fell like scented rose-leaves when shaken by the 
 summer's breeze. 
 
 He could not see her face now; he had drawn her so 
 near. 
 
 " Say it again tell me that you are happy." 
 
 "I am happy very happy." She breathed the 
 words low in his ear. "I want to hold the time it 
 goes so quickly. I am living at my heart's door 
 you are my heart's door." 
 
 Her lips parted, and_rested with a fluttering sigh on 
 his closed eyelids.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 EXPLORING THE NEW HOME 
 
 THE last halting-place was at the head of the glen 
 where the stream, which they had crossed early 
 in the day, poured its brown waters into the deeper 
 depths of the loch. 
 
 They were so near home that Jock suggested that, if 
 Angela wished, they could push on and be under their 
 own roof in time for tea; but, like a child who is keep- 
 ing its greatest treat to the last, she said "No"; that 
 they would spend the whole day out-of-doors; and it 
 was only when the sun had begun to dip towards the 
 hilltops that they turned their faces homewards. 
 
 "How long will it take? I am more excited than 
 ever now. I can hardly bear to look," said Angela, 
 as he lifted her into the saddle for the last time. 
 "Dileas is getting excited too." She stooped to 
 caress the old hound, who had brushed up to her 
 stirrup. "He has been so solemn all day and so 
 dreadfully proper. Do you think he 's jealous, 
 Jock?" 
 
 " No; he knows all about it," answered Jock, pulling 
 the dog's ear. "It was I who used to be jealous, of 
 him. Do you remember when you kissed his nose that 
 time for finding you? After that I was always telling 
 him what a lucky dog he was." 
 
 170
 
 Exploring the New Home 171 
 
 A few minutes later they struck into the road which 
 wound along by the side of the loch. 
 
 "A real road!" said Angela; "and so smooth and 
 yellow, like a gold thread. Where does it come from? 
 And where does it go to?" 
 
 "It branches off from the main road miles away, and 
 it goes no farther than the clachan. It loses itself in 
 the loch," answered Jock. "We are never bothered 
 with strangers here." 
 
 "What a blessing!" murmured Angela. 
 
 It was a typically lovely bit of Highland loch- 
 scenery which they were traversing. The road ran 
 close to the water's edge, and on the right the ground 
 rose in a gentle slope, and was thickly wooded with 
 a natural growth of oak and birch. As the glen 
 widened, the hilltops came into view above the fringe 
 of green; and stray gleams of sunshine, peeping through 
 the overhanging branches, laid shafts of light on the 
 emerald carpet of close turf which bordered the sandy 
 margin of the road. Tumbled masses of grey rock 
 were scattered thickly amongst the green ; bramble and 
 woodbine, showing the first faint tinge of autumn, 
 dipped to the water's rim ; and over the mirrored sur- 
 face of the loch the shadows were beginning to deepen 
 into inky pools of depth and mystery. 
 
 They left the trees behind them, and, turning the 
 corner of a grassy knoll, they came upon a cobble- 
 stoned jetty which ran out into the water. Alongside 
 of it was a boat-house, brown and weather-stained; 
 and a picturesque litter of boat-gear and fallen timber 
 lay scattered on the shingle round it. A few paces 
 farther on Flora stopped of her own accord before a 
 white gate.
 
 172 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Oh!" was all that Angela found breath to exclaim, 
 and she caught hold of Jock's shoulder. A couple of 
 quaint round pillars, whitewashed, and with odd little 
 tiled roofs like pepper pots, supported either side of the 
 gate. Just inside the gate two old holly trees, bulging 
 below, and then narrowing upwards, joined their taper- 
 ing heads in an arch ; and in and out of the dark glisten- 
 ing leaves, flaming wreaths of tropaeolum twined their 
 scarlet tendrils. "Holly! the badge!" said Angela. 
 "You always pass under it, every time you go in and 
 out. How pretty!" She stretched forward. "And 
 a garden! I smell such sweet things. Oh, Jock, help 
 me down, quick, so that I can get inside the gate." 
 
 "Welcome to your home," he said, as he lifted her 
 from the saddle. 
 
 She had only time to give him a fleeting kiss as she 
 slipped through his arms, and then found, to her con- 
 sternation, that a strange man was standing by Flora's 
 head, holding his cap in his hand and making her a 
 very polite bow. 
 
 "I must introduce you to Hamish," said Jock, and 
 added in an undertone. "He's my kind of odd- 
 man. He's come to take the pony. You won't 
 understand his Gaelic welcome, but just shake 
 hands with him and he '11 be so pleased." 
 
 Hamish spoke in Gaelic and Angela spoke in 
 English, but they understood each other perfectly; 
 and the poetic soul of the Highlander was fired with 
 admiration, and he went off with his hand on Flora's 
 neck muttering blessings on the beautiful head of his 
 chief's young bride. 
 
 "Now," said Angela, as Jock opened the gate 
 "now I think you had better hold my hand, because
 
 Exploring the New Home 173 
 
 I shall want to run about everywhere, and then I '11 
 tumble into something and sprain my ankle all over 
 again ; and I 've no more use for sprained ankles, have 
 I?" 
 
 "Never fear! I won't let you out of my reach," 
 said Jock; and he took the little hand in his, and they 
 passed under the holly arch, with its wreaths of flam- 
 ing scarlet making a banner of glory above their heads, 
 and walked up the pathway. 
 
 It was a beautifully smooth pathway, and sloped 
 gently upwards and was bordered by neatly clipped 
 box; a luxurious wealth of old-fashioned flowers grew 
 on either side of it ; and the mellow light of the setting 
 sun bathed all in a glow of colour. 
 
 Half-way up the pathway Angela stopped, and 
 looked up at the house which was to be her home. 
 
 It was a square, whitewashed house, with a window 
 on each side of the door, and two smaller windows 
 blinked from under the overhanging eaves above. At 
 either corner were rounded gables with the same kind 
 of odd, pepper-pot tiled roofs as topped the pillars by 
 the gate. Jessamine and honeysuckle twined thickly 
 together over the porch; and the windows stood wide 
 open, as did the door, in hospitable welcome. 
 
 "It 's the darlingest house, and the darlingest gar- 
 den, and and you are the darlingest bit of it all," 
 said Angela, squeezing Jock's fingers hard. "But oh, 
 Jock! I am finding out every minute more and more 
 what a dark horse you are. How deep you have been ! 
 You never gave me the least idea that it was like this." 
 She gazed up at the house. Its old-fashioned sim- 
 plicity fascinated her. "Jock, are all Highland 
 farmhouses as nice as this?"
 
 174 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Jock was watching her face. Her appreciation was 
 so sweet to him. 
 
 "It's not an ordinary farmhouse," he explained. 
 "It has always been used as a kind of dower-house. 
 An old aunt of my father's lived here for many years. 
 She was a wonderful old lady. She had all the history 
 of the family and the clan at her finger-ends, and 
 she was a great authority on everything Highland. 
 People used to come from far to see her. You would 
 be surprised if I were to tell you the names of the 
 celebrities who have walked up this garden path." 
 He looked back over his shoulder. "Most gracious 
 Royalty has passed under that holly arch." 
 
 Angela turned and looked back also. 
 
 "And I expect most gracious Royalty felt very 
 proud of being a little bit Highland. I am trying to 
 be a Highlander as quick as ever I can. Come!" 
 She pulled him with her. "Let us go in. I must not 
 use up all my admiration before I get into the house." 
 
 On the doorstep a surprise greeted them. Sheila 
 stepped out, and stretching up her arms to their 
 highest, she broke a large oatcake over Angela, and a 
 deluge of crumbs descended on the bride's head. 
 
 "Oh! what is that?" cried Angela. "Is the ceiling 
 tumbling down?" 
 
 Jock laughed. 
 
 " Sheila's broken an oatcake over your head for luck. 
 It 's an old custom. You see what Scotch brides have 
 to undergo! It broke beautifully," he said, turning 
 to address Sheila. 
 
 But Sheila had vanished as mysteriously as she had 
 appeared, and Angela stepped across the threshold of 
 her new home.
 
 Exploring the New Home 175 
 
 There was no vestibule, no strange doors to open. 
 She found herself standing in the middle of a square 
 hall, the walls of which were almost covered with 
 the miscellaneous collection of things which stamp a 
 man's tastes on his surroundings. A row of stags' 
 heads made a kind of frieze below the line of the ceil- 
 ing; Jock's guns and fishing-rods were arranged in 
 their stands, facing the door; and a half-length 
 portrait of his father hung over the mantelpiece. A 
 skin nig lay on the stone flags in front of the old- 
 fashioned fireplace, which Dileas took possession of as 
 his right. 
 
 In the middle of the hall a round table was set, 
 ready for a meal; the table-cloth was of the finest 
 damask, and the silver was of a beautiful pattern, old 
 and rare. In the centre stood a bowl of bluebells 
 and heather. The table was laid for two; and two 
 high-backed chairs, with carved tops, were drawn up 
 to it, facing each other. 
 
 Jock looked anxiously at Angela. 
 
 "This has to do duty as a dining-room," he said. 
 " I made it like this. There used to be a kind of par- 
 lour here, and I knocked it all away. The stair goes 
 up behind that leather screen ; and there 's a door leads 
 into the kitchen! I try to save Sheila the trouble of 
 carrying things and answering bells." 
 
 Angela slipped away from him and made a tour of 
 the hall by herself, looking behind the screen and 
 through the door into the kitchen and into all the 
 corners, even up the wide chimney, and then came 
 back to him. 
 
 "I feel as though I ought to walk on tiptoe and 
 speak in a whisper," she said. "It 's like playing at
 
 176 Bawbee Jock 
 
 a game of exploring when you don't know what 's 
 going to jump out at you from some hiding-place. 
 Where does that other door lead to?" 
 
 "That's my sitting-room my own particular 
 den," said Jock. "But you have n't said what you 
 think about this. Are you disappointed?" 
 
 "Hush! don't ask me questions just now," she 
 answered. " My head is so full of new things I can't 
 speak properly. But I 'm enjoying myself more 
 than I ever did in all my life before." 
 
 Jock opened the door of his den and allowed her to 
 pass in in front of him. 
 
 She stood for a moment, and then turned herself 
 round slowly. 
 
 "You Sybarite!" she exclaimed. 
 
 It was a delightful room, although it was essentially 
 a man's room; everything in it was meant for use. 
 The colouring was soft and mellow because there was 
 nothing new in it. The lower part of the walls were 
 lined with well-filled book-shelves, and some good 
 sporting prints and engravings filled the spaces above. 
 The furniture was comfortable, and bore the stamp 
 of an old-world, refined simplicity. 
 
 "Books!" said Angela, walking across to the 
 shelves. " I 'm so glad you love books. So do I. I see 
 heaps of old friends. How did you collect such a lot? " 
 
 " I brought most of them with me from Glenmoira," 
 answered Jock. "I 've managed to add a few new 
 ones now and again. I get through a lot of reading in 
 the winter nights." He came over and stood beside 
 her. "The days are very short up here in the winter. 
 There will be lots of spare time on your hands. I 'm 
 afraid you '11 find that out."
 
 Exploring the New Home 177 
 
 Angela shook her head. 
 
 "Don't you fuss over the idea that I shall be dull, 
 even if it 's dark for six months out of the twelve. 
 I7m never dull. I never allow myself to be dull!" 
 She took his arm, and leading him over to the window 
 made him stand beside her, facing the room. "You 
 call this your den," she said. "You don't expect you 
 are going to keep me out of it, do you? Where is my 
 corner to be?" 
 
 "I hoped you would have found that out for your- 
 self," said Jock. "There! That little sofa by the 
 fireplace. It was n't in the room before. I got it 
 for you. I thought it would be better than a chair, 
 in case your ankle bothered you. You might want to 
 rest it sometimes." 
 
 "How sweet of you to think of that," she said, 
 touched by his thought for her. "It 's a dear little 
 sofa ; and what a beautiful cushion ! So big and downy 
 and such a lovely shade of green." She crossed the 
 room and looked at the cushion more closely. "It 's 
 all embroidered. Some one has worked the badge 
 on it a wreath of holly leaves. How pretty!" 
 
 Jock looked very gratified. 
 
 "Christina worked it. She gave me that cushion. 
 I 'm so glad you think it 's pretty." 
 
 Angela dropped the cushion and wheeled round. 
 
 "Who 's Christina?" she demanded. 
 
 "Oh! she 's just Christina," answered Jock. "She 
 gave it to me yesterday. You '11 love Christina," he 
 added. 
 
 "Christina," echoed Angela. "I never heard you 
 mention Christina before. I thought you said you had 
 no friends, neighbours, up here?" She took hold of
 
 178 Bawbee Jock 
 
 the flap of his coat collar. "Jock! what girl worked 
 you that cushion?" 
 
 "Girl!" Jock collapsed on to a chair. "Christina! 
 A girl! She 's old MacPherson's sister. She she 's 
 about fifty!" 
 
 "Make her sixty, and I '11 adore her," said Angela. 
 She patted him on the back. "If you keep on laugh- 
 ing like that you '11 hurt yourself ; and I want to go on 
 exploring. I have n't half finished the house. What 
 comes next?" 
 
 "Not very much," said Jock. "It's very small. 
 There 's the kitchen behind this you 've seen that ; I 
 saw you peeping and upstairs. The stair is very 
 steep, and twists round and round. Shall I carry 
 you?" 
 
 Angela laughed and ran past him, out of the room, 
 and across the hall, and was up the first two steps of 
 the stairs before he could overtake her. 
 > "It 's like a doll's staircase," she said. "It 's the 
 right size for me, but you 're too big. Why, I 'm up 
 to the top already! What a funny landing, with a 
 window like a shaving-glass in the roof ! Two doors ! 
 May I open them and look in?" 
 
 Jock barred her way, and kept his hold on the 
 handle of the door nearest to her. 
 
 "This will be your room," he said. " I 'm so afraid 
 you won't like it. It was the aunt's, and she brought 
 her own furniture with her from Glenmoira, and it 's 
 rather big for the room." 
 
 He half-opened the door, and Angela crept in past 
 him cautiously. She gave a gasp, and sitting down on 
 a chair which stood conveniently near, began to laugh, 
 and went on laughing.
 
 Exploring the New Home 179 
 
 "O Jock!" she murmured, "how did it ever get in? 
 Was it dropped through the ceiling, or did it grow 
 there? I never saw such a monstrous thing in all my 
 life." 
 
 Almost the entire flooring space of the room was 
 occupied by a huge four-post bed. The canopy, which 
 was of dark oak, and from which hung richly em- 
 broidered silk curtains, was supported on carved 
 pillars; and a crest and coat-of-arms was emblazoned 
 on the centre panel of the head-piece. 
 
 "There is hardly any room to walk round it," con- 
 tinued Angela hysterically. "Jock, it 's a wonder! 
 It ought to be sent to a show! Is it a family 
 heirloom?" 
 
 Jock was leaning against the door, and gazing at his 
 ancestral possession very seriously. 
 
 "I think the aunt considered it a kind of heirloom. 
 She was very proud of it. I 've heard my father say 
 it took days to flit it over from Glenmoira. I 've seen 
 her often in it. She used to have kind of receptions up 
 here. She had the second sight, you know." 
 
 "Second sight ! What 's that? " asked Angela. 
 
 Jock looked puzzled. "Haven't you heard of it? 
 Well, no, perhaps not; it 's peculiarly Highland, I sup- 
 pose. It 's a kind of extra sense. Being able to see 
 beyond the present to foretell what 's going to 
 happen ; or to have the knowledge conveyed to you of 
 something that is happening to some one when they 
 are not present with you maybe at the other end of 
 the world." 
 
 Angela drew closer to him. 
 
 "I can almost imagine I see her sitting up under 
 that great canopy, and telling people things," she
 
 i8o Bawbee Jock 
 
 said. "I wonder what gave her the power of second 
 sight?" 
 
 "They say it 's hereditary," answered Jock. 
 
 "Have you got it?" asked Angela, drawing still 
 closer to him. 
 
 " I don't know," he said. " I Ve never tried to find 
 out. She had it to an extraordinary extent ; but then 
 she cultivated it, and her power for healing the sick. 
 The people in the glens up here believed in her as 
 though she were inspired." 
 
 "How extraordinary!" murmured Angela. "I've 
 read of such things, but I 'm never quite sure if I could 
 make myself believe them. Jock! How would you 
 know if you had it second sight, I mean, and the 
 power of healing? I I don't know whether I want 
 you to have it. Hold my hand tight, please, if you 're 
 going to say anything creepy." 
 
 Jock held her hand very tight. 
 
 "You need not be frightened," he said. "I could 
 never harm you, even if I had the power. She always 
 used to say that it was quite simple. That she learnt 
 her knowledge from studying nature, and from her 
 faith in prayer. She was a very good woman. There 
 was nothing creepy or uncomfortable about her. " He 
 hesitated. "It is said such things are hereditary. 
 But I don't know that I would like it to come out in 
 me. I should be afraid in case I did not make as good 
 a use of it as she did." 
 
 "I would n't be afraid of you," said Angela. "And 
 you remember her quite well?" 
 
 ' ' Quite well. She was a little woman smaller even 
 than you." 
 
 "Even than me! What disparagement!"
 
 Exploring the New Home 181 
 
 She disengaged her hand, and began to make a 
 cautious progress round the four-poster. 
 
 "If I walk very carefully, I can just keep from 
 bumping into it. There 's more space than you would 
 imagine. And O Jock, this little towery place, that 
 looks like a pepper-pot from the outside, has such a 
 duck of a dressing-table in it, with a looking-glass 
 like a heart." She ran back to where he was still 
 leaning against the door. "Do take that anxious 
 expression off your face," she said. " I 'm delighted 
 charmed. The aunt's legacies are priceless. Now 
 what comes next? Where does that other door lead 
 to? that one across the landing?" And she tried to 
 look behind his shoulder. 
 
 "That 's my room," said Jock. " I hope it 's tidy." 
 And he opened the door. 
 
 The room was austerely tidy. 
 
 Angela gave a delighted scream, and pounced on 
 something which was sticking out of the pocket of a 
 coat hanging on the door. 
 
 "My boot!" she exclaimed; "and I 've wondered 
 and wondered what had become of it. You snipped 
 the laces all to ribbons. Such extravagance!" 
 
 But Jock was too quick for her. She might as well 
 have tried to loosen an iron band as the strong fingers 
 which closed over that little brown boot. 
 
 " I would n't part with it! not for anything in the 
 wide world," he declared. "No!" as she held up her 
 face "not for a dozen!" 
 
 "But Jock, it 's such a waste! The other one is 
 quite good. It makes me feel like a one-legged woman. 
 I shall have to throw it away." 
 
 " I don't care," said Jock. "You may do what you
 
 1 82 Bawbee Jock 
 
 like with it; but I shall stick to my boot. It lives in 
 that pocket. I like it to hang there." 
 
 A bell tinkled below. 
 
 "What's that?" asked Angela in alarm. "Not 
 visitors?" 
 
 "It 's dinner," said Jock. "We 've been forgetting 
 how late it is." 
 
 "And I have n't unpacked anything. There is n't 
 time now. You must lend me a brush to tidy my hair." 
 
 She departed with the brush and vanished into her 
 own room. 
 
 They found dinner waiting for them on the round 
 table in the hall ; and Jock pulled out one of the high- 
 backed chairs for her, and then, seating himself in the 
 one opposite, he bowed his head and said grace a 
 very short grace. 
 
 "He doesn't gabble. I love the way he says it," 
 whispered Angela to herself. 
 
 He waited upon her, as he had done at lunch, and 
 the meal was a very simple one. When they were 
 finished with one course, he rang a small bell which 
 stood beside his plate, and Sheila knew what was 
 wanted. 
 
 "Do you sweep up the crumbs at the end?" asked 
 Angela, when the bell had tinkled for the last time. 
 
 She did not wait for an answer, but rising swiftly, 
 she came round to his chair and, perching herself on 
 the arm, kissed the top of his head. 
 
 "Waiters always get tips," she said. "And honey- 
 mooners are supposed to give extra good ones. That's 
 yours ! You make a perfect waiter, Jock so nice and 
 quiet. You walk so lightly; I think it has something 
 to do with the swing of your kilt."
 
 Exploring the New Home 183 
 
 For answer he put his arm round her, and held her 
 to him. 
 
 "Has n't it been a perfect wedding-day?" she 
 said, sinking her voice. "So peaceful and beautiful. 
 Think of the poor people who have the ordinary kind 
 of wedding. No one has done a single thing for me, 
 except you." 
 
 He drew her closer. 
 
 "Yes! I 've had you all to myself. Nothing has 
 come between us." 
 
 She was silent for a minute and then said : 
 
 "I think that 's it. People get very near to each 
 other when there is nothing to come between. I mean 
 nothing sordid or mercenary, like like money. Don't 
 you think so?" 
 
 He did not answer, and she bent to see his face. 
 
 "What are you thinking about?" she asked. 
 
 He caught her to him, and then held her back, 
 searching her face with a passionate entreaty of 
 question. 
 
 "Will I be able to make you happy? I am afraid 
 when I think of what I have asked you to share." 
 
 "Dear," she whispered, "I love my home, every 
 bit of it." 
 
 There was a tremble in her voice and a shining 
 tenderness in her eyes. 
 
 "It is so little that I have to give you," he said; 
 "and supposing supposing I was forced into selling 
 the place? That always hangs over me." 
 
 "Whatever happens, I should always have you," 
 she answered. 
 
 He leant his head against the lace folded across the 
 bosom of her dress. The faint scent of violets clung
 
 1 84 Bawbee Jock 
 
 about it. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of her 
 breathing. 
 
 "So long as I have my strength, and hands to 
 work for you, you '11 never want please God," he 
 murmured. 
 
 She took the strong brown hands, which were to 
 work for her, in her two little ones and pressed her 
 cheek against them. 
 
 "My man," she said softly. 
 
 Later, after the dusk had fallen, they went out into 
 the porch and stood under the honeysuckle and 
 jessamine. In that northern land the summer nights 
 are never quite dark, and the hilltops showed clear 
 against the sky, and the surface of the loch, though 
 shrouded, was not hidden. 
 
 " I wish the moon would rise and shine on the loch, 
 and make a silvery, shimmery path all the way up to 
 where it 's so black, under the bank," said Angela. 
 
 "It will presently," answered Jock. "We will sit 
 and watch for it." And he went back into the hall, 
 and brought out a couple of chairs and a cloak to 
 wrap round her. 
 
 They sat in the scented dusk and talked talked 
 of themselves, and their love, and of the wondrous 
 happiness which this love had brought into their lives. 
 If there were fears and shadows to come, they would 
 meet them together. As they looked down the vista 
 of years, they ever pictured themselves hand to hand, 
 pulse beating to pulse, heart answering to heart. 
 
 The house was dark when they went in, with the 
 exception of a streak of light shining from under the 
 kitchen door; but Jock knew where to find the lamp, 
 and striking a match, he lit it. It was a small reading
 
 Exploring the New Home 185 
 
 lamp, and he held it up so as to throw its reflection 
 before him. 
 
 "Come into my den," he said to Angela. "There 
 is something I wish you to do." 
 
 He led the way into the room, holding the lamp in 
 front of him, and, placing it on his writing-table, he 
 went over to one of the book-shelves, and took out a 
 large bulky volume, whose binding was worn with age. 
 He laid it on the table, and drawing in a chair which 
 stood near, he put his arm round Angela's waist and 
 drew her down beside him. 
 
 " Do you know what that is? " he said, touching the 
 book. 
 
 Angela opened it and turned over the leaves. The 
 writing was quite unintelligible to her. 
 
 "It 's a Gaelic Bible," said Jock; "it 's more than 
 a hundred years old. The family births, deaths, and 
 marriages are entered in it." 
 
 He turned over the pages. On the fly-leaf at the 
 beginning were lines of written names, with dates 
 attached. Many of them were so faint and yellow, 
 and the handwriting so cramped, as to be almost un- 
 decipherable. They were names of a race who had 
 lived and loved; made history; printed their finger- 
 marks on the pages of time. And now, what did these 
 faded signatures stand for, mute witnesses to the law 
 of oblivion? 
 
 Angela pored over the open page. 
 
 "Isn't it pathetic, Jock?" she said, in a hushed 
 voice. "All of them gone; and yet their names last, 
 written here by living hands, when they were young 
 and strong, with love in their hearts like us. They 
 seem to want to speak. Don't you feel that? As if
 
 i86 Bawbee Jock 
 
 they longed to tell us things perhaps want to help 
 us, to say ' Don't do this, and don't do that. I did it, 
 and it was wrong.'" 
 
 Jock touched her hair caressingly as she leant 
 against him. 
 
 "It 's a pretty idea," he said, "but I 'm afraid we all 
 have to buy our own experience it 's the rule of the 
 road." 
 
 He drew his finger down the page to a^blank space. 
 
 " This is where we have to sign our names. I looked 
 out the place the other night." He took up a pen and 
 tried it. "Perhaps I ought to write mine first." 
 
 " Yes, you write your name first," she said. 
 
 And he wrote it, "John Murdoch Mackenzie," and 
 added the date. Then he put the pen into her hand, 
 and she wrote underneath his name, "Angela Tem- 
 pest." 
 
 " Only Angela," he said. And she answered, " Only 
 Angela," and then they sat with their heads very close 
 together and read the names in whispers, whilst they 
 waited for the ink to dry, because Jock would not 
 blot it. 
 
 " It must look firm and distinct," he said. 
 
 At last the book was closed. They could hear 
 Sheila moving about the house. The door into the 
 hall stood open, and they heard the creaking of the 
 stair as she mounted it, and her footfall, light as it 
 was, in the room above. 
 
 The stair creaked again, and she came down. 
 
 "Where do Donald and Sheila sleep? " asked Angela. 
 "You did not show me their part of the house." 
 
 " They don't live in the house," said Jock. " Their 
 cottage is just outside; a few yards from the back
 
 Exploring the New Home 187 
 
 door. Donald would be miserable living in an 
 ordinary house." 
 
 Angela sat up and listened, The proud little head 
 was held very erect. Jock could not see her face. It 
 was turned away from him, and the lamplight threw 
 only the shadow of her hair and the gleam of her 
 white throat into relief. 
 
 There was the noise of a window being closed; a 
 door shut; a key was turned in the lock; and then a 
 great silence fell, and brooded over the house; and 
 not a sound broke the stillness of the night. 
 
 He saw her raise her head higher, and she clasped 
 and unclasped her hands, and then held them together 
 tightly. She turned. He could see her face now. 
 
 "It 's it 's very quiet," she murmured. 
 
 A quick dread surged through him, sending the 
 blood beating to his temples. He gripped hold of the 
 arms of his chair. 
 
 "You you 're not afraid?" he said huskily. 
 
 She did not answer. Her gaze went round the 
 room into the shadowy corners, to the open door. 
 There was nothing beyond it but blank space. Her 
 gaze came back, and rested on his face. 
 
 Still she did not speak. She sat with her head held 
 high and looked at him not defiantly, not as though 
 she were afraid; her eyes met his fearlessly, question- 
 ingly, piercing as if through the shroud of the flesh 
 to the soul of the man within. 
 
 He bore the look steadily, without a quiver or move- 
 ment. His hands did not relax their grip ; he did not 
 put out a finger to touch her. She drew a long breath. 
 There was a little catch at the end of it; and then, 
 without a word, she laid her head down on his breast.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 WORD FROM THE SCAPEGRACE 
 
 AND so began for these two their new life together. 
 In the simplicity of their love and passion they 
 did not seek to analyse; they were too happy to trace 
 reasons or emotions; they lived for the joy of living. 
 The filmy mist which spangled the morning green, 
 the golden haze of sunset, the deep, dark blue of the 
 starlit sky these were the treasures of wealth which 
 Nature put forth, it would seem, for them alone. 
 
 They spent all their days out-of-doors, wandering 
 where fancy took them, Flossie's basket strapped to 
 Flora's saddle or lying under the seat of the boat, 
 for they were as often on the loch as on the moor. 
 
 "You must not tire your ankle," Jock would always 
 say to Angela as they started. And if the expedition 
 was on the hill, she was lifted on to Flora's back, and 
 he took the bridle and "led always." 
 
 He showed her all his favourite haunts, and every 
 one was associated with some boyish memory of sport 
 or adventure. There he had shot his first grouse in 
 that brown pool he had caught his first trout; and 
 Angela was never tired of listening and asking ques- 
 tions, and he was never tired of answering. 
 
 Angela liked the days on the loch best. It was so 
 smooth and tranquil, so infinitely restful to glide along 
 
 1 88
 
 Word from the Scapegrace 189 
 
 with hardly any perceptible sound or movement except 
 the soft dip of the oars. She would make Jock row 
 her in close to the banks where they were steepest, and 
 where the rock was fringed to the water's edge with 
 fern and trailing creeper, and where, in the crevices of 
 the grey stone, grew countless plants of microscopic 
 beauty and fragile loveliness. Above swept the birch's 
 graceful foliage or the sturdier branches of the virgin 
 oak; and through clumps of mellowing green the 
 crimson berries of the rowan trees thrust their ripened 
 harvest flaming to the sun. 
 
 "It 's so fascinating being able to come so close to 
 the bank in deep water and touch it," said Angela one 
 afternoon when they were out in the boat. "You said 
 just now that you were going to show me something. 
 What is it?" 
 
 Jock shipped his oars, and pulling the boat along 
 by an overhanging branch, he drew it into a break 
 in the bank where some reeds grew tall and thick. 
 He parted them, and Angela peered over the side 
 of the boat. 
 
 "A nest!" she exclaimed "a poor little deserted 
 nest!" 
 
 "A moor-hen's nest," said Jock. "It 's a kind of 
 ancestral home. I always remember a moor-hen nest- 
 ing somewhere about here. One morning this spring 
 I remember rowing up the loch, and I looked to see, 
 and there were the eggs, and in the evening when 
 I came back they were all hatched out and away. 
 It 's a pretty sight to see the chicks with the mother- 
 hen. She tumbles them into the water, and then 
 swims about with them round her, like bits of 
 fluff."
 
 190 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " Does she never take them back to the nest?" asked 
 Angela. 
 
 "No; she hides with them somewhere about the 
 bank. She never brings them back to the nest." 
 
 Angela put her fingers into the nest, laced round 
 with grass and withered tangle. 
 
 "All cold and deserted," she said. "Jock, we'll 
 come and look here next spring together. I should 
 love to see the hen tumbling her fluffy babies into the 
 water. You '11 remember the place, won't you?" 
 
 " Yes, I '11 remember," said Jock. "I know it well." 
 He pushed out into deeper water, and rowing some way 
 from the bank, drew in his oars and sat with them 
 crossed, the water dripping from the blades. "There 
 are lots of duck on this loch," he remarked. "Later 
 on we '11 have some stalks after them. You would 
 like to come out with me, would n't you?" 
 
 " I shan't let you go unless you take me with you," 
 answered Angela. 
 
 Jock looked pleased. 
 
 "I suppose it would bore some women if a man 
 always wanted them to take an interest in what he 
 was doing?" 
 
 Angela pursed up her mouth. 
 
 "If it was the right man, it wouldn't bore them. 
 Dearest ! " she added, " you don't know anything about 
 women and I 'm so glad." 
 
 "But you do like coming with me, for the love of 
 the sport? " he said, bending forward over his oars. He 
 took her hand and spanned the slenderness of her 
 wrist with his finger and thumb. "It 's so fragile," 
 'he said. "Are you hardy enough to be dragged 
 about by a great strong thing like me? I may not
 
 Word from the Scapegrace 191 
 
 know when you 're tired. Will you always tell me?" 
 
 "Dragged about!" scoffed Angela. "I do simply 
 nothing but sit still and be spoilt. And I 'm as 
 strong as why, if you only knew what I can do, and 
 never be a bit tired. I 've hunted four days a week, 
 and danced all night, and " She broke off, and bit 
 her lip. 
 
 Jock looked a little surprised. 
 
 "I suppose you stayed about a lot," he said, "and 
 your friends mounted you?" 
 
 "Oh! I 've always been fond of riding," she said 
 hurriedly. "Flossie gave me a pony when I was six 
 and taught me to ride, and " She changed the 
 subject abruptly. "Jock, you Ve never taken me to 
 see the Burying Island. You promised you would. 
 It 's just round that bend in the loch, is n't it? Let 
 us go now." 
 
 "All right," he said, and dipping his oars into the 
 water, he turned the boat's prow towards the centre 
 of the loch, and crossing to the other side, they rounded 
 a wooded promontory, and came into view of a small 
 island, lying like a green jewel in the centre of a broad, 
 open sheet of water. At one end of it a clump of 
 yew trees showed black and sombre, and here and 
 there the glimmer of a white cross or headstone stood 
 out against the dark background. 
 
 "Would you like to land," he said, "or shall I row 
 you round? I can go in quite near; the banks shelve 
 off into deep water." 
 
 "I think I would rather be rowed round," answered 
 Angela. "How pretty it is! I like to think of them 
 all sleeping there, with the beautiful, still water on 
 every side no restless human voices."
 
 192 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Yes, it 's a lovely spot," said Jock. 
 
 Angela slid from her seat, and, dragging the cushion 
 with her, sat down in the bottom of the boat and leant 
 up against him. 
 
 "It makes me feel just a little a little eerie," she 
 said. And he let the boat drift and put his arm round 
 her. 
 
 "Are all your ancestors buried there the people 
 whose names we saw in the old Bible?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes, they 're all buried there. Behind that clump 
 of yews is our particular bit; but any one in the glen 
 any of the clan can be buried on the island." 
 
 "What was it that you once told me about the 
 people? that they think that the water keeps off the 
 evil spirits?" 
 
 "Yes. That 's one of their ideas. And they will 
 never look across to the island after dark, if they can 
 possibly help it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because of the lights. If a light is seen on the 
 island, they say it means a death in the glen." 
 
 "A light! But the island's not inhabited," said 
 Angela. 
 
 "Ah! that 's where their superstition comes in," 
 said Jock. "It's supposed to be a ghostly light 
 some one's death-candle. And the odd part of it is 
 that the lights have been seen repeatedly by quite 
 credible eye-witnesses, and invariably a death has 
 taken place immediately afterwards. It 's a queer 
 business. I could tell you some funny stories of things 
 that have happened." 
 
 Angela shivered. 
 
 "You don't like the subject," he said. "We won't
 
 Word from the Scapegrace 193 
 
 talk about it. What shall we do now? Go back or 
 what?" 
 
 "Let us go on and find some place where we can 
 land for tea," she answered. "And I am going to 
 row. It will help to take away the creeps." 
 
 "Can you row?" he asked. 
 
 "No, not a bit," she answered. "But the sooner I 
 begin to learn the better. Make room for me beside 
 you, and we '11 row together. You must keep time 
 with me, because I shall be much too busy with 
 my own oar to watch yours ! Now ! You need n't 
 hold me on to the seat; I won't tumble into the 
 water." 
 
 On their return that evening they found the post- 
 bag, which Hamish generally brought in about seven 
 o'clock, waiting for them; but as they were late, they 
 did not open it until after dinner. 
 
 "Nearly everything for you," said Jock, as he un- 
 locked the bag and gave a fat bundle of letters and 
 enclosures into Angela's hand. 
 
 She flushed, and looked up at him. 
 
 "The secret is out," she said. "Look! That is 
 from Lady Di! And I see Dolly's writing, and 
 What will they all say?" 
 
 For some time there was nothing heard but the 
 rustling of notepaper and the slitting open of enve- 
 lopes. Now and again Angela laughed softly to 
 herself, or some half-uttered exclamation escaped her 
 lips. After she had finished reading her correspon- 
 dence, she sat quite still for a few minutes. Jock was 
 sitting by the open window smoking, and his head was 
 turned away. Suddenly he heard a sound as though 
 she had tumbled all her letters on to the floor. Two
 
 194 Bawbee Jock 
 
 clinging arms were thrown round his neck, and soft 
 lips pressed kisses against his cheek. 
 
 "Jock! you are the dearest dear! You are you 
 are such a gentleman." 
 
 His pipe was knocked out of his mouth, but he did 
 not mind. 
 
 "You never ask questions and you're never 
 inquisitive you never pry and " She broke off 
 abruptly. 
 
 " My darling," he said, tenderly smoothing her hair 
 as she bent back her head to look into his eyes, "why 
 should I be inquisitive?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" she answered. Then she 
 laughed. "Lady Di's letter is very funny: pages of 
 good advice. She says if I had told her in time she 
 would have stretched a point to come to my wed- 
 ding. Have n't we had an escape? And she ends by 
 saying that she may be up north for some fishing in 
 the spring, and that she will offer herself for a visit. 
 The house is too small to hold any one but ourselves, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Jock. 
 
 She laid her head down on his shoulder, and he con- 
 tinued to caress her hair, but something in his touch 
 did not satisfy her. 
 
 "Jock, you are not thinking about what you are 
 doing," she said. He did not answer, and she glanced 
 up. "What is the matter?" she asked. "You had a 
 letter. Is there anything wrong?" 
 
 " I had a letter from Alister," said Jock slowly. 
 
 "And you are worried about it." She tried to keep 
 the resentment out of her voice, for she did not wish 
 to hurt him; but an involuntary antagonism always
 
 Word from the Scapegrace 195 
 
 rose up hotly within her when she saw that look come 
 into his eyes a tired, helpless look. "Would you like 
 to tell me about it? or would you rather not? Can I 
 help you?" she added more gently. 
 
 He took Alister's letter out of his pocket, and looked 
 at it and then at her. 
 
 "You can read it, if you like," he said. "It 's not 
 that there 's anything actually wrong, but Of 
 course, it 's a very uncongenial life for him. He never 
 cared much for roughing it, and " 
 
 Angela took the letter and read it, for she saw that 
 he wished her to do so. Her inward comment on it 
 was: 
 
 "He is utterly selfish. It is all about himself. 
 Grumbles, and asking for money." 
 
 " It is hard on him, of course, even although it is his 
 own fault," said Jock. "You see how he feels the 
 banishment. When I think of what I have ... of 
 our home up here ..." 
 
 "But would he be contented with this kind of life?" 
 said Angela. "You and I love it because we are 
 you and I. But would it satisfy him?" 
 
 Jock looked out of the window, to where the outline 
 of the hills showed faintly above the loch. 
 
 "No," he said, and there was a bitter note in his 
 voice. " If he had Glenmoira to-day, he would sell it 
 to-morrow. And the money would run through his 
 fingers like water." 
 
 Angela glanced at the letter in Jock's hand. 
 
 "He doesn't say anything about your marriage. 
 Have you told him? Won't that make a difference? 
 Won't it make him see that you can't be responsible 
 for him now?"
 
 196 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I have told him about my marriage," answered 
 Jock, "but that letter must have been written before 
 he heard of it." He sighed heavily, and his eyes 
 wandered again to the open window. "I don't be- 
 lieve," he said slowly, "that even when he does hear, 
 he will realise that my being married ought to make 
 a difference in my responsibility towards him. It 
 will be so hard so desperately hard to make him 
 understand. I gave my promise; he will expect me 
 to keep my word." 
 
 "Your promise to your mother, you mean?" said 
 Angela. "You did tell me about it. But tell me 
 again." 
 
 "I promised that if things came to the worst, I 
 would consent to the breaking of the entail, and sell 
 Glenmoira." 
 
 The pain in his voice made her heart ache for him, 
 but she persisted gently. 
 
 "Has Alister ever reminded you of your promise?" 
 
 "Yes," Jock admitted reluctantly. "He's my 
 heir, you see. We can break the entail by mutual 
 consent." 
 
 Angela took a little while to ponder over this state- 
 ment; then she asked, hesitatingly: 
 
 "An entail can only be broken if the next heir gives 
 his consent? Is that it?" 
 
 "In our case it is so," said Jock. "Glenmoira is 
 entailed in the male line. The entail can't be broken 
 unless the next heir is of age and gives his consent. 
 Alister has a certain claim on me," 
 
 "I understand," said Angela. 
 
 Jock himself, broke the silence which followed, and 
 he spoke quickly, with obvious effort.
 
 Word from the Scapegrace 197 
 
 "I said just now that Alister had a claim on me, 
 because he is the next heir. But if I had a son of my 
 own, he would legally have no claim on me, and my 
 hands would be tied so far as breaking the entail and 
 selling the place was concerned. I could do nothing 
 until my heir was of age. Alister, when he hears of 
 my marriage, may try to make me keep my promise 
 now. That is what I am afraid of." 
 
 "Entails must be very puzzling things," said Angela. 
 When she spoke again, it was upon quite an irrele- 
 vant subject. "When are you going to begin your 
 harvest, Jock ? ' ' she asked. ' ' You Ve rather swaggered 
 about being a working man, but I have not seen you 
 do any work yet." She pinched his arm. "Your 
 muscles are beginning to get quite soft." 
 
 "They 're not," he answered reproachfully, rising to 
 her challenge. "Think of the miles I Ve walked be- 
 side your pony, and rowed you for hours on the loch." 
 
 Angela laughed at the success of her ruse. 
 
 "He will forget Alister and his worries if he has 
 some work to do," she said to herself. " You promised 
 to teach me how to harvest," she continued. "What 
 are the funny things I am to learn to make? Stooks! 
 Is n't it clever of me to remember that word? ' If I 
 am to be a working man's wife, I must begin and learn 
 how to make stocks." 
 
 "Old MacPherson sent word to me about cutting the 
 roads last night," said Jock. "His bit of glebe land 
 fits into some of my crop, so we work the whole to- 
 gether. Every one turns to at harvest-time Chris- 
 tina when she 's here, and the old boy himself." 
 
 " What fun ! " said Angela. " I am longing to begin. 
 When shall we start?"
 
 198 Bawbee Jock 
 
 He looked at her rather wistfully. 
 
 "Are you tired already of only me?" he asked. 
 
 "Jock, how can you!" she exclaimed. "It is quite 
 the other way. You would get tired of me. You are 
 far too big and strong to have nothing to do but play 
 about with a useless woman. You would get sick of 
 me." 
 
 "Ah no, I would n't," he said. "You see, I have 
 never had any one to love me in the way that you love 
 me. I often ask myself if it is n't a dream, that you 
 really belong to me?" 
 
 "Dearest," she answered, "I do belong to you, and 
 we are never going to be separated! Whether it is 
 work or play, we are always going to be together. 
 And gathering in our harvest will be a more whole- 
 some occupation than sitting in a boat looking at a 
 Burying Island." 
 
 So she had her way and bound him to her with 
 ever stronger bands of love.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE HARVESTING 
 
 " \ X 7 HO says that I am not a fitting helpmate for 
 
 VV a working man? Just look at them ! Dear 
 things! They are so beautifully made; and see how 
 they lean confidingly up against each other. I Ve 
 trimmed their little tails so nicely, and all their heads 
 are equal, and their waistbands are so neatly tied! 
 They are the best-made stocks in the whole field." 
 
 "They ought to be. You Ve taken the whole day 
 to make them." 
 
 "Well, and they do me credit. Your stocks 
 ragged, untidy things, all hunched up together! 
 Look at the difference!" And Angela waved her 
 hands to the four corners of the harvest-field. 
 
 "She grows prettier and prettier every day. I 
 wonder where it can end?" was the thought in the 
 mind of the man looking down at her. 
 
 Nature's sun, and the sun of happiness, had touched 
 with a richer beauty the flower-like bloom of her loveli- 
 ness and added a deeper lustre to her eyes. She was 
 standing in front of him with a sickle in her hand ; her 
 wide straw hat, with the blue ribbon dangling over the 
 brim, was pushed to the back of her head, and showed 
 where the dark hair curled softly, like a child's, about 
 her temples and white brow. 
 
 199
 
 2oo Bawbee Jock 
 
 Jock was in his shirt-sleeves, and they were turned 
 up above his elbows, and his arms were as brown as 
 his face ; for they had been harvesting for more than a 
 week, and the last field of grain had been laid low that 
 day. 
 
 A cloudless sky and warm sunshine had smiled upon 
 them since the first hand-sweep of corn had been cut by 
 Angela herself. It had been a pretty ceremony, her 
 cutting of the first sheaf. On the morning that she 
 had entered the harvest-field with Jock, old Mr. Mac- 
 Pherson had met and welcomed her. Behind him 
 stood the harvesters; and in the background were 
 assembled a great gathering of men and women and 
 children from the glens and from the hills. Some of 
 them had travelled far to be present, for they were all 
 eager to see their young chief's bride. 
 
 Mr. MacPherson had put a shining new sickle into 
 Angela's hand, and led her up to the place where the 
 grain stood highest. And she had cut her sheaf and 
 bound it, and at a whispered word from the old man 
 she had presented it to her husband! 
 
 The shout which had gone up from the hearts of 
 these simple people had told her, if she required to be 
 told, how loyal was the love which they bore to their 
 chief. 
 
 "I was so dreadfully afraid that I would do some- 
 thing silly," she had said to Jock afterwards. "It 
 made a lump come in my throat." 
 
 "You behaved beautifully," he told her proudly. 
 "For it was rather sprung upon us, and that poeti- 
 cal idea of the old man's making you give me the 
 sheaf took me aback. I was n't prepared for such a 
 climax,"
 
 The Harvesting 201 
 
 "That was the bit which pleased them most," said 
 Angela triumphantly. "How they cheered! Gaelic 
 lends itself to enthusiasm. And then when you made 
 a speech and answered for me, they cheered wildly, 
 did n't they? Can't we do something for them? 
 Give them a treat?" 
 
 "We will give them a supper a real good one, at 
 Christmas," said Jock. "I always do something of 
 the kind, but this year we will be extravagant. It 's 
 better to do it then than now! I don't want to inter- 
 fere with the harvest, you see " 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 "You need not explain. It would mean lots of 
 whiskey, and they would all dance reels instead of 
 cutting your corn." 
 
 Angela had carried her shining new sickle all through 
 these happy days of harvesting ; and now, it had come 
 to the last day, and she looked at it regretfully and 
 touched the sharp edge with her ringer. 
 
 "We will hang it up in the hall," she said to Jock, 
 "and keep it always." 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "we '11 do that to-night after 
 dinner." He put up his arms and stretched himself. 
 
 " Don't you think we might have tea now? We 've 
 done our day's work. Where 's Christina? Is n't 
 it about time for her to appear with her teapot and her 
 kettle?" 
 
 Angela shaded her eyes and looked across the field 
 to the slope of the bank above. "I see her coming 
 down the path from the manse," she said. "She 's 
 carrying the teapot in one hand and the kettle in the 
 other." 
 
 Jock laughed.
 
 202 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " Then I 'm off to help. I shall have a row with her, 
 as usual, about carrying that kettle!" 
 
 "We will have tea here, beside my beautiful stooks," 
 Angela called after him. And she made a nest for 
 herself and sat down to watch the meeting of the two 
 with a smile on her lips. 
 
 It always amused her to watch Jock and Christina. 
 During these days of harvest-time she had made 
 Christina's acquaintance, although acquaintance was 
 not the word she used in her heart. She had grown 
 to love Christina, as Jock had told her she would. 
 She had never met any one in the least like her before. 
 Christina was so strong and protective ; she took such 
 a breezy, healthy view of life ; she was so full of racy 
 humour; the very grip of her hand would have put 
 vitality into a stone. 
 
 Christina was much younger than the minister, her 
 brother, and she had a profession a wide-interested 
 vocation in life. She was a nurse, and was matron 
 of a private nursing home, which was a model of 
 excellence and good management. She always 
 spent her holidays at Glenmoira, and it generally 
 happened that it was during the harvest-time that 
 she revisited her Highland home, which she loved so 
 well. 
 
 Angela's smile deepened as she watched Jock and 
 Christina. Every afternoon Christina brought down 
 tea to the harvest-field, because the manse was so near, 
 and she and Jock were always having squabbles as to 
 who was to carry the kettle. 
 
 On this particular afternoon they had a longer 
 squabble than usual, and Angela grew impatient or 
 pretended that she was.
 
 The Harvesting 203 
 
 "Everything is ready," she cried. "Do hurry, 
 because I am so thirsty." 
 
 She had finished her share of the preparations, which 
 consisted of unpacking Flossie's basket and laying out 
 the cups and saucers and Sheila's scones. 
 
 There was an answering call from Jock, and she saw 
 the two crossing the stubble; and presently Christina, 
 with a large brown teapot in her hand, was standing 
 beside her and being commanded to admire the stooks. 
 
 "I made them all by myself! every bit of them," 
 declared Angela ; and Christina, looking down into the 
 lovely face upraised to hers, smiled approvingly. 
 
 Christina was a big woman, but she carried no super- 
 fluous flesh on her bones. She had reddish fair hair, 
 which she wore tucked away in thick plaits under a 
 mushroom hat. Her face was more homely than 
 beautiful, and her mouth turned up humorously at the 
 corners. Her eyes were a greenish grey, and they 
 could look very shrewd or twinkle with amusement, 
 according to the mood of the moment. 
 
 Jock seated himself beside Angela, and they both 
 held out their cups. 
 
 "We are so thirsty," they exclaimed; and Christina 
 beamed at them and began to fill Angela's cup first. 
 
 "Oh! oh!" The two aghast "Oh's!" followed 
 each in quick succession. Nothing but hot water 
 flowed from the spout of the brown teapot. 
 
 "Is it a joke?" asked Jock. 
 
 "Shake the teapot!" suggested Angela. 
 
 But no amount of shaking could make anything 
 stronger than hot water come out of the spout. 
 Christina's astonishment was quite genuine. She 
 took off the lid and stirred the water.
 
 204 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "There 's not a particle of tea in it there never 
 was!" said Jock. 
 
 "This is what she does to her poor patients," said 
 Angela. "If you break a toe, Jock, and go into that 
 model home of hers, you will know what to expect. 
 If you ask for a poultice, she '11 give you a jam sand- 
 wich. No saying what she will do. And we believed 
 in her so, did n't we?" 
 
 Christina put down the teapot and stared at it in- 
 credulously. 
 
 "I think the thing's bewitched!" she said. "I 
 could swear that I put in the tea a spoonful for each, 
 and one for the teapot. And then then I went to 
 put on my hat, for the kettle was not quite come to the 
 boil, and Yes, I know I put in the tea; I can see 
 myself doing it." 
 
 "I wish we had seen you doing it," said Angela. 
 "Christina, you know you never did. It's no use 
 pretending." 
 
 "I never remember doing such a queer-like thing in 
 my life before," said Christina, rising. "I 'm sorry, 
 but it won't take me long to run back and make some 
 fresh." 
 
 She poured away the hot water and tucked the tea- 
 pot under her arm. 
 
 "I '11 go back," said Jock. " I can run quicker than 
 you!" 
 
 "Indeed no!" retorted Christina. "I 'm as quick 
 on my feet as you are." And she commenced to 
 run. 
 
 Jock allowed her to get away a few paces, and then 
 he overtook her; and lifting her off her feet, as gently 
 as though she were a baby, he deposited her upon the
 
 The Harvesting 205 
 
 ground, and taking away her teapot was off like a 
 hare across the field. 
 
 "Oh, Christina!" cried Angela. "How could you 
 taunt him? You might have known what he would 
 do!" 
 
 " I 'm not going to have him rummaging in my cup- 
 boards," answered Christina indignantly; and gather- 
 ing herself up, she was soon in hot pursuit, following 
 the flutter of Jock's kilt, as he dodged in and out 
 between the lines of stooks. 
 
 "I believe she provoked that race on purpose to 
 have a flirt with him all by herself," laughed Angela. 
 "Oh dear! I wonder when I shall ever get any tea." 
 
 Presently she saw Mr. MacPherson coming towards 
 her from the opposite direction, and, rising, she went 
 to meet him and brought him to the place where she 
 had laid out the tea-things, and made a comfortable 
 seat for him amongst the corn-sheaves, for she saw 
 that he was tired with his day's work. Then she sat 
 down beside him, and talked to him sweetly and gently, 
 for she had grown to reverence and love the old min- 
 ister, and she had tender recollections of his fatherly 
 kindness to Jock and herself on their wedding-day. 
 
 When Jock and Christina returned, they brought 
 with them a brimming teapot full of hot, strong tea; 
 but Christina could give no satisfactory explanation 
 of what had happened to the first one. She was not 
 allowed to forget what she had done, and had to un- 
 dergo a running fire of chaff as to the management of 
 her model "home." 
 
 After tea was finished, she looked at her brother and 
 said severely: 
 
 "Archibald! you 're tired. I 'm going to take you
 
 206 Bawbee Jock 
 
 home now, and make you put up your feet and take a 
 good rest. To-morrow's the Sabbath, remember!" 
 
 "I had not forgotten that," said Mr. MacPherson. 
 His eyes travelled slowly over the peaceful scene 
 around him his bit of glebe land and Jock's few fields 
 surrounding it : a small oasis of culture a mere hand- 
 ful, it would seem, to most men; but to those two who 
 had tended it from sowing to reaping, it meant much. 
 
 "I never remember a better harvest in the glen," 
 he said. He looked at Angela and smiled. "Since 
 ever you put your sickle to the grain we have had 
 prosperity." Then he took off his hat and added 
 reverently, "The Lord be praised for His bountiful 
 mercies." 
 
 After Christina had borne him away, to take his 
 well-earned rest, Jock and Angela sat on by them- 
 selves. Jock lay back and smoked his pipe content- 
 edly, and his eyes also travelled over the peaceful 
 scene; but they always came back to the face beside 
 him, and rested there longest. It was the loveliest 
 bit of it all; the scene was but the setting for its 
 fairness. 
 
 "He is a dear old man," said Angela, who was 
 watching the two figures as they mounted the bank 
 opposite. Mr. MacPherson still held his hat in his 
 hand, and the light fell on his silvery hair. 
 
 "Yes," answered Jock meditatively. "And he can 
 preach too ! I 've heard that old chap preach sermons 
 that for poetic beauty and dramatic oratory would 
 have won him an archbishopric." 
 
 "That 's all very well for you, because you under- 
 stand them," said Angela ; "but I can't ! I wish he did 
 not preach in Gaelic,"
 
 The Harvesting 207 
 
 "It's a very primitive congregation, you must 
 remember," said Jock. "They would only under- 
 stand the half of what he said if he preached in 
 English." 
 
 "The next time he gives us anything specially 
 beautiful, will you translate it for me?" And Angela 
 turned her head to smile into his eyes, and he forgot 
 everything except the immediate present. 
 
 After a little while Jock sat up, and knocked the 
 ashes out of his pipe against his boot. 
 
 "Do you know what Sheila told me this morning?" 
 he said. 
 
 Angela shook her head. 
 
 "That the larder's nearly empty. You for a 
 housekeeper!" 
 
 " I 'm going to begin housekeeping the very first wet 
 day," she said. "I 'm waiting for it really I am; 
 but it won't come." 
 
 "I hope it won't until our corn is carried," said 
 Jock. He put on his coat, which had been hanging 
 over his shoulders, and stood up. A cloudless haze 
 had gathered in the west, and the sun was sinking 
 in,to it, like a great copper-coloured ball, and the 
 strong, pungent smell of ripe grain was rising from the 
 land. "Just the time for the blackcock to come in," 
 he said, looking about him. "They '11 be after the 
 new-cut corn. I saw some sitting on the stooks last 
 night." 
 
 "And the larder 's nearly empty," remarked Angela. 
 
 Jock nodded. 
 
 "I '11 go home and get my gun. You wait here I 
 won't be long." 
 
 She called after him, as he was walking away:
 
 208 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Bring my plaid back with you." 
 
 "All right," he said; and when he returned he 
 wrapped the plaid round her, and they moved away to 
 another part of the field to a place which suited his 
 plans better. 
 
 "We have to be wary," he explained. "We must 
 hide ourselves" ; and he pulled some stocks down and 
 repiled them to make a shelter, into which they crept, 
 leaving a small space open from where they could see 
 without being seen. 
 
 "It 's like playing at robbers," said Angela under 
 her breath. "How shall we know when they are 
 coming?" 
 
 "We shall hear them," answered Jock; and they sat 
 and listened and waited, and presently they heard the 
 whirring sound of strong wings beating the air, and 
 what seemed like a black cloud in the fading light 
 descended on the corn-field. 
 
 "How tame they are!" whispered Angela. "They 
 are walking about on the ground like old barn-door 
 fowls. And how they gobble! I never saw such 
 greedy beasts. They are so busy eating they have n't 
 time to think of being shot. Look at those on the 
 stocks! How they 're tearing at them." 
 
 "It 's not much fun knocking them over sitting," 
 whispered back Jock. He picked up a lump of hard 
 earth and gave it to her. ' ' Chuck it into the middle of 
 them. I '11 get them as they rise." And as she was 
 about to obey, he threw a couple of cartridges into her 
 lap, and added quickly, " Have them ready for me to 
 reload you know how." 
 
 The next minute there was the sound of birds on the 
 wing: two sharp reports in quick succession, and the
 
 The Harvesting 209 
 
 click of Jock's gun as it ejected the empty cartridges 
 and he reloaded. He thrust his head above the 
 barricade and sent another couple of shots after the 
 rising birds. 
 
 He waited a moment or two, and then crept out 
 and returned, swinging a brace of blackcock in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Two nice young ones," he said. "That last was 
 yours. He was pretty far out. I would n't have got 
 him if you had n't been so quick." 
 
 Angela had not lost the trick of blushing at his 
 praise. 
 
 "I am so glad that I can really help," she said. 
 
 He crawled back into the shelter. 
 
 "We '11 wait for another lot," he said. "They '11 
 come in again. They '11 gorge fit to burst their crops 
 over this new-cut field." 
 
 After some waiting, the birds came down again on 
 the stooks, and Jock got another brace. 
 
 " That will do for to-night," he said. " It 's getting 
 dark, and I hate letting wounded birds away. We 'tt 
 leave this nice fat one at the manse on our way back." 
 
 So they started for home, Jock with his gun over his 
 shoulder, and Angela carrying her sickle. And that 
 evening after dinner Jock hung the sickle up in the 
 hall. 
 
 "Whenever we look at it," said Angela, "it will 
 remind us of the first harvest we cut together." 
 
 "Your harvest," said Jock. "I don't believe there 
 has ever been such a harvest cut in the glen before." 
 
 14
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IN THE GRIP OF DEEP FEELING 
 
 A LTHOUGH Angela could not understand Mr. 
 /~\ MacPherson's sermons, it never occurred to her 
 to stay at home and allow Jock to go to church by 
 himself. 
 
 The primitive service interested her. The bare 
 white walls, and the wooden pulpit, perched like a 
 box above the heads of the congregation, and the 
 curious drone of the Gaelic singing, and Mr. Mac- 
 Pherson's dramatic gestures and fine flow of language, 
 although unintelligible, were all things which held a 
 fascination for her. She watched the people's faces, 
 and with her peculiarly imaginative faculty for weav- 
 ing romance into the trivialities of life, she would make 
 up stories about them; and so she was never tired or 
 bored. 
 
 The chief's pew occupied a small gallery all to itself 
 high up facing the pulpit. It was reached by an out- 
 side stone stair which made it quite private from any 
 other part of the church; and red curtains hung at 
 either end to keep off draughts, so that no inconven- 
 ience of being overlooked was felt by those who 
 occupied it. 
 
 Dileas always accompanied his master to church, 
 but he liked to sit outside on the top step of the stair, 
 
 2IO
 
 In the Grip of Deep Feeling 211 
 
 and from there he looked down on the other dogs 
 plebeian collies, who lay about in the churchyard 
 whilst their masters worshipped within. 
 
 It was growing into late October now, and there was 
 a crispness in the air. The harvest had been carried 
 and stacked, and Mr. MacPherson had made a public 
 mention of thanksgiving from the pulpit as fitting to 
 the occasion. 
 
 "It was riot anything out of the way," said Jock 
 afterwards, when Angela had asked for a translation. 
 "I 've heard him make a much better sermon, when 
 there 's nothing to be thankful for. He rises best to 
 adversity." 
 
 But the Sunday after the Harvest Thanksgiving 
 Angela knew by the expression on Jock's face that the 
 old minister was in one of his moods of fervent spiritual 
 elation. Christina had left some days before, to take 
 up her busy life anew, and Angela concluded that he 
 was feeling the effects of the parting. 
 
 At the beginning of the service Angela always took 
 up her position with becoming dignity in the big chair 
 at the end of the pew, where it was considered the 
 proper place for the chief's wife to sit. Jock sat in 
 what had been his father's place at the other end; and 
 he always hung his round blue bonnet on the crooked 
 handle of his stick and propped it against the door. 
 
 But when the sermon began, Angela descended 
 from her dignity, and making a noiseless flight down 
 the pew, sidled up close to Jock. No one could see 
 them behind the red curtain. 
 
 She always had some excuse ready. "The church- 
 mouse has been nibbling at my toes and I am so 
 frightened," she would whisper. And he would take
 
 212 Bawbee Jock 
 
 her hand in his and hold it through the sermon, and 
 she was content to listen and think her own thoughts. 
 
 "What was it all about to-day?" she asked him, 
 on the Sunday afternoon following Christina's de- 
 parture. "You kept your face turned away all the 
 time ; you only looked at me once, and I don't believe 
 you saw me even then. I know that look ! It means 
 that you are thinking of something which you only 
 see inwardly." 
 
 They were sitting up on the grass knoll which rose 
 at the back of the house. It was their favourite 
 Sunday afternoon walk, to climb to the top of it. 
 Jock was still careful of her weak ankle; but as he 
 helped her up the steep bit, and his arm was very 
 strong, she never found the way too hard. 
 
 There was a seat just below the actual summit of 
 the knoll, facing west. And Angela loved to watch 
 the sunsets from there. 
 
 Jock did not answer the question. He was looking 
 up, watching the flight of a bird above his head. 
 
 " The beggar ! " he exclaimed. ' ' I believe he knows 
 that it 's Sunday, and that I have n't got my gun." 
 
 He raised his stick to his shoulder, and pointed it 
 at the dark object which was winging its way within 
 easy shot. 
 
 "What a funny noise it is making!" said Angela. 
 "A kind of cheeping cry a cry like a child in pain." 
 
 " Don't you see? " he said. " It 's a hawk, and he 's 
 carrying a bird in his claws a young grouse, I expect. 
 That 's why he is flying so heavily. He can't rise." 
 
 " Oh Jock ! is it the grouse that is crying? " 
 
 "Yes! They're such strong brutes, these hawks. 
 I 've shot them more than once flying, with their prey
 
 In the Grip of Deep Feeling 213 
 
 in their talons. Sometimes they get hold of a young 
 rabbit. The poor little beast will cry just as though 
 it were human." 
 
 He followed the bird with his stick, until it rounded 
 the bend of the knoll. 
 
 "And now will it tear the grouse to pieces, and 
 devour it?" asked Angela. 
 
 "Yes," said Jock, and he dropped his stick on the 
 heather beside him. 
 
 r 
 
 She shuddered, and drew her cloak together. 
 
 : ' Are you cold? " he asked quickly. 
 
 "No but Oh Jock! Nature is horribly cruel! 
 horribly, remorselessly cruel!" There was a pite- 
 ous, frightened anguish in the eyes which she turned 
 upon him. 
 
 "My dear!" he remonstrated, taken aback. 
 
 "Yes, it is!" she broke out impetuously. "It is 
 so deceptive, so subtle, so treacherous. It can be so 
 peaceful, and good, and holy like now. Could any- 
 thing be more beautiful than this lovely scene all 
 round us? But you never know! It may be just 
 waiting, and when you trust it most it may spring 
 some terrible, awful tragedy upon you: something 
 that will rend and kill, and sweep happiness away, 
 as though it had never been, and leave nothing but 
 the awfulness of desolation behind; awful, because 
 you know what the happiness has been." 
 
 She was trembling. Her eyes were fixed on the 
 deepening crimson of the sky, and silently Jock 
 watched her face. Her voice rose and fell in sweet, 
 musical rhythm, for she could not make it sound 
 harsh, even had she willed, and its vibrating tones 
 thrilled and moved him. She shuddered again.
 
 214 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " Do you know what Nature often reminds me of?" 
 she said. "Of a great revolving wheel a wheel with 
 cogs. And some of them are kind, and catch you up 
 out of the whirl of life and lay you down gently where 
 you are safe and sure. But some are sharp or heavy 
 like great weights and cut and tear or break! 
 And the poor mutilated thing which is at its mercy 
 has every shred of courage crushed out of it ; and then 
 it throws away the thing it has broken." She 
 covered her face with her hands: "But the wheel goes 
 on it can't stop. It has been set in motion by a hand 
 which Do you think? Do you ever wonder? 
 Sometimes sometimes an awful feeling of horror 
 comes over me, that perhaps the hand cannot stop the 
 wheel. That it has given it life, and that the life has 
 grown and grown too strong for the hand, and ' 
 She faltered, and her voice died away into a whisper. 
 
 Jock drew her into his arms. He was deeply 
 distressed, for he had never seen her in a mood like 
 this before. He let her lean against him, but did not 
 caress her. She did not seek caresses; she wanted 
 understanding. 
 
 When he felt the trembling cease, he said gently : 
 
 "What makes you feel like that?" 
 
 "I don't know," she said slowly. "Instinct, per- 
 haps imagination. Imagination most, I suppose. 
 Feeling what other people are feeling. That 's the 
 worst, and the best of imagination. I can't help 
 feeling what other people are feeling. Things im- 
 pressions instinctive meanings come so quickly. 
 They seem to be printed on my brain unconsciously. 
 I can't help it. It 's very uncomfortable sometimes." 
 
 She moved a little, and found a more comfortable
 
 In the Grip of Deep Feeling 215 
 
 resting-place for her head; but he did not interrupt 
 her, and she continued: 
 
 "I was not brought up in the ordinary kind of way, 
 you know. Perhaps that had something to do with 
 it. I had no brothers and sisters. I can't remember 
 my mother ; and my father his memory is very vague. 
 Flossie really brought me up. He was very fond of 
 me; but I think I was a kind of experiment. His 
 theory of bringing me up was to make me learn to 
 develop myself. His favourite boast is that he never 
 blindfolded me." 
 
 Jock did not make any comment, and she looked up 
 at him. There was something in his expression which 
 made her ask what he was thinking about. 
 
 "I was looking back," he said, "and putting 
 things together." 
 
 "Putting things together. How? Why?" she 
 asked quickly. 
 
 "I mean, I could see that among those people 
 the Potter lot well, you didn't really belong to 
 them." 
 
 She laid her head down again on his shoulder. 
 
 "They were a very mixed lot," she said. " Some of 
 them were all right. Dolly is a dear little thing, and 
 I 'm so sorry for her having such a horror as Montague 
 Potter for a husband. It would be dreadfully unfair 
 to taboo her because of him; and then, of course, he 
 has heaps and heaps of money, and money counts for 
 such a lot, doesn't it?" 
 
 Jock put a curl of hair back from her forehead. 
 
 "Money did not count for much with you, or you 
 would not have married me," he said. 
 
 "You would have been you just the same," she
 
 216 Bawbee Jock 
 
 answered. Her mood grew grave again. She spoke 
 a little timidly. " Did I shock you just now, when I 
 spoke like that about Nature and that terrible wheel? 
 When you get down to the very dregs of another kind 
 of nature than this lovely one here all round us, 
 sordid, degrading misery, with nothing to redeem it 
 from its utter hopelessness that shakes you! You 
 wonder at me, and you are going to ask me how I 
 know such things. I had a friend; and she took up 
 slumming; and I asked her to take me with her, and 
 she did; but " She freed herself from his arm. 
 She sat up and pushed back the soft hat she wore, im- 
 patiently, from her brow. "That 's where I am no 
 use," she exclaimed. " That 's where my imagination 
 makes such a fool of me. I went; and the things I 
 saw and could not make any better the despair of it 
 possessed me. I could not get it out of my head. I 
 made myself miserable and ill and utterly useless! 
 Yes, that was the worst of it utterly useless!" She 
 looked at Jock with tragic appeal. " Flossie found out 
 what I was doing, and stopped me. ' If you had the 
 temperament of a fish, you might be able to nibble at 
 the fringe of it; but you! you '11 kill yourself in six 
 weeks, and no one will be a pin the better for it, ex- 
 cept the undertaker,' was what he said. Fancy being 
 told that ! And it was quite true. I long to be able 
 to do big things things that would mean a kind of 
 salvation to humanity and I 'm so ridiculously 
 constituted that I can do nothing when it comes to 
 the doing." 
 
 Jock looked still more distressed. He wanted to 
 comfort her, but did not know how. 
 
 "I ought not to have spoken like that about Na-
 
 In the Grip of Deep Feeling 217 
 
 ture," she said remorsefully "likening it to that 
 terrible wheel. You love Nature; you trust it so." 
 
 "I Ve been brought up to believe in Nature," said 
 Jock simply. "It won't let you get out of your depth 
 somehow. There 's the feeling that behind it, behind 
 what we see and feel, there is a deeper depth still the 
 depth that nothing can fathom." 
 
 "It satisfies you," said Angela, and she sighed. 
 
 "It is the witness of the unseen; the embodiment of 
 God to me," said Jock reverently. "There is no 
 death in Nature. Everything goes on life reshaping 
 life; it is the fulfilling of the eternal destiny. It gives 
 one an assurance of limitless strength at least, that 's 
 how I feel about it." 
 
 For some time they sat silent, watching, until the 
 sun's rim had dipped below the horizon line. 
 
 "Would n't you like to go down now?" said Jock. 
 "It will come up cold presently." 
 
 "I 'm not cold," she answered. "We will wait a 
 little longer. The most beautiful bit of a sunset is the 
 afterglow. There is no dazzle then, and I love to 
 watch the sky when it melts into that pale green colour 
 below the blue, and the little pearly fluffs of cloud turn 
 from pink to purple against the light. We will wait 
 till then. Tell me about Mr. MacPherson's sermon. 
 You were so interested in the hawk that you never 
 answered my question about it. What was the text? " 
 
 Jock thought for a minute and then he repeated, 
 slowly: 
 
 "'When the time was come that He should be 
 received up, He stedfastly set His face to go to Jeru- 
 salem' that was it. The text was in St. Luke, the 
 ninth chapter and the fifty-first verse."
 
 218 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Yes?" questioned Angela. 
 
 But Jock was thinking ; and she knew that he would 
 not speak until he had thought out what he was going 
 to say. 
 
 "The point that the old man worked his sermon 
 round was on the significance of the word 'stedfastly/ " 
 he said at length: "'He set His face stedfastly.' I 
 wish I could translate for you the poetry of the 
 language, but I can't ! I can only give you the sense 
 of it. He began this way: The time had come the 
 time for the Crucifixion. It was irrevocable. Christ 
 was to die on the Cross. It was a most awful death 
 the most cruel and humiliating that could be imagined : 
 a lingering agony, held up to the scoffing jeers of the 
 people whom He was dying to save. He knew all 
 that when He set His face to Jerusalem. It was n't 
 as though He were going into a fight with the chance 
 of winning through. He knew to the last drop what 
 that death meant and He set His face stedfastly. 
 He stopped on the way many times, helping people 
 little children, and weak women, and all sorts of poor 
 hopeless creatures. But He never swerved. After 
 every interruption He set His face stedfastly. He 
 went on to meet that awful doom." 
 
 Jock paused, and Angela touched his hand. 
 
 " Please go on," she whispered. " I love the tone of 
 your voice when you speak of things like that." 
 
 "But I 'm not good at explaining," said Jock. "I 
 can't bring out the grandeur of the subject. Of course 
 he went on to draw the inference: the example set to 
 us. That our lives should be the sacrifice of self, 
 the following up of what we set ourselves to do 
 stedfastly."
 
 In the Grip of Deep Feeling 219 
 
 " Oh Jock! I wish I was good like you," said Angela 
 wistfully. "You would do that. You would set 
 your face stedfastly. Your faith is so strong, and 
 yet so simple. I will never be like that; I am not 
 strong enough to be simple." The sweet voice 
 faltered. "I I may grow better, living with you; 
 but would it be a right sort of betterness? I should 
 be good because you are good, because I wished to go 
 to the same heaven as you. Heaven would not be 
 heaven without you. If " She leant forward, and 
 stretched out her arms to the glory of the dying day. 
 "Look!" she cried "look at those great bars of light, 
 like golden gates ; and you see the beyond through the 
 bars. It is like heaven waiting for us!" 
 
 Suddenly she turned to him, and, with a cry, threw 
 herself upon his breast. Wildly she wept, and wildly 
 she clung to him. Her tears were on his cheek as he 
 strained her to him. 
 
 " My darling ! my darling ! What is the matter? " 
 he implored. 
 
 "If you were to go in first," she sobbed, "between 
 these bars, and leave me outside! Oh, you won't! 
 Promise me promise me that you won't leave me 
 behind! I could not live without you I could not! 
 I am not strong like you; I could not set my face 
 stedfastly, and and go on alone." 
 
 He loosened the little cold hands which clung round 
 his neck, and held them in his firm, warm clasp. He 
 kissed her passionately, telling her that he would 
 never leave her, that she was his love, his darling, 
 heart of his heart. He did not well know what he 
 said, what he promised only that she was dearer to 
 him than life itself.
 
 22O Bawbee Jock 
 
 She sobbed herself quiet in his arms, like a tired 
 child. Her breath came in long-drawn sighs. When 
 she raised her head and tried to smile, it was a very 
 tearful smile. She whispered that he must forgive 
 her, for she had made him unhappy, and there was 
 nothing to be unhappy about. 
 
 "It was that cruel hawk, with the grouse in its 
 claws, that began it," she explained. "That pitiful 
 crying sound, like a child in pain, was dreadful! I 
 can't bear to hear an animal suffering. And then the 
 sunset! It looked so like a gate, and the bars seemed 
 to be closing. It put the idea of being shut out into 
 my head." 
 
 "It was only a sunset," said Jock; "and it's all 
 faded now, and I 'm going to take you home. It 's 
 getting cold and dark. Your poor little hands are 
 like ice!" 
 
 "I am cold," she admitted. 
 
 "Come!" he said. "Shall we run down the hill to 
 warm you up? No! I forgot about your ankle." 
 
 But she stood looking up at him. 
 
 "I wonder," she said slowly "I wonder what you 
 would do if you found out that I was a horrid little 
 fraud? I am, you know! I 'm " 
 
 But Jock only laughed as he put his arm through 
 hers. 
 
 "We '11 argue that out some other time," he said. 
 "We 're going home to tea now." And he helped her 
 down all the steep turns of the hill-path, and they had 
 tea together beside the fire in his den, and he made her 
 forget her tears in the tenderness of his love.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AN AMIABLE TORMENTOR 
 
 AND chill October merged into dull November, 
 and the days crept on and grew shorter and 
 darker, and the weather broke and a sweeping west- 
 erly gale scattered the last of the autumn leaves. 
 Instead of russet and gold on the loch-side, and 
 purple on the hill-slopes, grey mist and driven rain 
 shrouded the face of the land. 
 
 When Angela looked out of the window on the first 
 day of the storm, and saw the changed aspect of the 
 scene and heard the patter of the rain on the garden 
 paths, she said to Jock, who was standing near: 
 
 "Are you going out in this?" 
 
 "I must," he answered. " I have things to do. I 
 can't stop in on account of the weather." 
 
 "Then I shall begin my housekeeping to-day," she 
 said cheerfully. "I 've always said I Ve been waiting 
 for a wet day, haven't I? I am longing to begin. 
 My head 's bursting with ideas. It will be quite a 
 business to know what to start on first." 
 
 Jock's unresponsiveness was very apparent. 
 
 1 ' Are you not pleased ? ' ' she asked. She knew quite 
 well that he was not pleased. She could read his face 
 like a book. He was too transparently honest to be 
 able to hide his feelings. 
 
 221
 
 222 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "You talk as if you would n't miss me a bit," he 
 said grudgingly. "And it will be the first day that 
 we have not done everything together." 
 
 "Sometimes I was only able to watch you doing 
 things from a distance," she corrected sweetly. 
 
 But Jock would not be cheered. He looked at her 
 with gloomy reproach. 
 
 "I believe you 're glad it 's a wet day," he said, 
 "and you can't watch me this time from a distance. 
 I 'm going over to Glenmoira. I had a letter from 
 Potter last night ; he wants me to see about the amount 
 of game that 's being sent him. He evidently does n't 
 think he 's getting his money's worth." 
 
 " I hate that man ! " exclaimed Angela. " He treats 
 Glenmoira just as he would a poulterer's shop, and 
 you the man behind the counter!" 
 
 "It 's to my interest to look after the place," said 
 Jock. "Even as it is things are going to pieces!" 
 
 "Never mind, dear," she said quickly. She could 
 not bear to see the shadow which always fell on his 
 face at any reference to Glenmoira. "This is Mr. 
 Potter's last year, is n't it? You will only have to 
 put up with him for one more season, and then " 
 She broke off. 
 
 "It won't make much difference," Jock answered, 
 and he sighed. " You see, there 's no end to it. If it 
 is not Potter, it will be some other man whoever bids 
 highest." 
 
 She was very sweet to him, and full of pretty, tender 
 good-byes when, a little later, he took his departure. 
 She watched him go down the garden path and under 
 the holly arch and round the bend of the road with 
 Dileas following at his heels; and then she stood for
 
 An Amiable Tormentor 223 
 
 some minutes at the door watching to see if he would 
 make some excuse to return, but he did not. 
 
 She went back into the house, and paused in the 
 hall, listening. It felt so quiet, so empty, so deathly 
 still. 
 
 " How awful it is without him ! " she murmured, and 
 resolutely tried to shake off the chill of loneliness 
 which she felt creeping over her. ' ' He promised to be 
 back in time for tea. I must begin and do something 
 at once, so as not to have time to think. " 
 
 What would she do first? she asked herself. She 
 went upstairs to her room, and spent the next hour in 
 turning out the contents of her boxes, which she had 
 never found time thoroughly to unpack. And then 
 she sat down to survey the chaos she had created. 
 
 "What useless things maids are!" she exclaimed, 
 the childish trick of talking aloud to herself coming 
 back to her naturally when she was alone. "I never 
 saw such a lot of stupid clothes," she continued wrath- 
 fully. "I shall lock them all up again." 
 
 It was easier said than done. 
 
 "They seem to take more room going in than they 
 did coming out," she panted, trying to squeeze a 
 Paquin ball-gown under the tray of an already bulging 
 box. "Go in! you must! I don't want you." 
 And, sitting down on the lid she bumped up and down 
 until she succeeded in making the lock catch. ' ' There ! 
 You 're finished," she said triumphantly, and went 
 on to the next box. 
 
 "I shall keep out all these pretty frilly things with 
 the blue ribbons run through them. He likes blue 
 ribbons," she soliloquised, sorting into neat bundles 
 some filmy white garments which were scattered round
 
 224 Bawbee Jock 
 
 her on the floor. "And that!" She held up a soft, 
 clinging wisp of a tea-gown. "It 's easy to slip on 
 in a hurry, and I 'm always in a hurry when I 'm 
 dressing for dinner, because the post-bag comes in 
 just as the bell rings. I shall keep that out." 
 
 She worked busily. The next time she sat down 
 she surveyed her surroundings with satisfaction. 
 
 "I Ve done it beautifully, and in half the time 
 Antoinette would have taken. I can't think what 
 maids do. Yes" she glanced round "everything 
 is neat and tidy. All the silly things I don't want put 
 back in their boxes, and the things I do want folded 
 away in the cupboards." She leant back in her chair. 
 "I've enjoyed doing it. I believe tidying up is a 
 born instinct in a woman. How I loved sweeping out 
 my dolls' house ! and I used to make my dolls' clothes 
 too. There was that big doll, and its clothes came off 
 and on: I made lots of them." 
 
 She gazed abstractedly at nothing for a little while, 
 and then she picked up one of the white frilly things 
 with the blue ribbons running through it, and ex- 
 amined it carefully. 
 
 "I believe I could sew as well as that," she mur- 
 mured. "I 'm sure I could even better. That is 
 done by some poor thing who only wants the money ; 
 and if if I had to do it, I would be sewing beautiful 
 thoughts into every seam." She bent her head and 
 scrutinised the stitching. "Such dear little seams 
 and little tucks and buttonholes! I wonder if 
 have forgotten how to make buttonholes?" 
 
 She laid the pretty thing back in its place, and going 
 over to the window, stood looking out at the rain and 
 the driving mist, but the grey aspect did not depress
 
 An Amiable Tormentor 225 
 
 her. Her lips were smiling. She was looking, not at 
 the rain-drenched hills, but down a golden pathway of 
 her own imagining. She saw visions a wealth of 
 imagery beyond the ken of outward sight, as beautiful 
 as the enchantment of the dawn. 
 
 "If if that were ever to happen," she whispreed 
 to the rain-drops on the window-pane. But the rain- 
 drops were too busy running after each other to pay 
 any attention to her whisper. 
 
 Lunch-time came, and the empty chair gave her a 
 renewed feeling of desolation. 
 
 "He might have left Dileas with me," she said to 
 herself. "If he ever goes away again I shall make 
 him leave Dileas on trust. Dileas does n't understand 
 anything except Gaelic, but he can look intelligent, 
 and when I say 'Jock' he knows what I mean." 
 
 After lunch she wrote some letters, but got up 
 several times to go and look at the eight-day clock in 
 the hall. 
 
 " I should like to shake you ! " she said to it. "Why 
 don't you hurry up? Only four o'clock. I may like 
 you better when you strike half-past. It will be tea- 
 time then." 
 
 The idea of tea gave her an inspiration. 
 
 "I might do a little housekeeping now," she said; 
 and she opened the door leading into the kitchen and 
 looked in. 
 
 The lamp was lit, but the kitchen was deserted, for 
 Sheila had gone out to her own cottage. She had put 
 everything in order. The tea-tray was set ready to 
 carry in when Jock returned. 
 
 Sheila had evidently left in the middle of her work. 
 Some half -finished ironing was lying on a table a neat 
 is
 
 226 Bawbee Jock 
 
 bundle of blue-checked aprons and a snowy white 
 cap. 
 
 "Sheila's mutch!" said Angela, picking up the cap; 
 and a second later she was trying it on before a looking- 
 glass which hung on the wall. She tied the strings 
 under her chin, and craned her head round to catch 
 the back view of herself in the glass. 
 
 "I look exactly like Sheila," she murmured; and 
 running back to the table, she shook out one of the 
 blue-checked aprons and tied it round her waist. 
 "And there 's her little tartan shawl hanging on the 
 peg of the door!" she cried delightedly. "On you 
 go too!" 
 
 She was standing on tiptoe, so as to admire as much 
 of herself as possible in the glass, when she heard 
 Jock's whistle, and he was barely inside the house be- 
 fore he was calling her name. Hastily turning down 
 the lamp, she caught up a broom, and was busy sweep- 
 ing some imaginary cinders under the grate, when he 
 put his head in at the door and said: 
 
 "I have come back, Sheila. You can bring in the 
 tea"; and, not waiting for an answer, he went out 
 again. 
 
 Angela laughed gleefully. 
 
 " What fun ! He was quite taken in " ; and creeping 
 in behind the door, which Jock had left open, she stood 
 listening. 
 
 She heard him go through the downstairs part of 
 the house, then his step on the stairs, calling her name 
 as he went. Now he was moving about above; 
 another minute he was coming down the stairs again 
 very quickly. 
 
 She peeped from her hiding-place. He was stand-
 
 An Amiable Tormentor 227 
 
 ing, his head thrown up, listening. He looked like a 
 stag scenting danger. 
 
 "I shall have to come out now. It is a shame to 
 tease him," she murmured; but Jock forestalled her 
 intention. 
 
 He wheeled round quickly, and striding across to the 
 door, behind which she was lurking, threw it open. 
 
 "Sheila! where is your mistress?" he said in a per- 
 emptory voice, not at all like his usual mode of 
 speaking. 
 
 He had flattened the door against Angela with the 
 violence of his entrance, and stood with his back to 
 her. She popped her head round the corner of the 
 keyhole, the frilled cap framing her face, and imitated 
 Sheila's soft drawl. 
 
 "Will it be the master himself whatever?" she said. 
 Then she laughed. "Oh, you old silly, not to know 
 your own wife!" 
 
 But she was not prepared for the effect of her 
 pleasantry. Jock staggered back, almost as though 
 he had been struck; then recovering himself, he caught 
 her and drew her from her hiding-place up to the 
 lamp. 
 
 "It is you! Good God, what a fright you gave 
 me!" 
 
 He sat down on the edge of the table, and she saw 
 that his face had blanched white. She could not 
 have believed that the tanned skin could have lost its 
 colour so quickly. He still held her in front of him. 
 Then he took off her cap and dropped it on the floor, 
 and the shawl and the checked apron followed. 
 
 "Oh, Jock!" she cried aghast, "I I thought you 
 would be amused."
 
 228 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Amused! amused! To come back and not find 
 you! I never got such a fright in my life." 
 
 "But I thought I looked so nice," pleaded An- 
 gela. "Didn't you think I made a pretty old 
 woman?" 
 
 "I don't want to see you look like an old woman," 
 he answered. Then he threw his arms round her with 
 rough vehemence. "Never play a trick like that on 
 me again," he said. "I had been looking forward all 
 day to finding you watching for me ; and to come into 
 an empty house and not to see you! not to hear you 
 answer when I called! It was horrible ! It was as if 
 you were dead!" 
 
 "No, dear, I won't; I promise," she said meekly. 
 "We '11 forget all about it. I promise never to give 
 you surprises like that again." She picked up the 
 cap and the shawl and the apron, and laid them aside. 
 "Shall we have tea now?" she said. "Sheila has left 
 everything ready." She clapped her hands. "I 
 know! We '11 have it in here. You must keep on sit- 
 ting on the table I 'm sure a working man sits on 
 the kitchen table ; and we will put the tray between us 
 so! How much tea shall I put in? Oh, Jock, do 
 you remember poor Christina and the hot water, and 
 how vexed she was?" 
 
 "Yes," said Jock, who had recovered himself suffi- 
 ciently to allow a smile to cross his face. "Poor 
 Christina ! How we chaffed her ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Angela. "She really was dreadfully 
 vexed, because, of course, being a nurse, it hurt her 
 pride to let us think she had made a mistake; and 
 it was n't her mistake. A stupid little new servant 
 had swished the tea out of the teapot with hot water
 
 An Amiable Tormentor 229 
 
 whilst Christina had gone to put on her hat. I always 
 forgot to tell you the explanation of that story." 
 
 So they had tea together in the kitchen; and Jock 
 sat on the table and Angela made the tea, and Jock 
 regained his peace of mind. Then she gave him a 
 description of how she had spent her day. 
 
 "And, Jock, do you know what I simply must get 
 simply must? A work-basket!" she exclaimed. 
 "Not a useless thing for show, but a real old-fashioned 
 one. Would n't you like to see me darning your 
 stockings? A real nice work-basket would keep me 
 out of mischief. It would keep me busy, and then 
 I would not have time to play silly jokes! You 
 know, there 's no use in my trying to do house- 
 keeping, because Sheila does it far better than I ever 
 could." 
 
 Some few evenings later the post-bag was delayed, 
 and did not arrive until after dinner. 
 
 Jock brought in the letters himself, and a parcel 
 which he laid down beside Angela. 
 
 "It 's addressed to you," he said. 
 
 "A parcel! For me? I don't expect anything." 
 
 She examined the label. 
 
 "Suppose you open it?" suggested Jock. "Shall I 
 unfasten the string for you?" 
 
 The string was undone, and many wrappings 
 removed. When Angela came to the last, her cheeks 
 grew pink. 
 
 "I know!" she cried. 
 
 Jock was bending over her, and she threw her arms 
 round his neck and kissed him, and then quickly 
 pulled off the last wrapper. There it was! A large 
 round work-basket!
 
 230 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Oh!" she gasped breathlessly, after she had lifted 
 the lid and looked underneath. 
 
 For quite half an hour she played with the contents 
 of her work-basket. 
 
 "Why did you kiss me for it?" said Jock, who was 
 watching her. "You never even asked where it 
 came from?" 
 
 "As if I did not know!" she retorted. Then she 
 added softly: "You give me everything. It was not 
 difficult to guess." 
 
 She looked round the room. 
 
 "Now, what can I begin on?" 
 
 Jock had risen, and was filling his pipe by the fire- 
 place. 
 
 "Isn't there something about you that wants 
 mending?" she asked. 
 
 "No, I don't think so," he answered. 
 . "There must be!" 
 
 She had threaded a needle with a long black thread, 
 and was drawing it through her fingers and waving it 
 slowly from side to side. 
 
 "Do you know what you look like?" said Jock, 
 laughing. "Like a cat when it 's switching its tail 
 about, waiting to pounce on a mouse!" 
 
 "And you 're the mouse," she answered; and her 
 eyes settled on his kilt. "It 's too long," she said 
 "Let me run a tuck in it." 
 
 "It is n't too long," answered Jock indignantly. 
 
 "Well, it hangs crooked, then! It droops down at 
 the side. Come here, and I '11 show you. I could give 
 it a pinch up in two minutes." And she tied a knot on 
 her thread. 
 
 Jock edged away from her.
 
 An Amiable Tormentor 231 
 
 "There 's nothing wrong with my kilt. It 's a very 
 good kilt. It was one of my father's." 
 
 "Oh, that settles it! If it 's as old as that, it must 
 want something." She made a grab at him. "Let 
 me see." 
 
 Jock escaped hastily out of reach of her hand. He 
 sat down on a chair and tucked his kilt under him. 
 
 "You may do what you like with anything else, but 
 I won't have my kilt touched," he said decidedly. 
 
 Angela sighed; her eyes roamed round the room 
 again. 
 
 "There 's a ring off that window-curtain up there. 
 Now, how did that happen?" 
 
 "I did it," confessed Jock. "I only gave it a little 
 tug." 
 
 Angela broke into a peal of laughter. 
 
 "Oh, Jock! you don't realise how strong you are. 
 Your 'little tugs ' are enough to bring the house about 
 our ears. If you fetch down that curtain, I will sew on 
 the ring. That would be doing something really 
 useful." 
 
 "Has that taken a little of the energy out of you?" 
 said Jock, after the ring had been sewn on and the 
 curtain hung up again. "Is it safe for me to come 
 near you now?" 
 
 "Yes." She laughed, and sank back against the 
 green cushion which always lay on the arm of her sofa. 
 'Jock! how did you know where to get that basket?" 
 she said suddenly. "All the fittings! How did you 
 know what to choose?" 
 
 Jock looked at the green cushion and nodded 
 gravely. 
 
 "Christina!" exclaimed Angela. "Jock, how sly
 
 232 Bawbee Jock 
 
 you've been! You wrote and asked Christina to 
 choose it. But it was nice of you. I think I would 
 like to hug you again." She smiled up at him. "I 
 wonder if any wife is so well taken care of as I am? " 
 
 It touched the tenderest chord within him when she 
 spoke like that, and he flushed at her words. 
 
 "I 'm so afraid of being clumsy, or stupid, about 
 thinking of things for you," he said. " I 've never had 
 to do this kind of 'taking care' of any one before. I 
 like to think that you have no one else that you 
 cannot do without me." 
 
 "That's just it," she answered. "I can't do 
 without you."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 BAWBEE JOCK IS OUTRAGED 
 
 '"T^HE last Saturday night before Christmas and 
 
 1 the best week's earnings that I 've collected 
 yet," said Angela. 
 
 ' ' Earnings ? Thievings, you mean, ' ' answered Jock. 
 
 She was sitting on his knee, and had just finished 
 turning out his pockets. 
 
 She went through this little ceremony every 
 Saturday night, and then she tied up all the money 
 she had found in her pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 "Sixpence more than last Saturday night," she said. 
 "That is because I remembered to look in your 
 sporran ; I sometimes forget that that 's a pocket 
 too." She jingled the contents of her handkerchief 
 triumphantly. "Do you know that the first thing I 
 ever heard about you was that you lived upon porridge 
 and whiskey, and counted your bawbees every Satur- 
 day night?" She jingled her handkerchief again. 
 "They are my bawbees now." 
 
 "Yours!" he answered, looking at her askance. 
 "They are mine! Earned by the sweat of my brow." 
 
 "Well," she retorted, "and doesn't a working man 
 always give his wages to his wife to spend?" 
 
 "He gives her them you take them," answered 
 Jock. "You take everything of me. You 're a 
 shameless reiver." 
 
 233
 
 234 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "A reiver? What's that?" she queried. "Any- 
 thing pretty?" 
 
 "A reiver is a robber! A thief! A marauding 
 scoundrel ! In olden times, when the clans used to be 
 at war with each other, they " 
 
 "Oh yes, I know; Flossie warned me," she inter- 
 rupted. "When one clan had eaten up everything of 
 its own, it went off on a foraging expedition and stole 
 what it could steal from its next-door neighbour." 
 She pursed up her mouth, and put her head on one 
 side. "Reiving must be infectious. I 'm becoming a 
 typical Highlander. Don't you think so? " 
 
 "What are you going to do with your bawbees?" 
 he asked. "There 's nothing to spend your thievings 
 on up here." 
 
 "What am I going to spend my bawbees on?" 
 She still held her head on one side and studied him 
 meditatively. "I 'm going to you will see. After 
 Christmas I will give up reiving." 
 
 She hid her thievings in one of the pockets of her 
 work-basket. 
 
 "To change the subject," she said, "I had a letter 
 from Flossie to-night. He 's going abroad. He '11 
 have started by now. He says that an English Christ- 
 mas gives him a fit of the blues ; that the sight of the 
 turkeys hanging up in the shop-windows makes him 
 feel that he is only one degree removed from cannibal- 
 ism. He never used to say this kind of things before; 
 but perhaps he feels lonely ! Poor Flossie ! I think 
 he misses me, Jock. Where is his letter? Oh yes, 
 here it is. He 's going to stay abroad for months; 
 perhaps go for a tour round the world. He says he has 
 never done America, and Listen to this Jock:
 
 Bawbee Jock is Outraged 235 
 
 "'I am sending you my library subscription. I 
 mean the tangible part of it. The box ought to arrive 
 almost as soon as you get this. I have n't a notion 
 what books they may send. I 'm rather cosmopolitan 
 in my tastes, as you know, but you can make out the 
 next list for yourself. I can't prevent your body from 
 browsing in a state of bovine rusticity, but I can try 
 to keep your mind from following suit.' 
 
 "That last remark is rather unkind perhaps I 
 ought not to have read it out," said Angela, folding up 
 the letter. "Has it hurt you, dear? Flossie is 
 jealous. He must have a tiny hit at you somewhere." 
 
 "I suppose he looks upon me as a kind of savage," 
 said Jock. "I don't talk much about what I read, 
 because I Ve never had any one that I could give 
 myself away to about things I really feel." 
 
 "You can give yourself away to me," suggested 
 Angela. 
 
 He smiled gravely. 
 
 " You are so quick. Your brain works like lightning. 
 When I try to express myself, my tongue feels like a 
 stiff key in a rusty lock." 
 
 "Your tongue is not quite so stiff as you think," 
 answered Angela. "You nearly always get the best 
 of an argument perhaps that 's because you 're 
 Scotch." 
 
 "We don't argue," remonstrated Jock. "We only 
 discuss things rub off each other's corners." 
 
 "There is one thing that I am thankful for," she con- 
 tinued, "and that is, that when you are sitting beside 
 me here in the evenings, and you are reading and I 
 am reading that you don't want to read me out 
 scraps of your book. That 's maddening. People
 
 236 Bawbee Jock 
 
 who do that invariably gabble, or laugh, or skip from 
 one bit to another, and all the cream has been skimmed 
 off the book for you by the time you come to read it for 
 yourself. If you love me, Jock, don't read out aloud 
 to me." 
 
 "Very well," said Jock. "I won't read to you un- 
 less you ask me." 
 
 The following evening Flossie's book-box arrived, 
 and after dinner Angela settled herself in her corner of 
 the sofa, and Jock drew in his arm-chair and arranged 
 the reading-lamp so that it should shed its light 
 equally ; and then he placed the box on the hearthrug 
 between them. 
 
 "Here is the key," said Angela. "It was sent to 
 me." 
 
 "Your Flossie has been very generous," said Jock, 
 after he had opened the box. He took out some half 
 dozen books, and laid them on the table. 
 
 "Is that all? I don't call that particularly gener- 
 ous," answered Angela. 
 
 "There are some more underneath," said Jock. 
 "You look through your lot and see what they 
 promise." 
 
 He had taken his pipe out of the rack and was slowly 
 filling it. 
 
 Angela's eyes sparkled as she read the titles of the 
 first two books. 
 
 "I love old favourites, of course," she said, looking 
 across at Jock's well-filled bookshelves; "but there is 
 something very refreshing in getting a new thing, is n't 
 there? Ah!" as a familiar name caught her eye. 
 "How delightful! His very last, and to keep for my 
 own! Do you see? Here 's a slip of paper inside.
 
 Bawbee Jock is Outraged 237 
 
 'Sent by Lord Francis Carleton's orders.' How nice 
 of Flossie ; it is not even cut." She bent forward, and 
 took Jock's skean-dhu out of his stocking. " I should 
 always advise a woman to marry a Highlander; they 
 make such useful husbands," she said. "Their wives 
 get such nice little pickings off them. This makes an 
 excellent paper-knife," and she began running the 
 sharp blade of the skean-dhu up the uncut leaves of 
 the volume lying on her lap. 
 
 "Nice little pickings!" echoed Jock. "I should 
 think you do get nice little pickings off me. To say 
 nothing of stealing my money, you take my kilt pins 
 for your ties, and my blue bonnet is as often on your 
 head as it is on mine." He lit his pipe, and turning 
 over the remainder of the books in the box, picked up 
 one at random. His pipe was drawing well, and he 
 settled himself comfortably in his chair. 
 
 Angela did not look up; she was still cutting the 
 leaves of her book, and talking desultorily as she turned 
 over the pages. 
 
 "There is something very much your own about a 
 book that you cut for yourself," she remarked. She 
 cut a few more pages. "This man's writing ought to 
 appeal to you, Jock. He understands and loves Na- 
 ture so. He makes you see the beauty of it through 
 everything, and he is so human. You come across 
 such nice bits, quite unexpectedly somehow, that 
 seem to have been written specially for you yourself. 
 Do you know that feeling?" 
 
 Jock did not answer, and she went on talking to her- 
 self. Sometimes when he was smoking he listened to 
 her for quite a long time without speaking. 
 
 "There! I have cut half the book," she said. "I
 
 238 Bawbee Jock 
 
 won't begin reading it just now. I shall keep it until I 
 want to be freshened up. I know how it will make me 
 feel like a plant which has been hidden away in some 
 dusty corner, and then put out into the rain. A 
 geranium plant, I think. They look so miserable 
 when they get dusty and dried up." She laughed. 
 "Jock! do you think I could ever look like a little 
 musty-fusty geranium plant that wanted putting out 
 into the rain?" 
 
 She glanced up. He had not heard her; he was 
 absorbed in the book he was reading. She looked from 
 his face to its cover, and a smothered exclamation was 
 strangled on her lips. 
 
 "Now, what will happen?" she said to herself. 
 " It will be intensely interesting to see how he takes it. 
 He reads very quickly, although he says his tongue is 
 like a rusty key in a stiff lock. It 's big print and 
 very short." She took notice of how many pages he 
 had already turned, and continued soliloquising, as she 
 watched his face. " He has not got his first shock yet ; 
 he is just hovering on the brink. He hurried over 
 those last two pages. He 's skipping on a little. 
 That line between his eyebrows always comes when he 
 has one of his intense fits of concentration. If I 
 spoke to him just now, he would not hear me." She 
 picked up her book again, and went on quietly with the 
 cutting of the pages. "I won't read just yet awhile," 
 she murmured. " I want to see what effect that kind 
 of a book will have on my dear Bawbee!" 
 
 At last she finished her cutting. She leant back 
 against the green cushion, and lay watching Jock's 
 face. Once she glanced at the clock. 
 
 "He is giving it a fair trial. It is so characteristic
 
 Bawbee Jock is Outraged 239 
 
 of him to go on with a thing to the end, once he has 
 begun; but he need not tell me afterwards that that 
 was his only reason. I '11 try an experiment." 
 
 She stretched out her hand and laid it on one of 
 the pleats of his kilt. When they were sitting reading 
 together, she would often do that; and sometimes with- 
 out looking up he would take the hand and hold it, 
 until she drew it away again. Perhaps it was that she 
 craved a mute sympathy for some passage which she 
 was reading. She would explain to him afterwards 
 what it had been; but he always waited until she 
 chose to speak of her own accord. 
 
 He did not take her hand. He raised his head and 
 looked at her over the top of the book. The two sharp 
 lines between his eyebrows were very strongly marked, 
 and there was an expression in his eyes she had never 
 seen there before. 
 
 She left her hand lying where it was. Against the 
 dark greens and blues of the tartan and under the 
 lamp's soft glow it looked a white, soft, fragile little 
 thing. A sweet purity seemed to hover round it; 
 and it lay as though confiding in his trust. But he 
 did not touch it; and at last she drew it away. 
 
 She lifted one of the other books from the table 
 beside her and opened it. She had barely glanced 
 through the list of the many editions into which it had 
 run, when there was a swishing sound heard, a thud 
 against the top bar of the grate, and something landed 
 violently in the heart of the fire. The logs burst into a 
 blaze and the sparks streamed up the chimney in long 
 fiery tongues.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A DISCUSSION 
 
 " TOCK!" exclaimed Angela. 
 
 U Jock was leaning forward, watching the hungry 
 flames as they licked greedily round the cover of the 
 book which he had thrown into the fire. 
 
 "Jock!" repeated Angela. 
 
 "Damn!" exclaimed Jock; and then he sat back in 
 his chair and stared at her. His face was very red, 
 and unutterable disgust was written on it. 
 
 Angela looked at him with raised eyebrows and said 
 nothing. There was a few moments' silence, and then 
 he blurted out abruptly: 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 "I 've never heard you use that word before," she 
 said. 
 
 "I Ve said I 'm sorry," he answered. 
 
 She smoothed the page of the book lying open on her 
 lap, and said slowly, as though measuring each word: 
 
 " I accept your apology; but I expected to hear you 
 say something like that." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I have been watching you." 
 
 "Did you know what I was reading?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered. 
 
 He looked away from her. The fire had settled 
 240
 
 A Discussion 241 
 
 down into a fierce red glow, and a dark heap smoul- 
 dered in its heart. 
 
 "You know the book? You have read it?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. 
 
 He rose and stood by the mantelpiece, moving some 
 ornaments in an aimless way which was very unlike 
 him, and spoke jerkily. 
 
 "Have you read many books of that kind? Is it 
 that kind of stuff that fed your imagination? You 
 remember that Sunday afternoon when we talked 
 up on the hill? You said you had learnt things from 
 " He looked down into the fire, and the lines 
 between his eyebrows contracted sharply. "Was it 
 from reading books like that, that you got the idea 
 that Nature could be so cruel and remorseless so 
 degrading?" 
 
 "No," she answered quickly. "I told you where I 
 got my ideas from. From seeing right down into the 
 very depths of things themselves." 
 
 "I'm sorry you've read books like that." He 
 ke slowly, and with obvious difficulty. "I 'm 
 sorry that any girl should get her impressions of life 
 from reading a book like that. Things that ought to 
 be sacred, are described in a way Well, the 
 descriptions are sheer sensualism." 
 
 There was a lengthened pause. 
 
 "But you were interested in the book," said Angela. 
 "It threw a kind of glamour over you." 
 
 "No, it didn't," he answered. "It threw no 
 glamour over me. I read because I wanted to see 
 how they were going to draw the moral lesson." 
 
 Angela threw back her head and watched him for a 
 
 16
 
 242 Bawbee Jock 
 
 few moments from under her half-closed eyelids. 
 Then she said: 
 
 "And did you not find the moral lesson? Don't 
 you think that it was written with a meaning? to give 
 a warning?" 
 
 "Much more likely to send the warned to find out 
 what it all means," answered Jock shortly. "It 's so 
 
 well gilded. That 's where the trickery comes in. 
 
 I Ve missed out the word this time, but I should like 
 to have said it." 
 
 "Jock, I never saw you so roused about anything 
 before," said Angela. 
 
 Jock took up the poker and thrust it into the 
 smouldering mass and turned it over. The inner pages 
 of the book had not yet been charred by the flames, 
 and they fell open. A flash of light flared up and 
 showed the clearly printed type, as easy to read as the 
 meaning it sought to convey. He thrust the poker 
 through the page, and taking up a peat-sod threw it 
 on the blaze, covering and hiding what was beneath, 
 and piled some wood on the top. Then he went over 
 to the window, and, opening it wide, a rush of cold, 
 pure air, laden with the clean breath of the first winter 
 snowflakes, swept through the room. The sudden 
 draught caught the fire and drew the flames up the 
 chimney with a roar. 
 
 "You certainly do things thoroughly, Jock," said 
 Angela. 
 
 Jock shut the window and came back to his chair 
 and sat down. She held out her hand, but he did not 
 take it. 
 
 "I saw it, that last time," he said. "You thought 
 I did not notice I did. But I had that beastly
 
 A Discussion 243 
 
 thing In my own hand, and " He forced him- 
 self to meet her eyes. "Do you think I 'm a prig?" 
 he asked. 
 
 She did not answer relevantly. Her glance wandered 
 to the lines of book-shelves on the wall. 
 
 "You have read heaps of books a great deal stronger 
 than that," she said. "The old writers, and our 
 best writers deal with the elemental passions. It is 
 their finest theme." 
 
 "Yes. But they distinguish between God's gifts 
 Nature's instincts, and " He hesitated. "Our 
 finest writers are strong, but they show you the no- 
 bility of man's conquest over sin." He turned the 
 poker in the fierce heat of the fire. "That kind of 
 stuff! Do you think that strengthens the morals of 
 any one? There are things decent-minded folk draw 
 a veil over." 
 
 "The book made a great sensation," said Angela. 
 "I heard of one man who carried it about with him, 
 and wept over it. And there are always different 
 points of view, are n't there? It bored Flossie to tears. 
 He went to sleep over it, I believe." 
 
 Jock looked at her with a puzzled expression in his 
 eyes. He did not know that she was testing him; he 
 could not understand her mood. 
 
 "I was not thinking of how a book of that sort would 
 affect Lord Francis," he said. "It wouldn't affect 
 him I mean, influence him. But it would others." 
 
 Angela waited for a few minutes, and then said in a 
 low voice: 
 
 "You are vexed with me, Jock?" 
 
 "I wish you had not read that book," he said 
 bluntly.
 
 244 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " Do you think I read it because I like that kind of 
 book?" she asked. 
 
 " You knew all about it," he said. "You must to 
 have understood my point of view." 
 
 "That was just it. I wanted to hear your point of 
 view; and now that I have heard it, I would like you 
 to hear mine." 
 
 He was about to answer, but she did not wait. 
 
 " That type of book is not peculiar. There must be 
 a demand for it, or else the taste would not be catered 
 to and it pays, of course. Money! You may be 
 sure it pays. Jock, I read that book because It 
 was curiosity made me do it ! Every one was talking 
 about it, and Well, I read it." She sat up; her 
 cheeks flushed hotly. "I hated myself after I had 
 read it. That was the feeling it gave me hatred of 
 myself! It seemed to me a masquerade a horrible 
 perverting of Nature." 
 
 She stopped and caught in her breath with a half- 
 sob. Then suddenly, without any warning, she 
 slipped from her seat on the sofa; and before Jock 
 knew what she was going to do, he found her kneeling 
 beside his chair. 
 
 "It hurt me so when you would not take my hand 
 just now," she said. "I was sorry at the time for 
 reading that book; but I am more sorry now than I 
 was then." The tears brimmed up to her eyes. "I 
 know what your love is to me," she continued in a low 
 voice, "what a husband's love can be. It it 's un- 
 forgivable that a girl should get the hateful idea into 
 her head that a man's love is to be judged by the 
 standard of a book like that!" 
 
 But Jock was still strangely unresponsive. She
 
 A Discussion 245 
 
 moved back from him, and sat down on the fender- 
 stool. She looked at the smouldering heap in the 
 fire. 
 
 " It was written by a woman," she said. 
 
 "I know it was. I 'm sorry," said Jock. "Perhaps 
 there 's some excuse in that ; she hits in the dark. A 
 man revolts against seeing himself dissected like 
 that. I 'm sorry that women write this sort of books. 
 They 're women, and well, I think they might give us 
 something better." 
 
 Angela sat very still for some time. There was a 
 cloud between them, and it hurt her. 
 
 "Jock! when are you going to take me back to 
 your heart again?" she faltered, when she could bear 
 his silence no longer. She had turned her face to him, 
 and he saw that her eyelashes were wet. 
 
 "You were never out of my heart that could not 
 be," he said quickly. 
 
 "We were not quarrelling, were we? We were only 
 finding out a little more about each other," she said. 
 "Are you beginning to discover what a complicated 
 thing a woman is?" 
 
 "If they only realised how they can make or mar 
 us!" said Jock. 
 
 "And how you men can make or mar us," she 
 answered quickly. "Don't forget that we are the 
 weaker. And when we love we never count the 
 cost." 
 
 " I don't forget that," he replied gravely. "But we 
 ought to get our best from you." 
 
 "It ought to be give and take," said Angela. " Like 
 the beautiful description of Tennyson's lovers in The 
 Princess."
 
 246 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Jock was looking beyond her into the red glow of the 
 peat-sods. She saw his lips move : 
 
 " For woman is not undeveloped man, 
 But diverse: could we make her as the man, 
 Sweet Love were slain : his dearest bond is this, 
 Not like to like, but like in difference." 
 
 His voice rose and fell with a musical rhythm of 
 enunciation which told that the beauty of the passage 
 he quoted was to him a thing loved and familiar. 
 
 "You know my Princess?" cried Angela. "And 
 oh! Jock, you never told me you had such a lovely 
 voice." 
 
 "Is n't it my usual voice?" he asked. 
 
 "No, not a bit," she answered. "At least oh ! you 
 know what I mean." 
 
 " I 'm very fond of poetry," said Jock. " If you are 
 a poor hand at expressing yourself, it helps you to put 
 into words thoughts which have been in your mind, 
 but which you have not been able to express for 
 yourself." 
 
 "Jock, you can never say after to-night that your 
 tongue is like a stiff key in a rusty lock," said Angela. 
 "When you are roused you find no difficulty in ex- 
 pressing yourself. And you understand poetry, too. 
 Go on from where you stopped. That last bit in the 
 last scene of all I love it so." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "My memory is not so good as you think." He 
 went over to the book-shelf and came back with the 
 volume he had quoted from in his hand. He opened 
 it and held it out to her. "You said you did not like 
 being read to!"
 
 A Discussion 247 
 
 " Jock ! How unkind of you to remind me of that," 
 she answered reproachfully. 
 
 He took back the book, and sitting down beside her 
 on the fender-stool, with the fire-glow lighting the 
 page, he read to her that most sweet of noble lessons 
 of Love blended in the perfect harmony of man and 
 wife's equality. 
 
 "The very last bit over again," whispered Angela 
 "where he asks her to trust him utterly" : 
 
 "My hopes and thine are one: 
 Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; 
 Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me." 
 
 She put out her hand hesitatingly, and laid it where 
 it had lain before and been rejected. But this time 
 it was taken in his. 
 
 "Did you feel that I had failed you?" she asked. 
 "Had I lost purity in your eyes?" 
 
 "No," he answered slowly; "that was not my 
 feeling. I think it was because you are my wife. 
 Something in that that thing that I burnt made 
 me feel that it was I who was lowered in your eyes." 
 
 She touched the open page. 
 
 "You don't feel like that now?" 
 
 "No," he answered. And, bending down, he 
 kissed her on her brow.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 CHRISTMAS-TIDE 
 
 ON Christmas Eve they decorated the little house 
 together and made it look appropriately 
 festive. 
 
 Angela stood and looked on, whilst Jock carried out 
 her suggestions. He had twined a wreath of holly 
 round her sickle, and was putting the finishing touches 
 to the old eight-day clock in the hall. 
 
 " Poor thing ! " said Angela. " It does n't like these 
 pricky bits round its chin." She laughed. "It looks 
 so apologetically self-conscious, does n't it? Like a 
 man who 's been growing a beard in the dark, and 
 hurried out before he was quite sure whether it suited 
 him or not." 
 
 Jock tucked some stems of the holly out of sight and 
 came over to where she was standing. 
 
 " It will soon be time for us to get ready to go down 
 to the clachan," he said. 
 
 "They have made the barn so pretty," said Angela. 
 "I peeped in this afternoon to see the decorations, and 
 the supper-table made me feel quite hungry. Shall 
 I have to dance a reel? And oh! Jock, shall I have 
 to drink whiskey? " 
 
 "You can pretend to drink some," answered Jock. 
 
 Angela glanced at the clock. 
 248
 
 Christmas-Tide 249 
 
 "I shall go and dress now. Shall I wear the dress 
 I was married in? It 's the prettiest white one I 've 
 got." 
 
 "Yes," said Jock, "wear your wedding-dress. And 
 put a blue ribbon in your hair." 
 
 Half an hour later she was standing in the hall, 
 tucking up her skirts preparatory to walking down to 
 the barn, where the evening's entertainment was to 
 take place. She paused in the act of fastening a pin, 
 and looked Jock up and down critically. 
 
 "My frock is quite pretty, but I 'm not sure that 
 it 's suitable for the occasion," she said doubtfully. 
 "You 're all right! Quite as chief tainy as you were 
 that night the night of the tableaux when you danced 
 the sword-dance for me; but" she glanced at her 
 skirts "I ought to have a tartan sash round my 
 waist, and a string of cairngorms round my neck, 
 and an eagle's feather in my hair, instead of this 
 blue ribbon." 
 
 " I like you as you are," said Jock. He wrapped her 
 tartan plaid round her. " If they see you in this, it 's 
 quite good enough. Now! Are you ready?" 
 
 Angela gave a pirouette round on her toes. 
 
 "I believe I could dance a reel as easily as tumble 
 off a wall," she declared. " It 's all a matter of clothes 
 or rather the want of them. Don't look so shocked, 
 dearest! If I had on your kilt, and heard the bag- 
 pipes I mean pipes Shall I ever remember that 
 I must call them the pipes? It 's such swagger of you 
 Highlanders to claim the monopoly of words the way 
 you do. You always talk of wearing the kilt and 
 playing the pipes!" She gave a final twinkle of her 
 feet and landed beside him. "Now I 'm ready!
 
 250 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Where 's the lantern? Is n't it funny? We might 
 be the people in one of those delicious old-fashioned 
 books like Cranford going out to a tea-party. This 
 is n't a tea-party; it 's my one Christmas ball, and I 
 am going to enjoy it enormously." 
 
 She did enjoy it, and she made every one else enjoy 
 it, too. It was in the sunny sweetness of her nature 
 to spread joy. These Highlanders, a proud race 
 and loyal in their pride, all fell under the spell of her 
 charm. It was given her to win hearts, and she ac- 
 cepted their homage with a sweet grace which stamped 
 her personality on all that she said and did: she was 
 irresistible. 
 
 "For long will this day be remembered; and there 
 is no Chief of Glenmoira who has brought such a 
 beautiful lady to the glen before, whatever!" was the 
 summing up of old Donald. In a long speech, which 
 was declaimed in a strange blending of Gaelic and 
 English, he voiced the sentiment of the assembled 
 gathering of the clan. 
 
 "He might have called me your wife," remarked 
 Angela afterwards. '"A beautiful lady' sounded 
 rather promiscuous." 
 
 "I expect he thought 'lady' sounded more polite," 
 answered Jock. 
 
 But the culminating triumph of the evening came 
 when, after supper was over, and the speeches had 
 been responded to, and Angela had touched with her 
 lips the whiskey in the little silver quaich presented 
 to her, Jock, to his unbounded astonishment, saw her 
 step into the middle of the floor with old Donald as 
 her partner and dance a reel! 
 
 She was quite serious and grave over it, and her
 
 Christmas-Tide 251 
 
 little hesitations and mistakes were more telling 
 than would have been the most practised air of 
 proficiency. 
 
 Jock watched her. She held herself with such a 
 pretty air of dignity, and she was full of graciousness 
 to the old man, who felt his honour reflected in the 
 faces of those who looked on; and he was conscious 
 of a glow of pride mingled with a rush of bitterness. 
 
 " If I could only put her in the place where she ought 
 to be!" was his inward thought. 
 
 "What did you think of my reel dancing?" she 
 asked, when they were once more back in the hall 
 and she was unpinning her skirts instead of tucking 
 them up. 
 
 " I shall never be surprised at anything you do, after 
 this evening," he answered. 
 
 " It was n't bad for a first attempt, was it? " she said. 
 "I told you it was as easy as tumbling off a wall. 
 I made up those steps for myself. Were n't they 
 pretty?" 
 
 Jock laughed. 
 
 "They were not steps. Do you think I wasn't 
 watching you? But you managed very cleverly. It 
 was a pretty fair imitation of the real thing." 
 
 "I danced as well as any one there," maintained 
 Angela stoutly. "Why, Hamish and Donald! they 
 did not do any steps. They only shuffled their feet 
 about and rubbed their backs up against each other, 
 and then shuffled their feet again." 
 
 "You wouldn't exactly pick out Hamish and 
 Donald as show dancers," said Jock. "Some girls are 
 beautiful reel dancers," he added. " It 's quite a sight 
 at the Highland balls to see them. I wish I could
 
 252 Bawbee Jock 
 
 take you to one of the gatherings, and show you what 
 pretty dancing is." 
 
 Angela came and stood in front of him. Her chin 
 was tilted in the air. 
 
 "If you think that telling me these things is en- 
 couraging, all I can say is that it is n't ! It 's very 
 depressing ! You 're puffed up with Highland pride 
 you know you are! I 'm not a Highlander, and I 
 don't believe I will ever be able to make myself into 
 one. I did try so hard to-night, and you have not 
 praised me one tiny bit. You only said I was a 
 pretty fair imitation of the real thing." 
 
 And then he had to tell her what he really thought 
 of her, and the pretty things he had heard said about 
 her as well ; and she was appeased and allowed herself 
 to be comforted. 
 
 "But you mustn't get into the way of being too 
 husbandy, and taking things for granted," she said, 
 as a warning. "It does n't do wives any harm to be 
 told nice things. Love never hurts. You must n't 
 forget that." 
 
 The eight-day clock began to make a soft, whirring 
 sound somewhere in the depths of its machinery at 
 that moment, and she looked at it. 
 
 "It is going to strike twelve," she said, in a hushed 
 voice. "Listen! Let us count the strokes." 
 
 As the last chime sent its musical note vibrating 
 through the low hall, Angela said softly: 
 
 " Now it is Christmas Day our first Christmas Day 
 together. Everything that this year brings round 
 is marked like that the beginnings of things 
 together." 
 
 "Please God, I hope we will begin and end many
 
 Christmas-Tide 253 
 
 things together in the years to come," answered 
 Jock. 
 
 "But no year can ever ,be the same as this one," she 
 persisted gently. "Soon that old clock will chime in 
 a New Year; but our New Year began on our 
 wedding-day, didn't it?" With one of her pretty 
 impulsivenesses she raised his hand and touched it 
 with her lips. "You have made me very happy 
 very happy," she repeated. "I do not believe there 
 is a happier woman than I am in the whole world 
 to-night." 
 
 "Say that again! It makes me so proud!" he said 
 quickly, and a glad light leapt into his eyes. 
 
 The old clock ticked on; it was five minutes past 
 twelve now. 
 
 "Jock, let me give you my Christmas present," said 
 Angela. "It is really Christmas Day." 
 
 "A Christmas present," said Jock. " Have you got 
 a Christmas present for me?" 
 
 "Wait here, and you will see." 
 
 She ran into the room beyond and came back with a 
 small parcel in her hand. 
 
 "Now," she said, "you will see why I stole your 
 bawbees. It was to buy you a Christmas present. 
 Untie the string quick and take off the paper ; I am so 
 excited to see whether you will like it or not. It has 
 been hidden in my work-basket for days. If you ever 
 want to find out my secrets, go and look in my 
 work-basket." 
 
 Jock unfastened the string and took out from the 
 paper a small flat leather case. He touched the spring 
 at the side, and it opened, and Angela's face looked up 
 at him.
 
 254 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "You!" was all he said. He drew her up to the 
 light, and studied the painted face in his hand and the 
 real living one, and compared them again and again. 
 " It 's almost perfect," he said. " Who did it? " 
 
 " It was painted from a photograph. But you must 
 not ask too many questions," she added hurriedly. 
 "Be content with the fact that it is me." 
 
 "I am content," he said "more than content." 
 And he thanked her in the way that she expected he 
 would. 
 
 Then he studied the miniature again. 
 > " Whoever did it is a first-class artist," he remarked. 
 
 She blushed. 
 
 ' ' I have n't paid for it yet," she said. ' ' I think I '11 
 have to go on reiving a little longer. Bawbees take 
 such a long time to collect. I said I would stop turn- 
 ing out your pockets after Christmas; but " 
 
 Jock looked pleased. 
 
 "Yes, I think you had better go on reiving a bit 
 longer," he said. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "You know you loved having your bawbees stolen. 
 You would have missed it dreadfully if I had 
 stopped." 
 
 He shut up the case and put it in the inside pocket 
 of his coat. He stood undecidedly for a few moments, 
 and then, without explaining what he was going to do, 
 he put his arm through hers and led her into the other 
 room. Seating himself at his writing-table he drew 
 her down beside him, as he had done once before. 
 
 " Are we going to sign our names again in the family 
 Bible?" she asked. 
 
 For answer he unlocked one of the deep drawers of
 
 Christmas-Tide 255 
 
 the writing- table, and taking out an ordinary-looking 
 wooden box, laid it in front of her. 
 
 "Open it," he said, "and see what is inside." 
 
 "How mysterious you are!" she said. "It's a 
 very common kind of' box." And she took off the 
 lid. 
 
 " It 's a common kind of box on purpose," said Jock. 
 " It went a journey with me not so very long ago, and 
 the commonness of the box was its safeguard." 
 
 Her fingers were busy inside the box. 
 
 "I 'm coming on something," she said. "It feels 
 hard." 
 
 She lifted out a bundle of something wrapped in 
 cotton wool, and carefully opened it. "Oh, Jock! 
 How beautiful ! how beautiful ! ' ' she exclaimed. She 
 bent over the table and gazed in astonished admiration 
 at the exquisite rope of pearls which lay in a shim- 
 mering coil before her. "Each one is more perfect 
 than the other," she said, touching the beautiful things 
 caressingly with her finger. 
 
 She glanced up into Jock's face, and a quick flash of 
 memory brought back to her the scene in the hall at 
 Glenmoira, when she had stood beside him under the 
 picture of his lovely ancestress. 
 
 He knew that she understood. 
 
 "I wished then that I could have given you the 
 pearls, as well as the dress," he said. "Do you re- 
 member that same afternoon when we were sitting 
 together on the brown box up in the attic, and you 
 asked me why, if I was a Highlander, I did n't wear 
 the kilt ? And I said ' ' 
 
 "Yes. You said you had been south on business," 
 she broke in quickly. "I remember!"
 
 256 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " I had been trying to sell these." Jock touched the 
 rope of pearls. "I hated doing it, but I wanted 
 money. I had made up my mind to sell them. I 
 left them with a man who was going to do the 
 business for me, and you saved them." 
 
 ' ' I saved them ! I ! " exclaimed Angela. 
 
 ' ' Yes, you saved them. Do you remember you stood 
 in front of the picture, and you looked up at it and 
 you touched your neck just there ? " He put his hand 
 on the place. "And you said, 'She 's got beautiful 
 pearls, and I 've got no pearls nothing but my own 
 neck.'" 
 
 "Did I say that? It was like asking. It was 
 horrid of me." 
 
 "I didn't think it was horrid," he said. "I only 
 felt that they belonged to you. I could n't have sold 
 them after that. I made the man give them up and 
 send them back to me." He lifted the pearls and 
 clasped them round her neck. "They 're yours now. 
 The chief's wife has the right to wear them, has n't 
 she?" And he smiled rather sadly, for he seldom 
 made any reference to his rank or position. "I 'm 
 afraid they 're not much use to you, living as we do. 
 But they 're yours now. I shall never part with 
 them, except with your consent." 
 
 After a little while Angela unfastened the diamond 
 heart which clasped the pearls round her neck, and 
 making a soft bed of the cotton wool, she laid the long 
 shining rope down gently, like a human thing which 
 could feel the tender, protective touch of her fingers. 
 
 She leant over it. Jock could not see her face : only 
 the pearls could look into her eyes; only they heard 
 the inward murmur of her thanksgiving a thanks-
 
 Christmas-Tide 257 
 
 giving that they had been snatched from the hands 
 of the spoiler. 
 
 "I will never, never let you be torn away from me. 
 You are quite safe. He says that I saved you. Some 
 day, when you are lying soft and warm on my neck, we 
 will go and look up at the picture of the beautiful lady 
 on the wall, and I will tell her that I saved you." 
 
 "What are you whispering about?" said Jock. 
 "They're very fine pearls, aren't they? The man 
 was loath to part with them. I expect he had the 
 chance of a good deal." 
 
 "Hush! hush!" whispered Angela, and she covered 
 up the pearls hastily. "Poor dears! they must not 
 hear remarks like that. Where 's the key, and we will 
 lock them up again. I should love to wear them 
 sometimes, just for the joy of the feel of them. Pearls 
 ought to be worn, you know ; they like to lie on some- 
 thing warm and living. But we will put them back 
 in the meantime. Good-night, dear things." 
 
 As Jock locked the drawer and put the key in his 
 pocket, his hand came in contact with a letter which 
 lay there. 
 
 "I heard from Alister this evening," he said. . , 
 
 "Oh!" said Angela. The feeling of resentment, 
 which the mention of Alister's name always caused, 
 stirred within her. 
 
 " It 's the first letter he has written to me since he 
 heard of my marriage," said Jock. He looked sad and 
 troubled. 
 
 " Jock, I hate any one who brings that look into your 
 face," burst out Angela impulsively. 
 
 "You wouldn't hate Alister," he said. "No one 
 ever hated him, whatever he did." 
 
 17
 
 258 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " He makes me feel horrid, all the same. What does 
 he say about your marriage?" 
 
 "He says very little," answered Jock, "And very 
 little about himself. That 's always a bad sign." 
 
 "Jock," she exclaimed irrelevantly, "I 'm so glad 
 that I saved the pearls. I I would like to save other 
 things too. You know that I would give up every- 
 thing in the world for you, don't you?" 
 
 He stroked her hair fondly. 
 
 "Say it after me," she pleaded. "Say, 'I would 
 give up everything in the world for you.' " 
 
 And he repeated the words after her.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 ANGELA'S SECRET 
 
 /CHRISTMAS became a thing of the past, and the 
 v^x New Year broke clear and cold, with a thin 
 newness in the bite of its sharp north wind; there 
 came a heavy snow-storm which draped the hills and 
 the glens in a thick mantle of white, and Angela saw 
 her Highland home under a fresh aspect. She said 
 she loved it so, and thought it was quite as beautiful 
 in its dazzling whiteness, with the loch lying black and 
 still and the snow-capped peaks glistening against the 
 blue sky, as in the crimson and gold of its autumn 
 beauty. 
 
 The snow did not last. It melted almost as quickly 
 as it had fallen, and a long spell of broken and un- 
 settled weather followed. 
 
 The days began to lengthen, but they were grey and 
 cheerless, and the outside world was not encouraging. 
 Angela never grumbled, although she was necessarily 
 left for many hours by herself. Jock's work took him 
 out in all weathers, and sometimes, when he had 
 business to attend to at a distance, she was left for the 
 best part of the day alone. 
 
 "I miss you dreadfully, but there is always the 
 looking forward to your coming back," she would say 
 cheerfully. "That first day I was left alone I did not 
 
 259
 
 260 Bawbee Jock 
 
 know what to settle to; but now I find heaps of 
 things to do. This," and she patted her work-basket, 
 "helps me to pass the time. I 'm becoming so 
 domesticated. I shall soon be threading needles in 
 my sleep." 
 
 "I can't imagine the house now without the things 
 that seem part of you," said Jock. "I don't know 
 what you 've done to it. It 's the same, and yet 
 you 've changed the look of everything." 
 
 It was the last day of February a dull, colourless 
 afternoon. Angela was standing by the window, and 
 drew Jock's attention to some birds which were flying 
 in a V-shaped line over the loch. 
 
 "Duck!" said Jock. 
 
 "You have never gone duck-shooting," she said. 
 " Do you remember you said you would take me with 
 you when you did?" 
 
 Jock was following the duck with his eyes. 
 
 "I might take my gun and have a stalk," he said. 
 "A last chance of filling the larder." 
 
 "Can't you go on shooting after this?" she asked. 
 
 "Not after to-morrow. Yes, I think I '11 have a try 
 after them; but you must n't come." 
 
 "Why not? "she said. 
 
 "It's nasty, cold work hanging about; and the 
 ground is so wet," he said. 
 
 "I want some fresh air badly," she answered. "It 
 has rained so, I have n't been able to get out for days." 
 
 He looked at her, and then he put his hand on her 
 shoulder and turned her round to make her face him. 
 
 "You 're losing all the pretty colour you had at 
 harvest- time," he said. "Is it the damp? Does it 
 make you feel slack? "
 
 Angela's Secret 261 
 
 "Oh! I 'm all right," she answered, trying to turn 
 her head aside. "Do take me," she persisted. 
 "What happens? How do you get them?" 
 
 "I generally shoot them in the evenings, waiting for 
 flighting," he said. 
 
 "Flighting! What's flighting? It sounds ro- 
 mantic." 
 
 "It 's when they 're flying from the loch to some 
 feeding-ground near. It 's more conducive to rheu- 
 matism than romance. It means sitting behind a 
 wall in a wet ploughed field." 
 
 "Never mind the rheumatism," said Angela. "It 's 
 beginning to get dusk now. I 'm going to put on my 
 things. Go and fetch your gun." 
 
 " I have n't made up my mind yet whether I '11 take 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, you cautious old Scotchy! If I wait until 
 you have made up your mind, I " 
 
 She was half-way upstairs before she had finished 
 her sentence, and he never heard the end of it. When 
 she came down again, ready dressed, he fixed his eyes 
 severely on her boots. 
 
 "These are not your thickest boots," he said. 
 
 She picked out a stick from the rack, and brushing 
 past him, escaped into the garden. 
 
 "It will be dark before we make a start," she called 
 back; and he shouldered his gun and followed her. 
 
 But the duck-shoot was a failure. It was the first 
 expedition of the kind which had turned out unsuccess- 
 fully; and though Jock had tried to persuade Angela 
 not to come, he was sorry that she was disappointed. 
 There was no flighting! Whatever spot the ducks 
 had chosen that evening for their feeding-ground was
 
 262 Bawbee Jock 
 
 known to themselves alone. Jock changed his place 
 several times, for he knew their haunts; but when the 
 dusk deepened and a cold drizzle began to wrap the 
 hills in its clammy shroud, they turned their faces 
 homeward. 
 
 "Well, I must own that it is cold fun," said Angela. 
 "Crouching up behind a stone wall, with your feet in a 
 puddle, and a Scotch mist, as you poetically call rain, 
 soaking into you, is n't exciting enough to keep you 
 warm." 
 
 She walked very slowly, and as they went up the 
 garden path to the front door, he noticed it, and held 
 out his hand. 
 
 "Is your ankle tired? Shall I give you a pull?" 
 he said; and she seemed to catch readily at the 
 suggestion. 
 
 As he opened the door for her and the light from 
 the hall lamp fell full on her face, he uttered a sharp 
 exclamation. 
 
 "It 's all right," she said. "I 'm only so cold." 
 
 She dropped his hand, and walking on into the room 
 beyond the hall, she sat down rather hurriedly in his 
 big arm-chair. He threw some fresh wood on the 
 fire. It was dry and burst into a blaze, and the light 
 danced on the walls and the ceiling and on Angela 
 sitting in the big chair. She looked very small and 
 white and fragile, but she smiled at him as he stood 
 over her. 
 
 "I 'm all right," she said. 
 
 "Your lips have n't a bit of colour in them, and your 
 teeth are chattering," he answered. He knelt down 
 on the rug beside her, and, taking one of her feet in 
 his hand, began to unfasten the laces of her boots.
 
 Angela's Secret 263 
 
 Her boots were so wet that they clung to her stockings. 
 "Why did you not tell me you were so cold?" he said, 
 keen reproach in his voice. He laid down the wet 
 boots and took off her stockings, and stretching across 
 to the sofa picked up Christina's green cushion and, 
 propping it against the fender-stool, made a rest for 
 her feet. 
 
 "It will hurt it," protested Angela feebly. "The 
 fire will scorch the satin." 
 
 He took no notice of her remonstrance, and when she 
 spread out her chilled hands to the blaze, he took them 
 in his and chafed them. 
 
 "How nice and warm you are!" she murmured. 
 "Human warmth is much better than fire warmth, 
 is n't it? I feel the circulation coming tingling back 
 all over me." 
 
 He continued chafing her hands until the colour 
 returned to her lips. The expression of misery in his 
 eyes made her feel tremulously happy one moment and 
 sorry for him the next. 
 
 " If he keeps on looking at me like that I shall cry," 
 she told herself. And when, after a few minutes, he 
 suggested that he should go and tell Sheila to bring in 
 tea, she forced a smile, and watched him leave the 
 room with a sigh of relief. 
 
 She leant back and closed her eyes. 
 
 " I hope he '11 stay away for a little. I simply can't 
 bear to see him looking at me like that. I can't bear to 
 frighten him, and he's dreadfully frightened. What 
 am I to do? what ought I to do? My poor dear!" 
 
 She heard him go into the kitchen and speak to 
 Sheila, and then she heard him go upstairs. 
 
 "He 's in my room now. What can he be doing?"
 
 264 Bawbee Jock 
 
 she wondered dreamily. The warmth was stealing 
 over her with a sense of comfort, but she felt limp and 
 languid and tired. Presently she heard Jock come 
 downstairs again. He .entered the room very quietly, 
 and she saw that he was carrying her slippers and a 
 pair of dry stockings. 
 
 "Oh, Jock!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "You 're beginning to look better," he said in a 
 voice of relief. 
 
 He arranged the slippers with their soles uppermost 
 inside the fender, and laid the stockings on the green 
 cushion. 
 
 "Jock, what a delicious old maid you are!" said 
 Angela, struggling with an hysterical inclination be- 
 tween laughter and tears. "Who taught you to do 
 this kind of things?" 
 
 "No one taught me," he answered. "If you're 
 very fond of any one, that teaches you." 
 
 Sheila brought in the tea, and he poured out An- 
 gela's, and then sat down on the fender-stool and 
 scrutinised her face anxiously. 
 
 "I shall never forgive myself if you've caught a 
 chill," he said. 
 
 "It was my own fault," she answered. "I would 
 not listen to you. You told me that my boots were 
 too thin." 
 
 "That does n't matter," he said. "If you were to 
 get ill, I don't know what I should do. It would send 
 me off my head, I think." 
 
 "Oh, Jock! you mustn't say such things," she 
 remonstrated. 
 
 "Yes, it would," he answered. "I should think it 
 was my fault for not taking care of you."
 
 Angela's Secret 265 
 
 "Please, may I have some more tea?" she said, 
 giving him her cup; and he rose and went over to the 
 tea-table. 
 
 She shook her head at the crackling logs. 
 
 "What shall I do?" she said to herself. "Shall I 
 keep it a secret just for a little while? Would he be 
 angry with me if I did? It 's very puzzling. I want 
 to save him from worrying; but I want to tell him. I 
 want to dreadfully badly. But if it means that he 
 will go about with that look on his face, and fuss 
 himself ill, perhaps I ought n't to." A flame broke 
 from the logs and danced merrily up the chimney. " I 
 shall put off for a little while. It 's for his own sake. 
 It 's very unselfish of me, because I want so much to 
 tell him." 
 
 Jock returned with her tea-cup. 
 
 "Are your feet quite warm now?" he asked. 
 
 "Quite warm they're beautifully toasted." She 
 looked down. "Did you ever see such ridiculously 
 useless-looking things?" she said. "Ten stupid little 
 pink toes like dolls' toes; they ought to be brown 
 and hard. A real working woman would go barefoot, 
 would n't she? At least, she ought to if she was 
 genuine. Would you like to see me walking bare- 
 foot, Jock?" 
 
 "You will never walk barefoot," he answered. 
 
 "Well, I would not like the thorns," she said. 
 
 He put his hand protectingly over the ridiculous 
 little useless things. 
 
 "God help me, they '11 never walk on thorns," he 
 said. "I would carry you from Land's End to John- 
 o'-Groat's, sooner than let one thorn pierce your dear 
 feet."
 
 266 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "That 's a beautiful idea," she said. 
 
 She was thoughtful for a few minutes. 
 
 "Jock," she said abruptly, "you would really like 
 to go back to Glenmoira, would n't you? I mean you 
 and I to live there in the way that your father used 
 to live." 
 
 "Yes," he answered, surprised at her asking such a 
 question. 
 
 "This kind of life does not satisfy you even with 
 me," she persisted. 
 
 "It 's not a case of being satisfied. It 's a case of 
 what I ought to be," he answered. "I am not a work- 
 ing man in the sense of being a labouring man. It 's 
 all wrong." 
 
 "You 're a square peg in a round hole," she said. 
 
 "Well, I 'm not doing what I feel I ought to be 
 doing," he answered. "I was brought up to the idea 
 that I was to take my father's place after him and 
 I 'm not doing it." 
 
 "You are doing the best you can," she said gently. 
 "You gave up your profession; and you give your 
 time and your brains and your strength to keeping 
 the place together and looking after your people. 
 That is a great deal." 
 
 "It 's better than nothing. But I would like to 
 see Glenmoira take the position it used to take. It has 
 been handed down to me from generation to genera- 
 tion, and if it had to pass from my hands into the 
 hands of a stranger, it would be a lasting bitterness 
 to me to feel that it had been lost during my time of 
 stewardship." 
 
 Angela gave rather a forced little laugh. 
 
 "Jock, do you know what you ought to have
 
 Angela's Secret 267 
 
 done?" she said. "You ought to have married a 
 millionairess. 
 
 "A what? "he said. 
 
 ' ' A millionairess, ' ' she repeated. ' ' You would have 
 been quite a prize." 
 
 "A prize ! I don't see that I would have been much 
 of a prize." 
 
 ' ' You 're a Highland chief ! There would have been 
 a regular scramble for you if you had only given 
 people the chance of seeing you." 
 
 "Seeing me! But I 'm not good-looking." 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 "Oh, you dear goose! looks would n't matter. You 
 would have been 'Glenmoira.' Yes, Jock, seriously, 
 you ought to have married a millionairess. Did you 
 never think of doing it?" 
 
 "I wish you would n't say things like that," he said 
 in rather a hurt voice. "You know quite well that I 
 would never have married a woman for the sake of 
 her money. Where would I have been? What would 
 I have been to her? Nothing " 
 
 "And what are you to me?" she asked; and then 
 answered the question for him. "Everything!"
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE SECRET IMPARTED 
 
 "1 'M really beginning to know a great deal about 
 
 1 farming, Jock," remarked Angela one morning. 
 It was a week or two after the duck-shooting episode. 
 "What a busy month March has been," she continued. 
 " Have you got all your sowing done yet? When shall 
 I begin to see the corn sprouting?" 
 
 "I 'm afraid my being busy has made it very dull 
 for you," said Jock. "But I '11 have more time now, 
 and the days are always getting longer. We '11 have 
 out Flora, and make some of our old expeditions again 
 soon." 
 
 " Oh ! but you must n't waste time over me. I don't 
 want to go I mean, I am quite happy. I 'm always 
 so busy." She finished her sentence rather hurriedly. 
 Jock's surprised face checked her stream of excuses. 
 
 "I thought you liked expeditions," he said. "You 
 used to. And it would n't be wasting my time. I 
 have several places that I must go to where you could 
 ride Flora, and I '11 walk. I should like to take you." 
 
 A few days later he announced that he was going 
 over to Glenmoira the next morning. 
 
 "You '11 come too, won't you?" he said persuasively. 
 He would like to have told her that he thought she 
 ought to go out more, but he did not. 
 
 268
 
 The Secret Imparted 269 
 
 "We '11 see what kind of a day it is," she answered 
 evasively. 
 
 "I 'd like you to come. There are several things I 
 want to have your advice about," he persisted gently. 
 "And there 's the garden. The spring flowers will be 
 beginning to come up. It ought to be quite pretty. 
 Shall I tell Hamish to have Flora ready in the morn- 
 ing? It will give us a nice long day if we start early." 
 
 "Very well, dear," she answered meekly. She 
 could not bear to disappoint him. "It will be easier 
 to make an excuse to-morrow than to refuse now," was 
 her thought. 
 
 But the next day was very wet, and Jock went to 
 Glenmoira by himself. When he returned, he brought 
 back with him a large basket of hothouse flowers 
 which the gardener had cut for Angela. 
 
 "I don't believe he had any business to give them 
 away. They belong to the Potters," said Jock. "And 
 how did the old boy know you? He said he did." 
 
 Angela laughed. 
 
 " I made friends with him ages ago. It was the day 
 I sprained my ankle. I had been talking to him for a 
 long time in the garden that afternoon before I started 
 for my walk." She buried her face amongst the 
 flowers. "How sweet they are! Stolen! that is 
 why. You see, the reiving spirit comes out in every 
 Highlander. He seemed to me a very nice gardener." 
 
 But Jock did not respond. She glanced at him ; his 
 face always betrayed him. 
 
 "Have you not had a satisfactory day?" she asked. 
 
 "I had been looking forward to taking you with me, 
 and oh! I always hate going over," he said in a 
 dispirited voice. "The place and the people and
 
 270 Bawbee Jock 
 
 everything seems to reproach me. That old chap who 
 sent you these" and he touched the flowers "he 
 was so pleased to get the chance of sending them to 
 you. He grinds away at his work, and there 's no one 
 to care no one to appreciate the result of what he 
 does. It 's the same with them all. They 've no 
 heart in their work." 
 
 Angela winced at his words. She began to arrange 
 her flowers, and moved about the room placing and 
 replacing the vases. When tea came in, she hovered 
 round Jock with more than her usual tenderness. She 
 was uneasy ; she began conversations without finishing 
 them. At one moment she was obviously on the verge 
 of unburdening her mind of something which was 
 weighing on it, but the post-bag was brought in earlier 
 than usual, and caused an interruption. 
 
 Angela's share of the letters was always the larger, 
 and after Jock had given her hers, he went over to his 
 writing-table with his own. He moved as though he 
 were tired. She always knew, when he sat like that, 
 with his back turned to her, that he had received a 
 letter from Alister. 
 
 "It is because he is afraid of what is in it, and he 
 wants to know the best or the worst before I see his 
 face," she said to herself. 
 
 She read her own letters and did not disturb Jock. 
 He sat for a long time very still after he had read one 
 particular letter, and then he read it again, and put it 
 into his pocket, and rising, without saying anything to 
 her, left the room. She heard him go out at the front 
 door. It was still raining, and she knew that there 
 was nothing urgent to take him out at that hour, and 
 he did not return until nearly dinner-time.
 
 The Secret Imparted 271 
 
 At dinner he was unusually silent, and during the 
 remainder of the evening he avoided talking upon any 
 but the most ordinary topics. 
 
 Angela busied herself with her work, but she watched 
 him, and hot resentment smouldered in her breast. 
 He was keeping something from her, and the some- 
 thing had to do with Alister. 
 
 Resentment burnt still hotter the next morn- 
 ing when she saw that the shadow of the unshared 
 trouble still hung over him; and when he kissed 
 her, as he always did, before he went out to his morn- 
 ing's work, he looked at her with a dumb appeal 
 for sympathy in his eyes which made her heart 
 ache. 
 
 "Why won't he tell me what it is?" she asked her- 
 self helplessly, as she watched him pass through the 
 gate and disappear round the bend of the road. 
 "Ought I to have tried to make him speak? Does 
 he think I don't know that he is unhappy?" She 
 clenched her little hands and beat one against the 
 other. ' ' I will make him tell me. It has all to do with 
 Alister. He is a regular vampire sucking the very 
 heart's blood out of my darling; and Jock is so loyal. 
 He is trying to shield him, even from me." Her brow 
 contracted, and her mouth set in a hard line which 
 made it look quite unlike itself. "And if Alister were 
 given money, it would be no use. Jock said that 
 himself. If he had Glenmoira to-day, he would sell 
 it to-morrow, and the money would run through his 
 fingers like water ! That is what Jock said." The fur- 
 row on her brow deepened. "It would be wrong to 
 give him money. It would be wrong I know it 
 would be wrong."
 
 272 Bawbee Jock 
 
 She kept repeating the words as if to assure herself 
 of their significance. 
 
 With an impatient sigh she threw open the window 
 wide. The air was already full of the scent of break- 
 ing spring ; the smell of newly dug earth rose from the 
 herbaceous border where Hamish was turning up the 
 soil with a pronged fork. Two cock-sparrows were 
 fighting over a feather on the garden path, and a 
 cheeping chorus of wives were hovering round waiting 
 to pounce on the prize if by any chance the combatants 
 were to let it drop. A robin, which she had tamed 
 during the winter, hopped out from underneath the 
 box-hedge, where it had been rustling among some 
 driven leaves, and lighted on the window-ledge. It 
 perked its head from side to side with impertinent 
 freedom, and, making a sudden sweep on to the top of 
 her work-basket, picked up a tag of wool and flew out 
 of the window with it in its beak, the wool trailing 
 behind in the wind like a pair of long Dundreary 
 whiskers. 
 
 "Without even so much as a cheep of 'thank-you!' 
 and I thought you loved me! " said Angela reproach- 
 fully. She looked at the sparrows, still fighting 
 over the feather. "You are all so busy getting ready 
 your nests. Stuck-up little things! so full of your 
 own importance. I can almost hear you saying 
 'Why are you not busy too? You are disgracefully 
 lazy!'" 
 
 She drew a chair up to the window, and, sitting 
 in the sweet April sunshine, she turned out all the 
 contents of her work-basket, and then put the things 
 neatly back again. 
 
 "The birds have taught me a lesson," she said; and
 
 The Secret Imparted 273 
 
 her eyes were smiling now, and the hard lines about 
 her mouth had vanished. 
 
 Lunch-time came, and Jock returned. He made a 
 valiant effort during the meal to appear in his usual 
 spirits an effort which did not deceive Angela. She 
 took no notice, and talked about garden-seeds, and 
 how that Hamish was very positive, and would only 
 sow certain things in certain parts of the garden 
 because they had been grown there from time 
 immemorial. 
 
 After he had finished lunch, Jock turned his chair 
 half round, facing the open door. It was a mild day, 
 even for April, and both door and window stood open. 
 
 Angela hesitated for a moment, and then left her 
 seat. 
 
 "Your chair is bigger than mine," she said. "It 
 can hold two nicely, if you squash up a little." 
 
 He made room for her, and she sat down. 
 
 "How pretty the view is, looking through the open 
 door ! ' ' she remarked. ' ' It frames it just like a picture, 
 does n't it?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 His eyes rested on the hills he loved so well, and 
 Angela, looking up, saw their expression, and saw the 
 muscles about his mouth twitch. 
 
 "Jock, what is the matter?" she said. "It is no 
 use pretending. You had bad news last night about 
 Alister. Tell me, dear. It can't be too bad for me 
 to know. You are here with me my very own. I 
 can surely bear to hear anything if I have you. And 
 I want to help you." 
 
 "You cannot help me," he said brokenly. 
 
 " Tell me," she pleaded. " Perhaps I can." 
 
 18
 
 274 Bawbee Jock 
 
 He raised his head, and made as though he would 
 put her from him, and then caught her back. 
 
 "I ought never to have married you; I ought not to 
 have sacrificed you. That is what I have been re- 
 proaching myself with ever since I got his letter 
 last night. I ought to have gone on fighting alone; I 
 should never have brought you into the trouble." 
 
 " Is it so very hopeless ? ' ' she said gently. ' ' Tell me. ' ' 
 
 " It 's the worst. I felt somehow that it was com- 
 ing. He 's been so quiet lately. I was afraid he 'd 
 got into some awful mess that he could n't get out of. 
 He 's given himself away, and he 's given me away." 
 Jock spoke in a dull, heavy tone, as if he had gone over 
 the subject so often that it had become beaten into his 
 brain like a drearily learnt lesson. 
 
 "You mean," said Angela, "that he wants to make 
 you keep your promise to sell Glenmoira?" 
 
 "Yes," said Jock. "I promised my mother, you 
 know. He says I can't break my word." 
 
 Angela drew herself up. She held her head proudly 
 and her cheeks were very flushed. 
 
 "You will not require to break your word," she said. 
 Her breath came and went quickly through her parted 
 lips. Her glance wandered, as though seeking for 
 help, and it fell on the shining sickle hanging on the 
 wall. She put her hands on Jock's shoulders, and 
 looked into his eyes; and he saw that she had suddenly 
 gone very white. "Do you remember," she said, 
 "last harvest- time, when I cut the little sheaf and gave 
 it to you? Next harvest-time I I will give you some- 
 thing else." 
 
 He stared at her, the dawn of knowledge only half- 
 awakened.
 
 The Secret Imparted 275 
 
 "Don't you understand?" There was a tremulous 
 break in the sweet voice. "If God is good, you will 
 have a son of your own ; and until you know you can't 
 be made to do anything. It 's not breaking your 
 word." She gave a little sob of joy and pride. "Your 
 own son would come first you said so. I pray with 
 all my heart that God will let me give you a son." 
 
 She felt his arms clasp her and tighten convulsively. 
 She could feel his heart beating with heavy, irregular 
 throbs, but he did not speak. He held her, as if in 
 fear, with a passion of strength, as though fighting an 
 unseen something which might tear her from him. He 
 did not caress her; his lips did not touch her; every 
 pulse and nerve, every muscle and fibre which made 
 up the strong virility of the man within him, was 
 claiming her for his own. Dominating him, mastering 
 him, was the primitive instinct that he would keep 
 her, hold her as his, against every power, human and 
 divine. 
 
 And she understood him. The woman within her 
 told her what he felt. Her love was as a finger laid on 
 the pulse of his heart. 
 
 She stirred a little. 
 
 "Dear!" she whispered. She touched him, and he 
 shivered. She moved her head so that she could see 
 his face, and she put her arms round his neck and 
 kissed him. "Say something to me," she murmured. 
 " I want to hear you speak; I want to hear you tell me 
 that you are glad. Speak to me, dearest." 
 
 The clasp of his arms relaxed. He took her face 
 between his hands and looked deep into her eyes. 
 
 "It makes you very happy?" he asked. 
 
 ' ' Yes, very happy, ' ' she answered. ' ' I thought that
 
 276 Bawbee Jock 
 
 I could not possibly be any happier that we were 
 everything to each other; but this " 
 
 She hesitated shyly, and then she began to talk to 
 him about this, her sweet, new hope. She had been 
 longing to share every thought with him, and now her 
 cup of happiness was full to the brim. 
 
 But gradually a faint chill began to creep over her. 
 Her intuitions were so quick, her power to read him 
 so unerring, that she knew there was something a 
 little cloud, a little doubt. 
 
 "You have not told me yet that you are glad," she 
 said. "It will be such a helpless little thing at first. 
 It will want so much love." 
 
 There was a passion of entreaty in his eyes as he 
 searched her face with yearning eagerness. 
 
 Then she knew! 
 
 "But I will love you just the same," she cried. "I 
 will love you more. You are not jealous, Jock? Oh, 
 say that you are not! You will always be first 
 always " 
 
 He turned his head aside. 
 
 "I know that I am a brute to be jealous. It will 
 be such a helpless little thing; it will need you; it will 
 want you at every turn, and you can't help giving 
 your best you 've got the mother-instinct in you so 
 strong. It was that made you draw me to you. You 
 mothered me you understood me. I did not know 
 what it meant then; but I know now." 
 
 She touched his cheek with her lips, mutely 
 protesting. 
 
 "You have spoilt me," he almost sobbed "spoilt 
 me. I have had all your love ; I never dreamt of what 
 love could make of life until you gave yourself to me."
 
 The Secret Imparted 277 
 
 He laid his head against her bosom. "This has been 
 my place, and your dear arms have been mine only 
 mine. Everything! has been mine. And now " 
 He half smothered her with his kisses. 
 
 Her eyes were full of tears, but she smiled through 
 them. 
 
 " Oh those stormy caresses, Jock. They always tell 
 me how you have been starved for love, dear. But 
 think! You were starved for want of mother-love 
 yourself. Oh yes, you were! And now now that 
 you know you would not deny to your own what 
 you hungered for yourself?" 
 
 Through the open door came the song of the birds 
 and the hum from the beehives sheltering under the 
 garden wall. The bleat of a lamb sounded from the 
 green hillside; in the April sky above, white fleecy 
 clouds were racing across the blue, and fitful skiffs of 
 wind stirred into ruffling wavelets the bosom of the loch. 
 
 Spring was everywhere. Life was astir in bird and 
 beast and flower; an abounding hope stirred all Nature 
 to rejoicing. 
 
 Instinctively she knew what would serve her pur- 
 pose. Nature, which he loved so well, would teach 
 him best, was her inward thought, and she said aloud : 
 
 "I I think I am a little tired, dear." 
 
 The colour rushed up to his brow. In a moment 
 he was alertly conscious, not of himself, but of her. 
 
 "What am I to do with you?" he asked. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "Nothing! Leave me to rest for a while." 
 
 "Leave you alone?" he questioned. 
 
 "Yes. I think I would like to be left alone only 
 for a little while."
 
 278 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "But oughtn't I to be taking care of you?" 
 There was anxious perplexity in his voice. 
 
 A trill of laughter bubbled up spontaneously to 
 her lips. Her heart was light now. 
 
 "Do you think that I ought to be kept in a glass 
 box, and only looked at through the lid?" she asked. 
 " Dearest, I 'm splendidly well. I only want to have 
 time to think over all that we have been talking about. 
 You must go out now and get all the worries blown 
 away. Suppose you take the boat and go up the loch 
 and look and see what the little water-hen is doing. 
 Then you can row me up some day ; I want to see her 
 tumbling her chicks into the water." 
 
 So she sent him from her. 
 
 "I am sure that is the best thing to do," she told 
 herself, as she watched him row past. 
 
 Jock had drawn the sofa up to the window for her 
 before he left, and arranged her cushions comfortably ; 
 and because she saw that it pleased him to be allowed 
 to wait upon her, she had invented a great many 
 small wants which were quite unnecessary. 
 
 She closed her eyes with a sigh. 
 
 "I am very tired," she murmured. "But they 
 can't make him sell Glenmoira now. And I won't 
 fuss about other things. I want to do what 's right 
 what would really help him. I wish I could talk to 
 Flossie. But I 'm too tired just now to think." 
 
 Gradually a drowsiness began to steal over her. 
 The soft air from the open window fanned her cheek ; 
 the peaceful sounds lulled her senses to a dreamy 
 content. When Jock returned, it was to find her 
 sleeping quietly. 
 
 He stood for some time looking down at her. His
 
 The Secret Imparted 279 
 
 step had made no sound, and she slept on undisturbed. 
 
 How young she looked! Childlike, with the inno- 
 cence of sleep on her eyelids. The dark lashes threw 
 their shadow on the softly rounded cheek; a smile 
 from the sweetness of her dreams lingered about her 
 lips. His darling! His wife! And now to be some- 
 thing more. The shadowy wings of the dawn of 
 motherhood hovered near and about her, giving her 
 into his trust with a sweeter, holier meaning. 
 
 He upbraided himself with a bitter pang of self- 
 reproach. He had not been kind to her; he had not 
 been generous. His miserable jealousy had hurt her. 
 This vaunted love of his it was a petty, small thing 
 in comparison to hers. She had been so proudly glad 
 to tell him that it was in her power to help him; and 
 he had repulsed her cried out like a spoilt child who 
 will not share its joys with another. 
 
 Was she only asleep? She lay so still. He bent 
 down closer to make sure that she breathed, and she 
 opened her eyes on him. He could see the visions of 
 her happy dreams still lingering in their depths. 
 
 He sat down on the edge of the sofa, and laid beside 
 her a bunch of green, the first spikes of budding spring 
 which he had found thrusting their shoots through the 
 sheltered slopes on the loch-side. 
 
 One glance at his face told her that she had been 
 right to send him from her. 
 
 " I am so sorry that I made you think that I was not 
 glad," he said humbly. "I am glad. I am not 
 jealous any more, and I will never behave to you like 
 that again. Will you forgive me for being so selfish as 
 to think of myself instead of you?" 
 
 The tears gathered in her eyes so thick that she saw
 
 280 Bawbee Jock 
 
 him but as a misty shadow, and she could not speak. 
 Her outstretched hands spoke for her. He took them, 
 and held them. 
 
 "You will let me help you all I can," he said. 
 
 "Yes I will let you help me. It helps me to feel 
 your strength. When you hold me so I am strong." 
 
 And from that hour his love for her strengthened. 
 The passion and ardour of the lover deepened to a 
 tenderer, more protective love a love which the great 
 mother, Nature, whose nursling he was, teaches to 
 those of her children who have heart and understand- 
 ing to learn the sweet lessons of her bountiful pity and 
 care : care for the weary and faltering feet whose steps 
 are ever leading them nearer and nearer to the mystery 
 of an unborn futurity.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 LADY DI TAKES POSSESSION 
 
 A FEW evenings later it happened that Angela 
 opened the post-bag instead of Jock. 
 
 "Nothing for me! and" she gave a surprised ex- 
 clamation "a letter for you from Flossie. What 
 can he be writing to you about? I have not heard 
 from him for ages." She looked at the letter rather 
 nervously, as she handed it to Jock. 
 
 "Your Flossie writing to me: that 's rather odd." 
 Jock glanced at the stamp. "He's in America. I 
 wonder " Then he stopped. He broke the seal 
 and read the letter. He looked up and met Angela's 
 eyes. "It's about Alister," he said. "He's met 
 him." 
 
 Angela gave a sigh; it sounded almost like a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 " Well? " was all she said. She could not quite read 
 the expression on Jock's face ; it puzzled her. 
 
 "Your Flossie can speak the truth very plainly," 
 he said slowly. 
 
 Angela nodded. 
 
 "I know he can. Has he said things to hurt you? 
 He would not do it intentionally. Flossie's dreadfully 
 tender-hearted really." 
 
 281
 
 282 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "He more or less tells me that I am being made a 
 fool of," said Jock. 
 
 "How? Where has he met Alister? What has he 
 found out?" 
 
 "He met Alister at some races. Alister was riding 
 the man's horse that Flossie was staying with, and 
 there was a row about it and " Jock broke off, 
 and a disgusted expression crossed his face. "It 's so 
 sickening always hearing the same kind of thing " 
 
 "Jock dear, don't tell me that Flossie has only 
 written to tell you some disgraceful story," said 
 Angela quickly. "He would never do that; and he is 
 so sensible he would never make trouble. He wants 
 to help you." 
 
 "Yes, I think he wants to help me; but " Jock 
 picked up Flossie's letter. "He tells first how he met 
 Alister. You know that." 
 
 "Yes. Well? "said Angela. 
 
 "He goes on to say that he hopes I '11 understand 
 his motive in writing. That he thinks I ought to 
 know the kind of life Alister is leading for my own 
 sake. That he has got into the hands of a crew of 
 swindlers who think he has the control of money 
 through me. That he has led them to believe that he 
 has prospects, and that they '11 stick to him like leeches 
 so long as they think they can get anything out of him, 
 and that they '11 keep him going. He 's worth keep- 
 ing, you see. That 's the crux of the whole thing. 
 He must n't get money. Instead of helping him, 
 I 'm doing him harm. So your Flossie puts it. If I 
 want to make anything of him, I must starve him out. 
 These scoundrels will drop him soon enough if they 
 find he 's no use to them."
 
 Lady Di Takes Possession 283 
 
 " It would make him work, if he knew he was n't 
 going to be helped," said Angela, as Jock paused. 
 
 "Work yes! But that's just it," said Jock 
 despairingly. "He does n't understand the meaning 
 of the word ' work.' " He sat staring at the pattern of 
 the carpet in front of him. 
 
 "You are not offended with Flossie, are you?" said 
 Angela anxiously. 
 
 "No, I 'm not offended," answered Jock. He hesi- 
 tated. " It has been on my mind that I ought to have 
 gone out and seen for myself what Alister was doing. " 
 
 " But you won't go now? now that you are married 
 and now that Oh, Jock, you could n't go and leave 
 me! You don't mean that, surely?" Her eyes were 
 wide and startled a frightened appeal in them. 
 
 "No, no, dear," he answered, quick to take alarm. 
 "I won't leave you, I promise! But I have not 
 answered that last letter of Alister's yet, and I 
 don't know what to do." 
 
 "Has not Flossie helped you?" she said. "You 
 know now what is the real truth. Won't you take 
 his advice?" 
 
 "For the life of me I don't know. I don't know 
 whether I should or not," answered Jock. 
 
 Angela bent forward and spoke eagerly. 
 
 " Dearest, don't think me horrid and unsympathetic. 
 It is hard for you, after all that you have done, to find 
 that it has been no use; but do try Flossie's advice. 
 It can't do any harm to try it, can it? I so hate to see 
 you worried, and it worries me; and you don't want 
 that, do you? Would n't it be better to get the matter 
 off your mind now to-night? Take Flossie's ad- 
 vice, and write to Alister. You need not say who has
 
 284 Bawbee Jock 
 
 told you, but you can let him understand that you 
 know all about everything. And that well, that now 
 you can't be responsible for him ; that you have other 
 responsibilities. Dearest ! You don't belong to your- 
 self now. You belong to me, and to " 
 
 " Yes," answered Jock hesitatingly, " I know. But, 
 am I right to throw him over altogether?" 
 
 "Doesn't Flossie say that that is the crux of the 
 whole matter?" answered Angela. "That you are 
 doing more harm than good by helping him? That 
 Alister must be made to work to depend on himself? 
 That it is the only way to make anything of him?" 
 
 They talked for long, Angela pleading for a trial of 
 Flossie's advice, Jock doubtful and hesitating. But it 
 ended in Jock writing the letter in the way Angela 
 wished it to be written. 
 
 "I Ve done it," he said, coming over to where she 
 was sitting. He stood, looking down at her with 
 troubled eyes. "But I 'm not sure that I Ve done 
 right. He 's not the sort to cast adrift." 
 
 "You're doing it for the best," she answered. 
 "And then, Jock, think of Glenmoira." 
 
 He sat down beside her, and, taking her hand in his, 
 looked at her steadily. 
 
 " It does n't mean that we shall be able to go back 
 to Glenmoira, dear. Do you understand? I 'm so 
 crippled, the place is so burdened, that I don't believe 
 we '11 ever be able to do that." 
 
 "Something might happen," she said. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " It would take a lifetime to clear the place to bring 
 it back to what it was." 
 
 "But " she checked herself and sat silent.
 
 Lady Di Takes Possession 285 
 
 "Did Flossie not send any message to me?" she 
 asked after a pause. 
 
 "Yes I forgot; there was a message. He sent his 
 love and said you need not write to him because he did 
 not know where his wanderings might take him. He 
 said that he would perhaps pay you a surprise visit 
 some day." 
 
 " I suppose that means that he will be coming up to 
 stay with the Potters in the autumn, " said Angela. 
 
 "I suppose so," answered Jock. 
 
 And April merged its budding strength into May, 
 and the May-blossoms broke and flung their sweetness 
 broadcast; and the fresh tints of early June began to 
 paint the landscape with a fairy-like beauty of grace 
 and colour. The tender green of the silver birch and 
 the bronze of the young oak-shoots mingled their 
 foliage in soft harmony; and along the sheltered banks 
 of the loch-side the ferns uncurled their crumpled balls 
 of frond to the sun. 
 
 Those June days were happy days for Angela, and 
 she spent most of them on the loch. She loved to 
 watch the varying effects of light and colour, and the 
 restful motion of the boat and the rhythmical dip of 
 the oars soothed her indescribably. As its prow gently 
 cut the water, the soft Highland air fanned her cheek, 
 and the song of the birds made music from the banks ; 
 and Jock was always ready to take her wherever her 
 fancy suggested. 
 
 If anything called him away and he had to leave her 
 for an hour or so, he would often moor the boat to an 
 overhanging branch in some sheltered nook and leave 
 Dileas behind on guard. 
 
 "What would he do if anything happened?" Angela
 
 286 Bawbee Jock 
 
 asked one day. " If the boat were to drift, would he 
 swim after me?" 
 
 "He 'd give tongue," Jock had answered, patting the 
 dog's head. "He knows quite well that when he 's 
 left with you, he has to look after you. I can trust 
 him." 
 
 Dileas raised his eyes at the approving tone of the 
 loved voice. 
 
 "Yes, I know that I am here on trust, and I shall be 
 faithful to my name," he answered dumbly. 
 
 Angela had not the actual satisfaction of seeing the 
 water-hen tumbling her chicks into the water; but one 
 day she saw her swimming proudly out from the bank 
 with four little balls of brown fluff paddling round her. 
 
 "How I should love to catch them and cuddle them !" 
 she cried, eagerly stretching out her hands over the 
 side of the boat. "Do let me try! Row in nearer, 
 Jock!" 
 
 "You would be clever if you managed to catch 
 them," answered Jock. "She'd never let you. 
 There! she's off." 
 
 And with a sharp quack, and a jerk of her tail, which 
 showed the glint of the white feathers underneath the 
 brown, the little mother hurried her darlings out of 
 reach of the eager hands and hid them in the cover 
 of the sheltering reeds. 
 
 One afternoon, when June was in its prime, they had 
 returned from an expedition on the loch. It was 
 close upon five o'clock. Jock had stopped behind at 
 the landing-stage to put up the boat, and Angela had 
 walked on in advance. 
 
 She turned the bend of the road from the boat-house, 
 and saw to her surprise that a pony-cart, with the pony
 
 Lady Di Takes Possession 287 
 
 tied to the fence opposite, was standing by the white 
 gate leading up to the house. It was a shabby-looking 
 concern. The cart looked as though it had not 
 been cleaned for weeks; and the pony was an un- 
 groomed little creature, evidently taken rough from 
 the hillside. 
 
 She stopped and stared at it. Who could the visitor 
 be? Some one who was either in the house or on the 
 premises. She glanced round apprehensively, and 
 then a sudden hope flashed into her mind. Flossie! 
 It could be no one but Flossie. He had said he would 
 pay her a surprise visit, and nothing had been heard 
 of him since he had written to Jock about Alister. 
 Of course it was Flossie. She pushed open the 
 gate and hurried up the pathway, breathless with 
 anticipation. 
 
 Then her step slackened. The front door stood 
 wide open, and she heard the tinkle of teacups. He 
 had probably been waiting for hours, and Sheila had, 
 of course, given him tea. 
 
 A smothered laugh bubbled up to her lips. She 
 could not resist the temptation of taking him unawares, 
 and noiselessly she crept close to the door and peeped 
 into the hall. The blinds had been lowered for the 
 sun, and she could not see very distinctly. Some one 
 was sitting in Jock's chair, which had its high back 
 turned towards her; but she could see the table, and 
 she caught sight of an egg-cup, and there was a large 
 plate of what looked like salad with a row of little red 
 radishes arranged round the edge. 
 
 The figure in the chair was invisible, all except the 
 top of a hat. It was a man's hat a shabby green 
 Tyrolean, very much squashed down about the brim.
 
 288 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I shall take care to tell him that living in the wilds 
 has not improved his manners," she murmured. 
 "Sitting down to tea with his hat on! Such a hat!" 
 
 The figure stretched out a hand and picked out a 
 radish from the dish. The hand was not Flossie's, 
 and Angela almost screamed as the figure turned 
 sideways and flicked a drop of moisture from the tail 
 of the radish on to the floor. 
 
 That nose! That brown-paper-tinted complexion! 
 
 "Oh goodness!" ejaculated Angela, and, falling 
 back a step, she dropped a book she had been carrying 
 on the doorstep. 
 
 Lady Di revolved slowly on her seat; then she rose, 
 and stood with one hand on the table and the other 
 feeling for her eyeglasses. She put them on and 
 fixed Angela with a searching stare. 
 
 Angela was too petrified by astonishment to do 
 anything but stare back. Lady Di smiled a smile 
 which dawned slowly and painfully, like the gleam of 
 winter sunshine on dry fields after a black frost. 
 
 "Well!" she said, advancing a step. "You 're 
 surprised. I Ve kept my word you see. I told you in 
 my letter that if I came north for some fishing, I 'd 
 look you up." 
 
 Angela was limply preparing to take the hand held 
 out to her, when Lady Di stooped and, making a peck 
 at her face, kissed her on her cheek. 
 
 "I haven't done that since Edwin died," she 
 remarked grimly; then she added, " I never had a child 
 of my own, but that 's no reason why I should n't 
 have a mother's feelings. I Ve always said I was 
 prepared to act the part of a mother to you, Angela 
 I Ve said so repeatedly."
 
 Lady Di Takes Possession 289 
 
 Angela murmured something unintelligible. Lady 
 Di warmed to her subject. 
 
 "I never approved, as you know, of your father 
 leaving you to the care of that flipperty-gibbet Flossie. 
 Many a time I have told Flossie that I don't approve 
 of him, and I shall consider it my duty to keep on 
 telling him so, whenever there 's occasion." 
 
 Angela felt a prickly sensation creeping over her 
 she always did when she heard Flossie maligned by 
 Lady Di. She held herself silent with an effort. 
 
 Lady Di continued complacently: 
 
 "I said to myself when I found that I was within 
 a day's drive of you, ' It 's my duty to go and see 
 Angela.' ' She put up her eye glasses again and 
 almost beamed through them at her victim. "I 'm 
 very glad that I did come. My dear Angela, you 
 may treat me with complete confidence." 
 
 "Oh! what shall I do with her?" murmured Angela 
 faintly. She rallied desperately. "It was very kind 
 of you to come and see me us, I mean. I 'm so sorry 
 we were out and you had to wait. Jock will be in 
 directly. Please go on with your tea. I am so glad 
 you did not wait for us. I hope Sheila has given you 
 everything that you like?" 
 
 "Thank you! I asked for what I wanted," said 
 Lady Di. "You grow excellent radishes. I should 
 like to have a bunch to take back with me if you have 
 any to spare. I 'm stopping at the inn, and hired 
 the inn pony to bring me over. The slowest beast 
 and the most ramshackle machine to be found north 
 of the Tweed, I should imagine." Her eyes fixed 
 themselves on the salad-dish. "Yes, I shouldn't 
 mind taking a bunch of radishes back with me." 
 19
 
 290 Bawbee Jock 
 
 A shadow crossed the window. 
 
 "Jock! Now what will happen?" and Angela 
 looked imploringly at Jock as he entered. 
 
 Whatever of a surprise it was to Jock to find Lady 
 Di in possession of his house and making herself very 
 much at home in it, he greeted his guest with a courte- 
 ous hospitality which Angela felt was a mute reproach 
 to herself. She had never seen him entertain any one 
 in his own house before. She watched him with an 
 odd, new sense of pride. He understood his duties of 
 host very well. 
 
 "It would not matter who it was, he would be just 
 the same. And it does not seem to occur to him that 
 it is the least beneath his dignity to go and fetch 
 things that most men would ring the bell for," she 
 said to herself. 
 
 Lady Di looked with approval on Jock; his quiet 
 movements and the way in which he paid her small 
 attentions gratified her. Angela soliloquised to her- 
 self as she looked on and watched. 
 
 "She likes him. She likes men a great deal better 
 than women. They 're talking about fishing now 
 flies and casts, and things she understands better than 
 a mother's feelings. Oh dear! I hope she '11 keep on 
 talking about subjects like that." 
 
 Lady Di was chipping the top off her second egg. 
 She was feeling very much at home, and looking 
 round, remarked patronisingly : 
 
 "You Ve got a nice little place here." 
 
 Jock smiled. 
 
 "It's very small," he said. And added politely: 
 "So small that we are denied the pleasure of inviting 
 a guest to stay with us."
 
 Lady Di Takes Possession 291 
 
 Lady Di helped herself to salt, and began to work 
 it slowly and gently into the yolk of her egg. 
 
 "It served your time as a bachelor very well, I 
 expect," she said. "But when you move back into 
 the other house, what will you do with this one?" 
 
 Angela hastily caught up the dish of radishes and 
 held it forward. 
 
 Lady Di waved it aside. 
 
 "Not until I Ve finished my egg, thank you." And 
 she continued her conversation where she had left off. 
 
 "When you make your move, I wouldn't mind 
 taking this place off your hands," she said, addressing 
 Jock pointedly. "Would you let some fishing with 
 it?" 
 
 Angela still held forward the dish of radishes 
 insinuatingly. 
 
 "Those little round ones are so crisp," she said, 
 with pressing hospitality. 
 
 Lady Di helped herself to a radish absently. She 
 was preoccupied with her subject, and was waiting for 
 Jock to reply to her question. 
 
 "Well?" she said interrogatively. 
 
 Jock made some rather vague answer which com- 
 mitted him to nothing. 
 
 But if there was the chance of getting what she 
 wanted by persistency, Lady Di never allowed a sub- 
 ject to drop. She still continued to address Jock. 
 
 "What do you think of my suggestion? I would 
 make a very good tenant. And of course you '11 be 
 moving out of this as soon as Monty Potter's time 's 
 up." 
 
 "Jock, we want some more hot water," interrupted 
 Angela.
 
 292 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I filled up the teapot only a few minutes ago," 
 answered Jock, looking at her in surprise. 
 
 "It 's cream, then there 's no cream. I knew I 
 wanted something." 
 
 She thrust the cream-jug into his hand, and he went 
 away with it obediently. 
 
 Lady Di smiled her dry, wintry smile. 
 
 " How rustic ! Has he gone to milk the cow? This 
 kind of playing at love in a cottage is very pretty. 
 What do you do? Wash up the dishes and make the 
 beds?" She leant forward and planted her hands on 
 her knees, which was her favourite attitude when she 
 meant to be emphatic. She nodded in the direction 
 of the door through which Jock had disappeared. 
 
 "Angela! I think you've made a wise choice; 
 though I must say when I first heard of it I thought 
 you were marrying a pig in a poke, for no one knew 
 much about him, except that he was saving." She 
 nodded again. "I should like to tell him that I 'm 
 satisfied, and think that he '11 make you a good 
 husband, and that he can be trusted to " 
 
 "Please don't do anything of the kind," broke in 
 Angela. "He would not like it. He is dreadfully 
 particular. Scotch people Highlanders are " 
 
 Jock was heard returning. 
 
 "Please don't make personal remarks, and please 
 don't say anything more about renting the house," she 
 whispered breathlessly as Jock re-entered with the 
 cream-jug. 
 
 Lady Di sniffed, and helped herself to honey. 
 
 " I suppose you Ve heard of Beauty's engagement? " 
 she remarked, after a few moments' pause. 
 
 "No, "said Angela.
 
 Lady Di Takes Possession 293 
 
 " Well, it 's just out. He 's found an heiress at last. 
 She 's quite hideous and very stupid." She chuckled, 
 and blinked her eyes at Angela. "He 'd have done 
 better for himself if he 'd managed to " 
 
 "Oh, the honey 's dropping off your scone!" ex- 
 claimed Angela. She rose hastily. " I 'm afraid it 's 
 gone on your dress. Do let me mop it up for you. 
 Honey is such a sticky, messy thing." 
 
 "I did n't see it drop," said Lady Di. "I 'd better 
 eat up the scone and then it 's safe." 
 
 Before she had finished her scone, Angela had started 
 a fresh topic. 
 
 "How is Dolly?" she asked. "I haven't heard 
 from her for ages." 
 
 "Dolly! I've no patience with Dolly. A poor 
 thing! She hasn't the pluck of a chicken, or she 
 would have got rid of that objectionable creature, 
 Monty Potter, before now." Lady Di pushed back 
 her plate. She glanced at Jock, and then at Angela. 
 "I would n't mind betting that we '11 see the end of 
 that before long." She fixed Jock with her eyeglass. 
 "I shouldn't wonder if your tenant didn't turn up 
 for the twelfth, or for any of the shooting, this season." 
 
 Jock looked surprised, but said nothing. 
 
 "I did n't ask questions, but I fancy he '11 have other 
 fish to fry," said Lady Di oracularly. She wagged 
 her head at Jock solemnly. "I don't suppose you 're 
 sorry that this is his last season. I hope he 's paid you 
 a good rent ; but, of course, you '11 be glad to get things 
 back into your own hands now, and Angela will 
 No, Angela, that 's not my pocket-handkerchief. I 
 never drop my pocket-handkerchief about on the 
 floor. It 's your own."
 
 294 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "So it is," murmured Angela. 
 
 Angela raised a flushed face to Jock. 
 
 "Jock, don't you think Lady Di would like to go out 
 and see the garden ? We might pick her some flowers. ' ' 
 
 "Flowers! No, I don't think I 've much use for 
 flowers," said Lady Di, rising slowly. "I 'm staying 
 at the inn, and I 'm off the day after to-morrow. But 
 I should n't mind a bunch of radishes. If they were 
 wrapped up in a cabbage leaf I could put them in my 
 pocket. It 's time I was going." She glanced at the 
 clock. "That beast that I 'm driving has only one 
 pace. It crawls up hills and walks on the flat." 
 
 Jock would not let Angela go down to the gate to 
 see Lady Di off. 
 
 "I think I'd better," she said nervously, in an 
 under tone. 
 
 "No," he answered; "you are tired. I '11 see her 
 off, and we '11 pick the radishes on the way through 
 the garden." 
 
 Angela watched the two figures go down the garden 
 path, Lady Di marching on in front, talking in 
 strident tones to Jock over her shoulder. It was all 
 about radishes. 
 
 "Thank goodness! When she 's off on one of her 
 hobbies, she runs it to death," she said; and she went 
 back into the house, and taking off her hat, put up her 
 hands to her hot forehead. 
 
 "Oh, what a strain it has been! She was dreadful. 
 She has n't a grain of tact. I do hope no more people 
 will come and look us up. I don't want to be looked 
 up. I want to be left alone. I don't want any one 
 except my dear Bawbee." She sighed. "I don't 
 believe I even want Flossie."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 CHRISTINA! 
 
 JOCK seemed to be a very long time in seeing his 
 guest off. It appeared to Angela to be an un- 
 necessarily long time. She did not rest, but went and 
 stood by the window of the sitting-room. It com- 
 manded a better view of the gate than the hall. 
 
 Through the holly-arch she caught a glimpse of 
 Lady Di standing by the pony-cart. It was evident 
 that she was doing all the talking, for Jock stood in a 
 listening attitude Angela knew that by the way he 
 held his head down. 
 
 "What can she be saying to him? How I wish she 
 had not come!" she sighed impatiently. 
 
 At last she saw Lady Di get into the pony-cart. 
 Jock helped her in, and she shook his hand impres- 
 sively at parting, as though she were giving him a 
 last injunction; then gathering up the reins, she 
 poked the pony's hind-quarters with the butt end 
 of a broken whip, and the cart jingled out of sight. 
 
 Angela listened to the sound of the retreating 
 wheels; she heard the gate click as it swung to, and 
 she saw Jock coming up the pathway. 
 
 He walked very slowly and still held his head down. 
 She heard him come into the hall, and he called her 
 name. 
 
 295
 
 296 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I 'm here," she answered. 
 
 He entered the room, and coming over to where she 
 was standing, put both hands on her shoulders and 
 looked at her searchingly. 
 
 There was a pained expression on his face and he 
 did not seem to know what to say. The colour flamed 
 up into her cheeks and then died suddenly away again. 
 She swayed a little, and he caught her in his arms, and 
 carrying her over to the sofa, laid her down on it. 
 
 "I 'm all right," she said, struggling to sit upright. 
 
 "You must lie still," he answered, and he forced 
 her gently back. 
 
 She allowed her head to fall on the cushion, but she 
 was still only for a moment. 
 
 ' ' I was tired, ' ' she said. ' ' Lady Di tired me. What 
 was she talking to you about, down at the gate just 
 now?" 
 
 "She was saying that she thought it was her duty 
 to to open my eyes about you," said Jock. 
 
 "About me?" Angela's voice barely rose above 
 a whisper. 
 
 "She told me that I was an ignorant boy, and that 
 I 'd no business to have a wife," blurted out Jock. 
 
 "Was it that? was she talking about that all the 
 time?" asked Angela. 
 
 "Yes," said Jock. "She said she felt that it was 
 her duty to speak to me. That you were very 
 young, and that she had always had the feelings of 
 a " 
 
 "A mother! Oh, Jock, dearest!" 
 
 A peal of laughter interrupted Jock's explanation. 
 But he had not finished his say, and he plodded on 
 valiantly.
 
 Christina ! 297 
 
 "She said she would be very glad to help me with 
 her advice, and she asked me what I was going to 
 do with you? And how long I was going to keep 
 you in this God-forsaken place? I suppose I said 
 something stupid, for it was after that that she told 
 me that I was an ignorant boy, and had no business 
 to have a wife." 
 
 Angela buried her face in the sofa cushions and 
 went off into fresh peals of laughter. 
 
 "But she meant to be kind, dear," remonstrated 
 Jock. 
 
 Angela sat up and wiped her eyes. 
 
 "It's very funny," she said. "Dearest! do take 
 that scared look off your face. Forget all about it. 
 Perhaps she did mean to be kind; but I think it was 
 very interfering of her to call you names, and tell you 
 that you did n't know how to take care of me. Such 
 nonsense!" 
 
 "But she 's put me in an awful fright," said Jock. 
 " She really has opened my eyes." 
 
 "Then shut them up again," said Angela. 
 
 But Jock was not to be put off lightly. 
 
 "She says I must n't keep you up here. That it 's 
 too isolated, and so it is," he said. 
 
 " Make me go away from Glenmoira!" cried Angela 
 indignantly. "I won't go!" Her lip quivered and 
 she looked at him imploringly. " Don't take me away 
 from the place I love so well. Where would I be bet- 
 ter than here? And I have you to take care of me. 
 What else do I want?" 
 
 Jock rubbed his forehead. He was very much 
 perplexed. 
 
 "That 's it," he said. " I 'm just what she said an
 
 298 Bawbee Jock 
 
 ignorant boy. You ought to have some one who 
 who really would be like a mother to you." 
 
 Angela reflected. She sighed and laid her head 
 down again. 
 
 "I know," she said meekly. "I Ve been wonder- 
 ing But I did n't like to make a fuss and worry 
 you." 
 
 ' ' Worry me ! As if that mattered.'* 
 
 She lay quiet for some time, and then she said 
 plaintively: 
 
 "We 're both very relationless, are n't we? It 's a 
 good thing to be relationless, perhaps, when you don't 
 want to be bothered with people; but it has its dis- 
 advantages. We want some nice, kind sort of Mother- 
 Bunch just now, don't we?" She lay quiet a little 
 longer. "Let us both shut our eyes, and think hard 
 together at the same time, and perhaps it will bring 
 an inspiration," she suggested presently. 
 
 So, like two children, hand clasped in hand, they 
 waited for their inspiration. It must have come to 
 them both simultaneously; for Angela opened her 
 eyes suddenly and said "Christina!" and Jock echoed 
 "Christina!" after her so quickly that he must have 
 been going to say it of his own accord. 
 
 "What a pair of sillies we were not to think of 
 Christina before!" exclaimed Angela. "She's not 
 exactly a Mother-Bunch, but she 's she 's just 
 Christina." She nestled back contentedly against the 
 cushion which Christina's own fingers had worked. 
 "Perhaps some good has come out of Lady Di's visit 
 after all," she said. "It 's settled Christina." 
 
 By a strange coincidence it transpired that Christina 
 had been thinking, just about that time, of taking a
 
 Christina ! 299 
 
 few days' holiday. She had had a busy winter and 
 was a little run down, and a breath of Highland air 
 was the one thing in the world which would set her 
 up again, she said, when writing to her brother. 
 
 So Christina came up to Glenmoira and spent a 
 whole week there, and it was a very happy week. 
 There were picnics on the loch, and teas in the manse 
 garden, and Christina radiated the magnetism of her 
 strong, comforting personality upon every one with 
 whom she came in contact. When she went away she 
 left peace and confidence and boundless hope behind 
 her. 
 
 Jock drove her over to the station himself and saw 
 her settled in the train. A bunch of the sweetest 
 flowers in Angela's garden had been picked for her, 
 and a large brown basket with folding lids, full of real 
 country luxuries, sat on the seat beside her. 
 
 "It 's done me a world of good, this breath of my 
 native air " she said to Jock, who stood on the foot- 
 board, waiting for the train to start. "There's no 
 such air to be found in all the length and breadth of 
 Scotland as in our own glens," she added, with a 
 smile of pride. 
 
 "Then you really think she could n't be better any- 
 where else than here?" asked Jock earnestly. 
 
 "Sure? Of course I 'm sure," was the confident 
 answer. "She 's as well and happy as the days are 
 long." 
 
 "And you '11 "take care of her for me, Christina? 
 You won't let anything stand in the way?" 
 
 "Don't you worry, dearie," answered Christina, 
 her tongue slipping into the old childish tones of 
 affection that brought back the days of his boyhood.
 
 300 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "I won't fail you. I '11 come up here and have my 
 bit holiday first, and then she 's to come back with me, 
 and I '11 take care of her for you ! Is n't it the very 
 best of everything that she '11 be getting? " Christina 
 smiled, and the deep-set grey eyes, which had such a 
 shrewd, kindly light in them, looked into his reas- 
 suringly. "Don't fash yourself, dearie. There's 
 the whistle. Now see and don't get carried away on 
 the footboard." 
 
 But Jock remained on the footboard, and held 
 Christina's hand until the train had crawled out of the 
 station. Then he jumped off, and stood by the side 
 of the rail, and waved his blue bonnet, and watched 
 the train until it was out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 AN IMPERATIVE SUMMONS 
 
 /CHRISTINA'S bunch of sweet flowers had been 
 V_> picked with great care by Angela herself. She 
 had developed a great interest in her garden. 
 
 " Considering that I have never had a garden before, 
 not a real country one, I think it is very clever of me 
 to know the names of so many of the flowers," she was 
 wont to remark to Jock. 
 
 The summer was creeping on. It was the beginning 
 of August now the time of all seasons, perhaps, when 
 a Scotch garden is at its most luxurious stage of bloom 
 and colour. 
 
 One afternoon Jock found Angela with a spade, 
 looking very hot and flushed, digging up a giant poppy 
 in the herbaceous border. 
 
 He took the spade away from her with an ex- 
 clamation of anger. 
 
 "That arrogant thing is taking up all the room to 
 itself, and squashing out some dear little flowers that 
 can't push for themselves," she said in defence. 
 "Look! And they are so sweet; and I hate poppies 
 they smell horrid. Hamish won't dig them up because 
 he says they 've always grown there." 
 
 "If I find you with a spade in your hand again, I 
 shall tie you up in the house when I 'm not about to 
 look after you," said Jock wrathfully. 
 
 301
 
 302 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Her mouth drooped. 
 
 "I want to do such heaps of things," she said. 
 "That 's the worst of having a busy mind." 
 
 Jock shouldered the spade. 
 
 "Tell me what you want done. I '11 dig up any 
 thing you like, but you 're not to touch a spade 
 again." He took her hands and looked at them. 
 "And you Ve been grubbing in the ground, too. 
 Angela!" 
 
 "Don't you like to see my fingers nice and grubby 
 like that?" she asked. "They look so useful." 
 
 "That 's not the use they 're meant for," he said. 
 "You must go and wash them, and then you can bring 
 your work out and sit under the cherry tree and look 
 on, and tell me what you want done." 
 
 He had made a seat for her under an old cherry tree 
 at the top of the garden, and she spent a great deal of 
 her time there. 
 
 She took her scolding about the spade penitently, 
 and went and washed her hands, and came back with 
 her work-basket and settled herself down to work. 
 The work-basket was always very full now ; sometimes 
 the lid would hardly close; the birds could rebuke her 
 no longer for lack of industry. 
 
 She threaded her needle and put on her thimble. 
 Jock stood for a few minutes and watched her. It 
 was a very hot afternoon; the August sun was blazing 
 down in its full strength. Whilst she had been indoors 
 he had dug up the offending poppy, and was waiting 
 to see what she required of him next. 
 
 "I like to see your hands doing that kind of work," 
 he said. 
 
 Angela laughed, a pleased, happy laugh.
 
 An Imperative Summons 303 
 
 "I really do sew nicely, don't I? Look! You 
 almost want a microscope to see the stitches." 
 
 Jock touched with a cautious finger what she held 
 up to him. 
 
 " You must n't hurt your eyes," he said. " I would 
 rather buy everything for you than let you do that." 
 
 "Buy!" she echoed indignantly. "As if you could 
 buy anything so pretty as that"; and she smoothed 
 out the scrap of cambric and lace lovingly. 
 
 "Are n't you going to do any more work?" she said. 
 "All those sweet peas want tying back, and that 
 sprawling briar catches my skirt every time I pass it." 
 
 Jock took off his coat, and hung it over the back 
 of the seat. 
 
 "It 's baking hot out there," he said. 
 
 He had not tied back more than half the sweet peas 
 before she called him. 
 
 "But I 'm not finished," he remonstrated. 
 
 " Never mind ; I want you." ( 
 
 She made him sit down on the wooden board which 
 her feet rested on, and searching in the pocket of the 
 coat she was leaning against, she found his pipe and 
 tobacco-pouch and gave it to him with the startling 
 remark : 
 
 "I don't believe you are a genuine Highlander. 
 You must be a changeling." 
 
 "Why? "he asked. , 
 
 "Because you 're so fond of working, and you al- 
 ways want to finish whatever you have begun." 
 
 Jock was unrolling his tobacco-pouch. 
 
 "What 's that got to do with it?" he asked. 
 
 "Because your beloved Highlanders, for all their 
 devotion and poetic love for their native land, are
 
 304 Bawbee Jock 
 
 shockingly lazy," she said. " Do you think I have n't 
 eyes? You would do more work in the garden in one 
 afternoon than Hamish would in a week." 
 
 Jock went on filling his pipe. When she chose to 
 attack him on such a vulnerable subject as his beloved 
 Highlanders, he always took refuge in grieved silence. 
 Presently he remarked: 
 
 "I had such an odd letter from Potter last night. I 
 can't make him out." 
 
 " Why ?" asked Angela. 
 
 "He 's so uncertain. One day he writes and asks 
 me to make arrangements for his coming up, and the 
 next the whole thing 's off. We are within a few days 
 of the twelfth now, and from his lettter last night I 
 don't believe he intends to come up for it." 
 
 Angela laid down her work. 
 
 "You remember Lady Di's remarks about him?" 
 she said. 
 
 Jock thought for a moment. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 "I heard from Lady Di the other evening," said 
 Angela. " It 's that detestable woman. You know 
 you met her. She sat beside you at lunch that day on 
 the moor, and tried to make you drink her cherry 
 brandy." 
 
 "I remember," said Jock slowly. 
 
 "Oh! it 's a horrid, sordid story," continued Angela, 
 flushing. "I did not want to talk about it. I 'm so 
 sorry for Dolly, except Well, I suppose she '11 
 get rid of him now. She must!" 
 
 Jock took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked 
 at it. 
 
 "And so that 's why he 's not coming up?" he said.
 
 An Imperative Summons 305 
 
 "I'm glad he has the decency to stop away," he 
 concluded shortly. 
 
 The subject was allowed to drop. When Angela 
 spoke again, her voice had changed. She had not 
 taken up her work: she was looking out across the 
 sunny garden, away to where the bloom of the heather 
 was purpling the hillsides. 
 
 "Jock," she said slowly, "sometimes I am afraid of 
 my great happiness, when I compare my life with 
 other women's lives. And love can be dreadfully 
 selfish. Sometimes I am afraid that I am making 
 an idol of my love. If anything came between us, 
 anything that tried to take you from me, I should feel 
 like some wild tigerish animal I know I should. It 
 must be wicked to feel like that." She leant over him 
 and rested her hand on his shoulder. "People have 
 things taken from them, just to show how helpless 
 they are. I want to live for nothing but you. Is it 
 right to love like that? It haunts me sometimes with 
 a kind of foreboding." 
 
 "You are not to think thoughts like that," said 
 Jock; "it is morbid. And it is not true to say that 
 you are selfish. You always think of me before your- 
 self. Do you think I don't know that?" He took 
 her hand and gave it a little shake, and looked up 
 into her face. "Cheer up," he said. "I won't listen 
 to you if you 're going to talk about forebodings, and 
 depressing things like that." 
 
 She tried to smile. 
 
 "Perhaps I get silly ideas into my head," she said 
 apologetically. "I was reading one of those funny 
 old books in your room the other day, and it was 
 all about presentiments, and how that oftenest just
 
 306 Bawbee Jock 
 
 before something dreadful occurred you were happiest, 
 and " 
 
 " I shall lock up every book in the house, if you go 
 trying to find such uncomfortable things to read," 
 said Jock. "Look here," he added, rising, "there's 
 Sheila coming out to tell us tea 's ready. We '11 have 
 it here." 
 
 From the seat under the cherry tree there was a 
 wide view, not only of the garden, but of far beyond 
 it. A small wicket-gate led out on to the moor at 
 the back ; and the road, which was the only means 
 of communication with the outside world, wound 
 irregularly across it, and could be seen for some 
 distance at various points. 
 
 Angela had recovered her spirits. They had almost 
 finished tea, and she had been having a little wrangle 
 with Jock as to whether she had put sugar in his cup 
 or not, when she looked up and said: 
 
 "Jock, is n't that Doctor Angus's dog-cart coming 
 across the moor? Do you see? Is there any one ill at 
 theclachan?" 
 
 "What good eyes you 've got!" said Jock. "Yes, 
 it 's Angus. There 's no one ill that I know of. 
 Perhaps he 's going to look up old MacPherson. He 's 
 very good friends with the manse folk." 
 
 "The people are all fond of Doctor Angus," said 
 Angela. "I 've seen him sometimes in their cottages. 
 I always remember what Flossie said about him that 
 time of the scarlet fever scare: that he was a grim- 
 looking beggar, and that it would take a pretty 
 nippy saint to slip through his fingers." 
 
 "He looks a bit grim, but he 's a rare good sort," 
 said Jock. "Too good for this place really. He had
 
 An Imperative Summons 307 
 
 a splendid practice, and his health broke down. He 's 
 all right up here." 
 
 They had forgotten about the doctor. Jock was sit- 
 ting with his back to the path which led up from the 
 house, when Angela exclaimed suddenly: 
 
 "Why, there is Doctor Angus coming up here!" 
 
 Jock rose at once, and went to meet the tall, gaunt 
 figure which was seen approaching. He welcomed the 
 doctor hospitably, and brought him up to Angela. 
 
 "You have arrived just in time for tea," she said, 
 as she shook hands with him; "and I am sure you 
 must want it. The road looks so hot and dusty." 
 
 She liked the grim-faced doctor. The shaggy eye- 
 brows, which looked so fierce, did not frighten her; 
 she had seen the eyes beneath them soften with a 
 very tender pity. They always reminded her a little 
 of Christina's. They were deep-set and shrewd, but 
 there was more of fire in their glow, and a strong 
 element of dogged, fighting obstinacy. 
 
 He stood hesitatingly, and did not accept Angela's 
 offer of tea. He looked from her face to Jock's. 
 
 "I came over to see you on a matter of business," 
 he said. "Can I have a few words?" 
 
 There was nothing peculiar in the request. He 
 frequently had to apply to Jock with regard to some 
 matter in connection with his work. 
 
 "Certainly," said Jock. "Will you come down to 
 the house?" He glanced at Angela. 
 
 "Perhaps Doctor Angus will come back and have 
 some tea after you have finished your talk," she 
 said; and taking Jock's coat from the seat behind 
 her, she held it out to him. "Put on your coat," 
 she said.
 
 308 Bawbee Jock 
 
 As Jock shook himself into his coat, an odd light 
 flashed up into the doctor's eyes. The incident was 
 so small, and yet it held a world of meaning. Often 
 had he felt his heart ache for Jock, living out his lonely, 
 self-sacrificing life in an unostentatious loyalty to the 
 people who had been entrusted to his care. And 
 now It was such a small thing: a glance of 
 understanding; a woman's soft voice saying, "Put 
 on your coat." But it meant a new heaven and a 
 new earth to the man. 
 
 Angela took up her work again after she had watched 
 Jock and Doctor Angus go back into the house. Her 
 mood of depression had vanished; she felt very con- 
 tented and happy. She possessed so strongly the gift 
 of being able to lose herself in the interest of the 
 moment, that the tiny garment which was taking 
 form and meaning under the touch of her busy fingers 
 absorbed her completely. She was unconscious of 
 how long she had worked, when she heard Jock's step 
 coming up the path. He was alone; and the moment 
 she caught sight of his face, she dropped her work and 
 rose to her feet. For one second the blood seemed to 
 ebb from her heart and then tingle to her finger-tips. 
 She controlled herself resolutely. 
 
 "He is there safe before my eyes. I am not 
 afraid." And she went forward to meet him. 
 
 It was she who spoke, for she saw that he did not 
 know how to frame his words. She read his thoughts 
 by the instinct of love. 
 
 "It is Alister," she said quickly. 
 
 "Yes," answered Jock, 
 
 "Is he ill?" 
 
 "Yes,"
 
 An Imperative Summons 309 
 
 Jock answered each question mechanically. She 
 was doing for him what he could not do for himself. 
 
 "Where is he?" asked Angela. 
 
 "Back in this country. He worked his passage 
 over to Liverpool. He 's lying in a hospital there. 
 One of the doctors a friend of Angus's found out 
 who he was, and Angus has come for me." 
 
 "You mean he wants you to go now start at 
 once?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Jock. "Alister is very ill de- 
 sperately ill. He was coming back to me." His voice 
 grew husky and strained. "I ought never to have 
 deserted him I knew he could not stand alone. I 
 I have failed in my trust." 
 
 The look in his eyes, not of reproach to herself, but 
 expressing so acutely his own bitter remorse, hurt her 
 like the sharp stab of a knife. It was she who had 
 made him desert Alister; not in words so much as in 
 the subtlety of influence. He had done it against his 
 better judgment, and he would not have done it if it 
 had not been for her. 
 
 "You will have to go to him," she faltered, know- 
 ing that she must help him to put his duty before his 
 love. 
 
 "But I can't leave you here alone," said Jock. 
 
 "Yes, you can," she answered quietly. 
 
 "I can't," he repeated; "not unless I can get some 
 one to stay with you." 
 
 "Does Doctor Angus say you must go at once?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Yes, "admitted Jock. 
 
 "Then there is no time to think of anything but 
 that. And, dear, I think it would worry me to have
 
 3io Bawbee Jock 
 
 any one with me. You won't stay away longer than 
 you can help?" 
 
 "I won't stay a moment longer than I can help," he 
 answered. 
 
 "Perhaps you will find it is not so bad as they 
 think. You may be able to bring him back. We 
 will nurse him together, you and I. I would help 
 you all I could." She looked up at him bravely. 
 "There is no other way out of it, Jock. You must 
 go." 
 
 Still he doubted. 
 i "Ought I to leave you?" he said. 
 
 "It is your duty to go," she answered, and her eyes 
 did not flinch. 
 
 " Sheila is to be trusted," he said. " She would sleep 
 in the house, of course." 
 
 She saw that he was wavering. Her heart felt like 
 lead, but she would not let him see what she felt. 
 
 "Dearest, what harm can come to me?" she said. 
 "This is my home, and all your own people are round 
 me. I shall be quite safe." She put her hand 
 through his arm, and gently drew him along with her. 
 "You have no time to waste in words," she said. 
 "You will have to change, and you will have to 
 pack. Come! I will help you." 
 
 An hour later she was sitting alone in the hall, 
 staring blankly through the open door. 
 
 Jock was gone out of sight and hearing. Was it 
 possible? She could still feel the clasp of his arms, 
 still feel the touch of his last kiss on her lips. 
 
 She sat for some time in a kind of apathy the 
 consciousness of doubt settling into the certainty of 
 reality.
 
 An Imperative Summons 311 
 
 " I played at missing him before that day when 
 he left me first; but this " She looked round 
 her. "It's desolation! The very abomination of 
 desolation." And she laid her head down on the 
 arm of Jock's big chair and wept bitterly.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE LIGHT ON BURYING ISLAND 
 
 '"THE hours passed, but on leaden feet. Angela 
 1 spent a restless night, broken by fitful dreams. 
 Her spirit must have been with Jock, for in her dreams 
 she was haunted persistently by the continuous clatter 
 of speeding trains, the throb of engines, the discordant 
 shriek of steam whistles, and a pandemonium of 
 clamour and noise. 
 
 She awoke unrefreshed. It seemed so strange to 
 look forward to a day without the joyous anticipation 
 of what each hour might bring forth. She had not 
 allowed Sheila to tidy Jock's room, and it gave her 
 a mournful pleasure to see the signs of his hurried 
 preparations for departure lying about in it. He was 
 always very neat and careful of his personal belong- 
 ings, but the untidiness spoke so forcibly of him that 
 it comforted her. 
 
 "He has left his real self behind him. He did not 
 look a bit like himself when he went away in those 
 stupid, ordinary clothes like any other man," she al- 
 most sobbed, as she hung his kilt over the back of a 
 chair. She picked up his sporran, and rubbed her 
 cheek against the otter skin. His dirk lay on the 
 dressing-table, just where he had thrown it down, and 
 she would not have it moved. She took out her hand- 
 
 312
 
 The Light on Burying Island 313 
 
 kerchief and dusted the room herself, and then she 
 locked it up and put the key in her pocket, for no 
 reason except that she liked to know that it was there. 
 
 Dileas followed her wherever she went, like a 
 shadow, and seemed to reproach her for her restless- 
 ness; until at length she was compelled, out of sheer 
 pity, to sit down and let him lay his head on her knee. 
 
 During the long morning and up till late in the 
 afternoon she kept saying to herself, "This time yes- 
 terday he was here." But by tea-time her courage had 
 begun to flag, and then an unexpected interruption 
 occurred. She was sitting under the cherry tree, for 
 she could not bear the oppression of the house, and 
 she was gazing longingly at the road which wound 
 across the moor, when, turning her head at the sound 
 of a footstep, she saw old Mr. MacPherson slowly 
 mounting the steep incline. His kind old face bright- 
 ened into a smile as she came a few steps down the path 
 to meet him. 
 
 "How kind of you ! " was her greeting. " You have 
 heard you know. You came to comfort me, did 
 you not?" 
 
 "I am but an old man, yet I thought maybe it is 
 a friend's face that you would be willing to see," he 
 answered in his soft voice, which had the Highland 
 lilt of sweetness so strongly marked in its tone. 
 
 So Angela was not left in sad loneliness with only 
 her own thoughts for company. When Sheila brought 
 out tea, she waited on the old man with tender care; 
 and after tea was over, and they had talked for a 
 while, she walked round the garden with him. 
 
 Mr. MacPherson's knowledge of a garden was very 
 wide and interesting. He knew not only the name of
 
 314 Bawbee Jock 
 
 every flower, and how it grew, but its use and place 
 in the scheme of plant life. When in her eager way 
 she asked him questions, he tried to explain, and to 
 make as clear to her as they appeared to him, some 
 of the profound simplicities in the world of nature 
 which surrounded them. He was a poet, a dreamer, 
 something of a mystic; but his philosophy was beau- 
 tiful in her eyes. Standing with his hands clasped 
 behind his back, and his fine head drooped, he gazed 
 down at the clump of modest, sweet-smelling flowers 
 which Angela had sought to rescue from their 
 obscurity. 
 
 "The law of unselfishness," he murmured dreamily. 
 "Not to live for the individual, but for the Divine 
 whole: that is the will of God." He raised his eyes, 
 luminous and far-seeing, and fixed them on his lis- 
 tener's face. "Every tree, and plant, and humble 
 flower, teaches us the lesson of Nature's generosity to 
 God giving in prolific generosity, in places unseen by 
 the human eye, maybe, blooming for Him alone. 
 Year after year, season succeeding season, the sap of 
 life returns ungrudgingly to the hand which takes 
 from it its richest gifts." 
 
 Angela listened with a feeling of awe to the words 
 which fell with such simple reverence from the old 
 man's lips. 
 
 "Will you say that first bit again?" she asked, 
 "the bit about unselfishness." 
 
 "The law of unselfishness. Not to live for the in- 
 dividual, but for the Divine whole: that is the will of 
 God," he repeated slowly. 
 
 "Thank you," she said. 
 
 She walked with him to the gate and a little way
 
 The Light on Burying Island 315 
 
 along the road, for his companionship was grateful to 
 her; and at parting he murmured a blessing, which 
 touched her by its fervent sincerity. But as she 
 returned, it was not the blessing which remained with 
 her. It was something which made her feel restless 
 and dissatisfied with herself a something put into 
 words, which had prompted her to that outburst of 
 mistrustfulness the afternoon before, when she had 
 sat with Jock under the cherry tree; and which 
 had hurt her like a sharp stab of pain, when he had 
 said, after he had heard of Alister's return, "I never 
 ought to have deserted him. I have failed in my 
 trust." 
 
 She returned to her seat and sat down. 
 
 "The law of unselfishness. Not to live for the in- 
 dividual, but for the Divine whole: that is the will of 
 God," she repeated. 
 
 "I am living for the individual. I am making an 
 idol of my love for Jock. I have clutched greedily 
 at happiness. I have sacrificed everything to hold 
 him to me. I would not share him, not one bit of 
 him, with any one or anything. I have set love up 
 before everything else. I would not let his eyes be 
 opened to see anything but me, and I have used the 
 temptation of myself to make him fail in his duty. 
 Mine has not been true love. It has been a small, 
 ungenerous, miserable little thing. It is not worth 
 the name of love." 
 
 With a gesture of abandonment she covered her 
 face with her hands, and sat shrinking into herself. 
 
 "I was as hard as a stone with him about Alister. 
 I resented his loyalty. I grudged the smallest scrap 
 of love being given to any one but myself. It is not
 
 316 Bawbee Jock 
 
 a bit of credit to me that I would die for him, because 
 it is all me. He is me ! " 
 
 She sobbed unrestrainedly, and Dileas came and laid 
 his paw on her lap, and she threw her arms round his 
 neck and found some consolation in the touch of his 
 hard, wiry coat. 
 
 "My one comfort is that I did not keep him from 
 going. I sent him I made him go, Dileas, didn't 
 I?" 
 
 And Dileas lifted the other paw and laid it on her 
 arm, and gave a sighing groan, and looked his unutter- 
 able sympathy. 
 
 That night her dreams were more troublous than 
 they had been the night before. The window-curtains 
 were not drawn, and a faint grey light illumined the 
 room, and the black carved pillars of the great bed 
 seemed to stand out from the greyness like avenging 
 ghosts. Before the dawn broke she could stand 
 them no longer, and, rising, she drew every curtain 
 close and shut out every chink of light, and in the hot 
 stuffiness of darkness she tried to sleep, but only 
 managed to capture a few fitful snatches of rest- 
 less unconsciousness. 
 
 The next morning some of her natural buoyancy 
 returned to her. She would get a letter from Jock by 
 the evening's post. That was something to live for. 
 She busied herself about the house with feverish 
 energy ; she sewed fitfully at intervals and watched the 
 clock; but long before it was time for the post-bag to 
 arrive she went out on to the moor at the back of the 
 garden, and, finding a place from where she could 
 command an uninterrupted view of the road, she sat 
 down to wait.
 
 The Light on Burying Island 317 
 
 She had not been there for long before she noticed 
 that Hamish and Donald were standing together at 
 the corner of a field almost immediately below where 
 she was sitting. Their heads were close together, 
 and they looked as though they might be hatching a 
 conspiracy. 
 
 Presently Hamish moved away, but Donald re- 
 mained. He hovered about, glancing every now and 
 then in the direction of where Angela was sitting, until 
 his manner attracted her attention, and she rose and 
 went down the bank to speak to him. 
 
 He dragged off his bonnet and sidled up to her. 
 It was evident that he had something on his mind, 
 and she gave him the opportunity of unburdening it. 
 
 "What is it, Donald?" she said. "You and Ha- 
 mish were talking about something. Can I help you? 
 The master is away, you know ; but if there is anything 
 you want " 
 
 Donald plucked at his bonnet and fixed his eyes on 
 her face. There was a queer glow in them, which gave 
 her a feeling of uncanniness. 
 
 " It will be of the light that we was talking," he said. 
 
 "What light?" asked Angela. 
 
 "It will be the light on the island. It will be 
 Hamish himself that has been seeing the light." 
 
 Donald looked over his shoulder and pointed, and 
 Angela saw that he pointed in the direction of the 
 Burying Island. 
 
 "When did you see the light? " she asked haltingly. 
 
 Donald sidled a little nearer to her. 
 
 " It would be last night at the darkening that Ha- 
 mish did see the light on the island ; and the word has 
 gone round that there will be death to Glenmoira."
 
 318 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Angela shivered, although the evening was so 
 warm. 
 
 " Does it always come true? " she asked. 
 
 "It was myself that did once see the light," said 
 Donald, in a mysterious whisper. "I would be row- 
 ing in a poat, and there would be anither man in the 
 poat, behint meself ; and we did both see the light, and 
 we was afraid; and it would be that same night that 
 our chief himself lay dead in Glenmoira." Donald 
 pointed again over his shoulder. "It is many times 
 that the light has been seen. I could be telling you 
 of " 
 
 Angela stepped back. 
 
 "Oh, please don't tell me any more just now. I 
 Good-night, Donald," she concluded abruptly; and, 
 turning, she went quickly up the bank to the gate 
 which led into the garden, and did not pause until she 
 found herself in the house, with familiar objects 
 round her again. She sank down on a chair, feeling 
 weak and unstrung, and as if the smallest incident 
 would strain her nerves beyond her control. 
 
 The evening wore on, but no post-bag arrived. 
 All day long she had been buoyed up with the certainty 
 that she would receive a letter from Jock. He would 
 not fail her; he could not. Into the blankness of the 
 unseen he had gone; but he was somewhere. He 
 would send her a message out of the void of space 
 which had swallowed him up: 
 
 Nine o'clock struck, and she could not stand the 
 loneliness any longer; she sought refuge with Sheila, 
 who was sitting by the back door knitting. Sheila's 
 comfort was very practical. 
 
 "It will be because of the shootings that the train
 
 The Light on Burying Island 319 
 
 will be late," she said, rising and offering Angela her 
 chair. "To-morrow will be the beginning of the 
 shooting, and this will be a very busy day for the 
 trains whatever." 
 
 "I forgot that to-morrow is the twelfth," said 
 Angela ; and she made Sheila bring another chair, and 
 they sat together in the dusk and talked in low, sub- 
 dued voices until the stars came out. 
 
 Angela had almost given up hope of her longed-for 
 letter, when she heard, far away across the moor, the 
 faint sound of wheels. It was the post-gig, and when 
 the bag was brought to her, her fingers trembled so 
 that she could hardly turn the key in the lock; and 
 when she shook out the letters, Jock's was the last to 
 fall into her lap. 
 
 She held it, devouring it with her eyes before she 
 opened it. She had never received a love-letter from 
 him. His first letter was to his wife. 
 
 She read it slowly, dwelling on every word. Love 
 for her breathed through it, but it was a very sad 
 letter. 
 
 Alister was dead. Jock had arrived in time to see 
 him before he died, and he had been conscious and 
 known him. There had been a few hours of reunion, 
 when the weak, erring brother had leant for the last 
 time on the love which he had taxed to the uttermost, 
 which from infancy had been his strength. 
 
 "But I failed him at the end. He was not the sort 
 to cast adrift," wrote Jock. "He did not reproach 
 me; he did not seem to remember. I found him as 
 weak and helpless as a child, and he knew that he was 
 dying. He did not seem to want anything but that I 
 should stay with him. He seemed to have forgotten
 
 32O Bawbee Jock 
 
 these last years of separation; he always harked back 
 to the days when we were boys together. The last 
 words he said were: 
 
 '"Give me your hand, Jock, to help me across'; and 
 then he gave a kind of laugh and said, ' What a grip 
 you 've got! I 'm never afraid you '11 let go.* 
 
 " I did let go. He did not mean it for reproach. I 
 think his mind was running on something in the old 
 days, when we had been out together, and I had given 
 him a helping hand. 
 
 "He was just a wreck, and he had n't a penny in his 
 pocket. The only thing he had n't parted with was 
 his tartan plaid. He asked me to bury him at Glen- 
 moira, and he said, ' When you row me up the loch, 
 Jock, wrap me in my plaid. I 've been a bad lot; 
 but I 've never sold the tartan.' ' 
 
 Angela's tears were falling so fast that she could 
 hardly see to read the last few words. They were 
 loving words to herself. She was to remember how 
 precious she was to him, and to take care of herself, 
 and he hoped to be with her again very soon. He 
 would have to make arrangements about the carrying 
 out of Alister's wish to be buried at Glenmoira, but 
 he would not delay his return a moment longer than 
 necessary. 
 
 "I can't say for certain when I shall be back, but I 
 shall send you a wire when I know," was added in a 
 postscript at the end. 
 
 Angela slept with her letter under her pillow that 
 night, and kissed it at intervals during the night 
 watches. 
 
 " Perhaps I will see him to-day," was her first wak- 
 ing thought; and shortly after she had finished her
 
 The Light on Burying Island 321 
 
 breakfast, Sheila appeared with a telegram. She tore 
 it open. 
 
 "Expect me to-morrow evening by post-gig." 
 
 To-morrow evening! She re-read the telegram. 
 It had been sent off the night before. It was to-day 
 that he was coming. 
 
 Her heart felt as if it would bound out of her bosom. 
 The few bald words on that slip of pink paper filled 
 her with a rapture of joy, and for the rest of the day 
 she went about the house with a glad singing in her 
 heart, but chiding herself at intervals. 
 
 "Poor Alister! I ought to be mourning for him; 
 but then I never knew him. I can only mourn for 
 him because of Jock." 
 
 She saw Donald and Hamish in the field again that 
 afternoon with their heads close together, talking 
 mysteriously; but she did not go near them. 
 
 "It was very strange about the light," she said to 
 herself several times. " It must have been for Alister." 
 And whenever she looked across the loch to the bend 
 where it swept round towards the Burying Island, she 
 felt a little frightened. 
 
 Dinner-time came, but no post-gig. 
 
 "Will the trains be very late again to-night?" she 
 asked Sheila anxiously. 
 
 " Maybe they will," answered Sheila. "Will you be 
 waiting dinner for the master?" she asked presently. 
 
 "Of course I shall," answered Angela. The ques- 
 tion seemed absurd. 
 
 But the dinner-hour passed, and there was no sound 
 of welcome wheels. Sheila with gentle persistence 
 tried to persuade her to eat. 
 
 "The master would not be pleased that you wait too
 
 322 Bawbee Jock 
 
 long," she pleaded; and Angela drank the cup of soup 
 brought to her, but would eat nothing. 
 
 Ten o'clock struck, and she was still hoping against 
 hope. She could not sit still; she wandered in and 
 out of the rooms, and, hearing voices in the kitchen, 
 she opened the door and looked in. 
 
 Donald and Hamish and a strange man she had 
 never seen before were talking to Sheila at the window. 
 The strange man was tall and dark, with a pale face 
 and a black beard. To her excited imagination there 
 was something sinister in his appearance. 
 
 "Sheila!" she called. 
 
 And Sheila turned, and catching sight of her mis- 
 tress's white face, she made a sign to the men to go 
 away. 
 
 "What were they talking about? Has there been 
 an accident to the train?" demanded Angela. 
 
 "There has been no accident no accident what- 
 ever," answered Sheila; and the calmness of her tone 
 and her gentle manner were reassuring. 
 
 But Angela persisted: 
 
 "Who was that strange man? What was he saying 
 to Donald and Hamish? He looked so odd." 
 
 "It will be Black Dougal," answered Sheila. "He 
 has not quite all the senses of a man, but it is himself 
 that gets the news before any one else in the glen. It 
 was of the train that he was telling us. It will not 
 arrive to-night, because it is too heavy for the hills. 
 There has been no accident, but it will be many hours 
 late. There has been no accident," she repeated with 
 quiet confidence. 
 
 Angela's eyes searched Sheila's face. 
 
 "You are really telling the truth, Sheila?"
 
 The Light on Burying Island 323 
 
 Sheila answered that she was telling the truth, and 
 by dint of gentle persuasion she contrived to make her 
 mistress eat something. 
 
 " It will be better for you to eat, for maybe it will not 
 be until the morning that the master will come," she 
 pleaded. 
 
 Angela consented to eat, but she refused to go to 
 bed. 
 
 "Not just yet. You go, Sheila, for you must have 
 your rest. But I shall wait up a little while longer; 
 and Dileas is with me, so I shall be all right." 
 
 Sheila was too wise to protest. She went away, but 
 not to sleep. And Angela, after she had gone, sat for 
 a long time by the open window. 
 
 It was a hot, sultry night with thunder brooding in 
 the air. She had no reason to doubt Sheila's words, 
 but a great load of oppression was weighing upon her 
 spirits. Her nerves had been kept on the strain for 
 the last four days; she had slept very little and that 
 only in feverish snatches, and her imagination had 
 been feeding on one continuous theme, and that was 
 herself. 
 
 She rested her head against the side of the window. 
 It was hard, but cool to the touch. 
 
 "If something were to happen!" she murmured to 
 herself. " If I could never tell him never hear him 
 say that he forgave me!" The words seemed to be 
 beating time to the throbbing pain in her temples. 
 
 Presently she roused herself, and crept stealthily 
 out to the front door, afraid that her step might 
 waken Sheila. The night was absolutely still, not a 
 leaf stirred. The jessamine above the porch gave out 
 a strong pungent scent; the plaintive cry of a wild
 
 324 Bawbee Jock 
 
 bird rose from the reeds by the side of the loch. She 
 returned to the house, and to the window where she had 
 been sitting before, and stood irresolute until her eyes 
 rested on Jock's writing-table. Something seemed to 
 flash an intuitive message to her brain. She acted 
 quickly on impulse, and the next minute found her 
 seated in Jock's chair before the writing-table, with a 
 sheet of paper spread out before her and a pen in her 
 hand. She dipped the pen in the ink and began to 
 write, hesitatingly at first, then more surely, as she 
 bent to her task. 
 
 She wrote so rapidly that she covered the four sides 
 of the paper in an incredibly short space of time. The 
 tears were running down her cheeks, but she never 
 paused to wipe them away ; and she took another sheet 
 of paper out of the stand in front of her and went on 
 writing. Then she threw down her pen and gave a 
 deep, sighing sob, and taking out her pocket- 
 handkerchief, dried her wet cheeks. 
 
 "What a relief!" she said under her breath. "I 
 hope he '11 never read it; but oh, what a relief it is to 
 have got it off my conscience!" 
 
 She sat for a moment or two thinking. Then she 
 lifted the lid of her work-basket and unbuttoned one of 
 the pockets which lined the sides. It was the one where 
 she had hidden her handkerchief with the money she 
 had stolen from Jock to buy him a Christmas present. 
 
 The little bundle had lain there ever since. She 
 united the knotted ends of the handkerchief, and 
 folding up the sheets of paper into a tight packet, she 
 thrust them in amongst the jingling coins; and knot- 
 ting up the handkerchief again, she put it back in its 
 hiding-place.
 
 The Light on Burying Island 325 
 
 "What a relief!" she repeated. "Whether it's 
 useless or not, I feel happier for having done it. I 
 believe I could go to sleep now, and not dream 
 horrors." 
 
 She glanced at the clock. It was close on midnight, 
 and she shut the window and drew down the blind. 
 
 She carried the lamp into the hall, where Dileas was 
 lying on the deerskin rug in front of the fireplace, and 
 set it down on the table. The hall door stood open, 
 and she closed it, but did not turn the key in the lock. 
 
 "He might come back sooner than we hope," she 
 said to the old hound, who was watching her move- 
 ments. She lowered the lamp and patted the dog's 
 head. "I 'm going to bed, Dileas. I 'm very, very 
 tired, and you are to watch for him." She lighted 
 her candle and began slowly to mount the steep 
 corkscrew stair. The candle-light threw her shadow 
 on the wall, and she paused and spoke to it. "Poor 
 little shadow ! You 're very lonely. It 's very lonely 
 being only half a shadow, isn't it?" And with a 
 sigh she continued her way. 
 
 In her room she drew the curtains across the window 
 and left the door open for air. 
 
 " I can't stand you making faces at me," she said to 
 the carved bedposts ; and hardly had her head touched 
 the pillow before she fell asleep. 
 
 Her sleep at first was the sleep of exhaustion, and 
 then her brain began to work and she dreamt. Her 
 dream was a jumbled tissue of inconsequences ; but the 
 events of the past few days were woven into it. The 
 guiding wheel of balance slumbered; the demon of 
 unbridled imagination ruled supreme. 
 
 She was in a boat on the loch, and she was trying to
 
 326 Bawbee Jock 
 
 fly from the light on the island, and the boat would not 
 move; and the man who was rowing jt was Black 
 Dougal a harmless creature in reality, but in her 
 dream he was a phantom endowed with a malignant 
 personality. 
 
 "Row! row faster!" she cried. "Take me away 
 from the light; I am frightened." 
 
 But the phantom only fixed her with his glassy eyes, 
 and his oars did not seem to stir a ripple on the dark 
 surface of the water. She looked back fearfully, and 
 she saw that the light was following. It was dancing 
 and flickering: now it was close behind her now it 
 was touching her shoulder. 
 , With a cry of terror on her lips she awoke. 
 
 "Jock! Save me!" 
 
 A lamp, which had been shaded by a guarding hand, 
 was put hastily down. 
 
 "My darling!" rang out a voice in answer to her 
 cry; and she was in the shelter of Jock's arms, sobbing 
 out her terror in a wild incoherence of love and glad- 
 ness on his breast.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE LAST SOLEMNITIES 
 
 JOCK'S explanation as to how he came to return 
 home in the middle of the night was very simple. 
 Black Bengal's story turned out to have been correct. 
 The engine of the train had broken down on a steep 
 gradient and its passengers were stranded at a way- 
 side station until a fresh engine could be procured from 
 the distant junction. 
 
 But Jock had not waited for the relief engine. He 
 had started to walk across the hills to Glenmoira. It 
 was not so very far in a direct line, and to any one who 
 knew the country as well as he did, there were no 
 impossibilities in the way. 
 
 During the day which followed his return, there 
 was something pathetic in Angela's eagerness to enter 
 into his feelings, her endeavours to comfort him and 
 care for him. It grieved her bitterly to see how tired 
 and downcast he looked. 
 
 "I 've hardly had my clothes off since I left. I 
 have n't had much sleep," he explained. "It worried 
 me to think of you being here alone, and I went straight 
 through with what I had to do, and took the first 
 train back. I '11 feel better after it 's all over," he 
 concluded; and Angela knew what he meant. Until 
 Alister was laid to rest, he would not be altogether her 
 
 327
 
 328 Bawbee Jock 
 
 own again. But she was not resentful; she was only 
 full of a great pity and love for him, a deep yearning to 
 make him feel that she knew and understood and 
 sympathised with his sorrow. 
 
 "I want it to be very quiet and simple," Jock said, 
 when telling her of how he had arranged for Alister's 
 funeral to take place. " It 's not necessary to ask any 
 one from outside. I would like our own people in 
 Glenmoira to do all that has to be done for him." 
 
 A sultry gloom hung over the glen the day of 
 Alister's funeral. The loch appeared to have no life 
 in it ; its 'surface was a dull grey, and not a breath of 
 air stirred the foliage of the weeping birches which 
 fringed its banks. The ferns seemed to trail their 
 fronds with mournful significance in the leaden- 
 coloured water; no song of bird broke the stillness: 
 all was quiet and brooding. 
 
 Angela was sitting in the hall in semi-darkness, for 
 Sheila had drawn the blinds. Her hands were folded 
 on her lap and she was listening to Jock moving about 
 in the room above. 
 
 The sad little procession was to start from the 
 landing-stage at twelve o'clock. The coffin had been 
 brought over the hill from the distant station the night 
 before, and had lain during the short hours of darkness 
 in the old boat-house by the loch-side. 
 
 It rested on trestles, and was almost covered with 
 flowers simple cottage flowers, the majority of them; 
 and some loving hands who remembered the dead man 
 only as a sunny-haired boy had lined the sides of the 
 rough shed with heather. All the morning, since day- 
 break, a continuous stream of humble mourners had 
 passed in and out, and each had brought some offering
 
 The Last Solemnities 329 
 
 of love and respect. Little of the latter years of 
 Alister's life was known to these simple people. 
 Death, like a disarming foe, deals kindly with the 
 memory of the weak and erring. It is an evil tongue 
 which seeks to slander the sacredness of the dead, and 
 there was nothing recalled of Alister Mackenzie's life 
 but what had been good, and no words spoken but 
 those of love. 
 
 When Jock came down-stairs he found Angela still 
 sitting in the semi-darkness of the hall. 
 
 "Can you do something for me?" he asked. He 
 touched his black tie. "This is n't right. I had to 
 cut it, and the end wants stitching." 
 
 She rose quickly, and fetched a needle and thread. 
 
 "It's so dark you can't see." And he held the 
 blind a little back for her. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, after she had finished; but he 
 drew her closer to the light and looked down at her. 
 " You have tired yourself," he said. "You ought not 
 to have stood about making that wreath. It was 
 beautiful, and it was sweet of you to think of putting 
 in that bit of holly from the old arch. He 's passed 
 under it many a time." 
 
 "I am giad that pleased you," she said. 
 
 "But you have tired yourself," he repeated. He 
 touched her cheek. "You have been looking like a 
 ghost since I came back. Did you fret when I was 
 away? You promised not to." 
 
 "It was stupid of me, but I could not help it," she 
 answered. 
 
 "After to-day I shall have time to take more care 
 of you," he said. 
 
 "But it is I who ought to comfort you," she an-
 
 33 Bawbee Jock 
 
 swered wistfully. " I do want to comfort you, Jock. 
 You know that, don't you? I was not as kind as I 
 ought to have been about Alister." 
 
 "You have never been anything but kind to me," 
 he answered, and he kissed her. "I must go now. 
 Don't stay in here in the dark. It looks so dreary, 
 and it does no good. Go and sit in the garden. I 
 have taken out your chair, and Sheila will be near if 
 you want anything." 
 
 He kissed her again, and told Dileas, who was pre- 
 pared to follow him, that he was to stay behind and 
 take care of his mistress. 
 
 Angela put her hand on the dog's collar. 
 
 "He knows," she said. "When you speak to him 
 like that, he never leaves me." 
 
 She watched Jock out of sight, and Dileas followed 
 her into the garden. Everything looked dull and 
 listless. The flowers were drooping their heads in the 
 sultry air; the same brooding stillness which hung over 
 the loch brooded here also. 
 
 She did not go to her favourite haunt under the 
 cherry tree, but turned into a side-path, and in a quiet 
 corner she found Sheila. 
 
 Shelia rose from the bench on which she was sitting 
 and curtseyed apologetically. 
 
 "It is waiting for the poats that I was," she ex- 
 plained; and Angela saw that there were tears in her 
 soft dark eyes. 
 
 "Don't go away, Sheila. Let us watch together," 
 she said, seating herself on the bench. "The master 
 said I was not to stay in the house; and I feel very 
 lonely." 
 
 For some time they sat and talked. Angela en-
 
 The Last Solemnities 331 
 
 couraged Sheila to speak of Alister. The little High- 
 land woman's love for her master her chief was a 
 thing apart, an unquestioned fealty ; but she had loved 
 the younger brother also. She described him as she 
 remembered him. He had been such a handsome, 
 graceful boy, the idol of his mother, the spoilt darling 
 of the household, from his cradle upwards claiming so 
 much more than his share; and Angela, who could 
 read between the lines, saw how Jock had never 
 grudged him his beauty and his popularity. 
 
 Suddenly Angela raised her head and exclaimed: 
 
 " Sheila ! what is that? " 
 
 A mournful wail, like the sound of a spirit in pain, 
 had broken the heavy stillness of the air. 
 
 "It will be the pipes playing the Lament," said 
 Sheila. 
 
 "The Lament!" echoed Angela, in an awestruck 
 voice. 
 
 "It will be that they have put the coffin in the 
 poat," explained Sheila. 
 
 The wail lengthened; a long-drawn-out plaint of 
 sadness floated to them across the water. 
 
 "It's dreadfully mournful. Is it always like 
 that? Do they play that at all the funerals ?" asked 
 Angela. 
 
 " It will be the Lament of the Clan. It is a beautiful 
 Lament. The name of it will be Cumha Thigearna 
 Ghedrrloch." 
 
 Angela moved nearer to Sheila. 
 
 " It 's so dreadfully sad. It seems to pierce through 
 everything. Will they play that all the way to the 
 Burying Island, and all the way back again?" she 
 asked.
 
 33 2 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "It will not be the same Lament that they will be 
 playing all the time," answered Sheila. "There are 
 many beautiful Laments. It will be ' The Flowers of 
 the Forest' that they will be playing when the poats 
 is coming back from the burying." 
 
 "The Flowers of the Forest.' I have heard of 
 that," said Angela. "It 's such a pretty name; but 
 I expect it 's dreadfully sad, too. I suppose a Lament 
 must be sad; it would n't be a Lament if it was not." 
 Her attitude changed. She leant forward and pointed. 
 "Look! There! Just showing round the point that 
 black thing!" 
 
 "It will be the poat with the coffin," whispered 
 Sheila. 
 
 Slowly, round the curve of the wooded knoll, a boat 
 glided into view. It was black and broad-beamed, 
 and hung low in the water, and was rowed by four of 
 the Glenmoira men. It was bearing the body of 
 Alister Mackenzie to its last resting-place. 
 
 "When you row me up the loch, Jock, wrap me in 
 my plaid." 
 
 That had been his last request. The plaid was 
 wrapped round his coffin; but almost hiding the tartan 
 were flowers flowers pure and white, mute symbols of 
 forgiveness and of sins washed clean. 
 
 "How beautiful!" murmured Angela. "When I 
 die, I should like to be put in a boat like that, and 
 covered with flowers and rowed over the water." 
 
 Following the first boat, in a dark, winding line, 
 came a procession of smaller boats. In the first one 
 Angela could recognise Jock and old Mr. MacPherson 
 and the tall, spare figure of Doctor Angus. 
 
 "Where do these boats come from?" she asked
 
 The Last Solemnities 333 
 
 Sheila. "They are all black; I never saw them on the 
 loch before." 
 
 "It will be only for the buryings that the black 
 poats will be used," answered Sheila. 
 
 The dark line had now swept out into the middle of 
 the loch, and the figures gradually grew blurred and 
 indistinct. The sad wail of the Lament was borne 
 back to the listeners sadder and more plaintive as it 
 softened in the distance. 
 
 Then the leading boat, like a great black bird, 
 seemed to spread its wings and disappear into space. 
 It had vanished from sight up the arm of the loch 
 toward the Burying Island ; and one by one the other 
 boats following it vanished in their turn. 
 
 An eerie sensation of blankness fell on the wide 
 stretch of grey water. It was as though a ghostly 
 procession had passed before the face of a mirror 
 and thrown its reflection across its surface, and then 
 melted into the void of the unknown. 
 
 "It hardly seemed real," said Angela. "How long 
 will it be before the boats come back again?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " It will be an hour maybe, or maybe it will be more 
 than an hour." Sheila looked at her mistress, and 
 said gently, "I am thinking that it is resting that you 
 ought to be, mem." 
 
 "I can't rest in the house," said Angela. "I shall 
 go up to the top of the garden and sit under the cherry 
 tree." 
 
 Sheila went with her and arranged her cushions 
 comfortably, and then returned to the house. She 
 was within call if she was wanted. 
 
 Angela tried to rest, but could not. She was tired,
 
 334 Bawbee Jock 
 
 with a tiredness which made her nervous and appre- 
 hensive. She controlled her restlessness as well as 
 she could, talking to Dileas, who lay at her feet. 
 
 "I wonder how much longer it will be before the 
 boats come back. We can't see them properly from 
 here, can we?" She gave an impatient sigh. "We 
 will go out on to the moor, Dileas," she said. "We 
 can get a better view from there." And Dileas 
 followed her through the little wicket-gate to the bank 
 where she so often sat. 
 
 She rested her hand on the old hound's head; 
 Dileas was such a good listener. 
 
 "This is better, is n't it? We shall be able to see 
 them coming round the bend of the loch. Sheila 
 said an hour perhaps. They may be back any minute 
 now." 
 
 But Dileas was not so restful as usual. He moved 
 from under her hand. He stretched his long, lean 
 limbs, and prowled uneasily round her in a circle. 
 
 "What 's the matter?" she said; and she tried to 
 make him lie down on the heather beside her, but he 
 would only squat on his haunches and gaze at her 
 mournfully. 
 
 Her attention had strayed for a few moments. 
 When she looked again at the loch, she saw a dark 
 object coming slowly round the bend from the island, 
 and then one by one the boats reappeared. At the 
 end of the line was the big, broad-beamed one, which 
 had borne Alister's body, returning empty of its 
 burden. 
 
 "Dileas," she whispered, "they have left him be- 
 hind all alone on that sad little island, I would n't 
 like that to be left behind,"
 
 The Last Solemnities 335 
 
 She raised her head and listened. Over the water 
 came the melancholy wail of the pipes again; this 
 time they were playing " The Flowers of the Forest." 
 
 " It 's dreadfully, dreadfully sad! It 's like a great 
 gathering of people all crying together, and nothing 
 can comfort them." 
 
 She strained her eyes to distinguish the figures in 
 the leading boat. 
 
 Jock and Doctor Angus sat in the stern, and two 
 men were rowing in the bow. The boats would 
 have to pass in front of the house on their way 
 to the landing-stage, and she watched them form 
 up into line, as they curved out into the centre of the 
 loch. 
 
 "Shall we stay here, Dileas?" she said, "or shall 
 we go down to meet him? I think we will stay here. 
 He will know where to find us, won't he?" 
 
 She leant forward and passed her hand over her 
 ankle. It had ached a little lately when she was tired. 
 She was wearing her light indoor shoes, and they 
 had high heels. 
 
 "He will scold me for coming out on the moor in 
 these. We will cover them up," she said, and lifted 
 a fold of her skirt to lay over her feet. 
 
 With a scream she dropped it again. Curled up in 
 the heather, close beside her, was a greyish brown, 
 slimy-looking object, which unwound itself with a 
 swift, sinuous movement of its tail; a viperish little 
 head raised itself and shot forward with a quick dart 
 and hiss. 
 
 She struggled to her feet and fled. It was only a 
 hundred yards or so to the wicket-gate, but the grass 
 track was beaten smooth and slippery, and the thin
 
 336 Bawbee Jock 
 
 shoes and the little unsteady heels were no support 
 to her feet. 
 
 A stumble, and the weak ankle doubled under her. 
 She made a faint rally, only to sink on her knees, 
 and the ground seemed to rise and swallow her up. 
 She lay quite still for a few minutes, and then tried 
 to raise herself. Dileas came and stood over her and 
 licked her face, and she put up her hand to keep him 
 off, but it fell back limply. The sky was growing 
 dark above her, and everything was rocking and 
 swaying beneath her. 
 
 "Dileas," she murmured through her white lips, 
 "call him! Tell him that I Call him, Dileas!" 
 
 The words sounded like a far-away echo in her ears. 
 She tried to clasp her failing arms round the dog's 
 neck, but a cold, numb feeling of powerlessness was 
 creeping over her limbs. Her voice trailed away into 
 nothing ; the cold had crept up and touched her heart. 
 
 Out on the loch the leading boat was drawing in to 
 the shore. The last wail of the pipes had died away ; 
 there was no sound heard but the monotonous dip 
 of the oars. 
 
 Jock was steering his boat. Doctor Angus, who was 
 sitting beside him, saw him suddenly throw up his 
 head, and he exclaimed sharply: 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 Cutting the stillness of the sultry air, a bell-like note 
 floated out across the water from the slope of the hill 
 opposite. Again it rose, fuller and stronger. It was 
 the bay of the old deerhound. 
 
 "Dileas! Do you hear? He 's giving tongue!" 
 
 Jock sprang to his feet, making the boat lurch 
 perilously, and thrusting the tiller into Doctor Angus's
 
 The Last Solemnities 337 
 
 i 
 
 hand, he caught up a pair of spare oars, and slipping 
 them into the rollocks, had the boat's head turned and 
 heading in for the shore with a force which nearly 
 swept the men who had been rowing in the bow off 
 their seats. 
 
 A few minutes, but it seemed an eternity to Jock 
 until the boat's keel grated and he sprang out on to 
 the bank. He looked back, and Doctor Angus 
 nodded. 
 
 "Yes! As fast as I can follow," he said. 
 
 Dileas had given tongue again as the boat grounded, 
 and Jock sped on, breasting the hill with fleet foot to 
 the place where he knew he would find her. An 
 awful fear hounded his steps, ran by his side, fled on 
 before him. 
 
 He saw, when he was yet some way off; and the 
 stillness of the figure over which Dileas was standing 
 struck a deadly chill to his heart. As he knelt down 
 beside her, the dog pressed up to him, pleading for 
 recognition of what he had done. 
 
 "If you could only speak!" groaned Jock; and then 
 he saw the little shoeless foot, and the tell-tale shoe 
 lying on the slippery track and he knew what had 
 happened. 
 
 As he raised her in his arms her eyes opened, and she 
 looked at him with a frightened anguish of entreaty. 
 Her lips moved, and a faint murmur reached his ears. 
 
 "Promise to forgive me promise if I can't tell 
 you that " 
 
 Her eyes closed again, her head fell back, and she 
 lay still and unconscious in his arms.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 A STRUGGLE WITH DEATH 
 
 OVER the little white house by the loch-side 
 hovered a grey shadow of doubt and fear. 
 
 In the low-ceilinged rooms, so full of memories, 
 haunted at every step by a sweet presence and the 
 echoes of a joyous young voice, Jock kept watch; and 
 in the darkened chamber above, his darling lay, fight- 
 ing the grey shadow. 
 
 The fleetest foot in the glen had borne the message 
 which had flashed across the wires to summon Christina 
 in hot haste to Glenmoira. 
 
 "She will catch the night mail," Doctor Angus had 
 said. 
 
 "But will she come?" Jock had asked in fear. 
 
 "Yes, she will come," the doctor had answered 
 brusquely. But the brusqueness had been tempered 
 by the look which accompanied the words. 
 
 And Christina had come. 
 
 In the early morning Jock had been told that she 
 might yet arrive in time. The hours had crawled on 
 till noon, and he had gone out to the door to listen, 
 and in the distance he had heard the faint thud of 
 horses' feet covering the ground rapidly, and then 
 the rattle of wheels drawing near. A great wave of 
 thankfulness had swelled up from his heart when 
 
 338
 
 A Struggle with Death 339 
 
 Christina's firm hands had gripped his, and her eyes 
 had smiled hope, and her full, low voice had uttered 
 cheering words of gladness that she was in time. 
 
 To know that she was in the house, that her kind 
 arms were mothering his darling, gave him courage to 
 wait and hope. 
 
 It was at the hush of dawn that the cry of a new- 
 born child broke the stillness. It was a plaintive, 
 feeble cry, the little life protesting against being 
 hurried into a dark and unknown world before its time. 
 To the man who heard it, it brought no glad rush of 
 joyous fatherhood. It had cost her so much. Could 
 he ever forget those long hours of agonised waiting, 
 when he could do nothing to help her, when his own 
 great strength seemed a mockery to him? 
 
 He was standing bareheaded in the garden, listen- 
 ing. The dewy fragrance of dawn was filling the air 
 with strong, sweet scents, and the faint sounds of 
 awakening life were heard. From the open window 
 above, that querulous cry again smote on his ears, 
 and a dumb protest against the justice of a law 
 which he had never before questioned stirred within 
 him. 
 
 Why should the suffering be all hers? He could do 
 nothing: nothing was asked of him. He had to stand 
 in the outer darkness, within sight and sound of that 
 upper window. She was his. The life she had borne 
 was his. He rebelled against his helplessness. 
 
 The minutes crept on, but no one came to him, and 
 that feeble cry struck again and again on his ear. It 
 seemed to him that hours must have passed, except 
 that the light was still pale in the eastern sky, before he 
 saw a tall, spare figure silhouetted against the sickly
 
 34 Bawbee Jock 
 
 light of a lamp, and he heard Doctor Angus call his 
 name from the porch. 
 
 He answered, but he did not move. He was afraid 
 to look into the other man's face. 
 
 Doctor Angus advanced a step or two. He came 
 close up to Jock and peered at him from under his 
 shaggy eyebrows. 
 
 " The child 's alive," he said. " It 's a bit small thing 
 born before its time, of course; but there 's nothing 
 the matter with it so far as I can see. You 're the 
 father of a son, you '11 be proud to hear." 
 
 Jock caught his arm. The pride of fatherhood 
 seemed to him as nothing. 
 
 "It's she," he stammered. "Is she ? Oh my 
 God!" He broke off, his voice failing him. 
 
 Doctor Angus laid his hand on his shoulder, and 
 there was a rough tenderness in his touch. 
 
 "There, there!" he said. "It's over, and she's 
 come through it bravely. I feared for them both at 
 first. But I had Christina." 
 
 Jock stepped back and drew his hand across his 
 forehead. The cold sweat stood out on it. 
 
 The doctor gave him a quick look. He was too 
 well trained in the exigencies of the moment not to 
 know that the best cure was to give him something to 
 do. He made a movement of his hand towards the 
 open door. 
 
 "Come in and give me a drink, will you?" he said. 
 "You 'd best have one yourself." 
 
 Jock recovered himself instantly and led the way 
 into the house. 
 
 "When may I see her?" he asked, after he had 
 attended to the doctor's wants.
 
 A Struggle with Death 341 
 
 His question was parried; after a few minutes he 
 pressed it again. 
 
 "Not yet not yet. She must be kept quiet," was 
 the answer. 
 
 "But, may n't I look at her, just for a moment 
 when she 's asleep?" asked Jock. 
 
 "No, you mayn't," snapped the doctor testily. 
 He gulped down his whiskey-and-water and pushed 
 aside the tumbler. "Listen! The devil's in it that 
 she won't sleep as long as she hears that." 
 
 The child was heard feebly wailing from the room 
 above. 
 
 Doctor Angus frowned. 
 
 "It must be taken away from her. That crying 
 will drive her crazy. She 's all ears to listen." He 
 looked at Jock, and said sharply, "See here, I '11 give 
 you something to do. You must find a foster-mother 
 for the child." 
 
 "I! How can I do that?" said Jock blankly. 
 
 Doctor Angus thought for a moment. 
 
 "Go down to the clachan and bring Hamish's wife 
 back with you. She 's a fine healthy creature, and 
 her own child 's old enough to leave. One of the 
 neighbours will take it." 
 
 Jock picked up his bonnet. 
 
 "What am I to do if she won't come?" he asked. 
 
 "Come! She must come. Bring her!" was the 
 conclusive answer. The doctor moved away in the 
 direction of the staircase. He glanced back. " She '11 
 come right enough. Is n't she one of your own people? 
 It means life to the child and the mother. I '11 tell 
 Sheila to fix her up in the kitchen. It's fine and handy. 
 Sheila can do her cooking in her own cottage."
 
 34 2 Bawbee Jock 
 
 He talked to himself as he went up the steep stair. 
 "Aye! she may give life to the child, and God knows it 
 wants it, poor bairn ! " 
 
 So Jock went on his mission and took on his shoulders 
 the first new cares of fatherhood. Hamish's wife was 
 a loyal soul. She obeyed without a thought of ques- 
 tion, and, leaving her own child to a kindly neighbour's 
 care, followed him, proud to be chosen; and the little 
 feeble life was given into her care. 
 
 Two weary days and nights dragged out their 
 lengthened course, and in the darkened room above 
 the grey shadow of doubt and fear still hovered. 
 
 "What are we fighting against? That's what I 
 want to know," said Doctor Angus to Christina. He 
 beckoned her to follow him from the room and stood 
 with his back against the door, and, drawing his eye- 
 brows together, frowned at her fiercely. "What are 
 we fighting against?" He tapped his forehead sig- 
 nificantly. "She 's babbling queer nonsense. She 's 
 got something on her mind. What is it? It 's to do 
 with him! We dare n't let him near her." 
 
 "Yes," said Christina. "I can't understand it." 
 There was a cautious movement heard in the hall 
 below, and Christina made a warning gesture. "Have 
 you told him that you would like to have another 
 opinion for your own satisfaction?" she asked in a 
 lowered voice. 
 
 "No; I have n't." 
 
 "I think you 'd best do it now," said Christina. 
 
 When the doctor's heart was most tender, he put on 
 his fiercest expression. He looked at his watch, and 
 muttering something went heavily down the stairs. 
 
 A little later Christina heard him leave the house.
 
 A Struggle with Death 343 
 
 She went out on to the landing noiselessly and listened. 
 The space was so small that from where she stood she 
 could look down into the hall below, and Jock was 
 standing there. His head was raised, and the instant 
 he caught sight of her he made a sign that he was 
 coming up. 
 
 Christina was about to answer his sign when, from 
 the open door behind, came the sound of a weak voice, 
 murmuring at first, then raised in pitiful pleading. She 
 put her finger to her lips and motioned him back. 
 
 She caught a glimpse of him as he moved away. 
 Listlessly, and with down-drooped head, he had 
 turned towards the door. Her heart ached for him. 
 He was so good and patient, never complaining, eating 
 his meals uncomfortably at odd times, sleeping where 
 it was least trouble; his step, ever light, was now 
 trained to a muffled noiselessness ; and he seemed 
 oblivious of the fact that he was deprived of all his 
 accustomed comforts. All that he was conscious of, 
 was, that they would not allow him to see his darling. 
 He was puzzled, hurt, oppressed by a dull, resentful 
 wonder. 
 
 Once, in spite of prohibition, he had stolen into 
 Angela's room when Christina was off guard, and the 
 effect of his presence had been startling and disastrous. 
 Angela had opened her eyes and seen him ; and instead 
 of the love-light which he had never looked for in 
 vain, terror had sprung into them, and a feverish 
 brightness had dyed her white cheeks scarlet, and she 
 had put out her hands to ward him off. 
 
 Christina had returned at that moment and led him 
 away. To his piteous " Why is she afraid of me? why 
 does she look at me like that?" she had answered:
 
 344 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " Dearie, dearie, it 's not you. It 's that she 
 does n't recognise you. She 's feverish, and she 's 
 not herself. The least bit thing excites her." 
 
 "But I 'm sure she must want me," pleaded Jock. 
 
 " Never fear but that she '11 want you. She '11 soon 
 be asking for you," Christina had answered. "It 's 
 only that she 's feverish, that she does n't know 
 you." 
 
 But if the explanation failed to satisfy Jock, it failed 
 still more to satisfy Christina herself. 
 
 There was something in Angela's excitement and 
 obvious fear of her husband which was unaccountable, 
 and, as Doctor Angus said, it was queer nonsense that 
 she babbled. 
 
 Jock's name was never off her lips, but it was dis- 
 tressing to listen to her pleading, her weary effort to 
 explain some puzzle, to which her brain had lost the 
 key. 
 
 As Jock stood at the open door, he looked out with 
 unseeing eyes ; he was fighting a new and deadlier fear, 
 for Doctor Angus had told him before leaving the house 
 that, with his permission, he would like to have another 
 opinion about his patient. 
 
 Jock had assented, and the great man came, but he 
 could do nothing. There was nothing for him to do. 
 He expressed his confidence in Doctor Angus; and 
 to Christina, whom he knew well, he said at parting: 
 
 " It is mostly in your hands. It is the nursing that 
 must pull her through; and if you can't " 
 
 After he had taken his departure, Doctor Angus and 
 Christina faced each other once more on the little 
 landing outside the darkened room. And they looked 
 into each other's eyes, and the fighting spirit of a
 
 A Struggle with Death 345 
 
 fighting race shone steadily in the woman's and was 
 reflected with a fiercer glow in that of the man's. 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder they had fought many a fight 
 before in hospital wards, and in the homes of poverty 
 and crime ; and they girded up their strength anew. 
 
 Jock had lost count of time. It might be hours, it 
 might be days, since the great man had come and 
 gone. He was sitting by the open window in the room 
 which was so full of memories of her, where every ob- 
 ject, every trivial commonplace, reminded him of the 
 sweet intimacy of her companionship; where her 
 thoughts had so often gone out to him in a silence 
 deeper than words. 
 
 It was the close of the day, that shadowy hour 
 "'twixt the gloamin' and the murk," and he watched 
 in a kind of dreary apathy the darkness enfolding the 
 hills, and falling like a mother's caress on the deep, 
 silent loch, shrouding the face of the waters in a mantle 
 of sleep. 
 
 The crushing weight of the hourly and daily struggle 
 with an intangible something, which eluded his grasp, 
 was pressing upon him with an intolerable burden of 
 depression. 
 
 Once again that day he had made an appeal to 
 Christina to be allowed to see Angela ; and Christina, 
 in bitter pain of spirit, had denied him. She had 
 denied him with the oft-repeated promise, which he 
 had heard so many times that he had grown to dread 
 the asking for it: 
 
 "To-morrow, perhaps, dearie." 
 
 To-morrow! It was always to-morrow. And the 
 awful thought would shoot through his brain, making 
 his heart stand still, that a day might come when there
 
 34 6 Bawbee Jock 
 
 would be no to-morrow, no hope to watch and listen 
 for, no need to ask the daily question. 
 
 The baffling consciousness of his helplessness mad- 
 dened him at times. What was this elusive some- 
 thing which he could not grapple with to which he 
 could not put a meaning? During his long, solitary 
 watches he went over each small detail, every incident 
 which had happened from the moment he had returned 
 that night and heard Angela crying out to him from 
 the darkness, to the time when he had found her lying 
 half -conscious on the path, with Dileas standing over 
 her. His brain grew dulled striving to solve the pro- 
 blem. He had questioned Sheila, and she could 
 throw no light on it. She had guarded her mistress 
 as faithfully as Dileas. 
 
 But something had happened, and it was that some- 
 thing which was keeping the flame of fever burning in 
 her blood. Doctor Angus did not deceive him any 
 more successfully than did Christina. They tried to 
 soften certain facts to him, to make them appear 
 reasonable; but he knew that it was his presence that 
 they feared, and the recollection of Angela's terror at 
 the sight of him never left his thoughts. It was ever 
 present as a ghastly mockery of his love for her. 
 
 "I ought never to have left her," was his futile 
 regret. 
 
 Dileas, who was lying at his feet, rose and pressed 
 his body close up against him. 
 
 "If you could only speak! You were with her all 
 the time. If you could only tell me!" 
 
 Jock put his hand on the dog's shoulder, and Dileas 
 reared himself up and planted his fore-paws on his 
 chest. Jock could feel the dog's weight against the
 
 A Struggle with Death 347 
 
 little miniature-case which he always carried about 
 with him ; and he slipped his hand into his pocket, and 
 took it out and touched the spring, and it opened. 
 
 The light had grown so faint now that he could not 
 see, and he lit a candle and placed it on the table 
 beside him. He sat for long, with the miniature in the 
 hollow of his hand, gazing at the sweet face which 
 looked up at him, the eyes that had ever met his with 
 the light of love in them, the lips which he had never 
 heard utter a fretful word. 
 
 He shut the case with a sigh, and put it back in his 
 pocket. How well he remembered the night she had 
 given it to him ! Christmas Eve! And the clock had 
 just struck twelve. She had left him standing in the 
 hall and run into the room where he was sitting now, 
 and had come back holding the little parcel, and had 
 said, laughing: 
 
 "I hid it in my work-basket. If you ever want to 
 find out my secrets, go and look there." 
 
 He turned his head mechanically. There was her 
 sofa, and there, within his reach, was her work-basket. 
 He drew it towards him. He handled it tenderly, for 
 the vision of her dear self seemed to hover over it. 
 He could see her at work, and her pretty, quick move- 
 ments. With what pride she had shown him her 
 handiwork ! He folded back the blue satin cover, and 
 when he saw the soft heap of lace and cambric which 
 lay beneath, he rose abruptly. Going to the window, 
 he leant against the upraised sash and stared into the 
 darkness. 
 
 A fierce tide of hatred swept over him at times, and 
 he was afraid of himself. It was hatred of the child. 
 He could not bring himself to touch it; he had only
 
 348 Bawbee Jock 
 
 seen it as a helpless, muffled bundle, and he had re- 
 coiled from its cry as though it had been a hand strik- 
 ing at him out of the darkness. Sheila had pleaded 
 timidly with him ; Christina, who understood better, 
 had looked at him with pity. 
 
 He stood for some time, fighting to gain the mastery 
 over his feelings. At length he dragged himself back 
 to his chair, and forced himself deliberately to touch 
 and handle the things which he had recoiled from. He 
 laid them aside with reverent care, and then he took 
 up her scissors, and then her little gold thimble. The 
 thimble was so small that it tumbled off the tip of his 
 finger when he tried to balance it, and slipped into one 
 of the pockets, and he began to turn out the pocket 
 to find it. 
 
 There were some balls of wool and a scrap of tartan. 
 She had said she was going to learn how to knit a 
 tartan stocking. Then came a miscellaneous collec- 
 tion of odds and ends, and thrust down to the bottom 
 of the pocket he found a small white bundle. It 
 jingled as he took it out. 
 
 Her bawbees! Her Saturday nights' reivings! 
 How well he remembered her shaking that little white 
 bundle in his face, and telling him that she stole his 
 money to buy him a Christmas present. She had 
 hidden her treasure: he had seen her do it and then 
 forgotten. He untied the handkerchief, and inside 
 it he found the few sixpences and shillings, and a 
 tightly folded packet of paper. He had not seen her 
 put that packet of paper into her handkerchief. 
 
 Angela had said of him, that he was too much of 
 a gentleman to pry into her correspondence, but he 
 turned the packet over again and again. It was not
 
 A Struggle with Death 349 
 
 a letter it was something she had written herself. 
 He could see, where one of the folds was open, that the 
 writing inside was hers. 
 
 He hesitated. He yearned, with a longing that was 
 pain, for some message, something which would bring 
 the consciousness of her presence near to him. She 
 was full of pretty fancies, and she had so loved to give 
 him surprises. The paper might have to do with the 
 miniature his Christmas present. 
 
 The blood rushed up to his head and buzzed in his 
 ears. It must be meant for him. He would turn 
 back the first fold and see what it was. 
 
 He saw a name his own name. It stood out 
 clearly, and a throb of joy caught his breath. The 
 paper was meant for him; he ought to read it, and he 
 smoothed out the page. The heading was faintly 
 written: the hand that had held the pen had faltered. 
 
 "My confession. Oh, my darling, forgive me in 
 your heart before you read it!"
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 ANGELA'S CONFESSION 
 
 HER confession! To ask his forgiveness ! A mist 
 swam before his eyes; the hours of weary 
 watching had told on even his iron strength. 
 
 Then the mist cleared, and hope sprang to life. 
 How could there be a question of such things? Her 
 vivid imagination had conjured up some impossible 
 phantom. This message from her dear hand was to 
 give him the clue to the mystery which he had been 
 trying in vain to solve. If he only knew what the 
 something was that had been torturing her poor weary 
 brain, he could help her. 
 
 He raised the paper to his lips and kissed it. 
 
 "I promise," he murmured. "There is nothing I 
 would not forgive you " ; and shading his eyes from the 
 candle's flicker, he read. 
 
 He could hear her speaking to him. Her quick, 
 vehement little tricks of voice and manner when she 
 was excited flashed at him from the open page. He 
 could feel her clinging hands on his; hear her sweet 
 appeals ; see her eyes eagerly imploring. 
 
 "I have deceived you horribly; I did not mean to, 
 I did not plan it. It all began with Bawbee Jock. 
 Because you were called Bawbee Jock. That was it 
 just a silly little joke. It 's the little things that often 
 
 350
 
 Angela's Confession 351 
 
 matter most; and that was it just Bawbee Jock. I 
 must have fallen in love with you because I heard you 
 called that. You looked so lonely that time you came 
 into the hall. You remember? The day I arrived 
 and Flossie and Captain de Burgh began to chaff. 
 And and that was the beginning. It was Bawbee 
 Jock." 
 
 There was something written and scratched out. 
 
 "Dearest: my head is so tired and stupid that I 
 cannot write sense. But you remember, we played 
 roulette that night, and I did not tell a fib ; but when 
 I lost my money you thought it meant dreadful things 
 to me, and I let you think that. Just for fun at first, 
 because it amused me ; and then oh, then, after that, 
 things went on so quick that I could not stop them. I 
 could not bear the idea of losing you and I married 
 you. Yes, I made you marry me. You loved me. I 
 knew that; but you thought that I was poor and 
 friendless, and that you were going to protect me, and 
 love me, and work for me. And I let you think it, 
 because I wanted to feel that it was only me, and 
 nothing else. It was all a lie. I 'm not poor. I 'm 
 dreadfully horribly rich. There it 's out. What 
 will you say? What will you do? That look will 
 come into your eyes that goes right through people, 
 and it will shrivel me up, and you will say, 'I cannot 
 forgive you for not trusting me.' That is what will 
 hurt you most that I did not trust you that my 
 love was not big enough to trust you. I wanted to 
 keep you all to myself. I was jealous of everything 
 of my own money, and I was wickedly jealous of poor 
 Alister. And I justified it all to myself at least I 
 tried to. I told myself that you loved being every-
 
 35 2 Bawbee Jock 
 
 thing to me; and when you said that it was your 
 greatest pride to feel that I could not do without you, 
 then I said to myself, I will not spoil his dream. But 
 now I know that it was all wrong. It was nothing 
 but silly, selfish vanity." 
 
 There were splashes on the page. 
 
 "These are tears, dearest; but I have dried my eyes, 
 and I must go on quick, because there are so many 
 things to explain. You never found me out; all kinds 
 of things seemed to happen on purpose to help me to 
 keep my secret. When I told Flossie what I wanted 
 to do that I wanted to marry you without telling 
 you the truth about myself he scoffed at the ridicu- 
 lousness of such a silly joke; and then when he found 
 that I was in earnest, he was very angry. He said you 
 would never forgive me. It was horrid of me, and I 
 know I made Flossie miserable; but I told him that he 
 could not scold me into obeying him, because I was 
 not a little girl any longer, and I could do as I pleased. 
 I could. He was my guardian until I was twenty-one, 
 but after that my money was my very own to do 
 just what I liked with. My father made a very funny 
 will. Flossie said he never heard of a woman being 
 given such a free hand; that I might make ducks and 
 drakes of it without any one being a bit the wiser. 
 Oh, you will think me such a shameful fraud. And 
 what made it so easy to deceive you was, that people 
 think that I am just an ordinary kind of heiress, be- 
 cause Flossie never talked. He said he would not 
 have fortune-hunters bothering him, and it 's so long 
 since my father died, and the money has been rolling 
 itself up all these years. How I hate myself when I 
 look back and remember my mean little deceits and the
 
 Angela's Confession 353 
 
 things I made you believe. I never intended to keep 
 it up really I did n't. And I thought you would find 
 out. I was always going to tell you often my con- 
 science pricked me. That day you came back from 
 Glenmoira and brought me the flowers, and you were 
 so sad and unhappy about your people, I felt I could 
 not deceive you one moment longer; I wanted to help 
 you so. And then the post-bag came in, and there 
 was that letter from Alister, and I hardened my heart. 
 Dearest, forgive me. I thought that I was doing 
 right that if I told you then, the money would make 
 misery between us, because of Alister. I did not want 
 to help him. I cannot bear to think of all the un- 
 generous thoughts which came into my mind. It was 
 only when I saw your face, after Doctor Angus had 
 told you about Alister, that I realised what I had done 
 to you. When you said, ' I ought never to have 
 deserted him.' That showed me myself that my 
 love for you had been all selfishness. I ought to have 
 trusted you. We might have saved Alister. I do 
 not know how, but together we could have found out 
 a way. Dearest my own if you knew what these 
 days and nights have been since you left me. I cannot 
 sleep. I am like a poor, unhappy ghost that wants to 
 confess a secret which will not let it rest, and it wanders 
 and wanders and can find no one to listen to it. When 
 will you come back to me ? I count the hours, and I 
 pray that each one will be the last; and to-night, when 
 you did not come, I said to myself, ' Something will 
 go snap in my brain if I cannot get the burden of this 
 lie off my mind.' I thought of my little innocent 
 baby, and that it should have such a deceitful mother 
 
 and" 
 
 23
 
 354 Bawbee Jock 
 
 The writing had become faint. Jock had to bend his 
 head to read it. 
 
 "I hope you will never see this; that I will tell you 
 myself; but in case " 
 
 Something had been struck out: then a few last 
 words. 
 
 "It began with such a little thing only a name 
 Bawbee Jock." 
 
 He dropped the sheet of paper and stood up. A 
 tumult of excitement was surging within him, hammer- 
 ing meanings into his brain, unlocking the floodgates 
 of his spirit. 
 
 He threw up his arms. 
 
 " My God! Help me to help her ! " he cried. 
 
 There, in the room above, her dear life was ebbing 
 away. And it was this ! this confession of her love for 
 him, which was torturing her brain to madness. The 
 pitifulness of it! To think that it was that! and that 
 he had not known. 
 
 He took a step forward, and stood with his arms 
 upstretched. His lips moved ; he spoke, not in mur- 
 mured incoherence, but articulating with tense concen- 
 tration of force and will. 
 
 "My darling, I forgive you. There is nothing I 
 would not forgive you. I only love you more dearly." 
 
 For some minutes he remained in the same position, 
 his head thrown back, repeating the words, and calling 
 her name softly under his breath. 
 
 But he was conscious of no answer to his spirit cry. 
 How could he reach her? He must speak; he had a 
 message to give which would mean life to her. They 
 could not keep him from her. 
 
 He left the room, and, crossing the hall, stole noise-
 
 Angela's Confession 355 
 
 lessly up the stair. The night was oppressively warm, 
 and every door and window stood open to the air. 
 When he reached the topmost step he saw Christina 
 standing at the entrance to Angela's room. 
 
 There was an expression on her face which he had 
 never seen before. She had always sent him from her 
 with words of would-be comfort and hope ; but this was 
 a look of terrified entreaty, and she warned him to 
 come no nearer. 
 
 He stopped; but he did not turn and go, with his 
 usual pathetic obedience. He stood his ground. 
 
 "I must!" he whispered, and he moved a step 
 nearer. 
 
 Christina advanced also and barred his way. The 
 expression of entreaty in her eyes vanished, and in 
 its place flashed a light like that which might have 
 flashed from the eyes of an angry lioness possessed by 
 the primitive instinct of protective motherhood. 
 
 "No!" she whispered. And before her look he 
 quailed, and turned, and went. 
 
 Who was there to help him? With a sickening 
 sense of baffled strength, he wandered out into the 
 garden and walked up and down, keeping the faintly 
 lighted window above within his sight : raising his face 
 to it, struggling with a passion of longing to send to 
 her his message of love. 
 
 At length he felt that he could stand the strain no 
 longer. He must know what was the meaning of 
 that look in Christina's eyes. 
 
 How still the house was. He waited on the lowest 
 step of the stair and listened. 
 
 He mounted slowly, until he stood again on the 
 landing above, but no figure barred his way. There
 
 356 Bawbee Jock 
 
 was not a sound of life; a deathly stillness hung on the 
 hot, heavy air. The door of Angela's room stood 
 open, and he crept near, and looked in. 
 
 The light was dim, and it was on Christina's figure 
 that his eyes fell. A table was drawn up to the foot 
 of the bed, and she was leaning her folded arms on it, 
 and on her folded arms drooped her bowed head. 
 Her face was hidden, but the attitude spoke of defeat, 
 broken courage, a brave spirit vanquished. 
 
 On the great carved bed lay a little, still, white fig- 
 ure. The dark hair made a dusky shadow on the 
 pillow, and the long lashes showed black against the 
 waxen cheek. 
 
 Her arms were stretched out in front of her over the 
 coverlet. Tired little arms, so weary of struggling. 
 The upturned hands were open, as though pleading 
 for the strong clasp they sought in vain. Empty arms ! 
 Empty pleading hands! She had tried to reach him, 
 and he had been there, calling to her, beseeching 
 heaven to tell her that his love and his forgiveness 
 were hers and she had not heard. 
 
 The smouldering sense of revolt against the justice 
 of Nature's decree burst into a passion of frenzied 
 remorse. 
 
 "She 's dead! And it is my love that has killed 
 her." And he turned and fled, as though the sword 
 of the Avenging Angel were at his heels. 
 
 In the hall he stood staring round him his hands 
 clenched, his body stiff and tense. 
 
 There, on the wall, was her sickle. Another 
 Reaper, with his grim sickle, had gathered in his sheaf 
 that night. 
 
 He cursed the thing.
 
 Angela's Confession 357 
 
 The old hound crept near and licked his hand, and 
 he struck the touch of love from him. 
 
 On his strained ears fell a cry the cry of the child, 
 lustier and stronger than had been its first feeble pro- 
 test to the world ; there was life in the cry. That puny 
 fretful thing would live; and she had given her life for 
 it. He had lost her for that! 
 
 Stumbling like a drunken man, he staggered to the 
 open door, and out into the night. Whither could he 
 go to escape from himself? 
 
 To the hills he fled to the moors which he loved 
 so well. The moon had risen and hung like a pale 
 lamp in the dark blue vault of heaven. Unconsciously 
 the light seemed to guide his steps, and he found 
 himself on the lonely hillside, where he had kept his 
 vigil with his God on the eve of his wedding-day. 
 He came to the spot where he had lain, and the 
 memory of that night rushed back to him. The moon- 
 light silvered the heather and touched with a magic 
 wand each mountain top and craggy peak. All was 
 the same ! Nature, grand, terrible, coldly unapproach- 
 able in the majesty of her repose, held her silent court 
 in the mystery of the night. And nothing cared 
 nothing heeded his despair. 
 
 Fiercer rose the tide of revolt within him. It was 
 here that he had made his vows. Where were his 
 hopes, his ideals? Where was the simple faith of his 
 boyhood's trust? God had forgotten him; Nature 
 was against him. Why had she been given him, the 
 most precious of life's gifts, if such a beautiful thing as 
 their love had been was to be turned against him? 
 
 He held up his arms to the moon-lit sky and called 
 her name aloud.
 
 358 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "Angela, Angela!" 
 
 It could not be that her ears were deaf to his call. 
 She must hear. A creature whose very being was the 
 essence of life, and joy, and an exquisite vitality, 
 could not die. 
 
 "My love, my love!" he cried. "I would have 
 given my heart's blood for you." 
 
 But the pitiless skies, serene in their beauty, 
 answered not. 
 
 " Nothing cares. There is no pity for me in heaven 
 or earth." 
 
 And he threw himself, face downwards, on the 
 heather, where he had lain before, and bit it with his 
 strong young teeth like some dumb animal in the 
 hands of its tormentor, until his lips were raw and 
 bleeding, and the physical pain stung him anew to the 
 agony of the aching void in his desolate heart. 
 
 The midnight hours crept on, and he dragged him- 
 self to his feet. He stood bareheaded, with his face 
 to the eastern sky, where the dawn of another day 
 would soon break. 
 
 The dawn! And he had lost his all. 
 
 "I cannot live without her!" and with his own 
 despairing cry ringing in his ears, he fled before the 
 wings of the night-wind.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE RIFT IN THE CLOUD 
 
 F^vAYBREAK found him still wandering far from 
 L/ home. When the sun rose high, and in its 
 strength beat down on his uncovered head, the animal 
 instinct for protection guided him, and he crept for 
 shelter into the shadow of a great rock, and, throwing 
 himself down on the damp ground, the merciful balm 
 of sleep wrapped him in blessed unconsciousness. 
 
 How long he slept he knew not, and to where his 
 wanderings led him when he awoke he paid little heed. 
 It was late in the afternoon when he found himself 
 standing on the brow of a hill above the clachan, look- 
 ing down at the white house nestling amongst the 
 trees by the loch-side. 
 
 He could not keep away from it. He must go back 
 to it the place where every association would be like 
 hammering a nail into the chords of memory. 
 
 He was faint for want of food, dishevelled, and wild- 
 eyed; clotted streaks of peat-slime stuck to his kilt 
 where he had lain on the wet ground ; but a sullen kind 
 of despair held him almost oblivious of anything ex- 
 cept a dog-like instinct to retrace his steps homewards. 
 As he descended the sheep-track which wound down 
 the face of the hillside, his dazed" sight saw only the 
 turf at his feet; he stumbled along with his head down, 
 
 359
 
 360 Bawbee Jock 
 
 and the first consciousness that a human being was 
 near him was when a voice called his name, and he 
 raised his eyes to see Flossie coming up the path to 
 meet him. 
 
 He stared, in a kind of apathetic wonder. It was 
 undoubtedly Flossie, and his appearance was so 
 ordinary and matter-of-fact, and savoured so forcibly 
 of the material. His round, pink face wore its 
 characteristic expression of fresh candour; but as his 
 gaze rested on Jock, a look of wondering pity came into 
 his eyes, and he checked the words which rose to his lips. 
 
 Could this haggard man with the bloodshot eyes be 
 the gallant bridegroom whom he had seen bear off his 
 love in the pride of his strong young manhood on his 
 wedding-day? 
 
 The look of passionate adoration on Jock's face 
 when Angela had put the bridle into his hand, when 
 they were starting on their romantic honeymoon, and 
 said, "You are to lead always," had touched a tender 
 chord in Flossie's heart; and the memory of it had 
 never faded. 
 
 With his eyes still full of pitying wonder, he drew a 
 step nearer. 
 
 "My dear boy," he said kindly, "where have you 
 been? They 've been scouring the place for you." 
 
 Jock stared at him vacantly. He expressed no 
 surprise at this unlooked-for meeting. He only stared 
 at first, and then something familiar in the appearance 
 of the figure before him struck on his dulled brain. 
 Flossie was wearing the same kind of clothes as he had 
 worn at Angela's wedding, a dark blue serge suit, and 
 the triviality of the small coincidence stirred a note of 
 memory.
 
 The Rift in the Cloud 361 
 
 He spoke. 
 
 "You said, 'If you let harm come to her by the 
 Lord, I '11 slay you.' Do you remember? Have 
 you come to keep your word?" 
 
 His voice was tuneless and hollow, as though all 
 the springs of life had withered and run dry. 
 
 The expression of pity and wonder on Flossie's face 
 deepened. 
 
 Jock swayed, and took an unsteady step forward. 
 
 "Hi! hold up!" exclaimed Flossie, and caught a 
 firm grip of the stumbling figure. 
 
 He glanced round. A slab of flat rock lay near, and 
 he led Jock to it. 
 
 "Sit down," he said, as though he were speaking 
 to a child, and he felt for something in his pocket, and, 
 finding his flask, filled the cup and held it out. ' ' Drink 
 that; it will pull you together." 
 
 Jock obeyed mechanically. This little, pink-faced 
 man could be very dominating. 
 
 He gave back the empty cup, and dropped his head 
 into his hands. His senses began to awaken under the 
 influence of the stimulant to the intolerable anguish of 
 the present. 
 
 Flossie left him alone until he looked up of his own 
 accord. 
 
 "Better?" he asked. "Have some more?" and he 
 held up the flask. 
 
 Jock drew back, like a sensitive plant touched by 
 a rude hand. The pleasant, well-bred voice, the easy 
 manner, the prosaicness of the words, stung and 
 roused him. 
 
 He looked round. 
 
 The sun was shining, and the wide moor lay bask-
 
 362 Bawbee Jock 
 
 ing in the strong light. The bees were busy in the 
 heather beside him; a lark carolled in the blue sky 
 overhead; the crow of a cock grouse came down on the 
 faint breeze from the ridge above. 
 
 He turned his head slowly, and his gaze came back 
 to Flossie's face. 
 
 "All the same. Everything going on exactly the 
 same, and she 's dead." 
 
 He dropped his head again into his hands. 
 
 Flossie uttered a smothered exclamation, and the 
 flask slipped through his fingers. 
 
 ' ' Dead ! The boy 's crazed. ' ' 
 
 He hesitated, and then said: 
 
 "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "Didn't you know? I thought you had come to 
 reproach me." 
 
 The husky voice lagged a little. 
 
 " I loved her I 'd have given my heart's blood for 
 her. She 's dead my love has killed her. And the 
 child lives. Her life for " And he broke off. 
 
 Flossie laid his hand on the bowed shoulders. 
 
 "My dear boy, she 's not dead. Why do you say 
 that?" 
 
 Jock turned away from the kindly touch, a pathetic 
 protest in the action. What was the use of torturing 
 him? 
 
 "She 's dead," he said drearily. "You don't know. 
 You did n't see. I knew they were deceiving me, and 
 I went up no one heard me. I looked in the 
 door was open, and I saw " 
 
 Flossie pulled him round and forced him to meet his 
 eyes. 
 
 "You saw her sleeping," he said, slowly and dis-
 
 The Rift in the Cloud 363 
 
 tinctly. "She was asleep a blessed sleep which has 
 saved her life." 
 
 "Sleep sleep!" echoed Jock, in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 "Yes, sleep," said Flossie. 
 
 Jock gripped the arm next him. 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" murmured Flossie, wincing. "I 
 did n't think he had enough left in him for that." 
 
 "Sleep say that again." 
 
 Jock's voice rang out with a new strength. 
 
 Flossie managed to free himself from the vice-like 
 grip. He smiled whimsically, but there were tears in 
 his eyes, for his heart was filled with an immense pity. 
 
 He gave Jock's shoulder a forcible shake ; something 
 that he could feel physically. 
 
 " She 's alive, man. Do you hear? Take my word 
 for it that it 's true." He pointed down the track. 
 " I Ve just come up from the house there, where she 's 
 sleeping peacefully like a child, and I Ve been speaking 
 to that noble woman, I don't know her name, who 's 
 nursed her; and she says " 
 
 Jock had sprung to his feet. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" exclaimed Flossie, 
 catching at his kilt before he got out of reach. 
 
 "I 'm going to her!" cried Jock. 
 
 "No you don't!" answered Flossie; and he hung on 
 to the tough pleat of tartan. 
 
 "But I must!" 
 
 "No, I say you must not!" 
 
 Jock still tried to free himself. 
 
 "I tell you I must see her. I know what she 's been 
 breaking her heart over. I know what 's been nearly 
 sending her off her head what she 's been trying to 
 tell me. I know she wants me."
 
 364 Bawbee Jock 
 
 Flossie dragged him back with a violent jerk. 
 
 "You can't see her. Keep away from her for God's 
 sake ! Her life 's hanging on a thread, and if she hears 
 your step, or catches a whisper of your voice, it will 
 waken her, and sleep 's her salvation." 
 
 Jock gave a groan, as he was pulled down on to 
 the rock from which he had sprung. He turned 
 jealously on Flossie. 
 
 "Have you seen her?" he asked. 
 
 "Seen her? No! I only got here a couple of hours 
 ago. But I Ve seen that grim-looking doctor and 
 the woman that 's nursed her. They 're a grand pair. 
 My poor little girl my poor little girl." 
 
 Flossie took out his pocket-handkerchief and blew 
 his nose. He was not ashamed to show his emotion, 
 and it somehow calmed Jock to see how affected he 
 was. When Jock spoke again, it was in a subdued 
 tone, touching in its humility. 
 
 "Has she did they Do you know if she has 
 asked for me?" 
 
 Flossie nodded. 
 
 "Yes. That gave them the first tip that she was 
 all right when she woke up from that first long sleep. 
 Oh, I know. Don't bother to explain." He made a 
 gesture with his hand, checking Jock's words. "I 
 understand all about it. She had got something on her 
 mind? Her poor little head, you know. And the fever 
 had got into it. Good Lord! Do you think I don't 
 know. There there! It 's all right. But it was 
 playing the very devil with her. My poor little girl." 
 
 Flossie, usually so glib with his tongue, jerked out 
 his words spasmodically. He blew his nose again, and 
 then rammed his handkerchief into his pocket.
 
 The Rift in the Cloud 365 
 
 There was a long silence, which neither man tried 
 to break. It seemed to Jock as though his spirit 
 had been brought down to the deepest depth of self- 
 abasement. His soul was steeped in the waters of 
 humiliation. He could not put into words his grati- 
 tude for the mercy which had been extended to him. 
 He groped blindly for light to understand. 
 
 "I am not worthy I am not worthy," he 
 murmured. 
 
 He had been sitting with his face hidden. He 
 raised it. The boyishness seemed to have been washed 
 out of it. The struggle through which he had passed 
 had marked it with lines which no years could give, 
 nor time take away. The great Teacher of life had 
 written on it a new lesion. 
 
 "I am brought down to the dust," he said slowly. 
 "I am humbled to the dust by the mercy which I 
 have not deserved." 
 
 He pointed to the hills. 
 
 "Last night I fled from what I thought was God's 
 injustice, with a curse on my lips. I went from the 
 room where I thought I had seen her lying dead, and 
 I heard the child cry, and I cursed it. My dog came 
 up to me, and I spurned him. I went out into the 
 night, with hatred and rebellion raging in my heart. 
 I had always felt so sure of myself; that my faith 
 was strong enough to stand: but I had never been 
 tried before. When I was struck at through her I 
 fell. She was made to suffer through me. She was 
 given to me. God gave her to me to protect and 
 cherish and love; and the power to do it was taken 
 from me. I had to stand helpless and know that my 
 pride in my strength, and the boast that I could keep
 
 366 Bawbee Jock 
 
 her dear feet from even a thorn-prick, was naught. I 
 could see no justice in anything. God and Nature 
 had lied to me." 
 
 His head drooped again; his voice hardly rose to a 
 whisper. 
 
 "My soul has been in hell! How can I work out 
 my repentance? I am not worthy that she should be 
 given back to me." 
 
 Flossie was looking straight in front of him, but the 
 view was blurred although the sun shone. His voice 
 was as husky as Jock's when he answered. 
 
 "The best of us are riding for a fall when we back 
 our souls against a woman. And well, thank God, 
 there are women worth it." 
 
 He said nothing more for a long time; and then, 
 quite unconsciously, for he was still gazing into space, 
 he took his cigarette-case out of his pocket and 
 abstractedly snapped the catch. 
 
 The trivial sound made Jock look up. He moved 
 uneasily, and his glance wavered from Flossie's face 
 to where the chimneys of the house showed through a 
 gap in the trees below. 
 
 " Don't you think I might go down now?" he asked. 
 "If it was only to see Christina. I won't make a 
 noise. I 'm so accustomed to being quiet. I won't 
 let her hear me." 
 
 Flossie snapped the clasp of his cigarette-case, this 
 time with intention, and offered Jock a cigarette, but 
 Jock shook his head. 
 
 Flossie felt for his match-box. 
 
 " Christina, did you say? Is that her name? Well, 
 yes, I think you might see Christina. She won't let 
 you do anything rash."
 
 The Rift in the Cloud 367 
 
 He paused in the act of striking a match and looked 
 Jock up and down. 
 
 "Take my advice, and go and have a tub and 
 change, and get a good square meal inside you before 
 you do anything else. When she wakes, she 's bound 
 to ask for you, and she 'd jolly soon spot the fact 
 that you 'd been out all night, and wonder what the 
 dickens you 'd been up to." 
 
 Jock looked down at the stains of peat-bog on 
 his kilt, and passed his hand over his roughened 
 hair. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I '11 go and change." He took a 
 step away, and then halted. 
 
 "I have n't even thanked you for coming out to look 
 for me," he said. "Where are you stopping? Can't I 
 do anything for you?" 
 
 Flossie laughed. 
 
 "Never mind me," he answered. "I 'm all right. 
 I 'm provided for. I fell in with your minister. A 
 godly, excellent man, and he 's given me an invitation 
 to hang up my hat in his what do you call it? 
 manse." 
 
 Jock's brow cleared. 
 
 "I 'm afraid everything 's rather upset," he said 
 apologetically. 
 
 " Little strangers generally do upset the apple-cart," 
 said Flossie blandly. "But don't you bother about 
 me. I 'm going to stop here for a bit and smoke a 
 cigarette. I '11 look you up when I want anything. 
 But remember! Angela doesn't know I'm here. 
 Mum 's the word. She must n't be fussed." 
 
 He watched the tall, broad-shouldered figure go 
 swinging down the narrow track. Jock's buoyancy
 
 368 Bawbee Jock 
 
 of step had returned, and the blood was sending hope 
 and courage pulsing through his veins. 
 
 "He 's a good 'un. The child was right; she knew 
 her man," mused Flossie, as he smoked meditatively, 
 and his glance wandered over the scene before him. 
 
 "A fine inheritance," he murmured. "And it 's all 
 right between them that 's clear." 
 
 He finished his cigarette, and taking a letter out of 
 his pocket, read it slowly. He looked at the signature 
 absently for a moment or two, and then laid the letter 
 open on the grass in front of him, and lit a fresh 
 cigarette. 
 
 "Beauty! you're a fool," he remarked 
 
 aloud. "You don't care a brass farthing for the 
 woman. The god Mammon! Thank the Lord, my 
 little girl 's safe." 
 
 He blew out a cloud of smoke, and watched it drift 
 into thin vapour. .Stooping, he turned over another 
 sheet of the paper and read : 
 
 "Monty Potter won't defend his case he can't. 
 So Dolly will get her release without inconvenient 
 publicity." 
 
 Flossie put his foot on the open page, and went on 
 smoking. 
 
 The shades of evening were falling. It was again 
 that gathering time of dusk " 'twixt the gloamin' and 
 the murk"; and Jock stood at the open window and 
 watched the slowly darkening sky. It was only the 
 night before that he had stood there and watched 
 the day die. It seemed to him that he had lived a 
 life-time between then and now. 
 
 Angela had awakened, and had asked for him, and 
 he was waiting for Christina to take him to her. Then
 
 The Rift in the Cloud 369 
 
 he would mount the steep stairs ; not to find a menacing 
 figure barring his way, but to find his love watching 
 for him. He would not be met by terror-haunted eyes 
 and piteous pleadings which would cut him to the 
 heart; the fever had left her, and, with her wonderful 
 vitality, life was bounding back to her with every 
 throb of quickening pulse. 
 
 Jock had just parted from Doctor Angus, and his 
 fingers still tingled from the grasp of his handshake. 
 The , grim-faced man, with heart as tender as a 
 child's had turned aside all expressions of gratitude 
 with a hasty: "It was Christina. I couldn't have 
 won through without Christina." And he had wrung 
 Jock's hand, and clambered into his high dog-cart, and 
 driven out into the darkness on some fresh mission of 
 healing. 
 
 Christina entered the room so quietly that he did 
 not hear her, for he was talking softly to Dileas, who 
 was resting his head, with dog-like forgiveness, on the 
 hand that had spurned him. A quick pang of fear 
 caught him, for he saw that there were tears in 
 Christina's eyes. 
 
 But Christina smiled reassuringly. 
 
 " It 's only thankfulness, dearie," she said. " Sheila's 
 giving the dear lamb her supper. And when I told 
 her she must finish it all up so as to be strong to see 
 you, she looked at me that sweet-like that I could n't 
 help the tears coming." Christina wiped her eyes. 
 "To think that this time last night my heart was 
 failing me for fear. And now " 
 
 " This time last night," repeated Jock in a low voice. 
 
 Christina looked at him gravely for a moment. 
 
 "I 'm going to tell you something very strange,'* 
 
 84
 
 37 Bawbee Jock 
 
 she said, and her full, deep voice trembled a little. " It 
 was just at the gloamin' last night. I had been watch- 
 ing her in fear, for I saw that she was sore distressed. 
 She was plucking at the sheet, and her voice was so 
 low that I could n't hear right, but it was your name 
 that she was calling on. She was too weak to raise 
 herself on her pillow, and her arms were weak too; 
 but suddenly, and it made my heart stand still with 
 fear, I saw her stretch them out quite strong-like, and 
 she tried to speak. Her eyes were wide open, and you 
 could see that she was looking listening, as if she 
 was waiting for an answer to something. And then 
 I that was watching saw a great change come over her 
 dear face. The strained, frightened look faded away, 
 and a kind of radiance spread over it. Oh, it was 
 beautiful, dearie! Just as if an angel had kissed her, 
 and given her peace." 
 
 Christina paused to wipe the tears from her cheeks 
 again. 
 
 "I feared I feared sore to think what it meant; 
 and yet I hoped. And then, as I watched, I saw her 
 eyes gradually close, and she kind of settled down as 
 if sleep had fallen on her. When I listened, her breath- 
 ing was quiet and natural, and my heart nearly burst 
 out of my bosom with thankfulness, for I knew that 
 sleep would save her. It was strange, dearie, was n't 
 it? It gave me the thought that something must have 
 uplifted her spirit, and swept the fever from her 
 brain; for when she woke up she was her dear sweet 
 self again." 
 
 Jock drew in a deep breath. He did not question 
 Christina; he did not tell her of what had happened 
 in that room the night before. The great mercy which
 
 The Rift in the Cloud 371 
 
 had been shown to him seemed a thing too sacred for 
 speech. He had been allowed to help his darling. 
 
 Standing almost on the spot where he now was, he 
 had lifted up his arms and prayed that he might be 
 allowed to send her his message of love and forgive- 
 ness; and his spirit had reached her spirit. 
 
 He bowed his head. He had distrusted he had 
 scorned his faith ; and yet he was to be allowed to take 
 up his life anew ; and the sacred charge of another life 
 was to be given into his hands. 
 
 "That was the turning-point," continued Christina. 
 "Do you mind how I sent you away yon time you 
 came up? I must have looked fierce; but it was to 
 save her. If she had been wakened then it might 
 have been her death. It was the sleep that saved 
 her." 
 
 "I came up again," said Jock. "You did not see 
 me. You had your head down lying on your folded 
 arms; and then I saw her, and I thought " 
 
 Christina smiled rather wanly. Her tired face was 
 lined by anxious hours of nursing. 
 
 "She was asleep then, and I must have dropped 
 off myself just for a few minutes. I was wearied, and 
 I remember laying my head down to say a bit prayer 
 of thankfulness, and I must have dropped off. It was 
 only a few minutes. But you Ve such a light foot, 
 dearie; I never heard you come in. You must forgive 
 me. It was only a few minutes." 
 
 "Oh, Christina! Did you think I was reproaching 
 you?" cried Jock; and he threw his arms round her 
 neck and kissed her with the impetuosity which had 
 characterised his rare outbursts of boyish affection. 
 
 "You've nearly killed yourself," he declared.
 
 37 2 Bawbee Jock 
 
 "But you Ve saved her. No one could have done it 
 but you." 
 
 A gentle voice was heard calling from the top of the 
 stairs. 
 
 "That 's Sheila," said Christina. "She was to cry 
 on me when the dear pet had finished her supper. 
 I '11 take you up now." 
 
 Her foot was on the step of the stair, when she 
 hesitated, and looking at Jock said, with a note of 
 warning in her voice: 
 
 " Sick folk get queer notions into their heads. Take 
 all that she says without any questioning. Just pre- 
 tend you know. Say 'yes' whenever you think she 
 wants you to say ' yes,' and never mind whether you 
 know a thing 's real or not if she thinks it 's real." 
 
 "I know! I understand!" said Jock. "How long 
 may I stay?" 
 
 Christina smiled. 
 
 " I think you '11 know that for yourself."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE UNION OF THREE 
 
 SHE lay like a little winter snowdrop which had 
 struggled through the dark and cold, and come 
 out into the sunshine, and was resting its drooping 
 head upon a soft bed of snow. Everything about her 
 was snow-white, except the dark halo of her hair 
 against the pillow. Her eyes looked wofully big; 
 but they shone like stars, and they clung to his face 
 and followed him as, obeying Christina's sign, he 
 passed round at the foot of the great carved bed to the 
 side where she lay. A chair was drawn close, and he 
 was grateful ; for at the sight of her dear face, and the 
 eager, anxious love in her eyes, a sudden weakness 
 made his limbs tremble, and something seemed to 
 catch at his heart and drain the blood from it. 
 
 He bent his head down to the pillow and his lips 
 touched her hair. The faint scent of violets clung to 
 it, and breathed soft fragrance from all about her. 
 With a stifled sob he tried to hide his face against the 
 little curls which clustered about her ears. 
 
 She murmured his name, but he could not speak, 
 and she lay still for a few moments and then whispered ; 
 
 " Put your arm under me and lift me up. I want to 
 feel my head in the old place." 
 
 373
 
 374 Bawbee Jock 
 
 He raised her until she lay with her head pillowed in 
 the hollow of his shoulder. 
 
 "Kiss me," she said. And he kissed her on the 
 brow and lips. She looked so fragile that he feared 
 lest his softest touch might be too rough. The weight 
 of her body against his breast seemed no heavier than 
 a snowflake. But he held her; he could feel her. 
 She had been given back to him. 
 
 She drew a long, sighing breath, and closed her eyes. 
 The dark lashes fluttered, and she looked up again. 
 
 "You did not kiss me when you came to me before." 
 Her voice was weak and low, but the old sweet thrill 
 vibrated through it. Her eyes went to the empty 
 space at the foot of the bed between the carved pillars. 
 "You stood there, and you spoke to me, but you did 
 not come and kiss me." 
 
 "I I " Jock checked himself. He remembered 
 Christina's warning. " I was afraid to kiss you,", he 
 said, and he touched her hair again with his lips. 
 "You were asleep I was afraid to awaken you." 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "It would not have hurt me. But I understood." 
 Her eyes searched his face, eagerly, pleadingly. " You 
 have quite forgiven me, have n't you?" 
 
 "My darling, there was nothing to forgive." 
 
 She sighed, another long sigh of content. 
 
 "That was what you said. I had been so unhappy 
 because I had not been able to tell you my secret. I 
 was always struggling and struggling to tell you. It 
 was like a dreadful nightmare. I was so frightened 
 that I would never be able to tell you ; my head was al- 
 ways burning, and I could not find the proper words. 
 And once you came and I was not ready, and I
 
 The Union of Three 375 
 
 was afraid of you." Her brow puckered in a line of 
 pain. " My head is still so stupid that I cannot re- 
 member how I told you. But I explained, did n't 
 I? You know why I did it? It was because I loved 
 you so; and because You do know everything, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "Everything," he answered. 
 
 "And you forgive me?" 
 
 "There was nothing to forgive, my darling." 
 
 "Ah! Now I remember. You said that. I had 
 been trying so hard to tell you. And then suddenly 
 I seemed to waken out of that dreadful nightmare, and 
 I saw you standing there at the foot of the bed, be- 
 tween the pillars those dreadful pillars that had 
 always mocked at me, and told me you were angry and 
 would not forgive me. And you held out your arms, 
 and you said What was it? Oh, my head is so stu- 
 pid! Yes, I know. You said: 'My darling, I forgive 
 you. There is nothing I would not forgive you.' I 
 can hear you saying it. Your voice was very low and 
 clear, and there was that intent look in your eyes that 
 I love so." 
 
 She paused to take breath. And he told her that 
 she was not to tire her dear head with trying to 
 remember. 
 
 "But I love to remember. It comforted me so, to 
 see you standing there even although you did not 
 kiss me. I stretched out my arms to you, and you 
 said it all over again. It was like a kind of blessing, 
 and then I seemed to drift away into a beautiful 
 dream. I think that I have been dreaming ever since, 
 but I am awake now." She pressed her cheek against 
 the breast of his coat. "This makes me feel that it
 
 376 Bawbee Jock 
 
 is real. If you only knew what a relief it is to be 
 quite sure that you know. And you have forgiven 
 me everything? " 
 
 "Quite sure," he answered. "How could you ever 
 think that I would not forgive you for loving me so 
 much better than I deserve?" 
 
 "You deserve everything." She raised her head, 
 her weak voice gained a little of its pretty, quick 
 vehemence. " You deserve everything," she repeated. 
 "You would never have behaved in the selfish, deceit- 
 ful way that I did. You are so good and strong. 
 Dearest, do you remember when we sat together on 
 the knoll that Sunday afternoon, and you told me 
 about the sermon? 'He set his face stedfastly.' 
 That was the text. That is what you would always 
 do. You would set your face stedfastly to do what 
 was right. However much you loved me, you would 
 never have made an idol of your love. You would 
 never have put me before what was right." 
 
 She felt the muscles of the strong arms which held 
 her tremble. 
 
 "But I did. I put you before God and my soul. 
 Nothing else mattered. I put you before everything," 
 he said brokenly. 
 
 Something wet fell on her cheek. She moved her 
 head and looked up at him, and raising her arms, she 
 clasped them round his neck. 
 
 "My poor dear," she whispered, "I know I know 
 just how you feel. It is so dreadfully difficult not to 
 love too much. Is n't it?" 
 
 She laid her cheek against his, breathing sweet 
 comfort into his ear. 
 
 "It is not that we have loved each other too much.
 
 The Union of Three 377 
 
 It is that we have not given our love room to grow 
 big enough. That is it. Don't you think so? We 
 will begin all over again. It is comforting to know 
 that we are both the same. It will make us humble. 
 And now that there is no secret that you know 
 everything we will try to do some good with our 
 love if we are allowed," she added. 
 
 She lay still: the long lashes drooped low, and, 
 watching her, he wondered if she had fallen asleep. 
 He bent to listen to her breathing, and she opened her 
 eyes wide and bright. 
 
 " You you have not said a word not a word about 
 your son." 
 
 She spoke very quickly, and a faint tinge of colour 
 stained the whiteness of her cheeks. 
 
 "I haven't " Jock halted and stammered. 
 She saved him unwittingly by her eagerness. 
 
 "Were you dreadfully disappointed when you saw 
 how small he was?" 
 
 "No! Oh no! I was so glad that He's all 
 right, dear." 
 
 "He is very tiny, of course," she said anxiously. 
 "But that was not his fault, and Christina says she 
 has seen far tinier babies grow into great strong men. 
 I do so want him to be like you. I was allowed to 
 hold him to-day. Perhaps my arms are not very 
 strong, but he felt quite heavy and he cried, oh, ever 
 so loud." 
 
 "He 's got a wonderfully strong voice," said Jock, 
 catching at the straw held out to him. 
 
 "Yes, has n't he? I 'm so glad. That shows that 
 he 's strong, does n't it?" 
 
 She smiled radiantly, and then her mouth drooped.
 
 37 8 Bawbee Jock 
 
 " He 's got a foster-mother. I 'm so jealous of her. 
 Is n't it dreadful that I am such a useless little thing 
 that I can't even mother my own child." 
 
 She moved restlessly, her fingers playing with the 
 lace of her sleeve. 
 
 "Jock," she said beseechingly, "don't you think 
 you could steal him from that woman? I want him so 
 dreadfully badly." 
 
 " My my dear!" said Jock. 
 
 Her weak fingers closed over his hand. 
 
 "I 'm his mother," she said, and her hold tightened. 
 "His real mother! And, Jock, I do so want to see 
 him in your arms." 
 
 Jock hesitated. 
 
 "Ought I to leave you? Shall I call Christina?" 
 
 "No, no," she implored. "We don't want any one 
 just our two selves, and our little baby. Do go and 
 bring him to me? I will be so good. Look! I will 
 shut my eyes and lie quite still and not move a finger 
 until you come back." 
 
 He still doubted, and she flashed up at him one of 
 her mocking smiles of sweet raillery. 
 
 "You for a Highlander! Not to know how to steal 
 your own son." 
 
 He laid her down gently and left the room, outwardly 
 calm, but inwardly filled with trepidation. Christina 
 was nowhere to be seen, but Sheila proved a willing 
 accomplice to the theft. She placed the small white 
 bundle in his arms, and came with him to the foot of 
 the stairs to make sure that he did not want any help, 
 and watched him out of sight with a glad light in her 
 soft dark eyes. 
 
 In spite of her promise to lie quite still, Angela was
 
 The Union of Three 379 
 
 alert and watching. And when she saw Jock and 
 what he carried, her lips parted in a tremulous little 
 gasp. 
 
 Very cautiously, in fear lest the precious bundle 
 should slip through his fingers, he laid the child in her 
 arms. She drew back the shawl in which it was 
 wrapped, and bent over her treasure, crooning soft, 
 wordless little noises, of which Jock could only dimly 
 understand the meaning. 
 
 The baby was asleep, and looked placidly peaceful. 
 It had lost something of the pathos of immaturity; the 
 microscopic nose and mouth and little pink face were 
 suggestive of, crumpled rose leaves and a newly 
 fledged bird. 
 
 Angela gazed at the small atom of humanity in a 
 rapture of adoration. She lifted her face, all flushed 
 and quivering, to Jock's. The love-light in her eyes 
 was for him, and of the mother-love he was not 
 jealous. 
 
 "Lift us both up higher," she said, and he raised her 
 in his arms. 
 
 " Now you must kiss him," she said. "Just there 
 on his cheek. You must be very careful, because there 
 is n't much room." 
 
 And Jock kissed his son. 
 
 "You really are proud of him, although he is so 
 small?" she asked anxiously. "You will love him, 
 won't you? You are not jealous of him? " 
 
 "No, I 'm not jealous of him. I 'm proud of him, 
 dear. I love to see him like that in your arms." 
 
 "We can never grow hard and make our love a 
 selfish thing when we have this. Can we?" she 
 said.
 
 380 Bawbee Jock 
 
 For answer he drew her very close, and kissed the 
 sleeping child again of his own accord. 
 
 She looked up at him, smiling tenderly, and then 
 touched with her lips the downy head lying cradled 
 on her bosom. 
 
 "My little Bawbee," she murmured softly. 
 
 THE END
 
 Ji: Selection from the 
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 trayal of situations of unusual dramatic value ; and 
 her readers need hardly be told that she has made 
 the most and best of them. Some of the historic 
 incidents which she introduces are unsurpassed in 
 the annals of the great war. 
 
 With 5 Fall-page Illustrations in Color by Robert 
 
 Edwards and Decorations by W. J. Wilson 
 
 Crown 8vo. $1.35 net. ($1.50 by mail) 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-50m-7,'54 (5990)444
 
 PR 
 602$ 
 
 M209b 
 
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