WHAT'S MINE'S MINE

By George MacDonald

IN THREE VOLUMES

VOL. III. 

CONTENTS OF VOL. III. 

CHAPTER

 I. AT A HIGH SCHOOL II. A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY III. HOW ALISTER TOOK IT IV. LOVE V. PASSION AND PATIENCE VI. LOVE GLOOMING VII. A GENEROUS DOWRY VIII. MISTRESS CONAL IX. THE MARCHES X. MIDNIGHT XI. SOMETHING STRANGE XII. THE POWER OF DARKNESS XIII. THE NEW STANCE XIV. THE PEAT-MOSS XV. A DARING VISIT XVI. THE FLITTING XVII. THE NEW VILLAGEXVIII. A FRIENDLY OFFER XIX. ANOTHER EXPULSION XX. ALISTER'S PRINCESS XXI. THE FAREWELL

WHAT'S MINE'S MINE

CHAPTER I

AT A HIGH SCHOOL. 

When Mercy was able to go down to the drawing-room, she found theevenings pass as never evenings passed before; and during the day, although her mother and Christina came often to see her, she hadtime and quiet for thinking. And think she must; for she foundherself in a region of human life so different from any she hadhitherto entered, that in no other circumstances would she have beenable to recognize even its existence. Everything said or done in itseemed to acknowledge something understood. Life went on with acontinuous lean toward something rarely mentioned, plainlyuppermost; it embodied a tacit reference of everything to some codeso thoroughly recognized that occasion for alluding to it wasunfrequent. Its inhabitants appeared to know things which her peopledid not even suspect. The air of the brothers especially was that ofmen at their ease yet ready to rise--of men whose loins were girded, alert for an expected call. 

Under their influence a new idea of life, and the world, and therelations of men and things, began to grow in the mind of Mercy. There was a dignity, almost grandeur, about the simple life of thecottage, and the relation of its inmates to all they came near. Noone of them seemed to live for self, but each to be thinking andcaring for the others and for the clan. She awoke to see thatmanners are of the soul; that such as she had hitherto heard admiredwere not to be compared with the simple, almost peasant-like dignityand courtesy of the chief; that the natural grace, accustomed ease, and cultivated refinement of Ian's carriage, came out in attentionand service to the lowly even more than in converse with his equals;while his words, his gestures, his looks, every expression born ofcontact, witnessed a directness and delicacy of recognition shecould never have imagined. The moment he began to speak to another, he seemed to pass out of himself, and sit in the ears of the otherto watch his own words, lest his thoughts should take such sound orshape as might render them unwelcome or weak. If they were not to bepleasant words, they should yet be no more unpleasant than wasneedful; they should not hurt save in the nature of that which theybore; the truth should receive no injury by admixture of hispersonality. He heard with his own soul, and was careful over theother soul as one of like kind. So delicately would he initiate whatmight be communion with another, that to a nature too dull orselfish to understand him, he gave offence by the very graciousnessof his approach. 

It was through her growing love to Alister that Mercy became able tounderstand Ian, and perceived at length that her dread, almostdislike of him at first, was owing solely to her mingled incapacityand unworthiness. Before she left the cottage, it was spring time inher soul; it had begun to put forth the buds of eternal life. Suchbuds are not unfrequently nipped; but even if they are, if a dull, false, commonplace frost close in, and numb the half wakened spiritback into its wintry sleep, that sleep will ever after be hauntedwith some fainting airs of the paradise those buds prophesied. InMercy's case they were to grow into spiritual eyes--to open and see, through all the fogs and tumults of this phantom world, the lightand reality of the true, the spiritual world everywhere aroundher--as the opened eyes of the servant of the prophet saw themountains of Samaria full of horses of fire and chariots of firearound him. Every throb of true love, however mingled with thefoolish and the false, is a bourgeoning of the buds of the lifeeternal--ah, how far from leaves! how much farther from flowers. 

Ian was high above her, so high that she shrank from him; thereseemed a whole heaven of height between them. It would fill her witha kind of despair to see him at times sit lost in thought: he waswhere she could never follow him! He was in a world which, to herchildish thought, seemed not the world of humanity; and she wouldturn, with a sense of both seeking and finding, to the chief. Sheimagined he felt as she did, saw between his brother and him a gulfhe could not cross. She did not perceive this difference, thatAlister knew the gulf had to be crossed. At such a time, too, shehad seen his mother regarding him with a similar expression of loss, but with a mingling of anxiety that was hers only. It was sweet toMercy to see in the eyes of Alister, and in his whole bearing towardhis younger brother, that he was a learner like herself, that theywere scholars together in Ian's school. 

A hunger after something beyond her, a something she could not havedescribed, awoke in her. She needed a salvation of some kind, towardwhich she must grow! She needed a change which she could notunderstand until it came--a change the greatest in the universe, butwhich, man being created with the absolute necessity for it, can beno violent transformation, can be only a grand process in the divineidea of development. 

She began to feel a mystery in the world, and in all the looks ofit--a mystery because a meaning. She saw a jubilance in everysunrise, a sober sadness in every sunset; heard a whispering ofstrange secrets in the wind of the twilight; perceived aconsciousness of unknown bliss in the song of the lark;--and wasaware of a something beyond it all, now and then filling her withwonder, and compelling her to ask, "What does it, what can it mean?"Not once did she suspect that Nature had indeed begun to deal withher; not once suspect, although from childhood accustomed to hearthe name of Love taken in vain, that love had anything to do withthese inexplicable experiences. 

Let no one, however, imagine he explains such experiences bysuggesting that she was in love! That were but to mention anothermystery as having introduced the former. For who in heaven or onearth has fathomed the marvel betwixt the man and the woman? Leastof all the man or the woman who has not learned to regard it withreverence. There is more in this love to uplift us, more to condemnthe lie in us, than in any other inborn drift of our being, exceptthe heavenly tide Godward. From it flow all the other redeemingrelations of life. It is the hold God has of us with his right hand, while death is the hold he has of us with his left. Love and deathare the two marvels, yea the two terrors--but the one goal of ourhistory. 

It was love, in part, that now awoke in Mercy a hunger and thirstafter heavenly things. This is a direction of its power littleheeded by its historians; its earthly side occupies almost all theircare. Because lovers are not worthy of even its earthly aspect, itpalls upon them, and they grow weary, not of love, but of their lackof it. The want of the heavenly in it has caused it to perish: ithad no salt. From those that have not is taken away that which theyhave. Love without religion is the plucked rose. Religion withoutlove--there is no such thing. Religion is the bush that bears allthe roses; for religion is the natural condition of man in relationto the eternal facts, that is the truths, of his own being. To liveis to love; there is no life but love. What shape the love puts on, depends on the persons between whom is the relation. The poorestlove with religion, is better, because truer, therefore morelasting, more genuine, more endowed with the possibility ofpersistence--that is, of infinite development, than the mostpassionate devotion between man and woman without it. 

Thus together in their relation to Ian, it was natural that Mercyand the chief should draw yet more to each other. Mercy regardedAlister as a big brother in the same class with herself, but able tohelp her. Quickly they grew intimate. In the simplicity of his largenature, the chief talked with Mercy as openly as a boy, laying aheart bare to her such that, if the world had many like it, thekingdom of heaven would be more than at hand. He talked as to an oldfriend in perfect understanding with him, from whom he had nothingto gain or to fear. There was never a compliment on the part of theman, and never a coquetry on the part of the girl--a dull idea tosuch as without compliment or coquetry could hold no intercourse, having no other available means. Mercy had never like her sistercultivated the woman's part in the low game; and her truth requiredbut the slightest stimulus to make her incapable of it. With such aman as Alister she could use only a simplicity like his; not thus tomeet him would have been to decline the honouring friendship. Darkand plain, though with an interesting face and fine eyes, she hadreceived no such compliments as had been showered upon her sister;it was an unspoiled girl, with a heart alive though not yet quiteawake, that was brought under such good influences. What betterinfluences for her, for any woman, than those of unselfish men? whatinfluences so good for any man as those of unselfish women? Everyman that hears and learns of a worthy neighbour, comes to theFather; every man that hath heard and learned of the Father comes tothe Lord; every man that comes to the Lord, he leads back to theFather. To hear Ian speak one word about Jesus Christ, was for atrue man to be thenceforth truer. To him the Lord was not atheological personage, but a man present in the world, who had to beunderstood and obeyed by the will and heart and soul, by theimagination and conscience of every other man. If what Ian said wastrue, this life was a serious affair, and to be lived in downrightearnest! If God would have his creatures mind him, she must look toit! She pondered what she heard. But she went always to Alister tohave Ian explained; and to hear him talk of Ian, revealed Alister toher. 

When Mercy left the cottage, she felt as if she were leaving home topay a visit. The rich house was dull and uninteresting. She foundthat she had immediately to put in practice one of the lessons shehad learned--that the service of God is the service of those amongwhom he has sent us. She tried therefore to be cheerful, and even toforestall her mother's wishes. But life was harder than hitherto--somuch more was required of her. 

The chief was falling thoroughly in love with Mercy, but it was sometime before he knew it. With a heart full of tenderness towardeverything human, he knew little of love special, and was graduallysliding into it without being aware of it. How little are we ourown! Existence is decreed us; love and suffering are appointed us. We may resist, we may modify; but we cannot help loving, and wecannot help dying. We need God to keep us from hating. Great ingoodness, yea absolutely good, God must be, to have a right to makeus--to compel our existence, and decree its laws! Without his choicethe chief was falling in love. The woman was sent him; his heartopened and took her in. Relation with her family was not desirable, but there she was! Ian saw, but said nothing. His mother saw it too. 

"Nothing good will come of it!" she said, with a strong feeling ofunfitness in the thing. 

"Everything will come of it, mother, that God would have come ofit, " answered Ian. "She is an honest, good girl, and whatever comesof it must be good, whether pleasant or not. "

The mother was silent. She believed in God, but not so thoroughly asto abjure the exercise of a subsidiary providence of her own. Themore people trust in God, the less will they trust their ownjudgments, or interfere with the ordering of events. The man orwoman who opposes the heart's desire of another, except in aid ofrighteousness, is a servant of Satan. Nor will it avail anything tocall that righteousness which is of Self or of Mammon. 

"There is no action in fretting, " Ian would say, "and not much inthe pondering of consequences. True action is the doing of duty, come of it heartache, defeat, or success. "

"You are a fatalist, Ian!" said his mother one day. 

"Mother, I am; the will of God is my fate!" answered Ian. "He shalldo with me what he pleases; and I will help him!"

She took him in her arms and kissed him. She hoped God would not hestrict with him, for might not the very grandeur of his character berooted in rebellion? Might not some figs grow on some thistles?

At length came the paternal summons for the Palmers to go to London. For a month the families had been meeting all but every day. Thechief had begun to look deep into the eyes of the girl, as ifsearching there for some secret joy; and the girl, though shedrooped her long lashes, did not turn her head away. And nowseparation, like death, gave her courage, and when they parted, Mercy not only sustained Alister's look, but gave him such a look inreturn that he felt no need, no impulse to say anything. Their soulswere satisfied, for they knew they belonged to each other. 

CHAPTER II

A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY. 

So entirely were the chief and his family out of the world, thatthey had not yet a notion of the worldly relations of Mr. PeregrinePalmer. But the mother thought it high time to make inquiry as tohis position and connections. She had an old friend in London, thewife of a certain vice-chancellor, with whom she held an occasionalcorrespondence, and to her she wrote, asking if she knew anything ofthe family. 

Mrs. Macruadh was nowise free from the worldliness that has regardto the world's regard. She would not have been satisfied that adaughter in law of hers should come of people distinguished forgoodness and greatness of soul, if they were, for instance, tradespeople. She would doubtless have preferred the daughter of anhonest man, whatever his position, to the daughter of a scoundrel, even if he chanced to be a duke; but she would not have been contentwith the most distinguished goodness by itself. Walking after Jesus, she would have drawn to the side of Joanna rather than Martha orMary; and I fear she would have condescended--just a little--to MaryMagdalen: repentance, however perfect, is far from enough to satisfythe worldy squeamishness of not a few high-principled people who donot know what repentance means. 

Mrs. Macruadh was anxious to know that the girl was respectable, andso far worthy of her son. The idea of such an inquiry would havefilled Mercy's parents with scornful merriment, as a thing ludicrousindeed. People in THEIR position, who could do this and that, whosename stood so high for this and that, who knew themselves well bred, who had one relation an admiral, another a general, and amarriage-connection with some of the oldest families in thecountry--that one little better than a yeoman, a man who held theplough with his own big hands, should enquire into THEIR socialstanding! Was not Mr. Peregrine Palmer prepared to buy him up themoment he required to sell! Was he not rich enough to purchase anearl's daughter for his son, and an earl himself for his beautifulChristina! The thing would have seemed too preposterous. 

The answer of the vice-chancellor's lady burst, nevertheless, like abombshell in the cottage. It was to this effect:--The Palmers wereknown, if not just in the best, yet in very good society; the sonsbore sign of a defective pedigree, but the one daughter out was, thanks to her mother, fit to go anywhere. For her own part, wrotethe London correspondent, she could not help smelling the grains: inScotland a distiller, Mr. Peregrine Palmer had taken to brewing inEngland--was one of the firm Pulp and Palmer, owning half thepublic-houses in London, therefore high in the regard of the Englishnobility, if not actually within their circle. --Thus far thesatirical lady of the vice-chancellor. 

Horror fell upon the soul of the mother. The distiller was to her asthe publican to the ancient Jew. No dealing in rags and marinestores, no scraping of a fortune by pettifogging, chicane, andcheating, was to her half so abominable as the trade of a brewer. Worse yet was a brewer owning public-houses, gathering riches inhalf-pence wet with beer and smelling of gin. The brewer was to hera moral pariah; only a distiller was worse. As she read, the letterdropped from her hands, and she threw them up in unconscious appealto heaven. She saw a vision of bloated men and white-faced women, drawing with trembling hands from torn pockets the money that hadbought the wide acres of the Clanruadh. To think of the Macruadhmarrying the daughter of such a man! In society few questions indeedwere asked; everywhere money was counted a blessed thing, almosthowever made; none the less the damnable fact remained, that certainmoneys were made, not in furthering the well-being of men and women, but in furthering their sin and degradation. The mother of the chiefsaw that, let the world wink itself to blindness, let it hide theroots of the money-plant in layer upon layer of social ascent, theflower for which an earl will give his daughter, has for the soil itgrows in, not the dead, but the diseased and dying, of loathsomebodies and souls of God's men and women and children, which thegrower of it has helped to make such as they are. 

She was hot, she was cold; she started up and paced hurriedly aboutthe room. Her son the son in law of a distiller! the husband of hisdaughter! The idea was itself abhorrence and contempt! Was he notone of the devil's fishers, fishing the sea of the world for thesouls of men and women to fill his infernal ponds withal! His moneywas the fungous growth of the devil's cellars. How would the breweror the distiller, she said, appear at the last judgment! How wouldher son hold up his head, if he cast in his lot with theirs! Butthat he would never do! Why should she be so perturbed! in thismatter at least there could be no difference between them! Her nobleAlister would be as much shocked as herself at the news! Could thewoman be a lady, grown on such a hothed! Yet, alas! love could temptfar--could subdue the impossible!

She could not rest; she must find one of them! Not a moment longercould she remain alone with the terrible disclosure. If Alister wasin love with the girl, he must get out of it at once! Never againwould she enter the Palmers' gate, never again set foot on theirland! The thought of it was unthinkable! She would meet them as ifshe did not see them! But they should know her reason--and know herinexorable!

She went to the edge of the ridge, and saw Ian sitting with his bookon the other side of the burn. She called him to her, and handed himthe letter. He took it, read it through, and gave it her back. 

"Ian!" she exclaimed, "have you nothing to say to that?"

"I beg your pardon, mother, " he answered: "I must think about it. Why should it trouble you so! It is painfully annoying, but we havecome under no obligation to them!"

"No; but Alister!"

"You cannot doubt Alister will do what is right!"

"He will do what he thinks right!"

"Is not that enough, mother?"

"No, " she answered angrily; "he must do the thing that is right. "

"Whether he knows it or not? Could he do the thing he thoughtwrong?"

She was silent. 

"Mother dear, " resumed lan, "the only Way to get at what IS right isto do what seems right. Even if we mistake there is no other way!"

"You would do evil that good may come! Oh, Ian!"

"No, mother; evil that is not seen to be evil by one willing andtrying to do right, is not counted evil to him. It is evil only tothe person who either knows it to be evil, or does not care whetherit be or not. "

"That is dangerous doctrine!"

"I will go farther, mother, and say, that for Alister to do what youthought right, if he did not think it right himself--even if youwere right and he wrong--would be for him to do wrong, and blindhimself to the truth. "

"A man may be to blame that he is not able to see the truth, " saidthe mother. 

"That is very true, but hardly such a man as Alister, who wouldsooner die than do the thing he believed wrong. But why should youtake it for granted that Alister will think differently from you?"

"We don't always think alike. "

"In matters of right and wrong, I never knew him or me thinkdifferently from you, mother!"

"He is very fond of the girl!"

"And justly. I never saw one more in earnest, or more anxious tolearn. "

"She might well be teachable to such teachers!"

"I don't see that she has ever sought to commend herself to eitherof us, mother. I believe her heart just opened to the realities shehad never had shown her before. Come what may, she will never forgetthe things we have talked about. "

"Nothing would make me trust her!"

"Why?"

"She comes of an' abominable breed. "

"Is it your part, mother, to make her suffer for the sins of herfathers?"

"I make her suffer!"

"Certainly, mother--by changing your mind toward her, and suspectingher, the moment you learn cause to condemn her father. "

"The sins of the fathers are visited on the children!--You will notdispute that?'

"I will grant more--that the sins of the fathers are oftenreproduced in the children. But it is nowhere said, 'Thou shaltvisit the sins of the fathers on the children. ' God puts novengeance into our hands. I fear you are in danger of being unjustto the girl, mother!--but then you do not know her so well as wedo!"

"Of course not! Every boy understands a woman better than hismother!"

"The thing is exceedingly annoying, mother! Let us go and findAlister at once!"

"He will take it like a man of sense, I trust!"

"He will. It will trouble him terribly, but he will do as he ought. Give him time and I don't believe there is a man in the world towhom the right comes out clearer than to Alister. "

The mother answered only with a sigh. 

"Many a man, " remarked Ian, "has been saved through what men call anunfortunate love affair!"

"Many a man has been lost by having his own way in one!" rejoinedthe mother. 

"As to LOST, I would not make up my mind about that for a fewcenturies or so!" returned lan. ''A man may be allowed his own wayfor the discipline to result from it. "

"I trust, lan, you will not encourage him in any folly!"

"I shall have nothing to do but encourage him in his first resolve, mother!"

CHAPTER III

HOW ALISTER TOOK IT. 

They could not find Alister, who had gone to the smithy. It wastea-time before he came home. As soon as he entered, his motherhanded him the letter. 

He read it without a word, laid it on the table beside his plate, and began to drink his tea, his eyes gleaming with a strange light, lan kept silence also. Mrs. Macruadh cast a quick glance, now at theone, now at the other. She was in great anxiety, and could scarcerestrain herself. She knew her boys full of inbred dignity andstrong conscience, but was nevertheless doubtful how they would act. They could not feel as she felt, else would the hot blood of theirrace have at once boiled over! Had she searched herself she mighthave discovered a latent dread that they might be nearer the rightthan she. Painfully she watched them, half conscious of a traitor inher bosom, judging the world's judgment and not God's. Her sonsseemed on the point of concluding as she would not have themconclude: they would side with the young woman against their mother!

The reward of parents who have tried to be good, may be to learn, with a joyous humility from their children. Mrs. Macruadh wascapable of learning more, and was now going to have a lesson. 

When Alister pushed back his chair and rose, she could refrain nolonger. She could not let him go in silence. She must understandsomething of what was passing in his mind!

"What do you think of THAT, Alister?" she said. 

He turned to her with a faint smile, and answered, "I am glad to know it, mother. "

"That is good. I was afraid it would hurt you!"

"Seeing the thing is so, I am glad to be made aware of it. Theinformation itself you cannot expect me to be pleased with!"

"No, indeed, my son! I am very sorry for you. After being so takenwith the young woman, --"

Alister looked straight in his mother's face. 

"You do not imagine, mother, " he said, "it will make any differenceas to Mercy?"

"Not make any difference!" echoed Mrs. Macruadh. "What is itpossible you can mean, Alister?"

The anger that glowed in her dark eyes made her look yet handsomer, proving itself not a mean, though it might be a misplaced anger. 

"Is she different, mother, from what she was before you had theletter?"

"You did not then know what she was!"

"Just as well as I do now. I have no reason to think she is not whatI thought her. "

"You thought her the daughter of a gentleman!"

"Hardly. I thought her a lady, and such I think her still. "

"Then you mean to go on with it?"

"Mother dear, " said Alister, taking her by the hand, "give ine alittle time. Not that I am in any doubt--but the news has been sucha blow to me that--"

"It must have been!" said the mother. 

"--that I am afraid of answering you out of the soreness of mypride, and Ian says the Truth is never angry. "

"I am quite willing you should do nothing in a hurry, " said themother. 

She did not understand that he feared lest, in his indignation forMercy, he should answer his mother as her son ought not. 

"I will take time, " he replied. "And here is lan to help me!"

"Ah! if only your father were here!"

"He may be, mother! Anyhow I trust I shall do nothing he would notlike!"

"He would sooner see son of his marry the daughter of a cobbler thanof a brewer!"

"So would I, mother!" said Alister. 

"I too, " said lan, "would much prefer that my sister-in-law's fatherwere not a brewer. "

"I suppose you are splitting some hair, lan, but I don't see it, "remarked his mother, who had begun to gather a little hope. "Youwill be back by supper-time, Alister, I suppose?"

"Certainly, mother. We are only going to the village. "

The brothers went. 

"I knew everything you were thinking, " said lan. 

"Of course you did!" answered Alister. 

"But I am very sorry!"

"So am I! It is a terrible bore!"

A pause followed. Alister burst into a laugh that was not merry. 

"It makes me think of the look on my father's face, " he said, "onceat the market, as he was putting in his pocket a bunch of more thanusually dirty bank-notes. The look seemed almost to be makingapology that he was rny father--the notes were SO DIRTY! 'They'rebetter than they look, lad!' he said. "

"What ARE you thinking of, Alister?"

"Of nothing you are not thinking of, lan, I hope in God! Mr. Palmer's money is worse than it looks. "

"You frightened me for a moment, Alister!"

"How could I, lan?"

"It was but a nervo-mechanical fright. I knew well enough you couldmean nothing I should not like. But I see trouble ahead, Alister!"

"We shall be called a pack of fools, but what of that! We shall betold the money itself was clean, however dirty the hands that madeit! The money-grubs!"

"I would rather see you hanged, than pocketing a shilling of it!"

"Of course you would! But the man who could pocket it, will berelieved to find it is only his daughter I care about. "

"There will be difficulty, Alister, I fear. How much have you saidto Mercy?"

"I have SAID nothing definite. "

"But she understands?"

"I think--I hope so. --Don't you think Christina is much improved, lan?"

"She is more pleasant. "

"She is quite attentive to you!"

"She is pleased with me for saving her life. She does not likeme--and I have just arrived at not disliking her. "

"There is a great change on her!"

"I doubt if there is any IN her though!"

"She may be only amusing herself with us in this outlandish place!Mercy, I am sure, is quite different!"

"I would trust her with anything, Alister. That girl would die forthe man she loved!"

"I would rather have her love, though we should never meet in thisworld, than the lands of my fathers!"

"What will you do then?"

"I will go to Mr. Palmer, and say to him: 'Give me your daughter. Iam a poor man, but we shall have enough to live upon. I believe shewill be happy. '"

"I will answer for him: 'I have the greatest regard for you, Macruadh. You are a gentleman, and that you are poor is not of theslightest consequence; Mercy's dowry shall be worthy the lady of achief!'--What then, Alister?"

"Fathers that love money must be glad to get rid of their daughterswithout a. Dowry!"

"Yes, perhaps, when they are misers, or money is scarce, or wantedfor something else. But when a poor man of position wanted to marryhis daughter, a parent like Mr. Palmer would doubtless regard herdowry as a good investment. You must not think to escape that way, Alister! What would you answer him?"

"I would say, 'My dear sir, '--I may say 'My dear sir, ' may I not?there is something about the man I like!--'I do not want your money. I will not have your money. Give me your daughter, and my soul willbless you. '"

"Suppose he should reply, ' Do you think I am going to send mydaughter from my house like a beggar? No, no, my boy! she must carrysomething with her! If beggars married beggars, the world would befull of beggars!'--what would you say then?"

"I would tell him I had conscientious scruples about taking hismoney. "

"He would tell you you were a fool, and not to be trusted with awife. 'Who ever heard such rubbish!' he would say. 'Scruples, indeed! You must get over them! What are they?'--What would you saythen?"

"If it came to that, I should have no choice but tell him I hadinsuperable objections to the way his fortune was made, and couldnot consent to share it. "

"He would protest himself insulted, and swear, if his money was notgood enough for you, neither was his daughter. What then?"

"I would appeal to Mercy. "

"She is too young. It would be sad to set one of her years atvariance with her family. I almost think I would rather you ran awaywith her. It is a terrible thing to go into a house and destroy thepeace of those relations which are at the root of all that is goodin the world. "

"I know it! I know it! That is my trouble! I am not afraid ofMercy's courage, and I am sure she would hold out. I am certainnothing would make her marry the man she did not love. But to turnthe house into a hell about her--I shrink from that!--Do you countit necessary to provide against every contingency before taking thefirst step?"

"Indeed I do not! The first step is enough. When that step haslanded us, we start afresh. But of all things you must not lose yourtemper with the man. However despicable his money, you are hissuitor for his daughter! And he may possibly not think you half goodenough for her. "

"That would be a grand way out of the difficulty!"

"How?"

"It would leave me far freer to deal with her. "

"Perhaps. And in any case, the more we can honestly avoid referenceto his money, the better. We are not called on to rebuke. "

"Small is my inclination to allude to it--so long as not a stiverof it seeks to cross to the Macruadh!"

"That is fast as fate. But there is another thing, Alister: I fearlest you should ever forget that her birth and her connections areno more a part of the woman's self than her poverty or her wealth. "

"I know it, Ian. I will not forget it. "

"There must never be a word concerning them!"

"Nor a thought, Ian! In God's name I will be true to her. "

They found Annie of the shop in a sad way. She had just had a letterfrom Lachlan, stating that he had not been well for some time, andthat there was little prospect of his being able to fetch her. Heprayed her therefore to go out to him; and had sent money to pay herpassage and her mother's. 

"When do you go?" asked the chief. 

"My mother fears the voyage, and is very unwilling to turn her backon her own country. But oh, if Lachlan die, and me not with him!"

She could say no more. 

"He shall not die for want of you!" said the laird. "I will talk toyour mother. "

He went into the room behind. Ian remained in the shop. 

"Of course you must go, Annie!" he said. 

"Indeed, sir, I must! But how to persuade my mother I do not know!And I cannot leave her even for Lachlan. No one would nurse him moretenderly than she; but she has a horror of the salt water, and whatshe most dreads is being buried in it. She imagines herself drowningto all eternity!"

"My brother will persuade her. "

"I hope so, sir. I was just coming to him! I should never hold up myhead again--in this world or the next--either if I did not go, or ifI went without my mother! Aunt Conal told me, about a month since, that I was going a long journey, and would never come back. I askedher if I was to die on the way, but she would not answer me. AnyhowI'm not fit to be his wife, if I'm not ready to die for him! Somepeople think it wrong to marry anybody going to die, but at thelongest, you know, sir, you must part sooner than you would! Notmany are allowed to die together!--You don't think, do you, sir, that marriages go for nothing in the other world?"

She spoke with a white face and brave eyes, and Ian was glad atheart. 

"I do not, Annie, " he answered. "'The gifts of God are withoutrepentance. ' He did not give you and Lachlan to each other to partyou again! Though you are not married yet, it is all the same solong as you are true to each other. "

"Thank you, sir; you always make me feel strong!"

Alister came from the back room. 

"I think your mother sees it not quite so difficult now, " he said. 

The next time they went, they found them preparing to go. 

Now Ian had nearly finished the book he was writing about Russia, and could not begin another all at once. He must not stay at homedoing nothing, and he thought that, as things were going from bad toworse in the highlands, he might make a voyage to Canada, visitthose of his clan, and see what ought to be done for such as mustsoon follow them. He would presently have a little money in hispossession, and believed he could not spend it better. He made uphis mind therefore to accompany Annie and her mother, which resolveovercame the last of the old woman's lingering reluctance. He didnot like leaving Alister at such a critical point in his history;but he said to himself that a man might be helped too much; arid itmight come that he and Mercy were in as much need of a refuge as theclan. 

I cannot say NO worldly pride mingled in the chief's contempt forthe distiller's money; his righteous soul was not yet clear of itsinherited judgments as to what is dignified and what is not. He hadin him still the prejudice of the landholder, for ages instinctive, against both manufacture and trade. Various things had combined tofoster in him also the belief that trade at least was never freefrom more or less of unfair dealing, and was therefore in itself alow pursuit. He had not argued that nothing the Father of men hasdecreed can in its nature be contemptible, but must be capable ofbeing nobly done. In the things that some one must do, the doerranks in God's sight, and ought to rank among his fellow-men, according to how he does it. The higher the calling the morecontemptible the man who therein pursues his own ends. The humblestcalling, followed on the principles of the divine caller, is a trueand divine calling, be it scavenging, handicraft, shop-keeping, orbook-making. Oh for the day when God and not the king shall beregarded as the fountain of honour. 

But the Macruadh looked upon the calling of the brewer or distilleras from the devil: he was not called of God to brew or distil! Fromchildhood his mother had taught him a horror of gain by corruption. She had taught, and he had learned, that the poorest of alljustifications, the least fit to serve the turn of gentleman, logician, or Christian, was--"If I do not touch this pitch, anotherwill; there will be just as much harm done; AND ANOTHER INSTEAD OFME WILL HAVE THE BENEFIT; therefore it cannot defile me. --Offencesmust come, therefore I will do them!" "Imagine our Lord in thebrewing trade instead of the carpentering!" she would say. Thatbetter beer was provided by the good brewer would not go far forbrewer or drinker, she said: it mattered little that, by drinkinggood beer, the drunkard lived to be drunk the oftener. A brewermight do much to reduce drinking; but that would be to reduce aprincely income to a modest livelihood, and to content himself withthe baker's daughter instead of the duke's! It followed that theMacruadh would rather have robbed a church than touched Mr. Peregrine Palmer's money. To rifle the tombs of the dead would haveseemed to him pure righteousness beside sharing in that. He couldgive Mercy up; he could NOT take such money with her! Much as heloved her, separate as he saw her, clearly as she was to him a womanundefiled and straight from God, it was yet a trial to him that sheshould be the daughter of a person whose manufacture and trade weresuch. 

After much consideration, it was determined in the family conclave, that Ian should accompany the two women to Canada, note how thingswere going, and conclude what had best be done, should furtherexodus be found necessary. As, however, there had come better newsof Lachlan, and it was plain he was in no immediate danger, theywould not, for several reasons, start before the month of September. A few of the poorest of the clan resolved to go with them. Partlyfor their sakes, partly because his own provision would be small, Ian would take his passage also in the steerage. 

CHAPTER IV

LOVE. 

Christina went back to London considerably changed. Her beauty wasgreater far, for there was a new element in it--a certain atmosphereof distances and shadows gave mystery to her landscape. Her weather, that is her mood, was now subject to changes which to many made hermore attractive. Fits of wild gaiety alternated with glooms, throughwhich would break flashes of feline playfulness, where pat andscratch were a little mixed. She had more admirers than ever, forshe had developed points capable of interesting men of somewhathigher development than those she had hitherto pleased. At the sametime she was more wayward and imperious with her courtiers. Gladlywould she have thrown all the flattery once so coveted into therag-bag of creation, to have one approving smile from thegrave-looking, gracious man, whom she knew happier, wandering aloneover the hills, than if she were walking by his side. For an hourshe would persuade herself that he cared for her a little; the nextshe would comfort herself with the small likelihood of his meetinganother lady in Glenruadh. But then he had been such a traveller, had seen so much of the great world, that perhaps he was alreadylost to her! It seemed but too probable, when she recalled thesadness with which he seemed sometimes overshadowed: it could not bea religious gloom, for when he spoke of God his face shone, and hiswords were strong! I think she mistook a certain gravity, like thatof the Merchant of Venice, for sorrowfulness; though doubtless thepeculiarity of his loss, as well as the loss itself, did sometimesmake him sad. 

She had tried on him her little arts of subjugation, but the momentshe began to love him, she not only saw their uselessness, but hatedthem. Her repellent behaviour to her admirers, and her occasionalexcitement and oddity, caused her mother some anxiety, but as theseason came to a close, she grew gayer, and was at times absolutelybewitching. The mother wished to go northward by degrees, payingvisits on the way; but her plan met with no approbation from thegirls. Christina longed for the presence and voice of Ian in thecottage-parlour, Mercy for a hill-side with the chief; both longedto hear them speak to each other in their own great way. And theytalked so of the delights of their highland home, that the motherbegan to feel the mountains, the sea, and the islands, drawing herto a land of peace, where things went well, and the world knew howto live. But the stormiest months of her life were about to passamong those dumb mountains!

After a long and eager journey, the girls were once more in theirrooms at the New House. 

Mercy went to her window, and stood gazing from it upon themountain-world, faint-lighted by the northern twilight. She mighthave said with Portia:--

 "This night methinks is but the daylight sick; It looks a little paler: 'tis a day, Such as the day is when the sun is hid. "

She could see the dark bulk of the hills, sharpened to a clear edgeagainst the pellucid horizon, but with no colour, and no visiblefeaturing of their great fronts. When the sun rose, it would revealinnumerable varieties of surface, by the mottling of endlessshadows; now all was smooth as an unawakened conscience. By theshape of a small top that rose against the greenish sky betwixt theparting lines of two higher hills, where it seemed to peep out overthe marge into the infinite, as a little man through the gap betweenthe heads of taller neighbours, she knew the roof of THE TOMB; andshe thought how, just below there, away as it seemed in thehigh-lifted solitudes of heaven, she had lain in the clutches ofdeath, all the time watched and defended by the angel of a higherlife who had been with her ever since first she came to Glenruadh, waking her out of such a stupidity, such a non-existence, as now shecould scarce see possible to human being. It was true her waking hadbeen one with her love to that human East which first she saw as sheopened her eyes, and whence first the light of her morning hadflowed--the man who had been and was to her the window of God! Butwhy should that make her doubt? God made man and woman to love eachother: why should not the waking to love and the waking to truthcome together, seeing both were of God? If the chief were never tospeak to her again, she would never go back from what she hadlearned of him! If she ever became careless of truth and life andGod, it would but show that she had never truly loved the chief!

As she stood gazing on the hill-top, high landmark of her history, she felt as if the earth were holding her up toward heaven, anoffering to the higher life. The hill grew an altar of prayer onwhich her soul was lying, dead until taken up into life by the armsof the Father. A deep content pervaded her heart. She turned withher weight of peace, lay down, and went to sleep in the presence ofher Life. 

Christina looked also from her window, but her thoughts were notlike Mercy's, for her heart was mainly filled, not with love of Ian, but with desire that Ian should love her. She longed to be hisqueen--the woman of all women he had seen. The sweet repose of thesleeping world wrought in her--not peace, but weakness. Her soulkept leaning towards Ian; she longed for his arms to start out thealien nature lying so self-satisfied all about her. To her thepresence of God took shape as an emptiness--an absence. The restingworld appeared to her cold, unsympathetic, heedless; its peace wasbut heartlessness. The soft pellucid chrysolite of passive heavenlythought, was a merest arrangement, a common fact, meaning nothing toher. 

She was hungry, not merely after bliss, but after distinction inbliss; not after growth, but after acknowledged superiority. Sheneeded to learn that she was nobody--that if the world were peopledwith creatures like her, it would be no more worth sustaining thanwere it a world of sand, of which no man could build even a hut. Still, by her need of another, God was laying hold of her. As by thelaw is the knowledge of sin, so by love is selfishness rampantlyroused--to be at last, like death, swallowed up in victory--thevictory of the ideal self that dwells in God. 

All night she dreamed sad dreams of Ian in the embrace of a lovelywoman, without word or look for her. She woke weeping, and said toherself that it could not be. He COULD not be taken from her! it wasagainst nature! Soul, brain, and heart, claimed him hers! How couldanother possess what, in the testimony of her whole consciousness, was hers and hers alone! Love asserts an innate and irreversibleright of profoundest property in the person loved. It is aninstinct--but how wrongly, undivinely, falsely interpreted! Hence somany tears! Hence a law of nature, deep written in the young heart, seems often set utterly at nought by circumstance!

But the girl in her dejection and doubt, was worth far more than inher content and confidence. She was even now the richer by theknowledge of sorrow, and she was on the way to know that she neededhelp, on the way to hate herself, to become capable of loving. Lifecould never be the same to her, and the farther from the same thebetter!

The beauty came down in the morning pale and dim and white-lipped, like a flower that had had no water. Mercy was fresh and rosy, witha luminous mist of loveliness over her plain unfinished features. Already had they begun to change in the direction of beauty. Christina's eyes burned; in Mercy's shone something of the light bywhich a soul may walk and not stumble. In the eyes of both wasexpectation, in the eyes of the one confident, in the eyes of theother anxious. 

As soon as they found themselves alone together, eyes sought eyes, and met in understanding. They had not made confidantes of eachother, each guessed well, and was well guessed at. They did notspeculate; they understood. In like manner, Mercy and Alisterunderstood each other, but not Christina and Ian. Neither of theseknew the feelings of the other. 

Without a word they rose, put on their hats, left the house, andtook the road toward the valley. 

About half-way to the root of the ridge, they came in sight of theruined castle; Mercy stopped with a little cry. 

"Look! Chrissy!" she said, pointing. 

On the corner next them, close by the pepper-pot turret, sat the twomen, in what seemed to loving eyes a dangerous position, but to themountaineers themselves a comfortable coin of vantage. The girlsthought, "They are looking out for us!" but Ian was there onlybecause Alister was there. 

The men waved their bonnets. Christina responded with herhandkerchief. The men disappeared from their perch, and were withthe ladies before they reached the ridge. There was no embarrassmenton either side, though a few cheeks were rosier than usual. To thechief, Mercy was far beyond his memory of her. Not her face only, but her every movement bore witness to a deeper pleasure, a greaterfreedom in life than before. 

"Why were you in such a dangerous place?" asked Christina. 

"We were looking out for you, " answered Alister. " From there wecould see you the moment you came out. "

"Why didn't you come and meet us then?"

"Because we wanted to watch you coming. "

"Spies!--I hope, Mercy, we were behaving ourselves properly! I hadno idea we were watched!"

"We thought you had quarrelled; neither said a word to the other. "

Mercy looked up; Christina looked down. 

"Could you hear us at that height?" asked Mercy. 

"How could we when there was not a word to hear!"

"How did you know we were silent?"

"We might have known by the way you walked, " replied Alister. "Butif you had spoken we should have heard, for sound travels far amongthe mountains!"

"Then I think it was a shame!" said Christina. "How could you tellthat we might not object to your hearing us?"

"We never thought of that!" said Alister. "I am very sorry. We shallcertainly not be guilty again!"

"What men you are for taking everything in downright earnest!"cried Christina; "--as if we could have anything to say we shouldwish YOU not to hear?"

She pat a little emphasis on the YOU, hut not much. Alister heard itas if Mercy had said it, and smiled a pleased smile. 

"It will be a glad day for the world, " he said, "when secrecy isover, and every man may speak out the thing that is in him, withoutdanger of offence!"

In her turn, Christina heard the words as if spoken with referenceto Ian though not by him, and took them to hint at the difficulty ofsaying what was in his heart. She had such an idea of hersuperiority because of her father's wealth and fancied position, that she at once concluded Ian dreaded rejection with scorn, for itwas not even as if he were the chief. However poor, Alister was atleast the head of a family, and might set SIR before, and BARONETafter his name--not that her father would think that much of adignity!--but no younger son of whatever rank, would be good enoughfor her in her father's eyes! At the same time she had a choice aswell as her father, and he should find she too had a will of herown!

"But was it not a dangerous place to be in?" she said. 

"It is a little crumbly!" confessed Ian. "--That reminds me, Alister, we must have a bout at the old walls before long!--Eversince Alister was ten years old, " he went on in explanation toChristina, "he and I have been patching and pointing at the oldhulk--the stranded ship of our poor fortunes. I showed you, did Inot, the ship in our coat of arms--the galley at least, in which, they say, we arrived at the island?"

"Yes, I remember. --But you don't mean you do mason's work as well aseverything else?" exclaimed Christina. 

"Come; we will show you, " said the chief. 

"What do you do it for?"

The brothers exchanged glances. 

"Would you count it sufficient reason, " returned Ian, "that wedesired to preserve its testimony to the former status of ourfamily?"

A pang of pleasure shot through the heart of Christina. Passion ispotent to twist in its favour whatever can possibly be so twisted. Here was an indubitable indication of his thoughts! He must make themost of himself, set what he could against the overwhelmingadvantages on her side! In the eyes of a man of the world like herfather, an old name was nothing beside new money! still an oldcastle was always an old castle! and that he cared about it for hersake made it to her at least worth something!

Ere she could give an answer, Ian went on. 

"But in truth, " he said, "we have always had a vague hope of itsresurrection. The dream of our boyhood was to rebuild the castle. Every year it has grown more hopeless, and keeps receding. But wehave come to see how little it matters, and content ourselves withkeeping up, for old love's sake, what is left of the ruin. "

"How do you get up on the walls?" asked Mercy. 

"Ah, that is a secret!" said Ian. 

"Do tell us, " pleaded Christina. 

"If you want very much to know, --" answered Ian, a littledoubtfully. 

"I do, I do!"

"Then I suppose we must tell you!"

Yet more confirmation to the passion-prejudiced ears of Christina!

"There is a stair, " Ian went on, "of which no one but our two selvesknows anything. Such stairs are common in old houses--far commonerthan people in towns have a notion of. But there would not have beenmuch of it left by this time, if we hadn't taken care of it. We werelittle fellows when we began, and it needed much contrivance, for wewere not able to unseat the remnants of the broken steps, andreplace them with new ones. "

"Do show it us, " begged Christina. 

"We will keep it, " said Alister, "for some warm twilight. Morning isnot for ruins. Yon mountain-side is calling to us. Will you come, Mercy?"

"Oh yes!" cried Christina; "that will be much better! Come, Mercy!You are up to a climb, I am sure!"

"I ought to be, after such a long rest. "

"You may have forgotten how to climb!" said Alister. 

"I dreamed too much of the hills for that! And always the noise ofLondon was changed into the rush of waters. "

They had dropped a little behind the other pair. 

"Did you always climb your dream-hills alone?" asked Alister. 

She answered him with just a lift of her big dark eyes. 

They walked slowly down the road till they came to Mrs. Conal'spath, passed her door unassailed, and went up the hill. 

CHAPTER V

PASSION AND PATIENCE. 

It was a glorious morning, and as they climbed, the lightening airmade their spirits rise with their steps. Great masses of cloud hungbeyond the edge of the world, and here and there toweredfoundationless in the sky--huge tumulous heaps of white vapour withgray shadows. The sun was strong, and poured down floods of light, but his heat was deliciously tempered by the mountain atmosphere. There was no wind--only an occasional movement as if the air itselfwere breathing--just enough to let them feel they moved in novacuum, but in the heart of a gentle ocean. 

They came to the hut I have already described as the one chieflyinhabited by Hector of the Stags and Bob of the Angels. It commandeda rare vision. In every direction rose some cone-shaped hill. Theworld lay in coloured waves before them, wild, rugged, and grand, with sheltering spots of beauty between, and the shine of lowlywaters. They tapped at the door of the hut, but there was noresponse; they lifted the latch--it had no lock--and found neitherwithin. Alister and Mercy wandered a little higher, to the shadow ofa great stone; Christina went inside the hut and looked from itsdoor upon the world; Ian leaned against the side of it, and lookedup to the sky. Suddenly a few great drops fell--it was hard to saywhence. The scattered clouds had been drawing a little nearer thesun, growing whiter as they approached him, and more had ascendedfrom the horizon into the middle air, blue sky abounding betweenthem. A swift rain, like a rain of the early summer, began to fall, and grew to a heavy shower. They were glorious drops that made thatshower; for the sun shone, and every drop was a falling gem, shining, sparkling like a diamond, as it fell. It was a bounteousrain, coming from near the zenith, and falling in straight linesdirect from heaven to earth. It wanted but sound to complete itscharm, and that the bells of the heather gave, set ringing by thedrops. The heaven was filled with blue windows, and the rain seemedto come from them rather than from the clouds. Into the rain rosethe heads of the mountains, each clothed in its surplice of thinmist; they seemed rising on tiptoe heavenward, eager to drink of thehigh-born comfort; for the rain comes down, not upon the mown grassonly, but upon the solitary and desert places also, where grass willnever be--"the playgrounds of the young angels, " Bob called them. 

"Do come in, " said Christina; "you will get quite wet!"

He turned towards her. She stepped back, and he entered. Like one alittle weary, he sat down on Hector's old chair. 

"Is anything the matter?" asked Christina, with genuine concern. 

She saw that he was not quite like himself, that there was anunusual expression on his face. He gave a faint apologetic smile. 

"As I stood there, " he answered, "a strange feeling came over me--aforeboding, I suppose you would call it!"

He paused; Christina grew pale, and said, "Won't you tell me what itwas?"

"It was an odd kind of conviction that the next time I stood there, it would not be in the body. --I think I shall not come back. "

"Come back!" echoed Christina, fear beginning to sip at the cup ofher heart. "Where are you going?"

"I start for Canada next week. "

She turned deadly white, and put out her hands, feeling blindlyafter support. Ian started to his feet. 

"We have tired you out!" he said in alarm, and took her by bothhands to place her in the chair. 

She did not hear him. The world had grown dark about her, a hissingnoise was in her ears, and she would have fallen had he not put hisarm round her. The moment she felt supported, she began to come toherself. There was no pretence, however, no coquetry in herfaintness. Neither was it aught but misery and affection that madeher lay her head on Ian's shoulder, and burst into a violent fit ofweeping. Unused to real emotion, familiar only with thepoverty-stricken, false emotion of conquest and gratified vanity, when the real emotion came she did not know how to deal with it, andit overpowered her. 

"Oh! oh!" she cried at length between her sobs, "I am ashamed ofmyself! I can't help it! I can't help it! What will you think of me!I have disgraced myself!"

Ian had been far from any suspicion of the state of things, but hehad had too much sorrowful experience to be able to keep hisunwilling eyes closed to this new consternation. The cold showerseemed to flood his soul; the bright drops descending with suchswiftness of beauty, instinct with sun-life, turned into points oficy steel that pierced his heart. But he must not heed himself! hemust speak to her! He must say something through the terrible shroudthat infolded them!

"You are as safe with me, " he faltered, "--as safe as with yourmother!"

"I believe it! I know it, " she answered, still sobbing, but lookingup with an expression of genuine integrity such as he had never seenon her face before. "But I AM sorry!" she went on. "It is very weak, and very, very un--un--womanly of me! But it came upon me all atonce! If I had only had some warning! Oh, why did you not tell mebefore? Why did you not prepare me for it? You might have known whatit would be to hear it so suddenly!"

More and more aghast grew Ian! What was to be done? What was to besaid? What was left for a man to do, when a woman laid her soulbefore him? Was there nothing but a lie to save her from bitteresthumiliation? To refuse any woman was to Ian a hard task; once he hadfound it impossible to refuse even where he could not give, and hadlet a woman take his soul! Thank God, she took it indeed! he yieldedhimself perfectly, and God gave him her in return! But that wasonce, and for ever! It could not be done again!

"I am very sorry!" he murmured; and the words and their tone sent ashiver through the heart of Christina. 

But now that she had betrayed her secret, the pent up tide of herphantasy rushed to the door. She was reckless. Used to everythingher own way, knowing nothing of disappointment, a new and illunderstood passion dominating her, she let everything go and thetorrent sweep her with it. Passion, like a lovely wild beast, hadmastered her, and she never thought of trying to tame it. It washerself! there was not enough of her outside the passion to stand upagainst it! She began to see the filmy eyed Despair, and had neitherexperience to deal with herself, nor reticence enough to keepsilence. 

"If you speak to me like that, " she cried, "my heart willbreak!--Must you go away?"

"Dear Miss Palmer, --" faltered Ian. 

"Oh!" she ejaculated, with a world of bitterness in the protest. 

"--do let us be calm!" continued Ian. "We shall not come to anythingif we lose ourselves this way!"

The WE and the US gave her a little hope. 

"How can I be calm!" she cried. "I am not cold-hearted likeyou!--You are going away, and I shall never see you again to alleternity!"

She burst out weeping afresh. 

"Do love me a little before you go, " she sobbed. "You gave me mylife once, but that does not make it right to take it from me again!It only gives you a right to its best!"

"God knows, " said Ian, "if my life could serve you, I should countit a small thing to yield!--But this is idle talk! A man must notpretend anything! We must not be untrue!"

She fancied he did not believe in her. 

"I know! I know! you may well distrust me!" she returned. "I haveoften behaved abominably to you! But indeed I am true now! I darenot tell you a lie. To you I MUST speak the truth, for I love youwith my whole soul. "

Ian stood dumb. His look of consternation and sadness brought her toherself a little. 

"What have I done!" she cried, and drawing back a pace, stoodlooking at him, and trembling. "I am disgraced for ever! I have tolda man I love him, and he leaves me to the shame of it! He will notsave me from it! he will not say one word to take it away! Where isyour generosity, Ian?"

"I must be true!" said Ian, speaking as if to himself, and in avoice altogether unlike his own. 

"You will not love me! You hate me! You despise me! But I will notlive rejected! He brushes me like a feather from his coat!"

"Hear me, " said Ian, trying to recover himself. "Do not think meinsensible--"

"Oh, yes! I know!" cried Christina yet more bitterly; "--INSENSIBLETO THE HONOUR _I_ DO YOU, and all that world of nothing!--Pray useyour victory! Lord it over me! I am the weed under your foot! I begyou will not spare me! Speak out what you think of me!"

Ian took her hand. It trembled as if she would pull it away, and hereyes flashed an angry fire. She looked more nearly beautiful thanever he had seen her! His heart was like to break. He drew her tothe chair, and taking a stool, sat down beside her. Then, with avoice that gathered strength as he proceeded, he said:--

"Let me speak to you, Christina Palmer, as in the presence of himwho made us! To pretend I loved you would be easier than to bear thepain of giving you such pain. Were I selfish enough, I could takemuch delight in your love; but I scorn the unmanliness of acceptinggold and returning silver: my love is not mine to give. "

It was some relief to her proud heart to imagine he would have lovedher had he been free. But she did not speak. 

"If I thought, " pursued Ian, "that I had, by any behaviour of mine, been to blame for this, --" There he stopped, lest he should seem tolay blame on her. --"I think, " he resumed, "I could help you if youwould listen to me. Were I in like trouble with you, I would go intomy room, and shut the door, and tell my Father in heaven everythingabout it. Ah, Christina! if you knew him, you would not break yourheart that a man did not love you just as you loved him. "

Had not her misery been so great, had she not also done the thingthat humbled her before herself, Christina would have been indignantwith the man who refused her love and dared speak to her ofreligion; but she was now too broken for resentment. 

The diamond rain was falling, the sun was shining in his vaporousstrength, and the great dome of heaven stood fathomless above thepair; but to Christina the world was black and blank as the gloomyhut in which they sat. When first her love blossomed, she saw theworld open; she looked into its heart; she saw it alive--saw itburning with that which made the bush alive in the desert ofHoreb--the presence of the living God; now, the vision was over, thedesert was dull and dry, the bush burned no more, the glowing lavahad cooled to unsightly stone! There was no God, nor any man more!Time had closed and swept the world into the limbo of vanity! For atime she sat without thought, as it were in a mental sleep. Sheopened her eyes, and the blank of creation stared into the veryheart of her. The emptiness and loneliness overpowered her. Hardlyaware of what she was doing, she slid to her knees at Ian's feet, crying, "Save me, save me, Ian! I shall go mad! Pardon me! Help me!"

"All a man may be to his sister, I am ready to be to you. I willwrite to you from Canada; you can answer me or not as you please. Myheart cries out to me to take you in my arms and comfort you, but Imust not; it would not comfort you. "

"You do not despise me, then?--Oh, thank you!"

"Despise you!--no more than my dead sister! I would cherish you as Iwould her were she in like sorrow. I would die to save you thisgrief--except indeed that I hope much from it. "

"Forget all about me, " said Christina, summoning pride to her aid. 

"I will not forget you. It is impossible, nor would I if I could. "

"You forgive me then, and will not think ill of me?"

"How forgive trust? Is that an offence?"

"I have lost your good opinion! How could I degrade myself so!"

"On the contrary, you are fast gaining iuy good opinion. You havebegun to be a true woman!"

"What if it should be only for--"

"Whatever it may have been for, now you have tasted truth you willnot turn back!"

"Now I know you do not care for me, I fear I shall soon sink backinto my old self!"

"I do care for you, Christina, and you will not sink back into yourold self. God means you to be a strong, good woman--able, with thehelp he will give you, to bear grief in a great-hearted fashion. Believe me, you and I may come nearer each other in the ages beforeus by being both true, than is possible in any other way whatever. "

"I am miserable at the thought of what you must think of me!Everybody would say I had done a shameless thing in confessing mylove!"

"I am not in the way of thinking as everybody thinks. There islittle justice, and less sympathy, to be had from everybody. I wouldthink and judge and feel as the one, my Master. Be sure you are safewith me. "

"You will not tell anybody?"

"You must trust me. "

"I beg your pardon! I have offended you!"

"Not in the least. But I will bind myself by no promises. I am boundalready to be as careful over you as if you were the daughter of myfather and mother. Your confession, instead of putting you in mypower, makes me your servant. "

By this time Christina was calm. There was a great load on herheart, but somehow she was aware of the possibility of carrying it. She looked up gratefully in Ian's face, already beginning to feelfor him a reverence which made it easier to forego the right to puther arms round him. And therewith awoke in her the first movement ofdivine relationship--rose the first heave of the child-heart towardthe source of its being. It appeared in the form of resistance. Complaint against God is far nearer to God than indifference abouthim. 

"Ian Macruadh, " said Christina solemnly, and she looked him in theeyes as she said it, "how can you believe there is a God? If therewere, would he allow such a dreadful thing to befall one of hiscreatures? How am I to blame? I could not help it!"

"I see in it his truth and goodness toward his child. And he willlet you see it. The thing is between him and you. "

"It will be hard to convince me it is either good or loving to makeanyone suffer like this!" protested Christina, her handunconsciously pressed on her heart; "--and all the disgrace of ittoo!" she added bitterly. 

"I will not allow there is any disgrace, " returned Ian. "But I willnot try to con vince you of anything about God. I cannot. You mustknow him. I only say I believe in him with all my heart. You mustask him to explain himself to you, and not take it for granted, because he has done what you do not like, that he has done you awrong. Whether you seek him or not, he will do you justice; but hecannot explain himself except you seek him. "

"I think I understand. Believe me, I am willing to understand. "

A few long seconds of silence followed. Christina came a littlenearer. She was still on her knees. 

"Will you kiss me once, " she said, "as you would a little child!"

"In the name of God!" answered lan, and stooping kissed her gentlyand tenderly. 

"Thank you!" she said; "--and now the rain is over, let us joinMercy and the chief. I hope they have not got very wet!"

"Alister will have taken care of that. There is plenty of shelterabout here. "

They left the cottage, drew the door close, and through the heather, sparkling with a thousand rain-drops, the sun shining hotter thanever through the rain-mist, went up the hill. 

They found the other pair sheltered by the great stone, which wasnot only a shadow from the heat, but sloped sufficiently to be acovert from the rain. They did not know it had ceased; perhaps theydid not know it had rained. 

On a fine morning of the following week, the emigrants began thefirst stage of their long journey; the women in two carts, withtheir small impedimenta, the men walking--Ian with them, a stoutstick in his hand. They were to sail from Greenock. 

Ian and Christina met several times before he left, but never alone. No conference of any kind, not even of eyes, had been sought byChristina, and Ian had resolved to say nothing more until he reachedCanada. Thence he would write things which pen and ink would saybetter and carry nearer home than could speech; and by that time toothe first keenness of her pain would have dulled, and left her mindmore capable of receiving them. He was greatly pleased with thegentle calm of her behaviour. No one else could have seen anydifference toward himself. He read in her carriage that of a childwho had made a mistake, and was humbled, not vexed. Her mother notedthat her cheek was pale, and that she seemed thoughtful; but farthershe did not penetrate. To Ian it was plain that she had set herselfto be reasonable. 

CHAPTER VI

LOVE GLOOMING. 

Ian, the light of his mother's eyes, was gone, and she feltforsaken. Alister was too much occupied with Mercy to feel hisdeparture as on former occasions, yet he missed him every hour ofthe day. Mercy and he met, but not for some time in open company, asChristina refused to go near the cottage. Things were ripening to achange. 

Alister's occupation with Mercy, however, was far from absorption;the moment Ian was gone, he increased his attention to his mother, feeling she had but him. But his mother was not quite the same tohim now. At times she was even more tender; at other times sheseemed to hold him away from her, as one with whom she was not insympathy. The fear awoke in him that she might so speak to some oneof the Palmers as to raise an insuperable barrier between thefamilies; and this fear made him resolve to come at once to anunderstanding with Mercy. The resulting difficulties might be great;he felt keenly the possible alternative of his loss of Mercy, orMercy's loss of her family; but the fact that he loved her gave hima right to tell her so, and made it his duty to lay before her theprobability of an obstacle. That his mother did not like thealliance had to be braved, for a man must leave father and motherand cleave to his wife--a saying commonly by male presumptioninverted. Mercy's love he believed such that she would, without athought, leave the luxury of her father's house for the mere plentyof his. That it would not be to descend but to rise in the truesocial scale he would leave her to discover. Had he known what Mr. Palmer was, and how his money had been made, he would neither havesought nor accepted his acquaintance, and it would no more have beenpossible to fall in love with one of his family than to covet one ofhis fine horses. But that which might, could, would, or should havebeen, affected in no way that which was. He had entered inignorance, by the will of God, into certain relations with "theyoung woman, " as his mother called her, and those relations had tobe followed to their natural and righteous end. 

Talking together over possibilities, Mr. Peregrine Palmer had agreedwith his wife that, Mercy being so far from a beauty, it might notbe such a bad match, would not at least be one to be ashamed of, ifshe did marry the impoverished chief of a highland clan with abaronetcy in his pocket. Having bought the land cheap, he couldafford to let a part, perhaps even the whole of it, go back with hisdaughter, thus restoring to its former position an ancient andhonourable family. The husband of his younger daughter would then behead of one of the very few highland families yet in possession oftheir ancestral acres--a distinction he would owe to PeregrinePalmer! It was a pleasant thought to the kindly, consequential, common little man. Mrs. Palmer, therefore, when the chief calledupon her, received him with more than her previous cordiality. 

His mother would have been glad to see him return from his callsomewhat dejected; he entered so radiant and handsome, that herheart sank within her. Was she actually on the point of being alliedthrough the child of her bosom to a distiller and brewer--a man whohad grown rich on the ruin of thousands of his fellow countrymen? Towhat depths might not the most ancient family sink! For any poverty, she said to herself, she was prepared--but how was she to enduredisgrace! Alas for the clan, whose history was about tocease--smothered in the defiling garment of ill-gotten wealth!Miserable, humiliating close to ancient story! She had no doubt asto her son's intention, although he had said nothing; she KNEW thathis refusal of dower would be his plea in justification; but wouldthat deliver them from the degrading approval of the world? Howmany, if they ever heard of it, would believe that the poor, high-souled Macruadh declined to receive a single hundred from hisfather-in-law's affluence! That he took his daughter poor as she wasborn--his one stipulation that she should be clean from herfather's mud! For one to whom there would even be a chance ofstating the truth of the matter, a hundred would say, "That's yourplan! The only salvation for your shattered houses! Point them upwell with the bird-lime of the brewer, the quack, or themoney-lender, and they'll last till doom'sday!"

Thus bitterly spoke the mother. She brooded and scorned, ragedinwardly, and took to herself dishonour, until evidently she waswasting. The chief's heart was troubled; could it be that shedoubted his strength to resist temptation? He must make haste andhave the whole thing settled! And first of all speak definitely toMercy on the matter!

He had appointed to meet her the same evening, and went long beforethe hour to watch for her appearing. He climbed the hill, and laydown in the heather whence he could see the door of the New House, and Mercy the moment she should come out of it. He lay there tillthe sun was down, and the stars began to appear. At length--and eventhen it was many minutes to the time--he saw the door open, andMercy walk slowly to the gate. He rose and went down the hill. Shesaw him, watched him descending, and the moment he reached the road, went to meet him. They walked slowly down the road, without a wordspoken, until they felt themselves alone. 

"You look so lovely!" said the chief. 

"In the twilight, I suppose!" said Mercy. 

"Perhaps; you are a creature of the twilight, or the night rather, with your great black eyes!"

"I don't like you to speak to me so! You never did before! You knowI am not lovely! I am very plain!"

She was evidently not pleased. 

"What have I done to vex you, Mercy?" he rejoined. "Why should youmind my saying what is true?"

She bit her lip, and could hardly speak to answer him. Often inLondon she had been morally sickened by the false rubbish talked toher sister, and had boasted to herself that the chief had never paidher a compliment. Now he had done it!

She took her hand from his arm. 

"I think I will go home!" she said. 

Alister stopped and turned to her. The last gleam of the west wasreflected from her eyes, and all the sadness of the fading lightseemed gathered into them. 

"My child!" he said, all that was fatherly in the chief rising atthe sight, "who has been making you unhappy?"

"You, " she answered, looking him in the face. 

"How? I do not understand!" he returned, gazing at her bewildered. 

"You have just paid me a compliment--a thing you never didbefore--a thing I never heard before from any but a fool! How couldyou say I was beautiful! You know I am not beautiful! It breaks myheart to think you could say what you didn't believe!"

"Mercy!" answered the chief, "if I said you were beautiful, and tomy eyes you were not, it would yet be true; for to my heart, whichsees deeper than my eyes, you are more beautiful than any other everwas or ever will be. I know you are not beautiful in the world'smeaning, but you are very lovely--and it was lovely I said youwere!"

"Lovely because you love me? Is that what you meant?"

"Yes, that and more. Your eyes are beautiful, and your hair isbeautiful, and your expression is lovely. But I am not flatteringyou--I am not even paying you compliments, for those things are notyours; God made them, and has given them to me!"

She put her hand in his arm again, and there was no morelove-making. 

"But Mercy, " said the chief, when they had walked some distancewithout speaking, "do you think you could live here always, andnever see London again?"

"I would not care if London were scratched out. "

"Could you be content to be a farmer's wife?"

"If he was a very good farmer, " she answered, looking up archly. 

"Am I a good enough farmer, then, to serve your turn?"

"Good enough if I were ten times better. Do you really mean it, Macruadh?"

"With all my heart. Only there is one thing I am very anxiousabout. "

"What is that?"

"How your father will take my condition. "

"He will allow, I think, that it is good enough for me--and morethan I deserve. "

"That is not what I mean; it is that I have a certain condition tomake. "

"Else you won't marry me? That seems strange! Of course I will doanything you would wish me to do! A condition!" she repeated, ponderingly, with just a little dissatisfaction in the tone. 

Alister wondered she was not angry. But she trusted him too well totake offence readily. 

"Yes, " he rejoined, "a real condition! Terms belong naturally to thegiver, not the petitioner; I hope with all my heart it will notoffend him. It will not offend you, I think. "

"Let me hear your condition, " said Mercy, looking at him curiously, her honest eyes shining in the faint light. 

"I want him to let me take you just as you are, without a shillingof his money to spoil the gift. I want you in and for yourself. "

"I dare not think you one who would rather not be obliged to hiswife for anything!" said Mercy. "That cannot be it!"

She spoke with just a shadow of displeasure. He did not answer. Hewas in great dread of hurting her, and his plain reason could notfail to hurt her. 

"Well, " she resumed, as he did not reply, "there are fathers, Idaresay, who would not count that a hard condition!"

"Of course your father will not like the idea of your marrying sopoor a man!"

"If he should insist on your having something with me, you will notrefuse, will you? Why should you mind it?"

Alister was silent. The thing had already begun to grow dreadful!How could he tell her his reasons! Was it necessary to tell her? Ifhe had to explain, it must be to her father, not to her! How, untilabsolutely compelled, reveal the horrible fact that her father wasdespised by her lover! She might believe it her part to refuse suchlove! He trembled lest she should urge him. But Mercy, thinking shehad been very bold already, also held her peace. 

They tried to talk about other things, but with little success, andwhen they parted, it was with a sense on both sides that somethinghad got between them. The night through Mercy hardly slept fortrying to discover what his aversion to her dowry might mean. Noprincedom was worth contrasting with poverty and her farmer-chief, but why should not his love be able to carry her few thousands? Itwas impossible his great soul should grudge his wife's superiorityin the one poor trifle of money! Was not the whole family superiorto money! Had she, alas, been too confident in their greatness? Mustshe be brought to confess that their grand ways had their littleheart of pride? Did they not regard themselves as the ancientaristocracy of the country! Yes, it must be! The chief despised theorigin of her father's riches!

But, although so far in the direction of the fact, she had nosuspicion of anything more than landed pride looking down uponmanufacture and trade. She suspected no moral root of even a sharein the chief's difficulty. Naturally, she was offended. Howdifferently Christina would have met the least hint of a CONDITION, she thought. She had been too ready to show and confess her love!Had she stood off a little, she might have escaped this humiliation!But would that have been honest? Must she not first of all be true?Was the chief, whatever his pride, capable of being ungenerous?Questions like these kept coming and going throughout the night. Hither and thither went her thoughts, refusing to be controlled. Themorning came, the sun rose, and she could not find rest. She hadcome to see how ideally delightful it was just to wait God's will oflove, yet, in this her first trouble, she actually forgot to thinkof God, never asked him to look after the thing for her, never said, "Thy will be done!" And when at length weariness overpowered her, fell asleep like a heathen, without a word from her heart to theheart. 

Alister missed Ian sorely. He prayed to God, but was too troubled tofeel him near. Trouble imagined may seem easy to meet; troubleactual is quite another thing! His mother, perhaps, was to have herdesire; Mercy, perhaps, would not marry a man who disapproved of herfamily! Between them already was what could not be talked about! Hecould not set free his heart to her!

When Mercy woke, the old love was awake also; let Alister's reasonbe what it might, it was not for her to resent it! The life he ledwas so much grander than a life spent in making money, that he mustfeel himself superior! Throned in the hearts, and influencing thecharacters of men, was he not in a far nobler position than moneycould give him? From her night of doubt and bitterness Mercy issuedmore loving and humble. What should she be now, she said to herself, if Alister had not taught her? He had been good to her as neverfather or brother! She would trust him! She would believe him right!Had he hurt her pride? It was well her pride should be hurt! Hermind was at rest. 

But Alister must continue in pain and dread until he had spoken toher father. Knowing then the worst, he might use argument withMercy; the moment for that was not yet come! If he consented thathis daughter should leave him undowered, an explanation with Mercymight be postponed. When the honour of her husband was more to herthan the false credit of her family, when she had had time tounderstand principles which, born and brought up as she had been, she might not yet be able to see into, then it would be time toexplain! One with him, she would see things as he saw them! Till herfather came, he would avoid the subject!

All the morning he was busy in the cornyard--with his hands inpreparing new stances for ricks, with his heart in try ing tocontent himself beforehand with whatever fate the Lord might intendfor him. As yet he was more of a Christian philosopher than aphilosophical Christian. The thing most disappointing to him hewould treat as the will of God for him, and try to make up his mindto it, persuading himself it was the right and best thing--as if heknew it the will of God. He was thus working in the region ofsupposition, and not of revealed duty; in his own imagination, andnot in the will of God. If this should not prove the will of Godconcerning him, then he was spending his strength for nought. Thereis something in the very presence and actuality of a thing to makeone able to bear it; but a man may weaken himself for bearing whatGod intends him to bear, by trying to bear what God does not intendhim to bear. The chief was forestalling the morrow like anunbeliever--not without some moral advantage, I dare say, but withspiritual loss. We have no right to school ourselves to an imaginaryduty. When we do not know, then what he lays upon us is NOT TO KNOW, and to be content not to know. The philosopher is he who lives inthe thought of things, the Christian is he who lives in the thingsthemselves. The philosopher occupies himself with Grod's decree, theChristian with God's will; the philosopher with what God may intend, the Christian with what God wants HIM TO DO. 

The laird looked up and there were the young ladies! It was thefirst time Christina had come nigh the cottage since Ian'sdeparture. 

"Can you tell me, Macruadh, " she said, "what makes Mrs. Conal sospiteful always? When we bade her good morning a few minutes ago, she overwhelmed us with a torrent of abuse!"

"How did you know it was abuse?"

"We understand enough of Gaelic to know it was not exactly blessingus she was. It is not necessary to know cat-language to distinguishbetween purring and spitting! What harm have we done? Her voice wasfierce, and her eyes were like two live peats flaming at us! Dospeak to her. "

"It would be of no use!"

"Where's the good of being chief then? I don't ask you to make theold woman civil, but I think you might keep her from insulting yourfriends! I begin to think your chiefdom a sham!"

"I doubt indeed if it reaches to the tongues of the clan! But let usgo and tell my mother. She may be able to do something with her!"

Christina went into the cottage; the chief drew Mercy back. 

"What do you think the first duty of married people, Mercy--to eachother, I mean, " he said. 

"To be always what they look, " answered Mercy. 

"Yes, but I mean actively. What is it their first duty to do towardseach other?"

"I can't answer that without thinking. "

"Is it not each to help the other to do the will of God?"

"I would say YES if I were sure I really meant it. "

"You will mean it one day. "

"Are you sure God will teach me?"

"I think he cares more to do that than anything else. "

"More than to save us?"

"What is saving but taking us out of the dark into the light? Thereis no salvation but to know God and grow like him. "

CHAPTER VII

A GENEROUS DOWRY. 

The only hope of the chief's mother was in what the girl's fathermight say to her son's proposal. Would not his pride revolt againstgiving his daughter to a man who would not receive his blessing inmoney?

Mr. Peregrine Palmer arrived, and the next day Alister called uponhim. 

Not unprepared for the proposal of the chief, Mercy's father hadnothing to urge against it. Her suitor's name was almost anhistorical one, for it stood high in the home-annals of Scotland. And the new laird, who had always a vague sense of injury in thelack of an illustrious pedigree of his own to send forward, was notun willing that a man more justly treated than himself should supplythe SOLATIUM to his daughter's children. He received the Macruadh, therefore, if a little pompously, yet with kindness. And the momentthey were seated Alister laid his request before him. 

"Mr. Palmer, " he said, "I come to ask the hand of your daughterMercy. I have not much beyond myself to offer her, but I can tellyou precisely what there is. "

Mr. Peregrine Palmer sat for a moment looking important. He seemedto see much to ponder in the proposal. 

"Well, Macruadh, " he said at length, hesitating with hum and withhaw, "the thing is--well, to speak the truth, you take me a gooddeal by surprise! I do not know how the thing may appear to Mrs. Palmer. And then the girl herself, you will allow, ought, in a freecountry, to have a word in the matter! WE give our girls absoluteliberty; their own hearts must guide them--that is, where there isno serious exception to be taken. Honestly, it is not the kind ofmatch we should have chosen! It is not as if things were with younow as once, when the land was all your own, and--and--you--pardonme, I am a father--did not have to work with your own hands!"

Had he been there on any other errand the chief would have statedhis opinion that it was degrading to a man to draw income fromanything he would count it degrading to put his own hand to; butthere was so much he might be compelled to say to the displeasure ofMr. Palmer while asking of him the greatest gift he had to bestow, that he would say nothing unpalatable which he was not compelled tosay. 

"My ancestors, " he answered, willing to give the objection apleasant turn, "would certainly have preferred helping themselves tothe produce of lowland fields! My great-great-grandfather, scorningto ask any man for his daughter, carried her off without a word!"

I am glad the peculiarity has not shown itself hereditary, " said Mr. Palmer laughing. 

"But if I have little to offer, I expect nothing with her, " said thechief abruptly. "I want only herself!"

"A very loverly mode of speaking! But it is needless to say nodaughter of mine shall leave me without a certainty, one way or theother, of suitable maintenance. You know the old proverb, Macruadh, --'When poverty comes in at the door, '--?"

"There is hardly a question of poverty in the sense the proverbintends!" answered the chief smiling. 

"Of course! Of course! At the same time you cannot keep the wolf toofar from the door. I would not, for my part, care to say I had givenmy daughter to a poor farmer in the north. Two men, it is, Ibelieve, you employ, Macruadh?"

The chief answered with a nod. 

"I have other daughters to settle--not to mention my sons, " pursuedthe great little man, "--but--but I will find a time to talk thematter over with Mrs. Palmer, and see what I can do for you. Meanwhile you may reckon you have a friend at court; all I have seenmakes me judge well of you. Where we do not think alike, I can yetsay for you that your faults lean to virtue's side, and are such asmy daughter at least will be no loser by. Good morning, Macruadh. "

Mr. Peregrine Palmer rose; and the chief, perplexed and indignant, but anxious not to prejudice, his very doubtful cause, rose also. 

"You scarcely understand me, Mr. Palmer, " he said. "On thepossibility of being honoured with your daughter's hand, you mustallow me to say distinctly beforehand, that I must decline receivinganything with her. When will you allow me to wait upon you again?"

"I will write. Good morning. "

The interview was certainly not much to the assuagement of thechief's anxiety. He went home with the feeling that he had submittedto be patronized, almost insulted by a paltry fellow whoseconsequence rested on his ill-made money--a man who owed everythingto a false and degrading appetite in his neighbours! Nothing couldhave made him put up with him but the love of Mercy, his dove in acrow's nest! But it would be all in vain, for he could not lie!Truth, indeed, if not less of a virtue, was less of a heroism in thechief than in most men, for he COULD NOT lie. Had he been tempted totry, he would have reddened, stammered, broken down, with the fullshame, and none of the success of a falsehood. 

For a week, he heard nothing; there seemed small anxiety to welcomehim into the Palmer family! Then came a letter. It implied, almostsaid that some difficulty had been felt as to his reception by EVERYmember of the family--which the chief must himself see to have beenonly natural! But while money was of no con sequence to Mr. Palmer, it was of the greatest consequence that his daughter should seem tomake a good match; therefore, as only in respect of POSITION was thealliance objectionable, he had concluded to set that right, and ingiving him his daughter, to restore the chief's family to its formerdignity, by making over to him the Clanruadh property now in hispossession by purchase. While he thus did his duty by his daughter, he hoped the Macruadh would accept the arrangement as a mark ofesteem for himself. Two conditions only he would make--the first, that, as long as he lived, the shooting should be Mr. Palmer's, touse or to let, and should extend over the whole estate; the second, that the chief should assume the baronetcy which belonged to him. 

My reader will regard the proposition as not ungenerous, howevermuch the money value of the land lay in the shooting. 

As Alister took leave of his mother for the night, he gave her theletter. 

She took it, read it slowly, laughed angrily, smiled scornfully, wept bitterly, crushed it in her hand, and walked up to her roomwith her head high. All the time she was preparing for her bed, shewas talking in her spirit with her husband. When she lay down shebecame a mere prey to her own thoughts, and was pulled, and torn, and hurt by them for hours ere she set herself to rule them. For thefirst time in her life she distrusted her son. She did not know whathe would do! The temptation would surely be too strong for him! Twogood things were set over against one evil thing--an evil thing, however, with which nobody would associate blame, an evil thingwhich would raise him high in the respect of everyone whose respectwas not worth having!--the woman he loved and the land of hisancestors on the one side, and only the money that bought the landfor him on the other!--would he hold out? He must take the threetogether, or have none of them! Her fear for him grew and possessedher. She grew cold as death. Why did he give her the letter, and gowithout saying a word? She knew well the arguments he would adduce!Henceforward and for ever there would be a gulf between them! Thepoor religion he had would never serve to keep him straight! Whatwas it but a compromise with pride and self-sufficiency! It couldbear no such strain! He acknowledged God, but not God reconciled inChrist, only God such as unregenerate man would have him! And whenIan came home, he would be sure to side with Alister!

There was but one excuse for the poor boy--and that a miserable one:the blinding of love! Yes there was more excuse than that: to belord of the old lands, with the old clan growing and gathering againabout its chief! It was a temptation fit to ruin an archangel! Whatcould he not do then for his people! What could he not do for theland! And for her, she might have her Ian always at home with her!God forbid she should buy even such bliss at such a cost! She wasonly thinking, she said to herself, how, if the thing had to be, shewould make the best of it: she was bound as a mother to do that!

But the edge of the wedge was in. She said to herself afterwards, that the enemy of her soul must have been lying in wait for her thatnight; she almost believed in some bodily presence of him in herroom: how otherwise could she account for her fall! he must havebeen permitted to tempt her, because, in condemning evil, she hadgiven way to contempt and worldly pride. Her thoughts uncheckedflowed forward. They lingered brooding for a time on the joys thatmight be hers--the joys of the mother of a chief over territory aswell as hearts. Then they stole round, and began to flow the otherway. Ere the thing had come she began to make the best of it for thesake of her son and the bond between them; then she began to excuseit for the sake of the clan; and now she began to justify it alittle for the sake of the world! Everything that could favour theacceptance of the offer came up clear before her. The land was thesame as it always had been! it had never been in the distillery! ithad never been in the brew-house! it was clean, whoever hadtransacted concerning it, through whatever hands it had passed! Agood cow was a good cow, had she been twenty times reaved! For Mr. Palmer to give and Alister to take the land back, would be someamends to the nation, grievously injured in the money of itspurchase! The deed would restore to the redeeming and upliftinginfluence of her son many who were fast perishing from poverty andwhisky; for, their houses and crofts once more in the power of theirchief, he would again be their landlord as well! It would be a pureexercise of the law of compensation! Hundreds who had gone abroadwould return to replenish the old glens with the true nationalwealth--with men and women, and children growing to be men andwomen, for the hour of their country's need! These were the true, the golden crops! The glorious time she had herself seen wouldreturn, when Strathruadh could alone send out a regiment of thesoldiers that may be defeated, but will not live to know it. Thedream of her boys would come true! they would rebuild the oldcastle, and make it a landmark in the history of the highlands!

But while she stood elate upon this high-soaring peak of the darkmountains of ambition, sudden before her mind's eye rose the faceof her husband, sudden his voice was in her ear; he seemed to standabove her in the pulpit, reading from the prophet Isaiah the fourWoes that begin four contiguous chapters:--"Woe to the crown ofpride, to the drunkards of Ephraim, whose glorious beauty is afading flower, which are on the head of the fat valleys of them thatare overcome with wine!"--"Woe to Ariel, to Ariel, the city whereDavid dwelt! Add ye year to year; let them kill sacrifices; yet Iwill distress Ariel. "--"Woe to the rebellious children, saith theLord, that take counsel, but not of me; and that cover with acovering, but not of my spirit, that they may add sin to sin!"--"Woe to them that go down to Egypt for help; and stay on horses, andtrust in chariots, because they are many; and in horsemen, becausethey are very strong; but they look not unto the holy one of Israel, neither seek the Lord!" Then followed the words opening the nextchapter:--"Behold, a king shall reign in righteousness, and princesshall rule in judgment. And a man shall be as an hiding place fromthe wind, and a covert from the tempest. " All this, in solemn order, one woe after the other, she heard in the very voice of her husband;in awful spiritual procession, they passed before her listeningmind! She grew cold as the dead, and shuddered and shivered. Shelooked over the edge into the heart of a black gulf, into which shehad been on the point of casting herself--say rather, down whoseside, searching for an easy descent, she had already slid a longway, when the voice from above recalled her! She covered her facewith her hands and wept--ashamed before God, ashamed before herhusband. It was a shame unutterable that the thing should even havelooked tempting! She cried for forgiveness, rose, and soughtAlister's room. 

Seldom since he was a man had she visited her elder son in hischamber. She cherished for him, as chief, something of the reverenceof the clan. The same familiarity had never existed between them asbetween her and lan. Now she was going to wake him, and hold asolemn talk with him. Not a moment longer should he stand leaningover the gulf into which she had herself well nigh fallen!

She found him awake, and troubled, though not with an eternaltrouble such as hers. 

"I thought I should find you asleep, Alister!" she said. 

"It was not very likely, mother!" he answered gently. 

"You too have been tried with terrible thoughts?"

"I have been tried, but ha^ly with terrible thoughts: I know thatMercy loves me!"

"Ah, my son, my dear son! love itself is the terrible thing! It hasdrawn many a man from the way of peace!"

"Did it draw you and my father from the way of peace?" askedAlister. 

"Not for a moment!" she answered. "It made our steps firmer in theway. "

"Then why should you fear it will draw me from it? I hope I havenever made you think I was not following my father and you!"

"Who knows what either of us might have done, with such a temptationas yours!"

"Either you say, mother, that my father was not so good as I thinkhim, or that he did what he did in his own strength!"

"' Let him that thinketh '--you know the rest!" rejoined the mother. 

"I don't think I am tempted to anything just now. "

"There it is, you see!--the temptation so subtle that you do notsuspect its character!"

"I am confident my father would have done just as I mean to do!"

"What do you mean to do?"

"Is it my own mother asks me? Does she distrust her husband and herson together?"

It began to dawn on the mother that she had fallen into her owntemptation through distrust of her son. Because she-distrusted him, she sought excuse for him, and excuse had turned to all butjustification: she had given place to the devil! But she must besure about Alister! She had had enough of the wiles of Satan: shemust not trust her impressions! The enemy might even now be bent ondeceiving her afresh! For a moment she kept silence, then said:--

"It would be a grand thing to have the whole country-side your ownagain--wouldn't it, Alister?"

"It would, mother!" he answered. 

"And have all your people quite under your own care?"

"A grand thing, indeed, mother!"

"How can you say then it is no temptation to you?"

"Because it is none. "

"How is that?"

"I would not have my clan under a factor of Satan's, mother!"

"I do not understand you!"

"What else should I be, if I accepted the oversight of them on termsof allegiance to him! That was how he tempted Jesus. I will not bethe devil's steward, to call any land or any people mine!"

His mother kissed him on the forehead, walked erect from the room, and went to her own to humble herself afresh. 

In the morning, Alister took his dinner of bread and cheese in hispocket, and set out for the tomb on the hill-top. There he remaineduntil the evening, and wrote his answer, sorely missing Ian. 

He hegged Mr. Peregrine Palmer to dismiss the idea of enriching him, thanked him for his great liberality, but declared himself entirelycontent, and determined not to change his position. He could not andwould not avail himself of his generosity. 

Mr. Palmer, unable to suspect the reasons at work in the chief'smind, pleased with the genuineness of his acknowledgment, andregarding him as a silly fellow who would quixotically outdo him inmagnanimity, answered in a more familiar, almost jocular strain. Hemust not be unreasonable, he said; pride was no doubt an estimableweakness, but it might be carried too far; men must act uponrealities not fancies; he must learn to have an eye to the mainchance, and eschew heroics: what was life without money! It was notas if he gave it grudgingly, for he made him heartily welcome. Theproperty was in truth but a flea-bite to him! He hoped the Macruadhwould live long to enjoy it, and make his father-in-law the greatgrandfather of chiefs, perpetuating his memory to ages unborn. Therewas more to the same effect, void neither of eloquence nor of acertain good-heartedness, which the laird both recognized and felt. 

It was again his painful turn. He had now to make his refusal aspositive as words could make it. He said he was sorry to appearheadstrong, perhaps uncivil and ungrateful, but he could not andwould not accept anything beyond the priceless gift of Mercy's hand. 

Not even then did Peregrine Palmer divine that his offered gift wasdespised; that idea was to him all but impossible of conception. Heread merely opposition, and was determined to have his way. Nexttime he too wrote positively, though far from unkindly:--theMacruadh must take the land with his daughter, or leave both!

The chief replied that he could not yield his claim to Mercy, for heloved her, and believed she loved him; therefore begged Mr. Peregrine Palmer, of his generosity, to leave the decision with hisdaughter. 

The next was a letter from Mercy, entreating Alister not to hurt herfather by seeming to doubt the kindness of his intentions. Sheassured him her father was not the man to interfere with hismanagement of the estate, the shooting was all he cared about; andif that was the difficulty, she imagined even that might be gotover. She ended praying that he would, for her sake, cease makingmuch of a trifle, for such the greatest property in the world mustbe betwixt them. No man, she said, could love a woman right, whowould not be under the poorest obligation to her people!

The chief answered her in the tenderest way, assuring her that ifthe property had been hers he would only have blessed her for it;that he was not making much ado about nothing; that pride, orunwillingness to be indebted, had nothing to do with hisdetermination; that the thing was with him in very truth a matter ofconscience. He implored her therefore from the bottom of his heartto do her best to persuade her father--if she would save him wholoved her more than his own soul, from a misery God only could makehim able to bear. 

Mercy was bewildered. She neither understood nor suspected. Shewrote again, saying her father was now thoroughly angry; that shefound herself without argument, the thing being incomprehensible toher as to her father; that she could not see where the conscience ofthe thing lay. Her terror was, that, if he persisted, she would bedriven to think he did not care for her; his behaviour she had triedin vain to reconcile with what he had taught her; if he destroyedher faith in him, all her faith might go, and she be left withoutGod as well as without him!

Then Alister saw that necessity had culminated, and that it was nolonger possi ble to hold anything back. Whatever other suffering hemight cause her, Mercy must not be left to think him capable ofsacrificing her to an absurdity! She must know the truth of thematter, and how it was to him of the deepest conscience! He must lether see that if he allowed her to persuade him, it would be to goabout thenceforward consumed of self-contempt, a slave to theproperty, no more its owner than if he had stolen it, and in dangerof committing suicide to escape hating his wife!

For the man without a tender conscience, cannot imagine the state towhich another may come, who carries one about with him, stinging andaccusing him all day long. 

So, out of a heart aching with very fullness, Alister wrote thetruth to Mercy. And Mercy, though it filled her with grief andshame, had so much love for the truth, and for the man who had wakedthat love, that she understood him, and loved him through all thepain of his words; loved him the more for daring the risk of losingher; loved him yet the more for cleaving to her while loathing themere thought of sharing her wealth; loved him most of all that hewas immaculate in truth. 

She carried the letter to her father's room, laid it before himwithout a word, and went out again. 

The storm gathered swiftly, and burst at once. Not two minutesseemed to have passed when she heard his door open, and a voice ofwrathful displeasure call out her name. She returned--in fear, butin fortitude. 

Then first she knew her father!--for although wrath and injusticewere at home in him, they seldom showed themselves out of doors. Hetreated her as a willing party to an unspeakable insult from ahighland boor to her own father. To hand him such a letter was thesame as to have written it herself! She identified herself with thewriter when she became the bearer of the mangy hound's insolence! Heraged at Mercy as in truth he had never raged before. If once shespoke to the fellow again, he would turn her out of the house!

She would have left the room. He locked the door, set a chair beforehis writing table, and ordered her to sit there and write to hisdictation. But no power on earth or under it would have prevailed tomake Mercy write as her own the words that were not hers. 

"You must excuse me, papa!" she said in a tone unheard from herbefore. 

This raising of the rampart of human dignity, crowned with refusal, between him and his own child, galled him afresh. 

"Then you shall be compelled!" he said, with an oath through hisclenched teeth. 

Mercy stood silent and motionless. 

"Go to your room. By heaven you shall stay there till you do as Itell you!"

He was between her and the door. 

"You need not think to gain your point by obstinacy, " he added. "Iswear that not another word shall pass between you and thatblockhead of a chief--not if I have to turn watch-dog myself!"

He made way for her, but did not open the door. She left the roomtoo angry to cry, and went to her own. Her fear of her father hadvanished. With Alister on her side she could stand against theworld! She went to her window. She could not see the cottage fromit, but she could see the ruin, and the hill of the crescent fire, on which she had passed through the shadow of death. Gazing on thehill she remembered what Alister would have her do, and with herFather in heaven sought shelter from her father on earth. 

CHAPTER VIII

MISTRESS CONAL. 

Mr. Peregrine Palmer's generosity had in part rested on the idea ofsecuring the estate against reverse of fortune, sufficientlypossible though not expected; while with the improvements almost inhand, the shooting would make him a large return. He felt the morewronged by the ridiculous scruples of the chief--in which after all, though he could not have said why, he did not quite believe. Itnever occurred to him that, even had the land been so come by thatthe chief could accept a gift of it, he would, upon the discoverythat it had been so secured from the donor's creditors, at once haveinsisted on placing it at their disposal. 

His wrath proceeded to vent itself in hastening the realization ofhis schemes of improvement, for he was well aware they would beworse than distasteful to the Macruadh. Their first requirement wasthe removal of every peasant within his power capable of violatingthe sanctity of the deer forest into which he and his next neighbourhad agreed to turn the whole of their property. While the settlementof his daughter was pending, he had seen that the point might causetrouble unless previously understood between him and the chief; buthe never doubted the recovery of the land would reconcile the latterto the loss of the men. Now he chuckled with wrathful chuckle tothink how entirely he had him in his power for justifiableannoyance; for he believed himself about to do nothing but good toTHE COUNTRY in removing from it its miserable inhabitants, whom thesentimental indulgence of their so-called chief kept contented withtheir poverty, and with whom interference must now enrage him. Howhe hated the whole wretched pack!

Mr. Palmer's doing of good to the country consisted in making theland yield more money into the pockets of Mr. Brander and himself byfeeding wild animals instead of men. To tell such land-owners thatthey are simply running a tilt at the creative energy, can be of nouse: they do not believe in God, however much they may protest andimagine they do. 

The next day but one, he sent Mistress Conal the message that shemust be out of her hut, goods and gear, within a fortnight. He wasnot sure that the thing was legally correct, but he would risk it. She might go to law if she would, but he would make a beginning withher! The chief might take up her quarrel if he chose: nothing wouldplease Mr. Palmer more than to involve him in a law-suit, clear himout, and send him adrift! His money might be contemptible, but thechief should find it at least dangerous! Contempt would not staveoff a land-slip!

Mistress Conal, with a rage and scorn that made her feel every incha witch, and accompanied by her black cat, which might or might notbe the innocent animal the neighbours did not think him, hurried tothe Macruadh, and informed him that "the lowland thief" had givenher notice to quit the house of her fathers within a fortnight. 

"I fear much we cannot help it! the house is on his land!" said thechief sorrowfully. 

"His land!" echoed the old woman. "Is the nest of the old eagle hisland? Can he make his heather white or his ptarmigan black? Will hedry up the lochs, and stay the rivers? Will he remove the mountainsfrom their places, or cause the generations of men to cease from theearth? Defend me, chief! I come to you for the help that was neversought in vain from the Macruadh!"

"What help I have is yours without the asking, " returned the chief. "I cannot do more than is in my power! One thing only I can promiseyou--that you shall lack neither food nor shelter. "

"My chief will abandon me to the wolf!" she cried. 

"Never! But I can only protect you, not your house. He may have noright to turn you out at such short notice; but it could only be amatter of weeks. To go to law with him would but leave me without aroof to shelter you when your own was gone!"

"The dead would have shown him into the dark, ere he turned me intothe cold!" she muttered, and turning, left him. 

The chief was greatly troubled. He had heard nothing of such anintention on the part of his neighbour. Could it be for revenge? Hehad heard nothing yet of his answer to Mercy! All he could do was torepresent to Mr. Palmer the trouble the poor woman was in, and lethim know that the proceeding threatened would render him veryunpopular in the strath. This he thought it best to do by letter. 

It could not enrage Mr. Palmer more, but it enraged him afresh. Hevowed that the moment the time was up, out the old witch should go, neck and crop; and with the help of Mr. Brander, provided men forthe enforcement of his purpose who did not belong to theneighbourhood. 

The chief kept hoping to hear from the New House, but neither hisletter to Mercy nor to her father received any answer. How he wishedfor lan to tell him what he ought to do! His mother could not helphim. He saw nothing for it but wait events. 

Day after day passed, and he heard nothing. He would have tried tofind out the state of things at the New House, but until war wasdeclared that would not be right! Mr. Palmer might be seeking howwith dignity to move in the matter, for certainly the chief hadplaced him in a position yet more unpleasant than his own! He mustwait on!

The very day fortnight after the notice given, about three o'clockin the afternoon, came flying to the chief a ragged little urchinof the village, too breathless almost to make intelligible hisnews--that there were men at Mistress Conal's who would not go outof her house, and she and her old black cat were swearing at them. 

The chief ran: could the new laird be actually unhousing the aged, helpless woman? It was the part of a devil and not of a man! As heneared the place--there were her poor possessions already on theroadside!--her one chair and stool, her bedding, her three-footedpot, her girdle, her big chest, all that she could call hers in theworld! and when he came in sight of the cottage, there she was beingbrought out of it, struggling, screaming, and cursing, in the graspof two men! Fierce in its glow was the torrent of Gaelic that rushedfrom the crater of her lips, molten in the volcanic depths of herindignant soul. 

When one thinks of the appalling amount of rage exhausted by poorhumans upon wrong, the energy of indignation, whether issued orsuppressed, and how little it has done to right wrong, to drawacknowledgment or amends from self-satisfied insolence, henaturally asks what becomes of so much vital force. Can it faredifferently from other forces, and be lost? The energy of evil isturned into the mill-race of good; but the wrath of man, even hisrighteous wrath, worketh not the righteousness of God! What becomesof it? If it be not lost, and have but changed its form, in whatshape shall we look for it?

"Set her down, " cried the chief. "I will take care of her. "

When she heard the voice of her champion, the old woman let go acat-like screech of triumph, and her gliding Gaelic, smoothnessitself in articulation, flowed yet firier in word, and fiercer intone. But the who were thus ejecting her--hangers on of thesheriff-court in the county town, employed to give a colour of lawto the doubtful proceeding--did not know the chief. 

"Oh, we'll set her down, " answered one of them insolently, "--andglad enough too! but we'll have her on the public road with hersticks first!"

Infuriated by the man's disregard of her chief, Mistress Conalstruck her nails into his face, and with a curse he flung her fromhim. She turned instantly on the other with the same argument adhominem, and found herself staggering on her own weak limbs to asevere fall, when the chief caught and saved her. She struggled hardto break from him and rush again into the hut, declaring she wouldnot leave it if they burned her alive in it, but he held her fast. 

There was a pause, for one or two who had accompanied the menemployed, knew the chief, and their reluctance to go on with theruthless deed in his presence. Influenced the rest. Report of theejection had spread, and the neighbours came running from thevillage. A crowd seemed to be gathering. Again and again MistressConal tried to escape from Alister and rush into the cottage. 

"You too, my chief!" she cried. "You turned against the poor of yourpeople!"

"No, Mistress Conal, " he answered. "I am too much your friend to letyou kill yourself!"

"We have orders, Macruadh, to set fire to the hovel, " said one ofthe men, touching his hat respectfully. 

"They'll roast my black one!" shrieked the old woman. 

"Small fear for him, " said a man's voice from the little crowd, "ifhalf be true--!"

Apparently the speaker dared no more. 

"Fire won't singe a hair of him, Mistress Conal, " said anothervoice. "You know it; he's used to it!"

"Come along, and let's get it over!" cried the leader of theejection-party. "It--won't take many minutes once it's well agoing, and there's fire enough on the hearth to set Ben Cruachan ina blaze!"

"Is everything out of it?" demanded the chief. 

"All but her cat. We've done our best, sir, and searched everywhere, but he's not to be found. There's nothing else left. "

"It's a lie!" screamed Mistress Conal. "Is there not a great pile ofpeats, carried on my own back from the moss! Ach, you robbers! Wouldyou burn the good peats?"

"What good will the peats be to you, woman, " said one of them notunkindly, "when you have no hearth?"

She gave a loud wail, but checked it. 

"I will burn them on the road, " she said. "They will keep me a fewhours from the dark! When I die I will go straight up to God andimplore his curse upon you, on your bed and board, your hands andtools, your body and soul. May your every prayer be lost in the widemurk, and never come at his ears! May--"

"Hush! hush!" interposed the chief with great gentleness. "You donot know what you are saying. But you do know who tells us toforgive our enemies!"

"It's well for HIM to forgive, " she screamed, "sitting on his grandthrone, and leaving me to be turned out of my blessed house, on tothe cold road!"

"Nannie!" said the chief, calling her by her name, "because a man isunjust to you, is that a reason for you to be unjust to him who diedfor you? You know as well as he, that you will not be left out onthe cold road. He knows, and so do you, that while I have a houseover my head, there is a warm corner in it for you! And as for hissitting on his throne, you know that all these years he has beentrying to take you up beside him, and can't get you to set your footon the first step of it! Be ashamed of yourself, Nannie!"

She was silent. 

"Bring out her peats, " he said, turning to the bystanders; "we havesmall need, with winter on the road, to waste any of God's gifts!"

They obeyed. But as they carried them out, and down to the road, thenumber of Mistress Conal's friends kept growing, and a layingtogether of heads began, and a gathering of human fire underglooming eyebrows. It looked threatening. Suddenly Mistress Conalbroke out in a wild yet awful speech, wherein truth indeed was thefuel, but earthly wrath supplied the prophetic fire. Her friendssuspended their talk, and her foes their work, to listen. 

English is by no means equally poetic with the Gaelic, regarded as alanguage, and ill-serves to represent her utterance. Much that seemsnatural in the one language, seems forced and unreal amidst the lessimaginative forms of the other. I will nevertheless attempt inEnglish what can prove little better than an imitation of herprophetic outpouring. It was like a sermon in this, that she beganwith a text:--

"Woe unto them, " she said--and her voice sounded like the wind amongthe great stones of a hillside--" that join house to house, that layfield to field, till there be no place, that they may be placedalone in the midst of the earth!"

This woe she followed with woe upon woe, and curse upon curse, nowfrom the Bible, now from some old poem of the country, and now fromthe bitterness of her own heart. Then she broke out in purely nativeeloquence:--

"Who art thou, O man, born of a woman, to say to thy brother, 'Depart from this earth: here is no footing for thee: all the roomhad been taken for me ere thou wast heard of! What right hast thouin a world where I want room for the red deer, and the big sheep, and the brown cattle? Go up, thou infant bald-head! Is there notroom above, in the fields of the air? Is there not room below withthe dead? Verily there is none here upon the earth!' Who art thou, Isay, to speak thus to thy fellow, as if he entered the world byanother door than thyself! Because thou art rich, is he not also aman?--a man made in the image of the same God? Who but God senthim? And who but God, save thy father was indeed the devil, hathsent thee? Thou hast to make room for thy brother! What brother ofthy house, when a child is born into it, would presume to say, 'Lethim begone, and speedily! I do not want him! There is no room forhim! I require it all for myself!' Wilt thou say of any man, 'He isnot my brother, ' when God says he is! If thou say, 'Am I thereforehis keeper?' God for that saying will brand thee with the brand ofCain. Yea, the hour will come when those ye will not give room tobreathe, will rise panting in the agony, yea fury of their need, andcry, 'If we may neither eat nor lie down by their leave, lo, we arestrong! let us take what they will not give! If we die we but die!'Then shall there be blood to the knees of the fighting men, yea, tothe horses' bridles; and the earth shall be left desolate because ofyou, foul feeders on the flesh and blood, on the bodies and souls ofmen! In the pit of hell you will find room enough, but no drop ofwater; and it will comfort you little that ye lived merrily amongpining men! Which of us has coveted your silver or your gold? Whichof us has stretched out the hand to take of your wheat or yourbarley? All we ask is room to live! But because ye would see thedust of the earth on the head of the poor, ye have crushed andstraitened us till we are ready to cry out, 'God, for thy mercy'ssake, let us die, lest we be guilty of our own blood!'"

A solitary man had come down the hill behind, and stood alonelistening. It was the mover of the wickedness. In the old time therights of the people in the land were fully recognized; but when thechiefs of Clanruadh sold it, they could not indeed sell the rightsthat were not theirs, but they forgot to secure them for the help-less, and they were now in the grasp of the selfish and greedy, thedevourers of the poor. He did not understand a word the woman wassaying, but he was pleased to look on her rage, and see the man whohad insulted him suffer with her. When he began to note the glancesof lurid fire which every now and then turned upon him duringMistress Conal's speech, he scorned the indication: such poorcreatures dared venture nothing, he thought, against the mereappearance of law. Under what he counted the chiefs contempt, he hadalready grown worse; and the thought that perhaps the great worldmight one day look upon him with like contempt, wrought in himbitterly; he had not the assurance of rectitude which makes contempthurtless. He was crueller now than before the chief's letter to hisdaughter. 

When Mistress Conal saw him, she addressed herself to him directly. What he would have felt had he understood, I cannot tell. Never inthis life did he know how the weak can despise the strong, how thepoor can scorn the rich!

"Worm!" she said, "uncontent with holding the land, eating the earththat another may not share! the worms eat but what their bodies willhold, and thou canst devour but the fill of thy life! The hour is athand when the earth will swallow thee, and thy fellow worms will eatthee, as thou hast eaten men. The possessions of thy brethren thouhast consumed, so that they are not! The holy and beautiful house ofmy fathers, --" She spoke of her poor little cottage, but in thewords lay spiritual fact. "--mock not its poverty!" she went on, asif forestalling contempt; "for is it not to me a holy house wherethe woman lay in the agony whence first I opened my eyes to the sun?Is it not a holy house where my father prayed morning and evening, and read the words of grace and comfort? Is it not to me sacred asthe cottage at Nazareth to the poor man who lived there with hispeasants? And is not that a beautiful house in which a woman's eardid first listen to the words of love? Old and despised I am, butonce I was younger than any of you, and ye will be old and decrepitas I, if the curse of God do not cut you off too soon. My Alisterwould have taken any two of you and knocked your heads together. Hedied fighting for his country; and for his sake the voice of man'slove has never again entered my heart! I knew a true man, and couldbe true also. Would to God I were with him! You man-trapping, land-reaving, house-burning Sasunnach, do your worst! I care not. "She ceased, and the spell was broken. "Come, come!" said one of themen impatiently. "Tom, you get a peat, and set it on the top of thewall, under the roof. You, too, George!--and be quick. Peats allaround! there are plenty on the hearth!--How's the windblowing?--You, Henry, make a few holes in the wall here, outside, and we'll set live peats in them. It's time there was an end tothis!"

"You're right; but there's a better way to end it!" returned one ofthe clan, and gave him a shove that sent him to the ground. 

"Men, do your duty!" cried Mr. Palmer from behind. "_I_ am here--tosee you do it! Never mind the old woman! Of course she thinks ithard; but hard things have got to be done! it's the way of theworld, and all for the best. "

"Mr. Palmer, " said another of the clan, "the old woman has the rightof you: she and hers have lived there, in that cottage, for nigh ahundred years. "

"She has no right. If she thinks she has, let her go to the law forit. In the meantime I choose to turn her off my land. What's mine'smine, as I mean every man jack of you to know--chief and beggar!"

The Macruadh walked up to him. 

"Pardon me, sir, " he said: "I doubt much if you have a legal rightto disturb the poor woman. She has never paid rent for her hut, andit has always been looked upon as her property. "

"Then the chief that sold it swindled both me and her!" stammeredMr. Palmer, white with rage. "But as for you who call yourself achief, you are the most insolent, ill-bred fellow I ever had to dowith, and I have not another word to say to you!"

A silence like that before a thunderstorm succeeded: not a man ofthe clan could for the moment trust his hearing. But there isnothing the Celtic nature resents like rudeness: half a dozen atonce of the Macruadhs rushed upon the insulter of their chief, intent on his punishment. 

"One of you touch him, " cried Alister, "and I will knock him down. Iwould if he were my foster-brother!"

Each eager assailant stood like a block. 

"Finish your work, men!" shouted Mr. Palmer. 

To do him justice, he was no coward. 

"Clansmen, " said the chief, "let him have his way. I do not see howto resist the wrong without bringing more evil upon us than we canmeet. We must leave it to him who says 'Vengeance is mine. '"

The Macruadhs murmured their obedience, and stood sullenly lookingon. The disseizors went into the hut, and carried out the last ofthe fuel. Then they scooped holes in the turf walls, inside toleeward, outside to windward, and taking live peats from the hearth, put them in the holes. A few minutes, and poor Nannie's "holy andbeautiful house" was a great fire. 

When they began to apply the peats, Alister would at once have takenthe old woman away, but he dreaded an outbreak, and lingered. Whenthe fire began to run up the roof, Mistress Conal broke from him, and darted to the door. Every one rushed to seize her, Mr. Palmerwith the rest. 

"Blackie! Blackie! Blackie!" she shrieked like a madwoman. 

While the men encumbered each other in their endeavours to get heraway, down shot the cat from the blazing roof, a fizz of fire in hisblack fur, his tail as thick as his neck, an infernal howlingscreech of hatred in his horrible throat, and, wild with rage andfear, flung himself straight upon Mr. Palmer. A roar of delightedlaughter burst forth. He bawled out--and his bawl was mingled with ascream--to take the brute off him, and his own men hurried to hisrescue; but the fury-frantic animal had dug his claws and teeth intohis face, and clung to him so that they had to choke him off. Thechief caught up Mistress Conal and carried her away: there was nodanger of any one hurting Mr. Palmer now!

He bore her on one arm like a child, and indeed she was not muchheavier. But she kept her face turned and her eyes fixed on herburning home, and leaning over the shoulder of the chief, pouredout, as he carried her farther and farther from the scene of theoutrage, a flood of maledictory prophecy against the doers of thedeed. The laird said never a word, never looked behind him, whileshe, almost tumbling down his back as she cursed with outstretchedarms, deafened him with her raging. He walked steadily down the pathto the road, where he stepped into the midst of her goods andchattels. The sight of them diverted a little the current of herwrath. 

"Where are you going, Macruadh?" she cried, as he walked on. "Seeyou not my property lying to the hand of the thief? Know you notthat the greedy Sasunnach will sweep everything away!"

"I can't carry them and you too, Mistress Conal!" said the chiefgayly. 

"Set me down then. Who ever asked you to carry me! And where wouldyou be carrying me? My place is with my things!"

"Your place is with me, Mistress Conal! I belong to you, and youbelong to me, and I am taking you home to my mother. "

At the word, silence fell, not on the lips, but on the soul of theraving prophetess: the chief she loved, his mother she feared. 

"Set me down, Macruadh!" she pleaded in gentle tone. "Don't carry meto her empty-handed! Set me down straight; I will load my back withmy goods, and bear them to my lady, and throw them at her feet. "

"As soon as we get to the cottage, " said the chief, striding on withhis reluctant burden, "I will send up two men with wheelbarrows tobring them home. "

"HOME, said you?" cried the old woman, and burst into the tearlesswailing of a child; "there is a home for me no more! My house wasall that was left me of my people, and it is your own that make ahouse a home! In the long winter nights, when I sat by the fire andheard the wind howl, and the snow pat, pat like the small hands ofmy little brothers on the window, my heart grew glad within me, andthe dead came back to my soul! When I took the book, I heard thespirit of my father reading through my own lips! And oh, my mother!my mother!"

She ceased as if in despair. 

"Surely, Nannie, you will be at home with your chief!" said Alister. "My house is your house now, and your dead will come to it and bewelcome!"

"It is their chief's house, and they will!" she returned hopefully. "They loved their chief. --Shall we not make a fine clan when we'reall gathered, we Macmadhs! Man nor woman can say I did anything todisgrace it!"

"Lest we should disgrace it, " answered the chief, "we must bear withpatience what is sent upon it. "

He carried her into the drawing-room and told her story, then stood, to the delighted amusement of his mother, with his little old sisterin his arms, waiting her orders, like a big boy carrying the baby, who now and then moaned a little, but did not speak. 

Mrs. Macruadh called Nancy, and told her to bring the tea-tray, andthen, get ready for Mistress Conal the room next Nancy's own, thatshe might be near to wait on her; and thither, when warmed and fed, the chief carried her. 

But the terrible excitement had so thinned the mainspring of hertime-watch, that it soon broke. She did not live many weeks. Fromthe first she sank into great dejection, and her mind wandered. Shesaid her father never came to see her now; that he was displeasedwith her for leaving the house; and that she knew now she ought tohave stayed and been burned in it. The chief reminded her that shehad no choice, but had been carried bodily away. 

"Yes, yes, " she answered; "but they do not know that! I must makehaste and tell them! Who can bear her own people to think ill ofher!--I'm coming! I'm coming! I'll tell you all about it! I'm anhonest woman yet!"

Another thing troubled her sorely, for which she would hear noconsolation; Blackie had vanished!--whether he was killed at thetime of his onslaught on Mr. Palmer, or was afterwards shot;whether, disgusted with the treatment of his old home, or the memoryof what he had there suffered, he had fled the strath, and gone tothe wild cats among the hills, or back to the place which someaverred he came from, no one could tell. In her wanderings shetalked more of her cat than of anything else, and would say thingsthat with some would have gone far to justify the belief that theanimal was by nature on familiar terms with the element which hadyet driven him from his temporary home. 

Nancy was more than uneasy at having the witch so near, but by nomeans neglected her duty to her. One night she woke, and had forsome time lain listening whether she stirred or not, when suddenlyquavered through the dark the most horrible cat-cry she had everheard. In abject terror she covered her head, and lay shuddering. The cry came again, and kept coming at regular intervals, butdrawing nearer and nearer. Its expression was of intense andincreasing pain. The creature whence it issued seemed to come closeto the house, then with difficulty to scramble up on the roof, whereit went on yowling, and screeching, and throwing itself about as iftying itself in knots, Nancy said, until at last it gave a greatchoking, gobbling scream, and fell to the ground, after which allwas quiet. Persuading herself it was only a cat, she tried to sleep, and at length succeeded. When she woke in the morning, the firstthing she did was to go out, fully expecting to find the cat lyingat the foot of the wall. No cat was there. She went then as usual toattend to the old woman. Mistress Conal was dead and cold. 

The clan followed her body to the grave, and the black cat was neverseen. 

CHAPTER IX

THE MARCHES. 

It was plainly of no use for the chief to attempt mollifying Mr. Palmer. So long as it was possible for him to be what he was, itmust be impossible for him to understand the conscience thatcompelled the chief to refuse participation in the results of hislife. Where a man's own conscience is content, how shall he listento the remonstrance of another man's! But even if he could haveunderstood that the offence was unavoidable, that would rather haveincreased than diminished the pain of the hurt; as it was, thechief's determination must seem to Mr. Palmer an unprovoked insult!Thus reflecting, Alister tried all he could to be fair to the manwhom he had driven to cut his acquaintance. 

It was now a lonely time for Alister, lonelier than any ever before. Ian was not within reach even by letter; Mercy was shut up from him:he had not seen or heard from her since writing his explanation; andhis mother did not sympathize with his dearest earthly desire: shewould be greatly relieved, yea heartily glad, if Mercy was deniedhim! She loved Ian more than the chief, yet could have better borneto see him the husband of Mercy; what was wanting to the equality ofher love was in this regard more than balanced by her respect forthe chief of the clan and head of the family. Alister's light wasthus left to burn in very darkness, that it might burn the better;for as strength is made perfect through weakness, so does the light, within grow by darkness. It was the people that sat in darkness thatsaw a great light. He was brought closer than ever to firstprinciples; had to think and judge more than ever of the right thingto do--first of all, the right thing with regard to Mercy. Of givingher up, there was of course no thought; so long as she would be his, he was hers as entirely as the bonds of any marriage could make him!But she owed something to her father! and of all men the patriarchalchief was the last to dare interfere with the RIGHTS of a father. BUT THEY MUST BE RIGHTS, not rights turned into, or founded uponwrongs. With the first in acknowledging true, he would not be withthe last even, in yielding to false rights! The question was, whatwere the rights of a father? One thing was clear, that it was theduty, therefore the right of a father, to prevent his child fromgiving herself away before she could know what she did; and Mercywas not yet of age. That one woman might be capable of knowing atfifteen, and another not at fifty, left untouched the necessity forfixing a limit. It was his own duty and right, on the other hand, todo what he could to prevent her from being in any way deceivedconcerning him. It was essential that nothing should be done, resolved, or yielded, by the girl, through any misunderstanding hecould forestall, or because of any falsehood he could frustrate. Hemust therefore contrive to hold some communication with her!

First of all, however, he must learn how she was treated! It was notonly in fiction or the ancient clan-histories that tyrannical andcruel things were done! A tragedy is even more a tragedy that it hasnot much diversity of incident, that it is acted in commonplacesurroundings, and that the agents of it are commonplace persons--fathers and mothers acting from the best of low or selfish motives. Where either Mammon or Society is worshipped, in love, longing, orfear, there is room for any falsehood, any cruelty, any suffering. 

There were several of the clan employed about the New House of whomAlister might have sought information; but he was of anotherconstruction from the man of fashion in the old plays, whose firstlove-strategy is always to bribe the lady's maid: the chief scornedto learn anything through those of a man's own household. He fired agun, and ran up a flag on the old castle, which brought Rob of theAngels at full speed, and comforted the heart of Mercy sittingdisconsolate at her window: it was her chiefs doing, and might haveto do with her!

Having told Rob the state of matters between him and the New House--

"I need not desire you, Rob, " he concluded, "to be silent! You mayof course let your father know, but never a soul besides. From thismoment, every hour your father does not actually need you, besomewhere on the hills where you can see the New House. I want tolearn first whether she goes out at all. With the dark you must drawnearer the house. But I will have no questioning of the servants oranyone employed about it; I will never use a man's pay to thwart hisplans, nor yet make any man even unconsciously a traitor. "

Rob understood and departed; but before he had news for his masteran event occurred which superseded his service. 

The neighbours, Mr. Peregrine Palmer and Mr. Brander, had begun toenclose their joint estates for a deer-forest, and had engaged mento act as curators. They were from the neighbourhood, but none ofthem belonged to Strathruadh, and not one knew the boundaries of thedistrict they had to patrol; nor indeed were the boundarieseverywhere precisely determined: why should they be, where all washeather and rock? Until game-sprinkled space grew valuable, whowould care whether this or that lump of limestone, rooted in thesolid earth, were the actual property of the one or the other!Either would make the other welcome to blast and cart it away!

There was just one person who knew all about the boundaries that wasto be known; he could not in places draw their lines with absoluteassurance, but he had better grounds for his conclusions than anyoneelse could have; this was Hector of the Stags. For who so likely tounderstand them as he who knew the surface within them as well asthe clay-floor of his own hut? If he did not everywhere know wherethe marchline fell, at least he knew perfectly where it ought tofall. 

It happened just at this time that THE MISTRESS told Hector shewould be glad of a deer, intending to cure part for winter use; thenext day, therefore, --the first of Rob of the Angels' secretservice--he stalked one across the hill-farm, got a shot at it nearthe cave-house, brought it down, and was busy breaking it, when twomen who had come creeping up behind, threw themselves upon him, andmanaged, well for themselves, to secure him before he had a chanceof defending himself. Finding he was deaf and dumb, one of them knewwho he must be, and would have let him go; but the other, eager toingratiate himself with the new laird, used such, argument to thecontrary as prevailed with his companion, and they set out for theNew House, Hector between them with his hands tied. Annoyed andangry at being thus treated like a malefactor, he yet foundamusement in the notion of their mistake. But he found it awkward tobe unable to use that readiest weapon of human defence, the tongue. If only his EARS AND MOUTH, as he called Rob in their own speech, had been with him! When he saw, however, where they were taking him, he was comforted, for Rob was almost certain to see him: wherever hewas, he was watching the New House! He went composedly along withthem therefore, fuming and snorting, not caring to escape. 

When Rob caught sight of the three, he could not think how it wasthat his father walked so unlike himself. He could not be hurt, forhis step was strong and steady as ever; not the less was theresomething of the rhythm gone out of his motion! there was "a brokenmusic" in his gait! He took the telescope which the chief had lenthim, and turned it upon him. Discovering then that his father'shands were bound behind his back, fiercest indignation overwhelmedthe soul of Rob of the Angels. His father bound like a criminal!--hisfather, the best of men! What could the devils mean? Ah, they weretaking him to the New House! He shut up his telescope, laid it downby a stone, and bounded to meet them, sharpening his knife on hishand as he went. 

The moment they were near enough, signs, unintelligible to thekeepers, began to pass between the father and son: Rob's meant thathe must let him pass unnoticed; Hector's that he understood. So, with but the usual salutation of a stranger, Rob passed them. Thesame moment he turned, and with one swift sweep of his knife, severed the bonds of his father. The old man stepped back, andfather and son stood fronting the enemy. 

"Now, " said Eob, "if you are honest men, stand to it! How dared youbind Hector of the Stags?"

"Because he is not an honest man, " replied one of them. 

Rob answered him with a blow. The man made at him, but Hectorstepped between. 

"Say that again of my father, " cried Rob, "who has no speech todefend himself, and I will drive my knife into you. "

"We are only doing our duty!" said the other. "We came upon himthere cutting up the deer he had just killed on the new laird'sland. "

"Who are you to say which is the stranger's, and which theMacruadh's? Neither my father nor I have ever seen the faces of youin the country! Will you pretend to know the marches better than myfather, who was born and bred in the heather, and knows every stoneon the face of the hills?"

"We can't help where he was born or what he knows! he was on ourland!"

"He is the Macruadh's keeper, and was on his own land. You will getyourselves into trouble!"

"We'll take our chance!"

"Take your man then!"

"If he try to escape, I swear by the bones of my grandfather, " saidthe more inimical of the two, inheritor of a clan-feud with theMacruadhs, "I will shoot him. "

Bob of the Angels burst into a scornful laugh. 

"You will! will you?"

"I will not kill him; I don't want to be hanged for him! but I willempty my shot-barrel into the legs of him! So take your chance; youare warned!"

They had Hector's gun, and Rob had no weapon but his knife. Nor washe inclined to use either now he had cooled a little. He turned tohis father. The old man understood perfectly what had passed betweenthem, and signed to Rob that he would go on to the New House, andRob might run and let the chief know what had happened. The samething was in Rob's mind, for he saw how it would favour the desiresof his chief, bringing them all naturally about the place. But hemust first go with his father on the chance of learning something. 

"We will go with you, " he said. 

"We don't want YOU!"

"But I mean to go!--My father is not able to speak for himself!"

"You know nothing. "

"I know what he knows. The lie does not grow in our strath. "

"You crow high, my cock!"

"No higher than I strike, " answered Rob. 

In the eyes of the men Rob was small and weak; but there wassomething in him notwithstanding that looked dangerous, and, thoughfar from cowards, they thought it as well to leave him alone. 

Mercy at her window, where was her usual seat now, saw them coming, and instinctively connected their appearance with her father's newmeasures of protection; and when the men turned toward the kitchen, she ran down to learn what she could. Rob greeted her with a smileas he entered. 

"I am going to fetch the Macruadh, " he whispered, and turning wentout again. 

He told the chief that at the word her face lighted up as with therise of the moon. 

One of the maids went and told her master that they had got apoacher in the kitchen. 

Mr. Palmer's eyes lightened under his black brows when he saw thecaptive, whom he knew by sight and by report. His men told him thestory their own way, never hinting a doubt as to whose was the landon which the deer had been killed. 

"Where is the nearest magistrate?" he inquired with grand severity. 

"The nearest is the Macruadh, sir!" answered a highlander who hadcome from work in the garden to see what was going on. 

"I cannot apply to him; the fellow is one of his own men!"

"The Macruadh does what is just!" rejoined the man. 

His master vouchsafed him no reply. He would not show his wrathagainst the chief: it would be undignified!

"Take him to the tool-house, and lock him up till I think what to dowith him. Bring me the key. "

The butler led the way, and Hector followed between his captors. They might have been showing him to his bed-room, so calm was he:Bob gone to fetch the chief, his imprisonment could not last!--andfor the indignity, was he not in the right!

As Mr. Palmer left the kitchen, his eye fell on Mercy. 

"Go to your room, " he said angrily, and turned from her. 

She obeyed in silence, consoling herself that from her window shecould see the arrival of the chief. Nor had she watched long whenshe saw him coming along the road with Rob. At the gate she lostsight of them. Presently she heard voices in the hall, and creptdown the stair far enough to hear. 

"I could commit you for a breach of the peace, Mr. Palmer, " sheheard the chief say. "You ought to have brought the man to me. As amagistrate I order his release. But I give my word he shall beforthcoming when legally required. "

"Your word is no bail. The man was taken poaching; I have him, and Iwill keep him. "

"Let me see him then, that I may learn from himself where he shotthe deer. "

"He shall go before Mr. Brander. "

"Then I beg you will take him at once. I will go with him. Butlisten a moment, Mr. Palmer. When this same man, my keeper, tookyour guest poaching on my ground, I let Mr. Sercombe go. I couldhave committed him as you would commit Hector. I ask you in returnto let Hector go. Being deaf and dumb, and the hills the joy of hislife, confinement will be terrible to him. "

"I will do nothing of the kind. You could never have committed agentleman for a mistake. This is quite a different thing!"

"It is a different thing, for Hector cannot have made a mistake. Hecould not have followed a deer on to your ground without knowingit!"

"I make no question of that!"

"He says he was not on your property. "

"Says!"

"He is not a man to lie!"

Mr. Palmer smiled. 

"Once more I pray you, let us see him together. "

"You shall not see him. "

"Then take him at once before Mr. Brander. "

"Mr. Brander is not at home. "

"Take him before SOME magistrate--I care not who. There is Mr. Chisholm!"

"I will take him when and where it suits me. "

"Then as a magistrate I will set him at liberty. I am sorry to makemyself unpleasant to you. Of all things I would have avoided it. ButI cannot let the man suffer unjustly. Where have you put him?"

"Where you will not find him. "

"He is one of my people; I must have him!"

"Your people! A set of idle, poaching fellows! By heaven, the strathshall be rid of the pack of them before another year is out!"

"While I have land in it with room for them to stand upon, thestrath shall not be rid of them!--But this is idle! Where have youput Hector of the Stags?"

Mr. Palmer laughed. 

"In safe keeping. There is no occasion to be uneasy about him! Heshall have plenty to eat and drink, be well punished, and show therest of the rascals the way out of the country!"

"Then I must find him! You compel me!"

So saying, the chief, with intent to begin his search at the top ofthe house in the hope of seeing Mercy, darted up the stair. Sheheard him coming, went a few steps higher, and waited. On thelanding he saw her, white, with flashing eyes. Their hands claspedeach other--for a moment only, but the moment was of eternity, notof time. 

"You will find Hector in the tool-house, " she said aloud. 

"You shameless hussey!" cried her father, following the chief in afury. 

Mercy ran up the stair. The chief turned and faced Mr. Palmer. 

"You have no business in my house!"

"I have the right of a magistrate. "

"You have no right. Leave it at once. "

"Allow me to pass. "

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself--making a girl turn traitor toher own father!"

"You ought to be proud of a daughter with the conscience and courageto turn against you!"

The chief passed Mr. Palmer, and running down the stair, joined Robof the Angels where he stood at the door in a group composed of thekeepers and most of the servants. 

"Do you know the tool-house?" he said to Rob. 

"Yes, Macruadh. "

"Lead the way then. Your father is there. "

"On no account let them open the door, " cried Mr. Palmer. "They mayhold through it what communication they please. "

"You will not be saying much to a deaf man through inch boards!"remarked the clansman from the garden. 

Mr. Palmer hurried after them, and his men followed. 

Alister found the door fast and solid, without handle. He turned alook on his companion, and was about to run his weight against thelock. 

"It is too strong, " said Rob. "Hector of the Stags must open it!"

"But how? You cannot even let him know what you want!"

Rob gave a smile, and going up to the door, laid himself against it, as close as he could stand, with his face upon it, and so stoodsilent. 

Mr. Palmer coming up with his attendants, all stood for a fewmoments in silence, wondering at Rob: he must be holdingcommunication with his father--but how?

Sounds began inside--first a tumbling of tools about, then an attackon the lock. 

"Come! come! this won't do!" said Mr. Palmer, approaching the door. 

"Prevent it then, " said the chief. "Do what you will you cannot makehim hear you, and while the door is between you, he cannot see you!If you do not open it, he will!"

"Run, " said Mr. Palmer to the butler; "you will find the key on mytable! I don't want the lock ruined!"

But there was no stopping the thing! Before the butler came back, the lock fell, the door opened, and out came Hector, wiping his browwith his sleeve, and looking as if he enjoyed the fun. 

The keepers darted forward. 

"Stand off!" said the chief stepping between. "I don't want to hurtyou, but if you attempt to lay hands on him, I will. "

One of the men dodged round, and laid hold of Hector from behind;the other made a move towards him in front. Hector stood motionlessfor an instant, watching his chief, but when he saw him knock downthe man before him, he had his own assailant by the throat in aninstant, gave him a shake, and threw him beside his companion. 

"You shall suffer for this, Macruadh!" cried Mr. Palmer, comingclose up to him, and speaking in a low, determined tone, carrying aconviction of unchangeableness. 

"Better leave what may not be the worst alone!" returned the chief. "It is of no use telling you how sorry I am to have to make myselfdisagreeable to you; but I give you fair warning that I will acceptno refusal of the hand of your daughter from any but herself. As youhave chosen to break with me, I accept your declaration of war, andtell you plainly I will do all I can to win your daughter, neverasking your leave in respect of anything I may think it well to do. You will find there are stronger forces in the world than money. Henceforward I hold myself clear of any personal obligation to youexcept as Mercy's father and my enemy. "

From very rage Mr. Palmer was incapable of answering him. Alisterturned from him, and in his excitement mechanically followed Rob, who was turning a corner of the house. It was not the way to thegate, but Rob had seen Mercy peeping round that same corner--anxiousin truth about her father; she feared nothing for Alister. 

He came at once upon Mercy and Rob talking together. Rob withdrewand joined his father a little way off; they retired a few morepaces, and stood waiting their chief's orders. 

"How AM I to see you again, Mercy?" said the chief hurriedly. "Can'tyou think of some way? Think quick. "

Now Mercy, as she sat alone at her window, had not unfrequentlyimagined the chief standing below on the walk, or just beyond in thebelt of shrubbery; and now once more in her mind's eye suddenlyseeing him there, she answered hurriedly, "Come under my window to-night. "

"I do not know which it is. "

"You see it from the castle. I will put a candle in it. "

"What hour?"

"ANY time after midnight. I will sit there till you come. "

"Thank you, " said the chief, and departed with his attendants. 

Mercy hastened into the house by a back door, but had to cross thehall to reach the stair. As she ran up, her father came in at thefront door, saw her, and called her. She went down again to meet thetempest of his rage, which now broke upon her in gathered fury. Hecalled her a treacherous, unnatural child, with every name hethought bad enough to characterize her conduct. Had she been to himas Began or Goneril, he could hardly have found worse names for her. She stood pale, but looked him in the face. Her mother cametrembling as near as she dared, withered by her terror to almosttwice her age. Mr. Palmer in his fury took a step towards Mercy asif he would strike her. Mercy did not move a muscle, but stood readyfor the blow. Then love overcame her fear, and the wife and motherthrew herself between, her arms round her husband, as if rather toprotect him from the deed than her daughter from its hurt. 

"Go to your room, Mercy, " she said. 

Mercy turned and went. She could not understand herself. She used tobe afraid of her father when she knew no reason; now that all thebad in his nature and breeding took form and utterance, she foundherself calm! But the thing that quieted her was in reality hersorrow that he should carry himself so wildly. What she thought was, if the mere sense of not being in the wrong made one able to endureso much, what must not the truth's sake enable one to bear! She satdown at her window to gaze and brood. 

When her father cooled down, he was annoyed with himself, not thathe had been unjust, but that he had behaved with so little dignity. With brows black as evil, he sat degraded in his own eyes, resentingthe degradation on his daughter. Every time he thought of her, newrage arose in his heart. He had been proud of his family autocracy. So seldom had it been necessary to enforce his authority, that henever doubted his wishes had but to be known to be obeyed. Borntyrannical, the characterless submission of his wife had nourishedthe tyrannical in him. Now, all at once, a daughter, the ugly one, from whom no credit was to be looked for, dared to defy him for aclown figuring in a worn-out rag of chieftainship--the mustyfiction of a clan--half a dozen shepherds, crofters, weavers, andshoemakers, not the shadow of a gentleman among them!--a man who atebrose, went with bare knees, worked like any hind, and did not dareoffend his wretched relations by calling his paltry farm hisown!--for the sake of such a fellow, with a highland twang thatdisgusted his fastidious ear, his own daughter made a mock of hisauthority, treated him as a nobody! In his own house she had risenagainst him, and betrayed him to the insults of his enemy! Hisconscious importance, partly from doubt in itself, boiled and fumed, bubbled and steamed in the caldron of his angry brain. Not one, butmany suns would go down upon such a wrath!

"I wish I might never set eyes on the girl again!" he said to hiswife. "A small enough loss the sight of her would be, the ugly, common-looking thing! I beg you will save me from it in future asmuch as you can. She makes me feel as if I should go out of mymind!--so calm, forsooth! so meek! so self-sufficient!--oh, quite asaint!--and so strong-minded!--equal to throwing her father overfor a fellow she never saw till a year ago!"

"She shall have her dinner sent up to her as usual, " answered hiswife with a sigh. "But, really, Peregrine, my dear, you must composeyourself! Love has driven many a woman to extremes!"

"Love! Why should she love such a fellow? I see nothing in him tolove! WHY should she love him? Tell me that! Give me one good reasonfor her folly, and I will forgive her--do anything for her!--anything but let her have the rascal! That I WILL NOT! Take for yourson-in-law an ape that loathes your money, calls it filthylucre--and means it! Not if I can help it!--Don't let me see her! Ishall come to hate her! and that I would rather not; a man must loveand cherish his own flesh! I shall go away, I must!--to get rid ofthe hateful face of the minx, with its selfrighteous, injured lookstaring at you!"

"If you do, you can't expect me to prevent her from seeing him!"

"Lock her up in the coal-hole--bury her if you like! I shall neverask what you have done with her! Never to see her again is all Icare about!"

"Ah, if she were really dead, you would want to see her again--aftera while!"

"I wish then she was dead, that I might want to see her again! Itwon't be sooner! Ten times rather than know her married to thatbeast, I would see her dead and buried!"

The mother held her peace. He did not mean it, she said to herself. It was only his anger! But he did mean it; at that moment he wouldwith joy have heard the earth fall on her coffin. 

Notwithstanding her faculty for shutting out the painful, herpersistent self-assuring that it would blow over, and her confidencethat things would by and by resume their course, Mrs. Palmer was inthose days very unhappy. The former quiet once restored, she wouldtake Mercy in hand, and reasoning with her, soon persuade her towhat she pleased! It was her husband's severity that had brought itto this!

The accomplice of her husband, she did not understand that influenceworks only between such as inhabit the same spiritual sphere: thedaughter had been lifted into a region far above all the argumentsof her mother--arguments poor in life, and base in reach. 

CHAPTER X

MIDNIGHT. 

Mercy sat alone but not lonely at her window. A joy in her heartmade her independent for the time of human intercourse. Life at themoment was livable without it, for there was no bar between her andher lover. 

The evening drew on. They sent her food. She forgot to eat it, andsat looking, till the lines of the horizon seemed grown into hermind like an etching. She watched the slow dusk swell andgather--with such delicate, soft-blending gradations in the birth ofnight as Edwin Waugh loves to seize and word-paint. Through all itsfine evanescent change of thought and feeling she watchedunconsciously; and the growth, death, and burial of that twilightwere ever after a substratum to all the sadness and all the hopethat visited her. Through palest eastern rose, through silvery goldand golden green and brown, the daylight passed into the shadow ofthe light, and the stars, like hope in despair, began to showthemselves where they always were, and the night came on, and deeperand deeper sank the silence. Household sound expired, and no stepcame near her door. Her father had given orders, and was obeyed. Christina has stolen indeed from her own room and listened at hers, but hearing nor sound nor motion, had concluded it better for Mercyas well as safer for herself, to return. So she sat the sole wakefulthing in the house, for even her father slept. 

The earth had grown vague and dim, looking as it must look to thedead. Its oppressive solidity, its obtrusive HERENESS, dissolved inthe dark, it left the soul to live its own life. She could stilltrace the meeting of earth and sky, each the evidence of the other, but the earth was content to be and not assert, and the sky livedonly in the points of light that dotted its vaulted quiet. Sounditself seemed asleep, and filling the air with the repose of itsslumber. Absolute silence the soul cannot grasp; therefore deepestsilence seems ever, in Wordsworth's lovely phrase, wandering intosound, for silence is but the thin shadow of harmony--say rathercreation's ear agape for sound, the waiting matrix of interwovenmelodies, the sphere-bowl standing empty for the wine of the spirit. There may be yet another reason beyond its too great depth or heightor strength, why we should be deaf to the spheral music; it may bethat the absolute perfection of its harmony can take to our ears butthe shape of silence. 

Content and patient, Mercy sat watching. 

It was just past midnight, but she had not yet lighted a candle, when something struck the window as with the soft blow of a moth'swing. Her heart gave a great leap. She listened breathless. Nothingfollowed. It must have been some flying night-thing, though surelytoo late in the year for a moth!

It came again! She dared not speak. She softly opened the window. The darkness had thinned on the horizon, and the half-moon waslifting a corner above the edge of the world. Something in theshrubbery answered her shine, and without rustle of branch, quiet asa ghost, the chief stepped into the open space. Mercy leaned towardhim and said, "Hush! speak low. "

"There is no need to say much, " he answered. " I come only to tellyou that, as man may, I am with you always. "

"How quietly you came! I did not hear a sound!"

"I have been two hours here in the shrubbery. "

"And I not once to suspect it! You might have given me some hint! Avery small one would have been enough! Why did you not let me know?"

"It was not your hour; it is twelve but now; the moon comes to sayso. I came for the luxury of expectation, and the delight of knowingyou better attended than you thought: you knew me with you inspirit; I was with you in the body too!"

"My chief!" she said softly. "I shall always find you nearer andbetter than I was able to think! I know I do not know how good youare. "

"I am good toward you, Mercy! I love you!"

A long silence, save of shining eyes, followed. 

"We are waiting for God!" said Alister at length. 

"Waiting is loving, " answered Mercy. 

She leaned out, looking down to her heaven. 

The moon had been climbing the sky, veiled in a little cloud. Thecloud vanished, and her light fell on the chief. 

"Have you been to a ball?" said Mercy. 

"No, Mercy. I doubt if there will be any dancing more inStrathruadh!"

"Then why are you in court dress?"

"When should a Celt, who of all the world loves radiance and colour, put on his gay attire? For the multitude, or for the one?"

"Thank you. Is it a compliment?--But after your love, everythingfine seems only natural!"

"In love there are no compliments; truth only walks the sacred pathbetween the two doors. I will love you as my father loved my mother, and loves her still. "

"I do like to see you shining! It was kind of you to dress for themoon and me!"

"Whoever loves the truth must love shining things! God is the fatherof lights, even of the lights hid in the dark earth--sapphires andrubies, and all the families of splendour. "

"I shall always see you like that!"

"There is one thing I want to say to you, Mercy:--you will not thinkme indifferent however long I may be in proposing a definite planfor our future! We must wait upon God!"

"I shall think nothing you would not have me think. A little whileago I might have dreamed anything, for I was fast asleep. I was deadtill you waked me. If I were what girls call IN LOVE, I should beimpatient to be with you; but I love you much more than that, and donot need to be always with you. You have made me able to think, andI can think about you! I was but a child, and you made a woman ofme!"

"God and Ian did, " said Alister. 

"Yes, but through you, and I want to be worthy of you. A woman towhom a man's love was so little comfort that she pined away and diedbecause she could not be married to him, would not be a wife worthyof my chief!"

"Then you will always trust me?"

"I will. When one really knows another, then all is safe!"

"How many people do you know?" asked the chief. 

She thought a moment, and with a little laugh, replied, "You. "

"Pardon me, Mercy, but I do want to know how your father treatsyou!"

"We will not talk about him, please. He is my father!--and so faryours that you are bound to make what excuse you can for him. "

"That I am bound to do, if he were no father to either of us. It iswhat God is always doing for us!--only he will never let us off. "

"He has had no one to teach him, Alister! and has always been rich, and accustomed to have his own way! I begin to think one punishmentof making money in a wrong manner is to be prosperous in it!"

"I am sure you are right! But will you be able to bear poverty, Mercy?"

"Yes, " she answered, but so carelessly that she seemed to speakwithout having thought. 

"You do not know what poverty means!" rejoined Alister. "We may haveto endure much for our people!"

"It means YOU any way, does it not? If you and poverty cometogether, welcome you and your friend!--I see I must confess athing! Do you remember telling me to read Julius Caesar?"

"Yes. "

"Do you remember how Portia gave herself a wound, that she mightprove to her husband she was able to keep a secret?"

"Yes, surely!"

"I have my meals in my room now, so I can do as I please, and Inever eat the nice things dear mother always sends me, but potatoes, and porridge, and bread and milk. "

"What IS that for, Mercy?"

"To show you I am worthy of being poor--able at least to be poor. Ihave not once tasted anything VERY nice since the letter that mademy father so angry. "

"You darling!"

Of all men a highlander understands independence of the KIND offood. 

"But, " continued Alister, "you need not go on with it; I am quiteconvinced; and we must take with thanksgiving what God gives us. Besides, you have to grow yet!"

"Alister! and me like a May-pole!"

"You are tall enough, but we are creatures of three dimensions, andneed more than height. You must eat, or you will certainly be ill!"

"Oh, I eat! But just as you please! Only it wouldn't do me the leastharm so long as you didn't mind! It was as much to prove to myself Icould, as to you! But don't you think it must he nearly time forpeople to wake from their first sleep?"

The same instant there was a little noise--like a sob. Mercystarted, and when she looked again Alister had vanished--asnoiselessly as he came. For a moment she sat afraid to move. A windcame blowing upon her from the window: some one had opened her door!What if it were her father! She compelled herself to turn her head. It was something white!--it was Christina! She came to her throughthe shadow of the moonlight, put her arms round her, and pressed toher face a wet cheek. For a moment or two neither spoke. 

"I heard a little, Mercy!" sobbed Christina. "Forgive me; I meant noharm; I only wanted to know if you were awake; I was coming to seeyou. "

"Thank you, Chrissy! That was good of you!"

"You are a dear!--and so is your chief! I am sorry I scared him! Itmade me so miserable to hear you so happy that I could not help it!Would you mind forgiving me, dear?"

"I don't mind your hearing a bit. I am glad you should know how thechief loves me!"

But you must be careful, dear! Papa might pretend to take him for arobber, and shoot him!"

"Oh, no, Chrissy! He wouldn't do that!"

"I would not be too sure! I hadn't an idea before what papa waslike! Oh what men are, and what they can be! I shall never hold upmy head again!"

With this incoherent speech, to Mercy's astonishment andconsternation she burst into tears. Mercy tried to comfort her, butdid not know how. She had seen for some time that there was adifference in her, that something was the matter, and wonderedwhether she could be missing Ian, but it was merest surmise. Perhapsnow she would tell her!

She was weeping like a child on her shoulder. Presently she began totremble. Mercy coaxed her into her bed, and undressing quickly, laydown beside her, and took her in her arms to make her warm. Beforethe morning, with many breaks of sobbing and weeping, Christina hadtold Mercy her story. 

"I wish you would let me tell the chief!" she said. "He would knowhow to comfort you. "

"Thank you!" said Christina, with not a little indignation. "Iforgot I was talking to a girl as good as married, who would notkeep my secrets any more than her own!"

She would have arisen at once to go to her own room, and the nightthat had brought such joy to Mercy threatened to end very sadly. Shethrew her arms round Christina's waist, locked her hands together, and held her fast. 

"Hear me, Chrissy, darling! I am a great big huge brute, " she cried. "But I was only stupid. I would not tell a secret of yours even toAlister--not for worlds! If I did, he would be nearer despising methan I should know how to bear. I will not tell him. Did I everbreak my word to you, Chrissy?"

"No, never, Mercy!" responded Christina, and turning she put herarms round her. 

"Besides, " she went on, "why should I go to anyone for counsel?Could I have a better counsellor than Ian? Is he not my friend? Oh, he is! he is! he said so! he said so!"

The words prefaced another storm of tears. 

"He is going to write to me, " she sobbed, as soon as she could againspeak. 

"Perhaps he will love you yet, Chrissy!"

"No, no; he will never love me that way! For goodness' sake don'thint at such a thing! I should not be able to write a word to him, if I thought that! I should feel a wolf in sheep's clothing! I havedone with tricks and pretendings! Ian shall never say to himself, 'Iwish I had not trusted that girl! I thought she was going to behonest! But what's bred in the bone--!' I declare, Mercy, I shouldblush myself out of being to learn he thought of me like that! Imean to be worthy of his friendship! His friendship is better thanany other man's love! I will be worthy of it!"

The poor girl burst yet again into tears--not so bitter as before, and ended them all at once with a kiss to Mercy. 

"For his sake, " she said, "I am going to take care of Alister andyou!"

"Thank you! thank you, Chrissy! Only you must not do anything tooffend papa! It is hard enough on him as it is! I cannot give up thechief to please him, for he has been a father to my better self; butwe must do nothing to trouble him that we can help!"

CHAPTER XI

SOMETHING STRANGE. 

Alister did not feel inclined to go home. The night was more likeMercy, and he lingered with the night, inhabiting the dream that itwas Mercy's house, and she in the next room. He turned into thecastle, climbed the broken steps, and sat on the corner of the wall, the blank hill before him, asleep standing, with the New House onits shoulder, and the moonlight reflected from Mercy's window underwhich he had so lately stood. He sat for an hour, and when he camedown, was as much disinclined to go home as before: he could notrest in his chamber, with no Ian on the other side of its wall! Hewent straying down the road, into the valley, along the burnside, upthe steep beyond it, and away to the hill-farm and the tomb. 

The moon was with him all the way, but she seemed thinking toherself rather than talking to him. Why should the strange, burnt-out old cinder of a satellite be the star of lovers? Theanswer lies hid, I suspect, in the mysteries of light reflected. 

He wandered along, careless of time, of moonset, star-shine, orsunrise, brooding on many things in the rayless radiance of hislove, and by the time he reached the tomb, was weary with excitementand lack of sleep. Taking the key from where it was cunninglyhidden, he unlocked the door and entered. 

He started back at sight of a gray-haired old man, seated on one ofthe stone chairs, and leaning sadly over the fireless hearth: itmust be his uncle! The same moment he saw it was a ray from thesinking moon, entering by the small, deep window, and shining feeblyon the chair. He struck a light, kindled the peats on the hearth, and went for water. Returning from the well he found the house darkas before; and there was the old man again, cowering over theextinguished fire! The idea lasted but a moment; once more the levellight of the moon lay cold and gray upon the stone chair! He triedto laugh at his fancifulness, but did not quite succeed. Severaltimes on the way up, he had thought of his old uncle: this must havegiven the shape to the moonlight and the stone! He made manyattempts to recall the illusion, but in vain. He relighted the fire, and put on the kettle. Going then for a book to read till the waterboiled, he remembered a letter which, in the excitement of theafternoon, he had put in his pocket unread, and forgotten. It wasfrom the family lawyer in Glasgow, informing him that the bank inwhich his uncle had deposited the proceeds of his sale of the land, was in a state of absolute and irrecoverable collapse; there was notthe slightest hope of retrieving any portion of the wreck. 

Alister did not jump up and pace the room in the rage ofdisappointment; neither did he sit as one stunned and forlorn ofsense. He felt some bitterness in the loss of the hope of making upto his people for his uncle's wrong; but it was clear that if Godhad cared for his having the money, he would have cared that heshould have it. Here was an opportunity for absolute faith andcontentment in the will that looks after all our affairs, the smallas well as the great. 

Those who think their affairs too insignificant for God's regard, will justify themselves in lying crushed under their seeming ruin. Either we live in the heart of an eternal thought, or we are theproduct and sport of that which is lower than we. 

"It was evil money!" said the chief to himself; "it was the sale ofa birthright for a mess of pottage! I would have turned it back intothe right channel, the good of my people! but after all, what canmoney do? It was discontent with poverty that began the ruin of thehighlands! If the heads of the people had but lived pure, active, sober, unostentatious lives, satisfied to be poor, poverty wouldnever have overwhelmed them! The highlands would have made Scotlandgreat with the greatness of men dignified by high-heartedcontentment, and strong with the strength of men who could dowithout!" Therewith it dawned upon Alister how, when he longed tohelp his people, his thoughts had always turned, not to God first, but to the money his uncle had left him. He had trusted in afancy--no less a fancy when in his uncle's possession than when castinto the quicksand of the bank; for trust in money that is, is noless vain, and is farther from redress, than trust in money that isnot. In God alone can trust repose. His heart had been so faithlessthat he did not know it was! He thought he loved God as the firstand last, the beginning, middle, and end of all things, and he hadbeen trusting, not in God, but in uncertain riches, that is in vileMammon! It was a painful and humiliating discovery. "It was well, "he said, "that my false deity should be taken from me! For myidolatry perhaps, a good gift has failed to reach my people! I mustbe more to them than ever, to make up to them for their loss withbetter than money!"

He fell on his knees, and thanked God for the wind that had blowncold through his spirit, and slain at least one evil thing; and whenhe rose, all that was left of his trouble was a lump in his throat, which melted away as he walked home through the morning air on thehills. For he could not delay; he must let his mother know theirtrouble, and, as one who had already received help from on high, help her to bear it! If the messenger of Satan had buffeted him, hehad but broken a way for strength!

But at first he could not enjoy as he was wont the glory of themorning. It troubled him. Would a single note in the song of thesons of the morning fail because God did or would not do a thing?Could God deserve less than thanks perfect from any one of hiscreatures? That man could not know God who thanked him but for whatmen call good things, nor took the evil as from the same love! Hescorned himself, and lifted up his heart. As he reached the brow ofhis last descent, the sun rose, and with it his soul arose andshone, for its light was come, and the glory of the Lord was risenupon it. "Let God, " he said, "take from us what he will: himself hecan only give!" Joyful he went down the hill. God was, and all waswell!

CHAPTER XII

THE POWER OF DARKNESS. 

He found his mother at breakfast, wondering what had become of him. 

"Are you equal to a bit of bad news, mother?" he asked with a smile. 

The mother's thoughts flew instantly to Ian. 

"Oh, it's nothing about lan!" said the chief, answering her look. 

Its expression changed; she hoped now it was some fresh obstaclebetween him and Mercy. 

"No, mother, it is not that either!" said Alister, again answeringher look--with a sad one of his own, for the lack of his mother'ssympathy was the sorest trouble he had. "It is only that uncle'smoney is gone--all gone. "

She sat silent for a moment, gave a little sigh, and said, "Well, it will all be over soon! In the meantime things are no worsethan they were! His will be done!"

"I should have liked to make a few friends with the mammon ofunrighteousness before we were turned out naked!"

"We shall have plenty, " answered the mother, "--God himself, and afew beside! If you could make friends with the mammon, you can makefriends without it!"

"Yes, that is happily true! lan says it was only a lesson for thewise and prudent with money in their pockets--a lesson suited totheir limited reception!"

As they spoke, Nancy entered. 

"Please, laird, she said, "Donal shoemaker is wanting to see you. "

"Tell him to come in, " answered the chief. 

Donal entered and stood up by the door, with his bonnet under hisarm--a little man with puckered face, the puckers radiating from orcentering in the mouth, which he seemed to untie like a money-hag, and pull open by means of a smile, before he began to speak. Thechief shook hands with him, and asked how he could serve him. 

"It will not be to your pleasure to know, Macruadh, " said Donal, humbly declining to sit, "that I have received this day notice toquit my house and garden!"

The house was a turf-cottage, and the garden might grow two bushelsand a half of potatoes. 

"Are you far behind with your rent?"

"Not a quarter, Macruadh. "

"Then what does it mean?"

"It means, sir, that Strathruadh is to be given to the red deer, andthe son of man have nowhere to lay his head. I am the first at yourdoor with my sorrow, but before the day is over you will have--"

Here he named four or five who had received like notice to quit. 

"It is a sad business!" said the chief sorrowfully. 

"Is it law, sir?"

"It is not easy to say what is law, Donal; certainly it is notgospel! As a matter of course you will not be without shelter, solong as I may call stone or turf mine, but things are looking bad!Things as well as souls are in God's hands however!"

"I learn from the new men on the hills, " resumed Donal, "that thenew lairds have conspired to exterminate us. They have discovered, apparently, that the earth was not made for man, but for rich menand beasts!" Here the little man paused, and his insignificant facegrew in expression grand. "But the day of the Lord will come, " hewent on, "as a thief in the night. Vengeance is his, and he willknow where to give many stripes, and where few. --What would you haveus do, laird?"

"I will go with you to the village. "

"No, if you please, sir! Better men will be at your door presentlyto put the same question, for they will do nothing without theMacruadh. We are no more on your land, great is our sorrow, chief, but we are of your blood, you are our lord, and your will is ours. You have been a nursing father to us, Macruadh!"

"I would fain be!" answered the chief. 

"They will want to know whether these strangers have the right toturn us out; and if they have not the right to disseize, whether wehave not the right to resist. If you would have us fight, and willhead us, we will fall to a man--for fall we must; we cannot think tostand before the redcoats. "

"No, no, Donal! It is not a question of the truth; that we should bebound to die for, of course. It is only our rights that areconcerned, and they are not worth dying for. That would be merepride, and denial of God who is fighting for us. At least so itseems at the moment to me!"

"Some of us would fain fight and have done with it, sir!"

The chief could not help smiling with pleasure at the little man'swarlike readiness: he knew it was no empty boast; what there was ofhim was good stuff. 

"You have a wife and children, Donal!" he said; "what would becomeof them if you fell?"

"My sister was turned out in the cold spring, " answered Donal, "anddied in Glencalvu! It would be better to die together!"

"But, Donal, none of yours will die of cold, and I can't let youfight, because the wives and children would all come on my hands, and I should have too many for my meal! No, we must not fight. Wemay have a right to fight, I do not know; but I am sure we have atleast the right to abstain from fighting. Don't let us confoundright and duty, Donal--neither in thing nor in word!"

"Will the law not help us, Macruadh?"

"The law is such a slow coach! our enemies are so rich! and thelawyers have little love of righteousness! Most of them would seethe dust on our heads to have the picking of our bones! Stick norstone would be left us before anything came of it!"

"But, sir, " said Donal, "is it the part of brave men to give uptheir rights?"

"No man can take from us our rights, " answered the chief, "but anyman rich enough may keep us from getting the good of them. I sayagain we are not bound to insist on our rights. We may decline to doso, and that way leave them to God to look after for us. "

"God does not always give men their rights, sir! I don't believe hecares about our small matters!"

"Nothing that God does not care about can be worth our caring about. But, Donal, how dare you say what you do? Have you lived to alleternity? How do you know what you say? GOD DOES care for ourrights. A day is coming, as you have just said, when he will judgethe oppressors of their brethren. "

"We shall be all dead and buried long before then!"

"As he pleases, Donal! He is my chief. I will have what he wills, not what I should like! A thousand years I will wait for my rightsif he chooses. I will trust him to do splendidly for me. No; I willhave no other way than my chief's! He will set everything straight!"

"You must be right, sir! only I can't help wishing for the oldtimes, when a man could strike a blow for himself!"

With all who came Alister held similar talk; for though they werenot all so warlike as the cobbler, they keenly felt the wrong thatwas done them, and would mostly, but for a doubt of its rectitude, have opposed force with force. It would at least bring their casebefore the country!

"The case is before a higher tribunal, " answered the laird; "andone's country is no incarnation of justice! How could she be, madeup mostly of such as do not love fair play except in the abstract, or for themselves! The wise thing is to submit to wrong. "

It is in ordering our own thoughts and our own actions, that we havefirst to stand up for the right; our business is not to protectourselves from our neighbour's wrong, but our neighbour from ourwrong. This is to slay evil; the other is to make it multiply. A manwho would pull out even a mote from his brother's eye, must firstpull out the beam from his own eye, must be righteous against hisown selfishness. That is the only way to wound the root of evil. Hewho teaches his neighbour to insist on his rights, is not a teacherof righteousness. He who, by fulfilling his own duties, teaches hisneighbour to give every man the fair play he owes him, is afellow-worker with God. 

But although not a few of the villagers spoke in wrath andcounselled resistance, not one of them rejoiced in the anticipationof disorder. Heartily did Rob of the Angels insist on peace, but hiswords had the less force that he was puny in person, and, althoughcapable of great endurance, unnoted for deeds of strength. Evilbirds carried the words of natural and righteous anger to the earsof the new laird; no good birds bore the words of appeasement: heconcluded after his kind that their chief countenanced a determinedresistance. 

On all sides the horizon was dark about the remnant of Clanruadh. Poorly as they lived in Strathruadh, they knew no place else wherethey could live at all. Separated, and so disabled from makingcommon cause against want, they must perish! But their horizon wasnot heaven, and God was beyond it. 

It was a great comfort to the chief that in the matter of his clanhis mother agreed with him altogether: to the last penny of theirhaving they must help their people! Those who feel as if the landwere their own, do fearful wrong to their own souls! What grandestopportunities of growing divine they lose! Instead of beingman-nobles, leading a sumptuous life until it no longer lookssumptuous, they might be God-nobles--saviours of men, yieldingthemselves to and for their brethren! What friends might they notmake with the mammon of unrighteousness, instead of passing henceinto a region where no doors, no arms will be open to them! Thingsare ours that we may use them for all--sometimes that we maysacrifice them. God had but one precious thing, and he gave that!

The chief, although he saw that the proceedings of Mr. Palmer andMr. Brander must have been determined upon while his relation toMercy was yet undeclared, could not help imagining how differentlyit might have gone with his people, had he been married to Mercy, and in a good understanding with her father. Had he crippled hisreach toward men by the narrowness of his conscience toward God? Solong as he did what seemed right, he must regret no consequences, even for the sake of others! God would mind others as well as him!Every sequence of right, even to the sword and fire, are God's care;he will justify himself in the eyes of the true, nor heed thejudgment of the false. 

One thing was clear--that it would do but harm to beg of Mr. Palmerany pity for his people: it would but give zest to his rejoicing ininiquity! Something nevertheless must be determined, and speedily, for winter was at hand. 

The Macruadh had to consider not only the immediate accommodation ofthe ejected but how they were to be maintained. Such was hisdifficulty that he began to long for such news from Ian as wouldjustify an exodus from their own country, not the less a land ofbondage, to a home in the wilderness. But ah, what would then theland of his fathers without its people be to him! It would be nomore worthy the name of land, no longer fit to be called apossession! He knew then that the true love of the land is one withthe love of its people. To live on it after they were gone, would belike making a home of the family mausoleum. The rich "pant after thedust of the earth on the head of the poor, " but what would any landbecome without the poor in it? The poor are blessed because by theirpoverty they are open to divine influences; they are the buckets setout to catch the rain of heaven; they are the salt of the earth! Thepoor are to be always with a nation for its best blessing, or forits condemnation and ruin. The chief saw the valleys desolate of themen readiest and ablest to fight the battles of his country. For thesake of greedy, low-minded fellows, the summons of her war-pipeswould be heard in them no more, or would sound in vain among themanless rocks; from sheilin, cottage, or clachan, would spring nokilted warriors with battle response! The red deer and the big sheephad taken the place of men over countless miles of mountain and moorand strath! His heart bled for the sufferings and wrongs of thosewhose ancestors died to keep the country free that was now expellingtheir progeny. But the vengeance had begun to gather, though neitherhis generation nor ours has seen it break. It must be that offencescome, but woe unto them by whom they come!

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE NEW STANCE. 

The Macruadh cast his mind's and his body's eye too upon the smallstrip of ground on the west side of the castle-ridge, between it andthe tiny tributary of the strath burn which was here the boundarybetween the lands of the two lairds. The slope of the ridge on thisside was not so steep, and before the rock sank into the alluvialsoil of the valley, it became for a few yards nearly level--sufficientlyso, with a little smoothing and raising, to serve for a foundation;while in front was a narrow but rich piece of ground, the bank of thelittle brook. Before many days were over, men were at work there, infull sight of the upper windows of the New House. It was not at firstclear what they were about; but soon began to rise, plain enough, thewalls of cottages, some of stone, and some of turf; Mr. Palmer saw anew village already in process of construction, to take the place ofthat about to be destroyed! The despicable enemy had moved his camp, to pitch it under his very walls! It filled him with the rage ofdefeat. The poor man who scorned him was going to be too much forhim! Not yet was he any nearer to being placed alone in the midst ofthe earth. He thought to have rid himself of all those hateful faces, full of their chiefs contempt, he imagined, ever eyeing him as anintruder on his own land; but here instead was their filthy littlehamlet of hovels growing like a fungus just under his nose, expresslyto spite him! Thinking to destroy it, he had merely sent for it!When the wind was in the east, the smoke of their miserable cabinswould be blown right in at his dining-room windows! It was uselessto expostulate! That he would not like it was of course the chief'sfirst reason for choosing that one spot as the site of his newrookery! The fellow had stolen a march upon him! And what had hedone beyond what was absolutely necessary for the improvement ofhis property! The people were in his way, and he only wanted to getrid of them! And here their chief had brought them almost into hisgarden! Doubtless if his land had come near enough, he would havebuilt his sty at the very gate of his shrubbery!--the fellow couldnot like having them so near himself!

He let his whole household see how annoying the thing was to him. Henever doubted it was done purely to irritate him. Christina venturedthe suggestion that Mr. Brander and not the chief was the author ofthe inconvenience. What did that matter! he returned. What right hadthe chief, as she called him, to interfere between a landlord andhis tenants? Christina hinted that, evicted by their landlord, theyceased to be his tenants, and even were he not their chief, he couldnot be said to interfere in giving help to the destitute. Thereuponhe burst at her in a way that terrified her, and she had never evenbeen checked by him before, had often been impertinent to himwithout rebuke. The man seemed entirely changed, but in truth he wasno whit changed: things had but occurred capable of bringing out thefacts of his nature. Her mother, who had not dared to speak at thetime, expostulated with her afterward. 

"Why should papa never be told the truth?" objected Christina. 

Her mother was on the point of replying, "Because he will not hearit, " but saw she owed it to her husband not to say so to his child. 

Mercy said to herself, "It is not to annoy my father he does it, butto do what he can for his people! He does not even know howunpleasant it is to my father to have them so near! It must be oneof the punishments of riches that they make the sight of poverty sodisagreeable! To luxury, poverty is a living reproach. " She longedto see Alister: something might perhaps be done to mitigate theoffence. But her father would never consent to use her influence!Perhaps her mother might!

She suggested therefore that Alister would do nothing for the sakeof annoying her father, and could have no idea how annoying thisthing was to him: if her mother would contrive her seeing him, shewould represent it to him!

Mrs. Palmer was of Mercy's opinion regarding the purity of Alister'sintent, and promised to think the matter over. 

The next night her husband was going to spend at Mr. Brander's: theproject might be carried out in safety!

The thing should be done! They would go together, in the hope ofpersuading the chief to change the site of his new village!

When it was dark they walked to the cottage, and knocking at thedoor, asked Nancy if the chief were at home. The girl invited themto enter, though not with her usual cordiality; but Mrs. Palmerdeclined, requesting her to let the chief know they were there, desirous of a word with him. 

Alister was at the door in a moment, and wanted them to go in andsee his mother, but an instant's reflection made him glad of theirrefusal. 

"I am so sorry for all that has happened!" said Mrs. Palmer. "Youknow I can have had nothing to do with it! There is not a man Ishould like for a son-in-law better than yourself, Macruadh; but Iam helpless. "

"I quite understand, " replied the chief, "and thank you heartily foryour kindness. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Mercy has something she wants to speak to you about. "

"It was so good of you to bring her!--What is it, Mercy?"

Without the least hesitation, Mercy told him her father's fancy thathe was building the new village to spite him, seeing it could not bea pleasure to himself to have the smoke from its chimneys blowing inat door and windows as often as the wind was from the sea. 

"I am sorry but not surprised your father should think so, Mercy. Totrouble him is as much against my feelings as my interests. Andcertainly it is for no convenience or comfort to ourselves, that mymother and I have determined on having the village immediately belowus. "

"I thought, " said Mercy, "that if you knew how it vexed papa, youwould--But I am afraid it may be for some reason that cannot behelped!"

"Indeed it is; I too am afraid it cannot be helped! I must think ofmy people! You see, if I put them on the other side of the ridge, they would be exposed to the east wind--and the more that every doorand window would have to be to the east. You know yourselves howbitterly it blows down the strath! Besides, we should there have tobuild over good land much too damp to be healthy, every foot ofwhich will be wanted to feed them! There they are on the rock. Imight, of course, put them on the hillside, but I have no place sosheltered as here, and they would have no gardens. And then it givesme an opportunity, such as chief never had before, of teaching themsome things I could not otherwise. Would it be reasonable, Mercy, tosacrifice the good of so many poor people to spare one rich man onesingle annoyance, which is yet no hurt? Would it be right? Ought Inot rather to suffer the rise of yet greater obstacles between youand me?"

"Yes, Alister, yes!" cried Mercy. "You must not change anything. Iam only sorry my father cannot be taught that you have no ill willto him in what you do. "

"I cannot think it would make much difference. He will never giveyou to me, Mercy. But be true, and God will. "

"Would you mind letting the flag fly, Alister? I should havesomething to look at!"

"I will; and when I want particularly to see you, I will haul itdown. Then, if you hang a handkerchief from your window, I will cometo you. "

CHAPTER XIV

THE PEAT-MOSS. 

For the first winter the Clanruadh had not much to fear--hardly morethan usual: they had their small provision of potatoes and meal, andsome a poor trifle of money. But "Lady Macruadh" was anxious lestthe new cottages should not be quite dry, and gave a general orderthat fires were to be burned in them for some time before they wereoccupied: for this they must use their present stock of dry peats, and more must be provided for the winter. The available strength ofthe clan would be required to get the fresh stock under cover beforethe weather broke. 

The peat-moss from which they cut their fuel, was at some distancefrom the castle, on the outskirts of the hill-farm. It was thenearest moss to the glen, and the old chief, when he parted with somuch of the land, took care to except it, knowing well that hisremaining people could not without it live through a winter. But as, of course, his brother, the minister, who succeeded him, and thepresent chieftain, had freely allowed all the tenants on the landsold to supply themselves from it as before, the notion had beengenerated that the moss was not part of the chief's remainingproperty. 

When the report was carried to Mr. Peregrine Palmer, that thetenants Mr. Brander and he were about to eject, and who were inconsequence affronting him with a new hamlet on the very verge ofhis land, were providing themselves with a stock of fuel greatly inexcess of what they had usually laid in for the winter--that in factthey were cutting large quantities of peat, besides the turf fortheir new cottages; without making the smallest inquiry, orsuspecting for a moment that the proceeding might be justifiable, hedetermined, after a brief consultation with men who knew nothing butsaid anything, to put a stop to the supposed presumption. 

A few of the peats cut in the summer had not yet been removed, nothaving dried so well as the rest, and the owners of some of these, two widows, went one day to fetch them home to the new village, when, as it happened, there were none of the clan besides in themoss. 

They filled their creels, helped each other to get them on theirbacks, and were setting out on their weary tramp home, when up rosetwo of Mr. Palmer's men, who had been watching them, cut their ropesand took their loads, emptied the peats into a moss-hag full ofwater, and threw the creels after them. The poor women poured outtheir wrath on the men, telling them they would go straight to thechief, but were answered only with mockery of their chief andthemselves. They turned in despair, and with their outcry filled thehollows of the hills as they went, bemoaning the loss of their peatsand their creels, and raging at the wrong they had received. One ofthem, a characterless creature in the eyes of her neighbours, harmless, and always in want, had faith in her chief, for she haddone nothing to make her ashamed, and would go to him at once: hehad always a word and a smile and a hand-shake for her, she said;the other, commonly called Craftie, was unwilling: her character didnot stand high, and she feared the face of the Macruadh. 

"He does not like me!" said Craftie. 

"When a woman is in trouble, " said the other, "the Macruadh makes noquestions. You come with me! He will be glad of something to do foryou. "

In her confidence she persuaded her companion, and together theywent to the chief. 

Having gathered courage to appear, Craftie needed none to speak:where that was the call, she was never slow to respond. 

"Craftie, " said the chief, "is what you are telling me true?"

"Ask HER, " answered Craftie, who knew that asseveration on her partwas not all-convincing. 

"She speaks the truth, Macruadh, " said the other. "I will take myoath to it. "

"Your word is enough, " replied the chief, "--as Craftie knew whenshe brought you with her. "

"Please, laird, it was myself brought Craftie; she was not willingto come!"

"Craftie, " said the chief, "I wish I could make a friend of you! Butyou know I can't!"

"I do know it, Macruadh, and I am sorry for it, many is the goodtime! But my door never had any latch, and the word is out before Ican think to keep it back!"

"And so you send another and another to back the first! Ah, Craftie!If purgatory don't do something for you, then--!"

"Indeed and I hope I shall fall into it on my way farther, chief!"said Craftie, who happened to be a catholic. 

"But now, " resumed the chief, "when will you be going for the restof your peats?"

"They're sure to be on the watch for us; and there's no saying whatthey mightn't do another time!" was the indirect and hesitatinganswer. 

"I will go with you. "

"When you please, then, chief. "

So the next day the poor women went again, and the chief went withthem, their guard and servant. If there were any on the watch, theydid not appear. The Macruadh fished out their creels, and put themto dry, then helped them to fill those they had borrowed for theoccasion. Returning, he carried now the one, now the other creel, sothat one of the women was always free. The new laird met them on theroad, and recognized with a scornful pleasure the chief bendingunder his burden. That was the fellow who would so fain be HISson-in-law!

About this time Sercombe and Valentine came again to the New House. Sercombe, although he had of late had no encouragement fromChristina, was not therefore prepared to give her up, and came "topress the siege. " He found the lady's reception of him so far fromcordial, however, that he could not but suspect some new adverseinfluence. He saw too that Mercy was in disgrace; and, as Ian wasgone, concluded there must have been something between them: had thechief been "trying it on with" Christina? The brute was alwaysgetting in his way! But some chance of serving him out was certainto turn, up!

For the first suitable day Alister had arranged an expedition fromthe village, with all the carts that could be got together, to bringhome as many peats as horses and men and women could together carry. The company was seen setting out, and report of it carried at onceto Mr. Palmer; for he had set watch on the doings of the clan. Within half an hour he too set out with the messenger, accompaniedby Sercombe, in grim delight at the prospect of a row. Valentinewent also, willing enough to see what would happen, though with noill will toward the chief. They were all furnished as for a day'sshooting, and expected to be joined by some of the keepers on theirway. 

The chief, in view of possible assault, had taken care that not oneof his men should have a gun. Even Hector of the Stags he requestedto leave his at home. 

They went in little groups, some about the creeping carts, in whichwere the older women and younger children, some a good way ahead, some scattered behind, but the main body attending the chief, whotalked to them as they went. They looked a very poor company, butGod saw past their poverty. The chief himself, save in size andstrength, had not a flourishing appearance. He was very thoughtful:much lay on his shoulders, and Ian was not there to help! Hisclothes, all their clothes were shabby, with a crumpled, blown-aboutlook--like drifts, in their many faded colours, of autumnal leaves. They had about them all a forgotten air--looked thin and wan like aghostly funeral to the second sight--as if they had walked so longthey had forgotten how to sleep, and the grave would not have them. Except in their chief, there was nothing left of the martial glanceand gait and show, once so notable in every gathering of theClanruadh, when the men were all soldiers born, and the women weremothers, daughters, and wives of soldiers. Their former statelygrace had vanished from the women; they were weather-worn and bowedwith labour too heavy for their strength, too long for theirendurance; they were weak from lack of fit human food, from lack ofhope, and the dreariness of the outlook, the ever gray spiritualhorizon; they were numbed with the cold that has ceased to be felt, the deadening sense of life as a weight to be borne, not a strengthto rejoice in. But they were not abject yet; there was one thatloved them--their chief and their friend! Below their level was adeeper depth, in which, alas, lie many of like heart and, passionswith them, trodden into the mire by Dives and his stewards!

The carts were small, with puny horses, long-tailed anddroop-necked, in harness of more rope than leather. They had a lookof old men, an aspect weirdly venerable, as of life and labourprolonged after due time, as of creatures kept from the grave andtheir last sleep to work a little longer. Scrambling up the steepplaces they were like that rare sea-bird which, unable to fly forshortness of wing, makes of its beak a third leg, to help it up thecliff: these horses seemed to make fifth legs of their necks andnoses. The chief's horses alone, always at the service of the clan, looked well fed, well kept, and strong, and the clan was proud ofthem. 

"And what news is there from Ian?" asked an old man of his chief. 

"Not much news yet, but I hope for more soon. It will be so easy tolet you hear all his letters, when we can meet any moment in thebarn!"

"I fear he will be wanting us all to go after the rest!" said one ofthe women. 

"There might be a worse thing!" answered her neighbour. 

"A worse thing than leave the hills where we were born?--No! Thereis no worse for me! I trust in God I shall be buried where I grewup!"

"Then you will leave the hills sure enough!" said the chief. 

"Not so sure, Macruadh! We shall rest in our graves till theresurrection!" said an old man. 

"Only our bodies, " returned Alister. 

"Well, and what will my body be but myself! Much I would make ofmyself without my body! I will stay with my body, and let my soulstep about, waiting for me, and craving a shot at the stags with thebig branches! No, I won't be going from my own strath!"

"You would not like to be left in it alone, with none but unfriendlySasunnachs about you--not one of your own people to close youreyes?"

"Indeed it would not be pleasant. But the winds would be the same;and the hills would be the same; and the smell of the earth would bethe same; and they would be our own worms that came crawling over meto eat me! No; I won't leave the strath till I die--and I won'tleave it then!"

"That is very well, John!" said the woman; "but if you were all daywith your little ones--all of them all day looking hunger in yourface, you would think it a blessed country wherever it was that gaveyou bread to put in their mouths!"

"And how to keep calling this home!" said another. "Why, it willsoon be everywhere a crime to set foot on a hill, for frightening ofthe deer! I was walking last month in a part of the county I did notknow, when I came to a wall that went out of my sight, seeming to goall round a big hill. I said to myself, 'Is no poor man to climb toheaven any more?' And with that I came to a bill stuck on a post, which answered me; for it said thus: 'Any well-dressed person, whowill give his word not to leave the path, may have permission to goto the top of the hill, by applying to--'--I forget the name of thedoorkeeper, but sure he was not of God, seeing his door was not tolet a poor man in, but to keep him out!"

"They do well to starve us before they choke us: we might else fightwhen it comes to the air to breathe!"

"Have patience, my sons, " said the chief. "God will not forget us. "

"What better are we for that? It would be all the same if he didforget us!" growled a young fellow shambling along without shoes. 

"Shame! Shame!" cried several voices. "Has not God left us theMacruadh? Does he not share everything with us?"

"The best coat in the clan is on his own back!" muttered the lad, careless whether he were heard or not. 

"You scoundrel!" cried another; "yours is a warmer one!"

The chief heard all, and held his peace. It was true he had the bestcoat!

"I tell you what, " said Donal shoemaker, "if the chief give you thestick, not one of us will say it was more than you deserved! If hewill put it into my hands, not to defile his own, I will take andgive it with all my heart. Everybody knows you for the idlestvagabond in the village! Why, the chief with his own hands works tentimes as much!"

"That's how he takes the bread out of my mouth--doing his workhimself!" rejoined the youth, who had been to Glasgow, and thoughthe had learned a thing or two. 

The chief recovered from his impulse to pull off his coat and giveit him. 

"I will make you an offer, my lad, " he said instead: "come to thefarm and take my place. For every fair day's work you shall have afair day's wages, and, for every bit of idleness, a fair thrashing. Do you agree?"

The youth pretended to laugh the thing off, but slunk away, and wasseen no more till eating time arrived, and "Lady Macruadh's"well-filled baskets were opened. 

"And who wouldn't see a better coat on his chief!" cried the littletailor. "I would clip my own to make lappets for his!"

They reached the moss. It lay in a fold of the hills, desert anddreary, full of great hollows and holes whence the peat had beentaken, now filled with water, black and terrible, --a land hideous byday, and at night full of danger and lonely horror. Everywhere stoodpiles of peats set up to dry, with many openings through andthrough, windy drains to gather and remove their moisture. Here andthere was a tuft of dry grass, a bush of heather, or a fewslender-stalked, hoary heads of CANNACH or cotton-grass; it was aland of devoted desolation, doing nothing for itself, this bountifulstore of life and warmth for the winter-sieged houses of the strath. 

They went heartily to work. They cut turf for their walls and peatsfor their fires; they loaded the carts from the driest piles, andmade new piles of the fresh wet peats they dug. It was approachingnoon, and some of the old women were getting the food out of "mylady's" baskets, when over the nearest ridge beyond rose men to thenumber of seven, carrying guns. Rob of the Angels was the first tospy them. He pointed them out to his father, and presently they twodisappeared together. The rest went on with their work, but thechief could see that, stooping to their labour, they cast upward andsidelong glances at them, reading hostility in their approach. Suddenly, as by common consent, they all ceased working, stooderect, and looked out like men on their guard. But the chief makingthem a sign, they resumed their labour as if they saw nothing. 

Mr. Peregrine Palmer had laid it upon himself to act with becomingcalmness and dignity. But it would amaze most people to be told howlittle their order is self-restraint, their regular conduct theirown--how much of the savage and how little of the civilized mangoes to form their being--how much their decent behaviour is owingto the moral pressure, like that of the atmosphere, of the laws andpersons and habits and opinions that surround them. Witness howmany, who seemed respectable people at home, become vulgar, self-indulgent, ruffianly, cruel even, in the wilder parts of thecolonies! No man who has not, through restraint, learned not to needrestraint, but be as well behaved among savages as in society, hasyet become a true man. No perfection of mere civilization kills thesavage in a man: the savage is there all the time till the man passthrough the birth from above. Till then, he is no certainhiding-place from the wind, no sure covert from the tempest. 

Mr. Palmer was in the worst of positions as to protection againsthimself. Possessed of large property, he owed his position to eviland not to good. Not only had he done nothing to raise those throughwhom he made his money, but the very making of their money his, wasplunging them deeper and deeper in poverty and vice: his success wasthe ruin of many. Yet was he full of his own imagined importance--orhad been full until now that he felt a worm at the root of hisgourd--the contempt of one man for his wealth and position. Wellmight such a man hate such another--and the more that his daughterloved him! All the chief's schemes and ways were founded on suchopposite principles to his own that of necessity they annoyed him atevery point, and, incapable of perceiving their true nature, heimagined his annoyance their object and end. And now here was hisenemy insolently daring, as Mr. Palmer fully believed, to trespassin person on his land!

Add to all this, that here Mr. Peregrine Palmer was in a place whoseremoteness lightened the pressure of conventional restraints, whileits wildness tended to rouse all the old savage in him--its verylook suggesting to the city-man its fitness for an unlawful deed fora lawful end. Persons more RESPECTABLE than Mr. Palmer are capableof doing the most wicked and lawless things when their selfish senseof their own right is uppermost. Witness the occasionally iniquitousjudgments of country magistrates in their own interest--how theydrive law even to cruelty!

"Are you not aware you are trespassing on my land, Macruadh?" criedthe new laird, across several holes full of black water whichobstructed his nearer approach. 

"On the contrary, Mr. Palmer, " replied the chief, "I am perfectlyaware that I am not!"

"You have no right to cut peats there without my permission!"

"I beg your pardon: you have no right to stand where you speak thewords without my permission. But you are quite welcome. "

"I am satisfied there is not a word of truth in what you say, "rejoined Mr. Palmer. "I desire you to order your people away atonce. "

"That I cannot do. It would be to require their consent to die ofcold. "

"Let them die! What are they to me--or to anybody! Order them off, or it will be the worse for them--and for you too!"

"Excuse me; I cannot. "

"I give you one more warning. Go yourself, and they will follow. "

"I will not. "

"Go, or I will compel you. "

As he spoke, he half raised his gun. 

"You dare not!" said the chief, drawing himself up indignantly. 

Together Mr. Palmer and Mr. Sercombe raised their guns to theirshoulders, and one of them fired. To give Mr. Palmer the benefit ofa doubt, he was not quite at home with his gun, and would use ahair-trigger. The same instant each found himself, breath andconsciousness equally scant, floundering, gun and all, in the blackbog water on whose edge he had stood. There now stood Rob of theAngels, gazing after them into the depth, with the look of anavenging seraph, his father beside him, grim as a gratified Fate. 

Such a roar of rage rose from the clansmen with the shot, and somany came bounding with sticks and spades over the rough ground, that the keepers, knowing, if each killed his two men, they wouldnot after escape with their lives, judged it more prudent to waitorders. Only Valentine came running in terror to the help of hisfather. 

"Don't be frightened, " said Rob; "we only wanted to wet theirpowder!"

"But they'll be drowned!" cried the lad, almost weeping. 

"Not a hair of them!" answered Bob. "We'll have them out in amoment! But please tell your men, if they dare to lift a gun, we'llserve them the same. It wets the horn, and it cools the man!"

A minute more, and the two men lay coughing and gasping on thecrumbly bank, for in their utter surprizal they had let more of thenasty soft water inside than was good for them. With his firstbreath Sercombe began to swear. 

"Drop that, sir, if you please, " said Rob, "or in you go again!"

He began to reply with a volley of oaths, but began only, for thesame instant the black water was again choking him. Might Hector ofthe Stags have had his way, he would have kept there the murderer ofAN CABRACH MOR till he had to be dived for. Rob on his part wasdetermined he should not come out until he gave his word that hewould not swear. 

"Come! Come!" gasped Sercombe at length, after many attempts to getout which, the bystanders easily foiled--" you don't mean to drownme, do you?"

"We mean to drown your bad language. Promise to use no more on thispeat-moss, " returned Rob. 

"Damn the promise you get from me!" he gasped. 

"Men must have patience with a suffering brother!" remarked Bob, andseated himself, with a few words in Gaelic which drew a hearty laughfrom the men about him, on a heap of turf to watch the unyieldingflounder in the peat-hole, where there was no room to swim. He hadbegun to think the man would drown in his contumacy, when his earswelcomed the despairing words--

"Take me out, and I will promise anything. "

He was scarcely able to move till one of the keepers gave himwhisky, but in a few minutes he was crawling homeward after hishost, who, parent of little streams, was doing his best to walk overrocks and through bogs with the help of Valentine's arm, chatteringrather than muttering something about "proper legal fashion. "

In the mean time the chief lay shot in the right arm and chest, butnot dangerously wounded by the scattering lead. 

He had lost a good deal of blood, and was faint--a sensation new tohim. The women had done what they could, but that was only bindinghis arm, laying him in a dry place, and giving him water. He wouldnot let them recall the men till the enemy was gone. 

When they knew what had happened they were in sad trouble--Rob ofthe Angels especially that he had not been quick enough to preventthe firing of the gun. The chief would have him get the shot out ofhis arm with his knife; but Rob, instead, started off at full speed, running as no man else in the county could run, to fetch the doctorto the castle. 

At the chief's desire, they made a hurried meal, and then resumedthe loading of the carts, preparing one of them for his transport. When it was half full, they covered the peats with a layer of dryelastic turf, then made on that a bed of heather, tops uppermost;and more to please them than that he could not walk, Alisterconsented to be laid on this luxurious invalid-carriage, and bornehome over the rough roads like a disabled warrior. 

They arrived some time before the doctor. 

CHAPTER XV

A DARING VISIT. 

Mercy soon learned that some sort of encounter had taken placebetween her father's shooting party and some of the clan; also thatthe chief was hurt, but not in what manner--for by silent agreementthat was not mentioned: it might seem to put them in the wrong! Shehad heard enough, however, to fill her with anxiety. Her windowcommanding the ridge by the castle, she seated herself to watch thatpoint with her opera-glass. When the hill-party came from behind theruin, she missed his tall figure amongst his people, and presentlydiscovered him lying very white on one of the carts. Her heartbecame as water within her. But instant contriving how she couldreach him, kept her up. 

By and by Christina came to tell her she had just heard from one ofthe servants that the Macruadh was shot. Mercy, having seen himalive, heard the frightful news with tolerable calmness. Christinasaid she would do her best to discover before the morning how muchhe was hurt; no one in the house seemed able to tell her! Mercy, toavoid implicating her sister, held her peace as to her ownintention. 

As soon as it was dark she prepared to steal from the house, dreading nothing but prevention. When her dinner was brought her, and she knew they were all safe in the dining-room, she drew herplaid over her head, and leaving her food untasted, stole half downthe stair, whence watching her opportunity between the comings andgoings of the waiting servants, she presently got away unseen, creptsoftly past the windows, and when out of the shrubbery, darted offat her full speed. Her breath was all but gone when she knocked atthe drawing-room door of the cottage. 

It opened, and there stood the mother of her chief! The moment Mrs. Macruadh saw her, leaving her no time to say a word, she bore downupon her like one vessel that would sink another, pushing her fromthe door, and pulling it to behind her, stern as righteous Fate. Mercy was not going to be put down, however: she was doing nothingwrong!

"How is the Macruadh, please?" she managed to say. 

"Alive, but terribly hurt, " answered his mother, and would haveborne her out of the open door of the cottage, towards the latch ofwhich she reached her hand while yet a yard from it. Her actionsaid, "Why WILL Nancy leave the door open!"

"Please, please, what is it?" panted Mercy, standing her ground. "How is he hurt?"

She turned upon her almost fiercely. 

"This is what YOU have done for him!" she said, with rightungenerous reproach. "Your father fired at him, on my son's ownland, and shot him in the chest. "

"Is he in danger?" gasped Mercy, leaning against the wall, andtrembling so she could scarcely stand. 

"I fear he is in GREAT danger. If only the doctor would come!"

"You wouldn't mind my sitting in the kitchen till he does?"whispered Mercy, her voice all but gone. 

"I could not allow it. I will not connive at your coming herewithout the knowledge of your parents! It is not at all a properthing for a young lady to do!"

"Then I will wait outside!" said Mercy, her quick temper waking inspite of her anxiety: she had anticipated coldness, but nottreatment like this! "There is one, I think, Mrs. Macruadh, " sheadded, "who will not find fault with me for it!"

"At least he will not tell you so for some time!"

The door had not been quite closed, and it opened noiselessly. 

"She does not mean me, mother, " said Alister; "she means JesusChrist. He would say to you, LET HER ALONE. He does not care forSociety. Its ways are not his ways, nor its laws his laws. Come in, Mercy. I am sorry my mother's trouble about me should have made herinhospitable to you!"

"I cannot come in, Alister, if she will not let me!" answered Mercy. 

"Pray walk in!" said Mrs. Macruadh. 

She would have passed Mercy, going toward the kitchen, but theTRANCE was narrow, and Mercy did not move. 

"You see, Alister, I cannot!" she insisted. "That would not please, would it?" she added reverently. "Tell me how you are, and I willgo, and come again to-morrow. "

Alister told her what had befallen, making little of the affair, andsaying he suspected it was an accident. 

"Oh, thank you!" she said, with a sigh of relief. "I meant to sit bythe castle wall till the doctor came; but now I shall get backbefore they discover I am gone. "

Without a word more, she turned and ran from the house, and reachedher room unmissed and unseen. 

The next was a dreary hour--the most painful that mother and son hadever passed together. The mother was all this time buttressing herpride with her grief, and the son was cut to the heart that heshould have had to take part against his mother. But when the doctorcame at length, and the mother saw him take out his instruments, thepride that parted her from her boy melted away. 

"Forgive me, Alister!" she whispered; and his happy kiss comfortedher repentant soul. 

When the small operations were over, and Alister was in bed, shewould have gone to let Mercy know all she could tell her. But shemust not: it would work mischief in the house! She sat down byAlister's bedside, and watched him all night. 

He slept well, being in such a healthful condition of body that hisloss of blood, and the presence of the few shot that could not befound, did him little harm. He yielded to his mother's entreaties tospend the morning in bed, but was up long before the evening in thehope of Mercy's coming, confident that his mother would now be likeherself to her. She came; the mother took her in her arms, andbegged her forgiveness; nor, having thus embraced her, could she anymore treat her relation to her son with coldness. If the girl wasready, as her conduct showed, to leave all for Alister, she hadsaved her soul alive, she was no more one of the enemy!

Thus was the mother repaid for her righteous education of her son:through him her pride received almost a mortal blow, her justicegrew more discriminating, and her righteousness more generous. 

In a few days the chief was out, and looking quite himself. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE FLITTING. 

The time was drawing nigh when the warning of ejection woulddoubtless begin to be put in force; and the chief hearing, throughRob of the Angels, that attempts were making to stir the people up, determined to render them futile: they must be a trick of the enemyto get them into trouble! Taking counsel therefore with the best ofthe villagers, both women and men, he was confirmed in the idea thatthey had better all remove together, before the limit of theearliest notice was expired. But his councillors agreed with himthat the people should not be told to get themselves in readinessexcept at a moment's notice to move. In the meantime he pushed ontheir labour at the new village. 

In the afternoon preceding the day on which certain of the clan wereto be the first cast out of their homes, the chief went to thevillage, and going from house to house, told his people to haveeverything in order for flitting that very night, so that in themorning there should not be an old shoe left behind; and to let norumour of their purpose get abroad. They would thus have a goodlaugh at the enemy, who was reported to have applied for militaryassistance as a precautionary measure. His horses should be ready, and as soon as it was dark they would begin to cart and carry, andbe snug in their new houses before the morning!

All agreed, and a tumult of preparation began. "Lady Macruadh" camewith help and counsel, and took the children in charge while themothers bustled. It was amazing how much had to be done to remove sosmall an amount of property. The chief's three carts were firstladen; then the men and women loaded each other. The chief took onhis hack the biggest load of all, except indeed it were Hector's. Toand fro went the carts, and to and fro went the men and women, Iknow not how many journeys, upheld by companionship, merriment, hope, and the clan-mother's plentiful provision of tea, coffee, milk, bread and butter, cold mutton and ham--luxurious fare to all. As the sun was rising they closed every door, and walked for thelast time, laden with the last of their goods, out of the place oftheir oppression, leaving behind them not a cock to crow, a peat toburn, or a scrap that was worth stealing--all removed in such orderand silence that not one, even at the New House, had a suspicion ofwhat was going on. Mercy, indeed, as she sat looking from her windowlike Daniel praying toward Jerusalem, her constant custom now, evenwhen there was no moon to show what lay before her, did think sheheard strange sounds come faintly through the night from the valleybelow--even thought she caught shadowy glimpses of a shapeless, gnome-like train moving along the road; but she only wondered if theHighlands had suddenly gifted her with the second sight, and thesewere the brain-phantasms of coming events. She listened and gazed, but could not be sure that she heard or saw. 

When she looked out in the morning, however, she understood, for thecastle-ridge was almost hidden in the smoke that poured from everychimney of the new village. Her heart swelled with joy to think ofher chief with all his people under his eyes, and within reach ofhis voice. From her window they seemed so many friends gathered tocomfort her solitude, or the camp of an army come to set her free. 

Hector and Rob, with one or two more of the clan, hid themselves towatch those who came to evict the first of the villagers. There wereno military. Two sheriff's officers, a good many constables, and afew vagabonds, made up the party. Rob's keen eye enabled him todistinguish the very moment when first they began to be aware ofsomething unusual about the place; he saw them presently halt andlook at each other as if the duty before them were not altogetherCANNY. At no time would there be many signs of life in the poorhamlet, but there would always be some sounds of handicraft, someshuttle or hammer going, some cries of children weeping or at play, some noises of animals, some ascending smoke, some issuing orentering shape! They feared an ambush, a sudden onslaught. Warilythey stepped into the place, sharply and warily they looked aboutthem in the street, slowly and with circumspection they opened doorafter door, afraid of what might be lurking behind to pounce uponthem at unawares. Only after searching every house, and discoveringnot the smallest sign of the presence of living creature, did theyrecognize their fool's-errand. And all the time there was the newvillage, smoking hard, under the very windows, as he chose himselfto say, of its chief adversary!

CHAPTER XVII

THE NEW VILLAGE. 

The winter came down upon them early, and the chief and his motherhad a sore time of it. Well as they had known it before, the povertyof their people was far better understood by them now. Unable toendure the sight of it, and spending more and more to meet it, theysaw it impossible for them to hold out. For a long time theirsuccour had been draining if not exhausting the poor resources ofthe chief; he had borne up in the hope of the money he was so soonto receive; and now there was none, and the need greater than ever!He was not troubled, for his faith was simple and strong; but hisfaith made him the more desirous of doing his part for the comingdeliverance: faith in God compels and enables a man to befellow-worker with God. He was now waiting the judgment of Ianconcerning the prospects of the settlers in that part of Canada towhich he had gone, hoping it might help him to some resolve in viewof the worse difficulties at hand. 

In the meantime the clan was more comfortable, and passed the wintermore happily, than for many years. First of all, they had access tothe chief at any moment. Then he had prepared a room in his ownhouse where were always fire and light for such as would read whatbooks he was able to lend them, or play at quiet games. To them itshumble arrangements were sumptuous. And best of all, he would, inthe long dark fore-nights, as the lowland Scotch call them, readaloud, at one time in Gaelic, at another in English, things thatgave them great delight. Donal shoemaker was filled with joyunutterable by the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. If only this stateof things could be kept up--with Ian back, and Mercy married to thechief! thought the mother. But it was not to be; that grew plainerevery day. 

Mr. Palmer would gladly have spent his winter elsewhere, leaving hisfamily behind him; but as things were, he could not leave them, andas certain other things were, he did not care to take them toLondon. Besides, for them all to leave now, would be to confessdefeat; and who could tell what hurt to his forest might not followin his absence from the cowardly hatred of the peasants! He wasresolved to see the thing out. But above all, he must keep thatworthless girl, Mercy, under his own eye!

"That's what comes of NOT drinking!" he would say to himself; "a mangrows as proud as Satan, and makes himself a curse to hisneighbours!"

Then he would sigh like a man ill-used and disconsolate. 

Both Mercy and the chief thought it better not to venture much, butthey did occasionally contrive to meet for a few minutes--by thehelp of Christina generally. Twice only was Mercy's handkerchiefhung from the window, when her longing for his voice had grownalmost too strong for her to bear. The signal brought him both timesthrough the wild wintry storm, joyous as a bird through the summerair. Once or twice they met just outside the gate, Mercy flying likea snow-bird to the tryst, and as swiftly back through the keen bluefrost, when her breath as she ran seemed to linger in the air likesmoke, and threaten to betray her. 

At length came the much desired letter from Ian, full of matter forthe enabling of the chief's decision. 

Two things had long been clear to Alister--that, even if the groundhe had could keep his people alive, it certainly could not keep themall employed; and that, if they went elsewhere, especially to anytown, it might induce for many, and ensure for their children, alamentable descent in the moral scale. He was their shepherd, andmust lose none of them! therefore, first of all, he must not losesight of them! It was now clear also, that the best and mostdesirable thing was, that the poor remnant of the clan should leavetheir native country, and betake themselves where not a few of theirown people, among them Lachlan and Annie, would welcome them toprobable ease and comfort. There he would buy land, settle withthem, and build a village. Some would cultivate the soil under theirchief; others would pursue their trades for the good of thecommunity and themselves!

And now came once more the love of land face to face with the loveof men, and in the chief's heart paled before it. For there was butone way to get the needful money: the last of the Macruadh propertymust go! Not for one moment did it rouse a grudging thought in thechief: it was for the sake of the men and women and children whoselives would be required of him! The land itself must yield, themwings to forsake it withal, and fly beyond the sea!

CHAPTER XVIII

A FRIENDLY OFFER

It was agreed between mother and son to submit the matter to Ian, and if he should, be of the same mind, at once to negotiate the saleof the land, in order to carry the clan to Canada. They wrotetherefore to Ian, and composed themselves to await his answer. 

It was a sorrowful thing to Alister to seem for a moment to followthe example of the recreant chiefs whose defection to feudalism wasthe prelude to their treachery toward their people, and whosefaithlessness had ruined the highlands. But unlike Glengarry or"Esau" Reay, he desired to sell his land that he might keep hispeople, care for them, and share with them: his people safe, whatmattered the acres!

Reflecting on the thing, he saw, in the case of Ian's approval ofthe sale, no reason why he should not show friendliness where nonewas expected, and give Mr. Peregrine Palmer the first chance ofpurchase. He thought also, with his usual hopefulness, that the timemight come when the clan, laying its savings together, would be ableto redeem its ancient homesteads, and then it might be an advantagethat they were all in the possession of one man. Such things hadbeen, and might be again! The Lord could bring again the captivityof Clanruahd as well as that of Zion!

Two months passed, and they had Ian's answer--when it was well oninto the spring, and weather good for a sea-voyage was upon its way. Because of the loss of their uncle's money, and the good prospect ofcomfort in return for labour, hard but not killing, Ian entirelyapproved of the proposal. From that moment the thing was no longerdiscussed, but how best to carry it out. The chief assembled theclan in the barn, read his brother's letter, and in a simple speechacquainted them with the situation. He told them of the loss of themoney to which he had looked for the power to aid them; remindedthem that there was neither employment nor subsistence enough on theland--not even if his mother and he were to live like the rest ofthem, which if necessary they were quite prepared to do; and statedhis resolve to part with the remnant of it in order to provide themeans of their migrating in a body to Canada, where not a few oldfriends were eager to welcome them. There they would buy land, hesaid, of which every man that would cultivate it should have aportion enough to live upon, while those with trades should haveevery facility for following them. All, he believed, would fare wellin return for hard work, and they would be in the power of no man. There was even a possibility, he hoped, that, if they lived andlaboured well, they might one day buy back the home they had left;or if not they, their sons and daughters might return from theircaptivity, and restore the house of their fathers. If anyone wouldnot go, he would do for him what seemed fair. 

Donal shoemaker rose, unpuckered his face, slackened thepurse-strings of his mouth, and said, "Where my chief goes, I will go; where my chief lives, I will live;and where my chief is buried, God grant I may be buried also, withall my family!"

He sat down, covered his face with his hands, and wept and sobbed. 

One voice rose from all present:

"We'll go, Macruadh! We'll go! Our chief is our home!"

The chief's heart swelled with mingled gladness and grief, but heanswered quietly, "Then you must at once begin your preparations; we ought not to bein a hurry at the last. "

An immediate stir, movement, bustle, followed. There was muchtalking, and many sunny faces, over which kept sweeping the cloudsof sorrow. 

The next morning the chief went to the New House, and desired to seeMr. Palmer. He was shown into what the new laird called his study. Mr. Palmer's first thought was that he had come to call him toaccount for firing at him. He neither spoke nor advanced a step tomeet him. The chief stood still some yards from him, and said aspleasantly as he could, --

"You are surprised to see me, Mr. Palmer!"

"I am. "

"I come to ask if you would like to buy my land?"

"Already!" said Mr. Palmer, cast on his enemy a glare of victory, and so stood regarding him. The chief did not reply. 

"Well!" said Mr. Palmer. 

"I wait your answer, " returned the chief. 

"Did it never strike you that insolence might be carried too far?"

"I came for your sake more than my own, " rejoined the chief, withouteven a shadow of anger. "I have no particular desire you should takethe land, but thought it reasonable you should have the firstoffer. "

"What a dull ox the fellow must take me for!" remarked the new lairdto himself. "It's all a dodge to get into the house! As if he wouldsell ME his land! Or could think I would hold any communication withhim! Buy his land! It's some trick, I'll lay my soul! The infernalscoundrel! Such a mean-spirited wretch too! Takes an ounce of shotin the stomach, and never says 'What the devil do you mean by it?' Idon't believe the savage ever felt it!"

Something like this passed with thought's own swiftness through themind of Mr. Palmer, as he stood looking the chief from head to foot, yet in his inmost person feeling small before him. 

"If you cannot at once make up your mind, " said Alister, "I willgive you till to-morrow to think it over. "

"When you have learned to behave like a gentleman, " answered the newlaird, "let me know, and I will refer you to my factor. "

He turned and rang the hell. Alister bowed, and did not wait for theservant. 

It must be said for Mr. Palmer, however, that that morning Christinahad positively refused to listen to a word more from Mr. Sercombe. 

In the afternoon, Alister set out for London. 

CHAPTER XIX

ANOTHER EXPULSION. 

Mr. Peregrine Palmer brooded more and more upon what he counted thecontempt of the chief. It became in him almost a fixed idea. It hadalready sent out several suckers, and had, amongst others, developedthe notion that he was despised by those from whom first of all helooked for the appreciation after which his soul thirsted--his ownfamily. He grew therefore yet more moody, and his moodiness anddistrust developed suspicion. It is scarce credible what a crushinginfluence the judgment he pretended to scorn, thus exercised uponhim. It was not that he acknowledged in it the smallest justice;neither was it that he cared altogether for what such a fanaticalfool as the chief might think; but he reflected that if one could sodespise his money because of its source, there might be others, might be many who did so. At the same time, had he been sure of theapprobation of all the world beside, it would have troubled him nota little, in his thirst after recognition, that any gentleman, oneof family especially, however old-fashioned and absurd he might be, should look down upon him. His smouldering, causelessly excitedanger, his evident struggle to throw off an oppression, and thefierce resentment of the chief's judgment which he would now andthen betray, revealed how closely the offence clung to hisconsciousness. 

Flattering himself from her calmness that Mercy had got over herfoolish liking for the "boor, " as he would not unfrequently stylethe chief, he had listened to the prayers of her mother, andsubmitted to her company at the dinner-table; but he continued totreat her as one who had committed a shameful fault. 

That evening, the great little man could hardly eat for recurrentwrathful memories of the interview of the morning. Perhaps his mostpainful reflection was that he had not been quick enough to embracethe opportunity of annihilating his enemy. Thunder loweredportentous in his black brows, and not until he had drunk severalglasses of wine did a word come from his lips. His presence waspurgatory without the purifying element. 

"What do you think that fellow has been here about this morning?" hesaid at length. 

"What fellow?" asked his wife unnecessarily, for she knew whatvisitor had been shown into the study. 

"The highland fellow, " he answered, "that claims to do what hepleases on my property!"

Mercy's face grew hot. 

"--Came actually to offer me the refusal of his land!--the meresttrick to get into the house--confound him! As much as told me, if Idid not buy it off-hand, I should not have the chance again! Thecheek of the brute! To dare show his face in my house after triflingwith my daughter's affections on the pretence that he could notmarry a girl whose father was in trade!"

Mercy felt she would be false to the man she loved, and whom sheknew to be true, if she did not speak. She had no thought ofdefending him, but simply of witnessing to him. 

"I beg your pardon, papa, " she said, "but the Macruadh never trifledwith me. He loves me, and has not given me up. If he told you he wasgoing to part with his land, he is going to part with it, and cameto you first because he must return good for evil. I saw him from mywindow ride off as if he were going to meet the afternoon coach. "

She would not have been allowed to say so much, had not her fatherbeen speechless with rage. This was more than he or any man couldbear! He rose from the table, his eyes blazing. 

"Return ME good for evil!" he exclaimed; "--a beast who has done memore wrong than ever I did in all my life! a scoundrel bumpkin wholoses not an opportunity of insulting me as never was man insultedbefore! You are an insolent, heartless, depraved girl!--ready tosacrifice yourself, body and soul, to a man who despises you andyours with the pride of a savage! You hussey, I can scarce keep myhands off you!"

He came toward her with a threatful stride. She rose, pushed backher chair, and stood facing him. 

"Strike me, " she said with a choking voice, "if you will, papa; butmamma knows I am not what you call me! I should be false andcowardly if I did not speak the truth for the man to whom Iowe"--she was going to say "more than to any other human being, " butshe checked herself. 

"If the beggar is your god, " said her father, and struck her on thecheek with his open hand, "you can go to him!"

He took her by the arm, and pushed her before him out of the room, and across the hall; then opening the door, shoved her from him intothe garden, and flung the door to behind her. The rain was fallingin torrents, the night was very dark, and when the door shut, shefelt as if she had lost her eyesight. 

It was terrible!--but, thank God, she was free! Without a moment'shesitation--while her mother wept and pleaded, Christina stoodburning with indignation, the two little ones sat white with openmouths, and the servants hurried about scared, but trying to look asif nothing had happened--Mercy fled into the dark. She stumbled intothe shrubbery several times, but at last reached the gate, and whilethey imagined her standing before the house waiting to be let in, was running from it as from the jaws of the pit, in terror of avoice calling her back. The pouring rain was sweet to her wholeindignant person, and especially to the cheek where burned the brandof her father's blow. The way was deep in mud, and she slipped andfell more than once as she ran. 

Mrs. Macruadh was sitting in the little parlour, no one but Nancy inthe house, when the door opened, and in came the wild-looking girl, draggled and spent, and dropped kneeling at her feet. Great massesof long black hair hung dripping with rain about her shoulders. Herdress was torn and wet, and soiled with clay from the road and earthfrom the shrubbery. One cheek was white, and the other had a redpatch on it. 

"My poor child!" cried the mother; "what has happened? Alister isaway!"

"I know that, " panted Mercy. "I saw him go, but I thought you wouldtake me in--though you do not like me much!"

"Not like you, my child!" echoed the mother tenderly. "I love you!Are you not my Alister's choice? There are things I could havewished otherwise, but--"

"Well could I wish them otherwise too!" interposed Mercy. "I do notwish another father; and I am not quite able to wish he hadn'tstruck me and put me out into the dark and the rain, but--"

"Struck you and put you out! My child! What did he do it for?"

"Perhaps I deserved it: it is difficult to know how to behave to afather! A father is supposed to be one whom you not only love, as Ido mine, but of whom you can be proud as well! I can't be proud ofmine, and don't know quite how to behave to him. Perhaps I ought tohave held my peace, but when he said things that were not--notcorrect about Alister, misinterpreting him altogether, I felt itcowardly and false to hold my tongue. So I said I did not believethat was what Alister meant. It is but a quarter of an hour ago, andit looks a fortnight! I don't think I quite know what I am saying!"

She ceased, laid her head on Mrs. Macruadh's knee, then sank to thefloor, and lay motionless. All the compassion of the woman, all theprotective pride of the chieftainess, woke in the mother. She raisedthe girl in her arms, and vowed that not one of her house should seteyes on her again without the consent of her son. He should see howhis mother cared for what was his!--how wide her arms, how big herheart, to take in what he loved! Dear to him, the daughter of theman she despised should be as the apple of her eye! They would ofcourse repent and want her back, but they should not have her;neither should a sound of threat or demand reach the darling's ears. She should be in peace until Alister came to determine her future. There was the mark of the wicked hand on the sweet sallow cheek! Shewas not beautiful, but she would love her the more to make up! ThankGod, they had turned her out, and that made her free of them! Theyshould not have her again; Alister should have her!--and from thehand of his mother!

She got her to bed, and sent for Rob of the Angels. With injunctionsto silence, she told him to fetch his father, and be ready as soonas possible to drive a cart to the chief's cave, there to makeeverything comfortable for herself and Miss Mercy Palmer. 

Mercy slept well, and as the day was breaking Mrs. Macruadh woke herand helped her to dress. Then they walked together through thelovely spring morning to the turn of the valley-road, where a cartwas waiting them, half-filled with oat-straw. They got in, and wereborne up and up at a walking-pace to the spot Mercy knew so well. Never by swiftest coach had she enjoyed a journey so much as thatslow crawl up the mountains in the rough springless cart of herploughman lover! She felt so protected, so happy, so hopeful. Alister's mother was indeed a hiding place from the wind, a covertfrom the tempest! Having consented to be her mother, she couldmother her no way but entirely. An outcast for the sake of herAlister, she should have the warmest corner of her heart next to himand Ian!

Into the tomb they went, and found everything strangelycomfortable--the stone-floor covered with warm and woolly skins ofblack-faced sheep, a great fire glowing, plenty of provisions hungand stored, and the deaf, keen-eyed father with the swift keen-earedson for attendants. 

"You will not mind sharing your bed with me--will you, my child?"said Mrs. Macruadh: "Our accommodation is scanty. But we shall besafe from intrusion. Only those two faithful men know where we are. "

"Mother will be terribly frightened!" said Mercy. 

"I thought of that, and left a note with Nancy, telling her you weresafe and well, but giving no hint of where. I said that her dove hadflown to my bosom for shelter, and there she should have it. "

Mercy answered with a passionate embrace. 

CHAPTER XX

ALISTER'S PRINCESS. 

Ten peaceful days they spent in the cave-house. It was coldoutside, but the clear air of the hill-top was delicious, and insideit was warm and dry. There were plenty of books, and Mercy neverfelt the time a moment too long. The mother talked freely of hersons, and of their father, of the history of the clan, of her owngirlhood, and of the hopes and intentions of her sons. 

"Will you go with him, Mercy?" she asked, laying her hand on hers. 

"I would rather be his servant, " answered Mercy, "than remain athome: there is no life there!"

"There is life wherever there is the will to live--that is, to dothe thing that is given one to do, " said the mother. 

In writing she told Alister nothing of what had happened: he mighthurry home without completing his business! Undisturbed by freshanxiety, he settled everything, parted with his property to an oldfriend of the family, and received what would suffice for hisfurther intents. He also chartered a vessel to take them over thesea, and to save weariness and expense, arranged for it to gonorthward as far as a certain bay on the coast, and there take theclan on board. 

When at length he reached home, Nancy informed him that his motherwas at the hill-house, and begged he would go there to her. He was agood deal perplexed: she very seldom went there, and had neverbefore gone for the night! and it was so early in the season! He setout immediately. 

It was twilight when he reached the top of the hill, and no lightshone from the little windows of the tomb. 

That day Mercy had been amusing her protectress with imitations, inwhich kind she had some gift, of certain of her London acquaintance:when the mother heard her son's approaching step, a thought came toher. 

"Here! Quick!" she said; "Put on my cap and shawl, and sit in thischair. I will go into the bedroom. Then do as you like. "

When the chief entered, he saw the form of his mother, as hethought, bending over the peat-fire, which had sunk rather low: inhis imagination he saw again the form of his uncle as on that nightin the low moonlight. She did not move, did not even look up. Hestood still for a moment; a strange feeling possessed him ofsomething not being as it ought to be. But he recovered himself withan effort, and kneeling beside her, put his arms round her--not alittle frightened at her continued silence. 

"What is the matter, mother dear?" he said. "Why have you come up tothis lonely place?"

When first Mercy felt his arms, she could not have spoken if shewould--her heart seemed to grow too large for her body. But in amoment or two she controlled herself, and was able to say--sufficientlyin his mother's tone and manner to keep up the initiated misconception:

"They put me out of the house, Alister. "

"Put you out of the house!" he returned, like one hearing andtalking in a dream. "Who dared interfere with you, mother? Am Ilosing my senses? I seem not to understand my own words!"

"Mr. Palmer. "

"Mr. Palmer! Was it to him I sold the land in London? What could hehave to do with you, mother? How did they allow him to come near thehouse in my absence? Oh, I see! He came and worried you so aboutMercy that you were glad to take refuge from him up here!--Iunderstand now!"

He ended in a tone of great relief: he felt as if he had justrecovered his senses. 

"No, that was not it. But we are going so soon, there would havebeen no good in fighting it out. We ARE going soon, are we not?"

"Indeed we are, please God!" replied the chief, who had relapsedinto bewilderment. 

"That is well--for you more than anybody. Would you believe it--theworthless girl vows she will never leave her mother's house!"

"Ah, mother, YOU never heard her say so! I know Mercy better thanthat! She will leave it when I say COME. But that won't be now. Imust wait, and come and fetch her when she is of age. "

"She is not worthy of you. "

"She is worthy of me if I were twenty times worthier! Mother, mother! What has turned you against us again? It is not like you tochange about so! I cannot bear to find you changeable! I should havesworn you were just the one to understand her perfectly! I cannotbear you should let unworthy reasons prejudice you againstanyone!--If you say a word more against her, I will go and sitoutside with the moon. She is not up yet, but she will be presently--and though she is rather old and silly, I shall find her muchbetter company than you, mother dear!"

He spoke playfully, but was grievously puzzled. 

"To whom are you talking, Alister?--yourself or a ghost?"

Alister started up, and saw his mother coming from the bedroom witha candle in her hand! He stood stupefied. He looked again at theseated figure, still bending over the fire. Who was it if not hismother?

With a wild burst of almost hysteric laughter, Mercy sprang to herfeet, and threw herself in his arms. It was not the less a newbewilderment that it was an unspeakably delightful change from thelast. Was he awake or dreaming? Was the dream of his boyhood cometrue? or was he dreaming it on in manhood? It was come true! Theprincess was arrived! She was here in his cave to be his own!

A great calm and a boundless hope filled the heart of Alister. Thenight was far advanced when he left them to go home. Nor did he findhis way home, but wandered all night about the tomb, making longrounds and still returning like an angel sent to hover and watchuntil the morning. When he astonished them by entering as they satat breakfast, and told them how he had passed the night, it thrilledMercy's heart to know that, while she slept and was dreaming abouthim, he was awake and thinking about her. 

"What is only dreaming in me, is thinking in you, Alister!" shesaid. 

"I was thinking, " returned Alister, "that as you did not know I waswatching you, so, when we feel as if God were nowhere, he iswatching over us with an eternal consciousness, above and beyond ourevery hope and fear, untouched by the varying faith and fluctuatingmoods of his children. "

After breakfast he went to see the clergyman of the parish, wholived some miles away; the result of which visit was that in a fewdays they were married. First, however, he went once more to the NewHouse, desiring to tell Mr. Palmer what had been and was about to bedone. He refused to see him, and would not allow his wife orChristina to go to him. 

The wedding was solemnized at noon within the ruined walls of theold castle. The withered remnant of the clan, with pipes playing, guns firing, and shouts of celebration, marched to the cave-house tofetch thence the bride. When the ceremony was over, a feast wasready for all in the barn, and much dancing followed. 

When evening came, with a half-moon hanging faint in the limpidblue, and the stars looking large through the mist of ungatheredtears--those of nature, not the lovers; with a wind like the breathof a sleeping child, sweet and soft, and full of dreams of summer;the mountains and hills asleep around them like a flock of day-wearied things, and haunted by the angels of Rob's visions--thelovers, taking leave only of the mother, stole away to walk throughthe heavenly sapphire of the still night, up the hills and over therushing streams of the spring, to the cave of their rest--no illomen but lovely symbol to such as could see in the tomb the porch ofparadise. Where should true lovers make their bed but on thethreshold of eternity!

CHAPTER XXI

THE FAREWELL. 

A month passed, and the flag of their exile was seen flying in thebay. The same hour the chief's horses were put to, the carts wereloaded, their last things gathered. Few farewells had to be made, for the whole clan, except two that had gone to the bad, turned outat the minute appointed. The chief arranged them in marching column. Foremost went the pipes; the chief, his wife, and his mother, camenext; Hector of the Stags, carrying the double-barrelled rifle thechief had given him, Rob of the Angels, and Donal shoemaker, followed. Then came the women and children; next, the carts, with afew, who could not walk, on the top of the baggage; the men broughtup the rear. Four or five favourite dogs were the skirmishers of thecolumn. 

The road to the bay led them past the gate of the New House. Thechief called a halt, and went with his wife to seek a lastinterview. Mr. Peregrine Palmer kept his room, but Mrs. Palmer badeher daughter a loving farewell--more relieved than she cared toshow, that the cause of so much discomfort was going so far away. The children wept. Christina bade her sister good-bye with ahopeless, almost envious look: Mercy, who did not love him, wouldsee Ian! She who would give her soul for him was never to look onhim again in this world!

Kissing Mercy once more, she choked down a sob, and whispered, "Give my love--no, my heart, to Ian, and tell him I AM trying. "

They all walked together to the gate, and there the chief's mothertook her leave of the ladies of the New House. The pipes struck up;the column moved on. 

When they came to the corner which would hide from them their nativestrath, the march changed to a lament, and with the opening wail, all stopped and turned for a farewell look. Men and women, the chiefalone excepted, burst into weeping, and the sound of theirlamentation went wandering through the hills with an adieu to everyloved spot. And this was what the pipes said:

We shall never see you more, Never more, never more! Till the sea bedry, and the world be bare, And the dews have ceased to fall, Andthe rivers have ceased to run, We shall never see you more, Nevermore, never more!

They stood and gazed, and the pipes went on lamenting, and the womenwent on weeping. 

"This is heathenish!" said Alister to himself, and stopped thepiper. 

"My friends, " he cried, in Gaelic of course, "look at me: my eyesare dry! Where Jesus, the Son of God, is--there is my home! He ishere, and he is over the sea, and my home is everywhere! I have lostmy land and my country, but I take with me my people, and make nomoan over my exile! Hearts are more than hills. Farewell Strathruadhof my childhood! Place of my dreams, I shall visit you again in mysleep! And again I shall see you in happier times, please God, withmy friends around me!"

He took off his bonnet. All the men too uncovered for a moment, thenturned to follow their chief. The pipes struck up Macrimmon'slament, Till an crodh a Dhonnachaidh (TURN THE KINE, DUNCAN). Notone looked behind him again till they reached the shore. There, outin the bay, the biggest ship any of the clan had ever seen waswaiting to receive them. 

When Mr. Peregrine Palmer saw that the land might in truth be forsale, he would gladly have bought it, but found to his chagrin thathe was too late. It was just like the fellow, he said, to mock himwith the chance of buying it! He took care to come himself, and notsend a man he could have believed!

The clan throve in the clearings of the pine forests. The hill-menstared at their harvests as if they saw them growing. Their manychildren were strong and healthy, and called Scotland their home. 

In an outlying and barren part of the chief's land, they came uponrock oil. It was so plentiful that as soon as carriage becamepossible, the chief and his people began to grow rich. 

News came to them that Mr. Peregrine Palmer was in difficulties, anddesirous of parting with his highland estate. The chief was now ableto buy it ten times over. He gave his agent in London directions tosecure it for him, with any other land conterminous that might comeinto the market. But he would not at once return to occupy it, forhis mother dreaded the sea, and thought to start soon for anotherhome. Also he would rather have his boys grow where they were, andas men face the temptations beyond: where could they find suchteaching as that of their uncle Ian! Both father and uncle wouldhave them ALIVE before encountering what the world calls LIFE. 

But the Macruadh yet dreams of the time when those of the clan thenleft in the world, accompanied, he hopes, by some of those that wentout before them, shall go back to repeople the old waste places, andfrom a wilderness of white sheep and red deer, make the mountainland a nursery of honest, unambitious, brave men and strong-heartedwomen, loving God and their neighbour; where no man will think ofhimself at his brother's cost, no man grow rich by his neighbour'sruin, no man lay field to field, to treasure up for himself wrathagainst the day of wrath. 

THE END.