THE McBRIDES

A Romance of Arran

by

JOHN SILLARS

Fifth Impression

The Ryerson Press, TorontoWilliam Blackwood and SonsEdinburgh and London1922

TO

_MY MOTHER_

 LIST OF GAELIC NAMES AND EXPRESSIONS. 

 Crotal, lichen. "A traill, " you sluggard. Cleiteadh mor, big ridge of rocks. Bothanairidh, summer sheiling. Birrican, a place name. Rhuda ban, white headland. Bealach an sgadan, Herring slap. Skein dubh, black knife. Crubach, lame. Mo ghaoil, my darling. Direach sin, (just that), (now do you see). Lag 'a bheithe, hollow of the birch. Mo bhallach, my boy. Ceilidh, visit (meeting of friends); ceilidhing; ceilidher. Cha neil, negative, no. Mo leanabh, my child. Cailleachs, old women. Og, young. Mhari nic Cloidh, Mary Fullarton. 

CONTENTS. 

PART I. 

CHAP. 

 I. WHICH TELLS OF THE COMING OF THE GIPSY II. MAKES SOME MENTION OF ONE JOCK McGILP, AND TELLS HOW BELLE BROUGHT THE WEAN IN THE TARTAN SHAWL INTO THE HOUSE OF NOURN III. IN WHICH I CHASE DEER AND SEE STRANGE HORSEMEN ON THE HILL, AND A LIGHT FLASHING ON THE SEA IV. I MEET JOCK McGILP AND HIS MATE McNEILAGE AT THE TUBS' INN, AND LEARN WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE WEAN IN THE TARTAN SHAWL V. MIRREN STUART'S ERRAND VI. WE TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW TO McKELVIE'S INN VII. WE SAIL IN McKELVIE'S SKIFF TO THE HOLY ISLAND VIII. THE DEATH OF McDEARG, THE RED LAIRD IX. MIRREN STUART BIDS HER DOG LIE DOWN X. DOL BEAG IS FLUNG INTO A FIRE XI. THE BLAZING WHINS XII. McALLAN'S LOCKER XIII. DAN McBRIDE SAILS FROM LOCH BANZA XIV. WE RETURN XV. THE STRANGER ON THE MOORS XVI. I HAVE SOME TALK WITH McGILP IN McKINNON'S KITCHEN

PART II. 

 XVII. I TURN SCHOOLMASTER XVIII. THE FIRST MEETING XIX. THE RIDERS ON THE MOOR XX. "THE LOVE SECRET" XXI. DOL BEAG LAUGHS XXII. THE SHAMELESS LASS XXIII. HELEN AND BRYDE McBRIDE REST AT THE FOOT OF THE URIE XXIV. THE HALFLIN'S MESSAGE XXV. I RIDE AGAIN TO McALLAN'S LOCKER XXVI. A WEDDING ON THE DOORSTEP XXVII. MARGARET McBRIDE KISSES HELEN XXVIII. IN WHICH BETTY COMPLAINS OF GROWING-PAINS XXIX. THE RAKING BLACK SCHOONER XXX. TELLS WHERE BRYDE MET HAMISH OG XXXI. BRYDE AND MARGARET XXXII. BRYDE AND HELEN XXXIII. HOW JOHN McCOOK HEARS OF THE PLOY AT THE CLATES XXXIV. WHAT CAME OF THE PLOY XXXV. DOL BEAG LAUGHS AGAIN

THE McBRIDES. 

PART I. 

CHAPTER I. 

WHICH TELLS OF THE COMING OF THE GIPSY. 

It was April among the hills, waes me, the far-away days of my youth, when the hills were smiling through the mists of their tears, and thegreen grasses thrusting themselves through the withered mat of thepasture like slender fairy swords. April in the hills, with thecurlews crying far out on the moorside, past the Red Ground mygrandfather wrought, and where again the heather will creep down, rigon rig, for all the stone dykes, deer fences, and tile drains that evera man put money in. I never knew why it was they called it "RedGround, " for it was mostly black peaty soil, but my grandfather wouldbe saying, "It will be growing corn. Give it wrack, and it will begrowing corn for evermore. "

They tell me he was a great farmer for all he was laird, and neverhappier than at his own plough tail, breaking a colt to work in chains;and he it was who improved the stock in cattle and horse in our glens, for he would be aye telling the young farmers, "Gie the quey calvesplenty o' milk, as much as they'll lash into themselves. Be good tothem when the baby flesh is on them, and they'll grow and thrive, andyour siller'll a' come back in the milking. "

The countryside clavered and havered when he bought his pedigree bullsand his pedigree mares. "It's money clean wasted, " said the oldfarmers, "for a calf's a calf no odds what begets it, and a horse thatcan work in chains and take its turn on the road is horse enough forany man, without sinking money in dumb beasts, and a' this sire-and-dampother. " It would anger the old man that talk, ay, even when he wasthe old frail frame of what once he was, --like a dead and witheredash-tree, dourly awaiting the death gale to send it crashing down, tolie where once its shade fell in the hot summer days of its youth, --andthe blood would rise up on his neck, where the flesh had shrunk likeold cracked parchment, and left cords and pipes of arteries and veins, gnarled like old ivy round a tree. 

Querulous he was and ill-tempered with the scoffers. "Man, if I hadtwenty more years I would grow hoofs on your horse and udders on yourin-coming queys. " Well, well, I'm fond of this farming, but I have setout to tell a tale, which in my poor fancy should even be like arotation of crops, from the breaking in of the lea to the sowing out ingrass, with the sun and winds and sweet rains to ripen and swell thegrain--the crying of the harvesters and the laughing of lassies amongthe stocks in the gloaming, the neighing of horse and the lowing ofkine in the evening. 

On that morning so long ago Dan and I were ploughing stubble, and Ifollowed my horses in all joy, laughing to see them snap as I turnedthem in at the head-rigs, and coaxing them as they threw their bigglossy shoulders into the collar on the brae face. So the morning woreon as I ploughed, with maybe a word now and then to Dick, and a touchof the rein to Darling, and the sea-gulls screaming after us as thegood land was turned over. The sun came glinting through the hillmist, and the green buds were bursting in the hedgerows for verygladness. 

I was free from the college, free from the smoke-wrack and the grime ofthe town, free to hear the birds awake and singing in the plantingbehind the stackyard, and I breathed great gulps of air and felt cleanand purged of all the evil of the town; for if there is vice in thecountry, it is to my mind evil without sordidness. 

I remember my foolish thoughts were something like these, even thoughmy reading should have taught me better, for the Garden of Eden was afine place to sin in by all accounts, yet the environment did notmitigate the punishment. In these young days, when my body glowed froma swim and my eyes were clear, I thought the minister too hard on thatoriginal iniquity. 

It was coming on for dinner-time--lowsin' time, as we say in thefield--when Dan shouted--

"Hamish, " says he, "who'll yon be that's travellin' so fast above theCraig-an-dubh?"

"I will be telling you that, Dan, when she's half a mile nearer. "

"Ye hinna the toon mirk rubbed out your een yet, Hamish, or ye wouldken the bonny spaewife. I've been watchin' her this last three 'bouts. "

"Dan, Dan, " said I, "do you think of nothing but women and horses?Have ye never learned the lesson of Joseph?"

"Man, Hamish, " says he, with a whimsical smile and a hand at hismoustache, "ye should put a' things in their proper order. Horses andweemen noo. It's not a bad thing--a while wi' a lass after the horsesare bedded and foddered, but horses first; and as for Joseph"--hissmile broadened until I could see his teeth--"if it had been Dauvit theleddy had met on the stair, the meenisters wid never hiv heard a cheepabout it. . . . 

"It's a fine lesson yon, I aye think, for auld men to be preaching, butdeevil a word about their ain youthfu' rants. Ye're a lusty ladyirsel', and there's many a cheery nicht among the lasses wi'petticoats and short-goons, and I'll teach ye hoo tae whistle them ootif ye would leave your books and come raking wi' Dan. "

We had unyoked the horses and got astride, and when we came to the gatethere was the bonny spaewife carrying a bairn in a tartan shawl. Dandrew up, and I also; so there we stood, the horses in an impatientsemi-circle on the road, Dan and I on horseback, and the woman lookingup at us. 

She had the blackest eyes I ever saw, and hair black and curly as awater-dog's clustered over her head, and the wee rain-drops clung aboutthe curls round her ears and brow. Her nose was delicate andfaultless, and her complexion was that born of sun and rain and wind. There seemed a smile to play round her red lips, and a sombreness abouther eyes (so that she held mine fixed), until Dan spoke. 

"I think, Belle, " said he, "you're gettin' bonnier, and if it wasna forthe wean I would leave a kiss on your bonny red mouth. "

Round the pupils of her black eyes a little ring began to glow, asthough a light came from a great distance through darkness, her whiteteeth bit on her under lip, and she stepped closer to Dan's horse. 

"Haud away, woman, haud away, for the love o' your Maker; the stallioncanna thole weemen about him. "

I fear me the town had taken some of the game out of me, for when I sawthe big dark horse flatten his ears, the wicked eyes rolling, and thegreat fore-hoofs drumming on the road, ready to leap and batter thewoman and her bairn to a bloody pulp fornent me, my stomach turned, aswe say, and I felt sick and giddy. Many a morning had I stood at theloose-box door and watched the devil in the horse and the devil in theman battle for mastery, and aye the horse was cowed. Even on themornings when I heard Dan's step, soft and wary on the cobbles, beforethe sun was up, and knew by the look of him, and the gruffness in hisvoice, that he had travelled many a weary mile from his light-o'-love, and that sleep had not troubled him, I would hear the stable dooropening and Dan whistling like the cheery early bird as he opened thecorn-kist. After the morning feed the battle began, for Chieftain hada devil, but I think Dan had seven of that ilk. 

"It's him or me, Hamish, " he would croon, "him or me, but I'm likin'myself a' the time"; and he kept the lathering, plunging devil offhimself, whiles with his fists, and whiles with a short stick. 

"I'll handle him were he twice as big and twice as bad. I'll hae naegentlemen among the horse when there's lea to plough!" and the fightwould go on. But Dan was the only man who could handle Chieftain, andthere seemed a kind of laughing comradeship between them. 

I have digressed that you might see with my eyes the queer uncannything that happened on the road there between the woman and the horse. I have told you the spaewife--if spaewife you would call her, for Ithink sorceress fitted her better--I have said she came close toChieftain's head, her black eyes fairly lowing; and as the brute, hisskin twitching, gathered himself to rear on her, she hit him full onthe mouth with her little brown hand, and hissed a word at him in herown tongue. As the word struck my ears I felt myself tingle to myfinger-tips, and the world seemed to go quiet all round me. Thehorse's ears went forward, and he stretched his great neck, and therehe was quiet as an old pony, nibbling with his lips at the woman'sshawl and hair. 

And the woman looked at Dan. 

A kind of half laugh, half sigh, left his lips. 

"I wish, " said he, "I had your gait o' handlin' horse. It's desperatesudden, but it's sure, as our friend Hamish wid observe. Maybe, mydear, you'll hiv a spell tae turn the horse tae himsel' again andsomething extra, an' I'm no' sayin' but what I would be likin' himbetter, for sittin' here on a quate beast that sould be like theravening devil o' holy writ is no' canny. "

"Spell, " said the girl, for indeed she was little more, and under herbrown skin I could see the darker red rising. "Spell, ye night-hawk!"and her broad bosom heaved with the rage in her, and her body trembledwith living anger. 

"I come o' folk, ye reiver, that lay down and rose up among theirhorse, in the black tents, that loved and hated among their horse, thatlived and died among their horse, and ye would talk to me o' spells. Did I but say the word to that black horse, not you nor any o' the folkye cam' crooked among would straddle him and live to boast o' it after. "

Dan sat his horse like a statue. It makes my old eyes moist and mythroat choky to this day to think of it, for I loved him througheverything. Could he have had command of heavy horse, and won his reston some glorious field, brave, headstrong, devil-may-care Dan; butthere he sat and looked on the Cassandra, and his eyes were laughingfrom his stern face as he took a turn on the rope reins. 

"Back, my bonny horse, " said he to Chieftain, and there was a kind ofjoyous lilt in his voice. "Draw away your pair, Hamish, and this lan'horse o' mine. We'll miss our dinner maybe, but I've an unco hankeringafter this word. "

Away down in my heart I knew what was coming, and I watched the womanloosen her tartan shawl and lay her infant in a neuk among the hedgeroots. 

"I'm waitin' now, my dear, " said Dan, "and in case I dee I'll tell ye Ithink I could break you in, for I like the devil temper bleezin' inyour bonny black een, and your lips would warm a deein' man. My dear, I think I could be your man for a' ye say I cam' crooked; for spaewifeor no--God's life, ye're awfu' bonny, Belle. "

The gipsy gave a little lilting laugh. 

"You, " says she--"you. I'm not saying but you're a pretty man, andI've good looks enough for baith--if I loved ye; but, man, my lovewould be a flame. Wid ye burn with me, lad; wid ye burn?"

"I think I would too, " said he, "for your een have started the bleezea'ready, and I'm dootin' it'll finish in brimstane. "

"Ay, ay, Dan; I'm spaein' true. I jibed at you, although you did notsay the word o' the glens o' the wee creatur' under the hedge there, asye might have. Ye've good blood in ye, lad, and I'm loving yourspirit, but I'm the Belle o' your death, Dan, the Death-Bell. Now!"

No words of mine can convey my impression of that scene. There werethe hills, silent and grandly contemptuous, there was a rabbit lopingacross the road to the hedge foot, and there the road the woman hadcome stretched upwards; but as she spoke some subtle essence seemed toflood her veins, her sombre eyes flashed, her cheeks glowed darkly, andshe trembled so that I could see her clenched hands flutter likesegans. [1] It was not excitement, but to my mind as though some vitalpowerful force had taken possession of her body and shook it, as anaspen quivers in a gale. 

The power seemed to grow stronger and stronger as she spoke, until withher word it seemed to break free and envelop us. 

Where I have written "Now" she leaned rigidly towards Chieftain andalmost hissed, so sharply came a word between her teeth. With somesuch sound, I think, will the devil unshackle his hounds. Well for methat my horses were rugging at the hedge, or I had never been troubledmore with headache. 

For the stallion reared his huge bulk into the air with a scream ofbrute rage. I have never heard such a sound since, and never wish toagain. He turned like an eel, his mouth agape, and the veins round hisnostrils like cord. His great gleaming teeth snapped like a trap athis rider's legs, and snapped again after he had a blow on the headthat might have stunned him, and at the hollow sound of it I felt myteeth take an edge to them. Twice he reared and fell backwards, andtwice Dan was astride as he rose. I could see the sweat running downhis face and the bulging of the muscles as his knees pressed and clungto the heaving spume-spattered flanks. I think he knew he was fightingfor his life, but his smile seemed graven on his face, though it lookedlike the smile of a man in sore distress. I knew every muscle feltred-hot, and time would give the victory to the stronger brute. Andthen I saw the change like a lightning-flash. Dan's shoulders haunchedthemselves, his head was low and stretched forward, and a look of themost devilish ferocity came over his face, his lips were pulled down, and his eyes almost hidden under the bunched and corrugated brows. 

There was a knotted rope rein in his hand, and his arm, brown and bareto the elbow, and hard as an oak branch, rose, and I saw his teethclench till the muscles on his jaws stood out like crab-apples. 

"Ye wid fecht wi' me, " he crooned--"me, damn ye, me. " At everyreiterated word the rein fell, and the weals rose on the stallion'sneck and flank, and he snorted and screamed with rage. 

"Woman, " said I, having led the other horses away and returned--"womanor devil, whatever you are, ye have made a horse mad this day, and nowthe man's mad. Will ye put an end to this business before worsehappens, for the horse is worth siller if the man's regardless, andthere's many a lass will greet herself to sleep till the fires of heryouth are burnt out if harm comes to Dan McBride. Have ye no pity foryour ain sex?"

"Peety, " she cries--"peety for a wheen licht-heided hussies that lo'ethe man best that tells the bonniest lees, or speaks them fairest. Na, na, ma lad, nae peety. I'm watchin' a man that has tied their stringsand kissed their bonny ankles, when he should have let them dry hissweat wi' their hair an' his feet wi' their braws. [2] Oh, why, why, "she kind of wailed--"why will the King aye gang the cadger's road, andken himsel' a king, and the cadger a cadger. " The horse, panting andgrunting at every breath, had breenged to the knowe on the roadside, and still the knotted rein fell; and then with a mighty plunge hereared up, balanced an instant on hind-legs, and then crashed backwardsand lay, and I felt my heart give a mighty beat as Dan sprang on thebrute's head and lay there, horse and man done. 

"Come, you, " snarled the man, as though he spoke to a dog; and the girlwent to him. 

"Quate the brute, " said he, "for he's trimmlin' sair, and I like histemper a' the better for no' bein' broken. "

"Ay, I'll quate the brute, easy as I wid yoursel'. "

You may think you know a man till something happens, and you find him astranger, and so I found, for at her words the man sprang to his feetas she soothed the horse. 

"Say ye so, " said he, and took her by the shoulder--"say ye so. I'vebroken many a horse afore this ane, and, Belle, I'll break you, " and Iwatched the swarthy flush rise on the girl's face, and looked at theman's eyes and saw the reason of it. 

"Wheest, lad, wheest, " she cried; "let me go to the wean. "

"Wean--ye never had a wean. . . . "

And then she did a queer thing. She bent her dark head till I couldnot see her eyes, but only the smooth eyelids and dark lashes, and sheput her little brown hand over the man's eyes and stood a picture ofhumility, with a sad little smile on her face. 

"Don't break me . . . Yet, " she murmured, and I saw Dan kiss her handas she slid it down over his lips, and her face brightened like aflower in sunlight. 

And there were the horses, rugging at the hedge where I had tetheredthem; and Chieftain on his feet, shaky and foam-flecked, and tremblingat his knees; and the gipsy lass's wean greetin' at the hedge foot, with one wee bare arm clear of the shawl, seeming to beckon all theworld to its aid. 

And Belle the gipsy lass lifted the child and wrapped her in the shawl, and took the road in front of us. I had mind of Belle when she was thebonniest lass among a wheen of black-avised Eastern folk, that campedfor many's the year on the ground of Scaurdale, where my uncle'sfriend, John o' Scaurdale, farmed land; but I was not prepared for herstrange powers on horse, or for the beauty of her, and I think Dan wasof my way of thinking also, for at the stable door says he: "I think, Hamish, a fee from John o' Scaurdale would not be such a bad thing witha lass like Belle to be seeing in the gloaming. "

[1] Ires--"flags. "

[2] Costly apparel. 

CHAPTER II. 

MAKES SOME MENTION OF ONE JOCK McGILP, AND TELLS HOW BELLE BROUGHT THE WEAN IN THE TARTAN SHAWL INTO THE HOUSE OF NOURN. 

Nourn was home to me in my holidays and vacations from the college, andhere I was back again for good, having become Magister Artium and wellacquainted with the plane-stanes and glaber of the town ofGlasgow--back again to the green countryside on my uncle's land ofNourn, concerned more about horses and cattle beasts than with theArts, and with enough siller left me by my parents to be able to followmy inclinations. 

My uncle--the Laird of Nourn, as he was called--had married kind oflate, a common habit where the years bring strength and not eld; andDan, his brother Ewan the soldier's son, had been at Nourn since hecould creep, being early left an orphan. 

On the Sunday after the coming of Belle the gipsy I lay long abed. Inthose days my cousin Dan and I made a practice of sleeping above thehorses, "to be near them, " as Dan said; but for myself I aye thought itwould be that he might the easier slip out at night, and in again inthe morning, and nobody the wiser. 

In the years I would be at the college Dan had become airt and pairt ofevery wildness in the countryside, and in these times every man withred blood in him was concerned with the smuggling or the distilling ofwhisky, --and that is the reason that mothers were wishful that theirsons should be able to "take a horse by the head and a boat by thehelm, " for these would be very needful attributes in a handy lad. 

And lying there in bed I minded how I once fell in with Jock McGilp, the captain of the smuggler _Seagull_, a man that sailed the _Gull_like a witch, and cracked his fingers at the Revenue cutters, and thiswas the way of it. 

When I was a lonely boy, dreaming dreams of ages past and long ago, Ihad a favourite haunt. I made my way to the graveyard and lay amongthe long lush grass, for the grass grew nowhere so long or so full ofsap as in the graveyard, and I thought of all the great warriors of ourglens whose bones had been laid in this place, and shivered to think ofthe hot red blood stilled in death, and the grass roots creepingdownwards like tentacles into the chinks of the wood, and sending upgreat fat greasy blades that sweated in the sun. I hated the grassroots, and dreamed horribly of them piercing into my heart, and drawingthe life-blood to feed the bloated sweaty leaves, but the graveyard hadan awful fascination for me. Sometimes old men would wander inside thedyke and move slowly to a rude stone and sit there, and I would heargreat sighs bursting into the quiet afternoon, when the sun always beatdown. But I liked the old men for being there when the ivy rustled onthe ruined old chapel wall when the wind was lost, and the starlingsflew affrighted from their nests over the mural tablet that told allmen to--

 FIR GOD 16--

And I feared God very much, and spoke to Him often in my lonelywanderings, when I saw wee men in green coats among the heather, butoftener on the soft green turfy bits on the hill. And one awful timewhen the hill road was all silent and the grasshoppers hidden andquiet, an eerie humming came into my ears like a language I could notunderstand, and I felt myself waiting for something. Round the turn ofthe hill before you come to the old quarry it came, and I stoppedstricken as a rabbit when a snake sways before it, for there cametowards me a thing like a dog--but such a dog--its shaggy coat waswhite and its ears only were black, and as it passed its tongue lolledout, and it looked at me through blue eyes with black rims, and I thinkI feared that thing more than God. But always before I left thegraveyard for my hill road home I crept up to a window, and looked intoa part of the chapel that was walled off and dark. Great brambles grewin this space and nettles of phenomenal size, with ugly fleshy-lookingclots of seeds on them. A gnarled ash-tree had grown and broken thewall, but over against the broken wall were great stones, and one ofthese I liked best of all, for it made the blood tingle down my backand my eyes see visions. On a warm Sunday I lay half in the windowresting on the sill, for the walls were very thick, and I gazed at thefoot of the great stone where a plumed helmet was carved, and a swordin its sheath; and round the helmet and sword battle-gear lay as thoughthe warrior had flung down his harness as he rested. In imagination Ihad girt me with the sword, the plumed helmet was on my head, when myfeet were seized and a rumbling voice cried--

"Can ye read?"

"Ay. "

"Read that stane. I'm no' a bawkin. "

 "BLENHEIM. BAMILLIES. OUDENARDE. MALPLAQUET. "

"Thayse the battles; read the man's name. 

 "MAJOR EWAN McBRIDE. "

"Ay, ay; come oot, " and I was pulled out of the window, and an enormousman stood before me, looking at me with a queer smile, and scratchinghis neck till I could hear the hairs of his whiskers crickle and snaplike breaking twigs. 

"D'ye ken who Major Ewan McBride was?"

"No. "

"Well--Dan's faither; he was kilt; he's no in there at a'--it's apeety, for things wid hiv been different. 

"Eat ye your pease-brose and keep clear o' the weemen, and ye'll be asgreat a man as him, but never say a word tae Dan. Says you, when ye gohome and see him wi' nobody aboot, says you: 'Jock McGilp was sayingthe turf's in and the gull's a bonny bird. ' Mind it noo; '_The turfsin_' and '_the gull's a bonny bird_. '"

And that night so long ago, when Dan and I kneeled on the stone-flaggedfloor beside one another and listened to my uncle pray and pray andpray in Gaelic, I whispered--

"Dan. "

"What?"

"Jock McGilp was saying . . . "

Uncle gave a great pause after asking "a clean heart, " and Danwhispered--

"Come nearer, ye devil, and don't speak so loud, or a' the servants 'llbe damned and sent to hell for lack o' attention. "

"Jock McGilp was saying the turf was in and the seagull's a bonny bird. "

"Wheest noo and listen, ye graceless deevil. . . . "

For a week after that I never saw Dan, but my uncle got sterner andsterner, and when Dan returned, loud voices I heard in the night andslamming doors, but Dan was whistling among his horses at cock-crow, and told me I took after my mother's folk and would be a man yet. . . . 

But on this April Sunday, after the week of ploughing stubble, we laylong and listened to the pleasant rattling of horse chains, andrustling of bedding, when the horses pawed for their morning meal. There was the sun, well up on his day's journey, and a whole day to beand enjoy him in. And we rose and took our breakfast, and daunered tothe far fields, and inspected the young beasts, picking out the goodones with many a knowing observation on heads and pasterns and hocks, and then round the wrought land, and over the fields where a drain hadchoked, and the rushes marked its course. We mapped out how thisshould be mended and strolled back to the stable, and lay in an emptystall where some hay had been left, and waited until dinner, with theshepherd's dogs lying watching their masters, and the herds andploughmen telling terrible stories of one Mal-mo-Hollovan. Into thispeaceful scene came rushing a lass with the word that the Laird was atchurch, as he should be, and Belle the gipsy wanted speech wi' themistress. 

"An' why no', my lass?" said Dan; "she'll no' bite the mistress. "

"The black eyes o' her, and the air o' her, --speech wi' the mistress, indeed--the tinker!"

"Jean, " said Dan, "be canny wi' Belle, or she'll put such a spell on yethat ye'll no' hear your lad whistling ootside your window, and thefirst thing ye'll ken he'll be inside, and you maybe in your sark. "

"Ye ken too much aboot sich truck and trollop and the wey in bywindows, " cried Jean, her face like the heart o' the fire; for her ladwas looking sheepishly at her from the corn-kist. 

"Well, well, let Belle alane, or I'll be puttin' mysel' in Tam'splace, " and poor Tam could only grin with a very red face. 

And so it came that Belle made her way to the old room where themistress, my uncle's wife, was abed, after the birth of her son, aboutwhom the women-folk talked and laughed in corners, and looked sodisdainful at poor men-folk, that Dan said--

"It's a peety for the wean, wi' a' these weemen waitin' till he growsup. I'm dootin' he'll be swept oot o' his ain hoose wi' petticoats, and take up wi' the dark-skinned beauties in the far glens, like Esau. "

And sorely put out were the women when Dan, referring to the heir, saidhe'd come in time for the best o' the grass. 

"If the colt has got plenty o' daylight below him, and middlin' cleano' the bane, he'll thrive right enough!" The heir of all Nourn a leggycolt! There was nothing but black looks and pursed-up lips till eventhe easy-going cause o' the change said drily enough: "They're damnedill tae leeve wi' whiles, a man's ain weemen-folk, Hamish, an' I meantthe bairn nae ill either. "

Well, Belle was ta'en to the old room where the mistress, my uncle'swife, lay abed--her they ca'ed the Leddy, a fine strapping woman, withkindly hands to man and beast and a wheedling, coaxing way with her, though she could be cold and haughty at times, for she came of fightingstock, and could not thole clavering and fussing, and I think she wouldnot hasten her stately step to be in time for the Last Judgment, forthe pride of her. 

The room was fine and cool, with a wood fire spluttering in the greatstone fireplace, and the light playing on the carved pillars of thecanopied bed, and blinking on the oak panels; but it was a fine room, with deerskin rugs here and there on the floor, and space to move aboutwithout smashing trumpery that women collect round them, God knows why, except to hide the lines of the building. 

My aunt lay there on the great bed, her dark hair damp and clinging tothe white brow, and one arm crooked round her child, and she was gazingat his head where the hair was already thickening, when Belle came tothe bedside. 

"It's not red, " said my aunt. "I feared it would be red, for there arered ones here and there in his house . . . Look, woman, it's not red;it will not be red. "

"Na, na, it's fair, Leddy--fair and fause; but it'll darken wi' theyears, never fear. What ails ye at rid, Leddy--the prettiest man inthese parts is rid enough?"

"Poor Dan, " cried my aunt, with a bright smile and no hesitation. "TheLaird tells me he's wasted enough keep for many bullocks laying theyard with straw lest his horses should wake me in the mornings, butI've missed his songs lying here. They were merry enough too in thefine spring mornings if the words were . . . " And a delicate flushcrept over her neck and face, and she smiled a little as at the faultof some wayward boy. 

The door was opened softly, and a tall woman entered--a tall woman witha world of sorrow in her wise old eyes, and years of patience in theclasp of her hands. 

"Betty, " cried the patient--"Betty, is everything done well, now I'mtied to my son, " and she put her cheek to the downy head. 

"The weemen are flighty and the lads are quate, and the hoose will no'be itsel' till ye will be moving about again, an' Miss Janet's ladwill . . . "

"I will not have Dan called that, Betty, " says my aunt. "EwanMcBride's lad he is, if ye must deave me with his forebears . . . "

"My dearie, my ain dearie, did I not nurse his mother when she gratower his wee body and a' the warl' was turned on her, and her man atthe great wars. Ech, ech, a weary time, and her crying to him in thenicht, and throwin' oot her white arms in the stillness and crying: 'Mybrave fierce lad, my brave wild lover, come back and let me dee wi'your arms aboot me. ' Ay, and her wild lad, her kindly lad, lying starkon yon bluidy field and the corbies maybe at his bonny blue een. Ilove Dan, for I took him frae his mither's caul' breast; but ech, whywill he be shaming his name, and shaming his ain sel'--but I shouldnabe haverin', my dearie . . . And here's your soup now. "

Jean--she of the stable raid--with a haughty look at the gipsy, who hadstood in a corner by the fire all this time, came with the bowl ofsoup, but Belle slid forward noiselessly. 

"Is it soup, Jean?" says she, and the wench stopped. "Skim the fat offit, then, for I saw a hussy like you gi'e her mistress soup likethat--and she died. " My aunt sat up in her bed, her face very sternwhen Betty talked of Dan shaming himself and his name. 

"I will know this, " she cried. "I am not ill any more--who is thewoman?"

Jean would have spoken at this, but the gipsy whispered: "Begone, orI'll turn your hair white as the driven snaw, " and the wench fled withher soup, and spilled most of it in the stone-flagged corridor leadingto the kitchen, where she sat and trembled and grat her fill, every nowand again catching her yellow locks to make sure no change had startedyet. 

So here we have Betty whispering--

"Don't vex yoursel', my Leddy; it's juist the lassie's clavers, forJean cam' in frae the stable, where she had nae right to be, except tobe seein' her lad--they ha'e lads on the brain the lassies noo--andgreetin' that young Dan had shamed her before the men, and a' becauseo' a tinker body like Belle here, although the great folk will treather so kindly; no' that I mean her any harm, " she added (erring on thesafe side, for Belle's eyes had begun to glow finely); "and then incame Kate and Leezie wi' a tale o' a wean, tied in a tartan shawl, lying in a biss in the wee byre. Then and there they faithered andmithered the bairn, the useless hussies. . . . " The mother's haughtyeyes turned to the gipsy. 

"I never found you lying, Belle. Is this story true?--a bonny familyis this to be among, " she cried, her hand pressing the child closer, and maybe she pressed him too tightly, for the boy doubled his babyfist, his wee voice whimpered, and his outflung arm struck his motherin the face. 

"Oh, oh, " she cried; "will you turn on me too, and leave me forfarmer's wenches and tinker women like the lave of your folk?"

The gipsy lass was on her knees at the bedside. 

"Lady, " she cries, and her face was finely aglow, "nae wonder yegrieved aboot the colour o' the bairn's hair. Are ye a' Dan mad?"Then when she saw the anger in the mother's eyes she cries--

"Ye'll maybe be in a mood to listen to the truth now. "

"I'm in a fine mood to have ye whipped from my doors, yeshameless . . . "

"Ay, shameless, madam, if I love I'll be that, but if I have a man I'llshare him wi' nane, and you'll not be yourself to be believing thesefalse tales; and you, Betty, I had thought ye had seen sorrow enoughwithout brimming your cup over. It's true I left a wean sleeping inthe sweet hay; was there harm in that? She's lain wi' me in the stablelofts and outlying barns these many nights, but the wean is nane o'mine. It's an ill bird that fouls its ain nest, Betty, and when a' theauld wives are shakin' their mutches at the end o' peat stacks andsayin', 'This'll be another o' _his_; ye might have asked yourself_how_? The poor wee mitherless mite; her feet will be on the neck o'her enemies, and, mistress, maybe I can tell ye why. I hinna leed taeye yet, and ye can whip me from your doors if ye will, but hard, hardwill it fa' on them that raise the scourge. "

Such a look passed between these two, so full of meaning, that my aunttold Betty to leave her. 

"And keep better manners among your wenches, " said she, "for I will nothave Dan tormented with the baggage; and tell him I hope my son willgrow tall and strong like him, for I will be mindful of his kindness. "

"Indeed, indeed, he would be very good, my dearie, " cried Betty, anxious to make amends. "When ye were taken ill he lay in the kitchenthe lang night through, and his horse saddled and bridled ready in hisstall; ay, and he would not go to bed for the Laird himsel'. Indeed, many a wild night he galloped through, and him oot in the morning whenthe doctor had left. "

Belle had slipped out as the old woman was speaking, and now came backwith her tartan bundle; and when Betty had left the room the gipsy tookfrom the shawl a wean that cried so lustily that it wakened the heir toall Nourn. 

As the women whispered and crooned over the bairns, their criesresounded through the house, and made it no place for men-folk. 

But crossing the yard, Betty beckoned me with a crooked forefinger. 

"Who's wean is that, think ye, Hamish, that Belle brought here?"

"I think you should be asking Belle, " said I. 

"Ask here or ask there, " says Betty, "the wean has a look o'--dinna befeart, my lad--the wean has the look o' John o' Scaurdale. And that, "says she, "would be fair scandalous. "

But after Betty's jalousing I had a word or two with Dan McBride, mycousin. 

"Wean, " says he, "and Betty thinks the bairn has a look o' John o'Scaurdale. It beats me, the cleverness of that woman. This is thestory I got from Belle, Hamish. It's a little dreich, but it will beas well that ye should ken. "

"Well, " says Dan, "when ye were at the College in the toon and learningyer tasks, there was a lass came to stop at Scaurdale, a niece she wasto the Laird there (a sister's wean, I am thinking), very prim andbonny she was, and fu' o' nonsensical book-lore. She took a liking tothe place, and there are some that pretend to ken, that say she tookmair than a liking to the Laird's son. I would not say for that; hewas a brisk lad for so douce a lady. Well, well, Hamish, they castout, and away goes the lass in a huff to her ain folk, and then backcomes the word o' her wedding (some South-country birkie her man was, o' the name o' Stockdale, if I mind it right), and when that word came, John o' Scaurdale's son was like to go out at the rigging. We'll saynaething about that, Hamish; ye ken what came on him: his horse threwhim at the Laird's Turn yonder, and he never steered--he was by wi' it. "

"What has this to do with Belle's wean?" said I. 

"Belle's wean! Man, Belle never had a wean. That bairn isStockdale's; and I'm hearing, " said he, "that Scaurdale's niece, themother of it, sent word to her uncle to take away the bairn, for herman turned out an ill-doer, and it's like she would be feart. But Iken this much, Hamish, Belle is waiting word from Scaurdale, and, " sayshe, "they ken all the outs and ins of it, our friends here, andwhenever it will be safe the wean will go to John o' Scaurdale. "

"Scaurdale is not so far from here, " said I. "Could Belle not havetaken the bairn there at the first go off?"

"I thought ye had mair heid, Hamish. There's aye plenty o' gossips inthe world, and Scaurdale will want this business kept quiet. "

"In plain words, " said I, "the wean has been stolen away from herfather with the mother's help. "

"That's just it precisely, Hamish; and what better place could she behidden than here, with Scaurdale and your uncle so very friendly, andthis so quiet a place?"

CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH I CHASE DEER AND SEE STRANGE HORSEMEN ON THE HILL, AND A LIGHT FLASHING ON THE SEA. 

The corn was in the stackyard and the stacks thatched, and all thatsummer Belle and her wean stayed with us, the lass working at theweeding and the harvesting, and the wean well cared for, for themistress remained not long abed after the spaewife's coming. Belle'swean might be "a tinker's brat" in whispered corners in byres andhay-sheds, where the wenches could claver out of hearing, but theLaird's son got no better attention than the tinker's brat when themistress was near. 

And now that the corn was secure and the stackyard full, the deer camedown from the hills and lay close to till nightfall, and then wroughthavoc in the turnip-drills, and I noticed that, like cows in a field ofgrain, they spoiled more crop than they ate, both of potatoes andturnips; and, indeed, it angered a man to see his good root-cropshaggled and thrawn with the thin-flanked beasts, like the lean cattle, and I thought to go round the hill dyke with the dogs on an Octoberevening, and harry them back to their heather and bracken again. 

It was early in the evening, so I took my stick and daunered to thehay-shed (which was next to the planting) behind the stackyard, for Iliked the noise of the wood, and would lie on the hay and listen to thescurry of the rabbits, the rippling note of the cushats in thetree-tops, and watch for the coming of the white owls that flittedamong the trees. And as I lay on the sweet-smelling clovery hay therecame over me a drowsiness, for I had been early abroad, and I doveredand dovered till sleep and waking were mingled, and strange voices cameinto my ears; and then I knew the voices, and felt myself go hot allover, for I could not move or I would be discovered with the rustlingof the hay. 

"I have waited long for ye, my bonny dark lass, waited when I wasshivering to take ye in my arms, " and I could see Dan lean forward andlook into Belle's black eyes, one great arm round her shoulders and hishand below her chin, and she was bonny, bonny in the blink o' the moon. 

"Ye were a good lad, " says she, smiling up at him; "it whiles made meangry ye would be so good, and I would be lying at night thinking yehad forgotten the gipsy lass, and would be assourying[1] wi'red-cheeked, long-legged farmer lassies; and then ye would be coming tomy window and knocking, and I was glad, and listened and listened forye to be coming, although ye would not be knowing from me at all, and Iwould be cold, cold to ye. . . . "

"My dear, it's news to me, " cried he, in great wonder, "for never aknock did I knock, " and his eyes were laughing down at her. 

"What!" she cries; "what! And who would be daring?"

"That's just what I cannot say, for the lads think ye're no' canny someway, but maistly because the weemen hiv them under their thumbs, so I'mthinkin' it must just have been Hamish. "

It was on the tip of my tongue to cry out at that, but I saw by hisface that he could not help hurting gently whatever he liked, and hehad no thought for me at all, but waited for the girl to speak. Thegreat sombre eyes were looking up at him, and the moon glintin' on herteeth as, her red lips parted, a brown hand fluttered about the man'sbreast. 

"You would be knocking. I am wantin' you to be knocking, " she cried, "for I am only a wicked gipsy lass. . . . "

I saw the man stretch her back with a straightening of his arm; I sawthe limber length of him, the lean flank and the curve of his chest, ashe half lay on the hay. 

"I am wishing ye to be knocking, " he mimicked in a half-fierce, half-laughing voice, "for I am only a wicked gipsy lass"; and again, "My dear, my dear, I'm not seeing much wickedness in a' this, and so Imust be creeping out and knockin' on a lass that will not be saying acivil word to me, let alone a kiss in the gloamin'. "

"Oh, " she lilted, "oh, so you would be knocking to that unkind lass;"and then in a far-away voice, "Will you be remembering that place whereI found you, when I would be running a wild thing like a youngfoal? . . . "

"Bonnily, Belle, bonnily I mind ye--a long-legged, black-maned filly yewere, and the big eyes o' ye, I began to love ye then. . . . "

"It would be terrible and you lying in the stall beside your horse atthat place, and them not going near you, and you only a boy. I will bedreaming of the horse tramping your face yet. "

"I'll teach ye something better to be dreaming than that, dear lass, for I was only a boy then, and I was carrying a man's share o' Frenchbrandy, more shame to me. I had nae sense at all, to be lying besidethe horse, and him a kittle brute too; but I'll aye be mindin' yecoorieing ower me, and greetin' for a' that, when the men o' the_Seagull_ were feart tae venture into the stall, being sailors andstrange wi' horse. "

Among the hay there I remembered the loud voices and the slamming ofdoors in the night, and Jock McGilp and his message about the "turfbeing in"; and here it was coming round that these two had met then, and I somehow had helped to bring them together. 

"I will be asking you to do me a service the night, " I heard the girlsay. 

"I'm thinkin' that, my dear, will it be ridin' for the priest, forindeed you're such a _wicked_ lass I see nae ither way for it. I cannaaye be knockin' when your wickedness keeps me in the caul' . . . . "

"Come, " she cried, rising, "come, for we will have been dallying toolong, and I did give my word to Scaurdale. I will not be listening anymore to your talk. "

"Where fell ye across that grizzly dog, John, Laird o' Scaurdale?" saidDan as they rose. 

 * * * * * *

So I waited until the hay was all quiet and the lovers gone, and I gotthe dogs and went after the deer. 

Outside the dyke I found them herded, their sentinels posted like anarmy resting, and away they headed, the collies at their heels, and meracing through bracken and heather and burn, after seeing them clearinga rise and disappearing, the big antlers like branching trees. Awayand away I followed, till the dogs' barking was faint in the night andthe three lonely hills were looming before me, and I saw the wild-fireglimmer on the peat-bogs and the moon going down as I whistled andwhistled for the dogs. 

And as I waited I heard the thud, thud, thud of horses galloping, andthen the jangle of bridle-chains, and I lay down in the heather. Twohorsemen passed me, wrapped in their riding-cloaks, and after a while alight jumped out on the hillside, and I knew the horsemen had stoppedat the old empty shepherd's house, and I made my way there, for sinceold McCurdy died the house had been empty. I could hear the dogsbarking away among the hills, and the rustle of the night-folks amongthe dry heather as I cautiously rounded the "but and ben, " and there atthe door were the two horses that had passed me. Quietly I crawledinto a clump of heather and lay a-watching, and turned in my mindeverything I might be a witness to, and found no answer. Then, awaybehind me, I heard a horse neigh, and the tethered horses answered, anda gaunt figure, white-haired and martial, stalked through the door, andI knew John, Laird of Scaurdale, waited, he and his man. 

I heard a laughing voice on the night wind. 

"It's a great thing to have a lass on the saddle wi' ye, Belle, ye cankiss her at every stride, " and Belle's answer must have been kissedinto silence, for I never heard it. 

There came Dan on our best horse, an upstanding raking bay, and infront of him was Belle with the wean in the tartan shawl. The servantlifted Belle from the saddle, and Dan, looking awkward in the glow fromthe window, held the tartan bundle, then handed it to the gipsy, andall of them went in, and I was left alone on my heather tussock. Maybeten minutes passed, and the servant came out and led the horses to theback, where there was a sheepfold and a well, and I heard him drawingwater, and in a little time he entered the house, an empty sack in hishand, and I knew the horses were at their feed, and crawled up to thelighted window and peered in. The Laird was striding up and down thenarrow room, his fierce old face twitching, the body-servant stood bythe door like a wooden man, and Dan, as though the ploy pleased him, smiled at the gipsy, who held the wean. 

The Laird's words came clearly--

"She would have the false knave, she was afraid o' my stern lad andwould have the carpet-knight--the poor wee lass; but she minded hercousin--she minded my boy at the end o' a' when she hated theEnglishman. I ken fine how her pride suffered before she sent me word, but the word cam' at the hinder end. Belle, " said he, stopping hismarch, "ye have done finely wi' your lad an' a'. "

"It's not me he'll be lookin' at, sir, " wi' a toss of her head. 

"The bigger fool him; it was a' grist that cam' to my mill when I wasmowing down the twenties. "

"Ay, Laird, " says Dan wi' a bold look, "I've heard it said ye kept theministers in texts for many a day, and the sins o' the great made thepoor folks' teeth water from wan Sunday till the next. "

"I had thought them more concerned wi' brewing their whisky andpoaching than in the inside o' a kirk, " growled the Laird, for he wascholeric when reminded of his past by any but his own conscience, whichhad turned in on itself, and grown morbid as a result. 

"It's a grand place the kirk, sir; I've seen and heard enough there tokeep me cheery a' week. There was the time when we walked there indroves, and would be takin' a look at the beasts in the parks as wewent, and often the beasts would be turned on the roadside, for a manmight buy on Monday what he only saw on Sunday. Once, going byHector's, the lassies wi' their shoon in their hands, were walkin'easier barefit and savin' shoe leather, and a young Embro' leddy, wi' ahooped skirt wi' the braidin' like theek rope on a stack, andhigh-heeled shoon, looked disdainfu' at them. Well, well, the pigswere on the roadside at Hector's, and they kent the barefit lassies;but the grand lady they didna ken at all, and one caught her gown bythe braidin' and scattered away reivin' and tearin', and set the ladyspinning like a peerie, and the lassies laughed and cried 'suckie, suckie, ' and put on their boots to go into the kirk, well put on, andin a rale godly frame o' mind. "

Belle had the wean wrapped in the cloak the servant had provided andwas croonin' ower it, and the body-servant was waitin' for orders, andthere stood Dan and the Laird as though loath to part, and them onbusiness that might mean worse than burnin' stackyards. And it came tome that Scaurdale was not the man to be cherishing any tinker's whelp, not even if he had fair claim to. 

"And what lesson did ye get that day, Sir Churchman?"

"Pride goeth before a fall, " says Dan, "but that was a bad day for me. "

"And how?" cried Scaurdale, and I could see he was wasting time onpurpose. 

"Indeed it was no fault o' mine, for between the shepherds' dogshuntin' aboot till the church scaled, and the pigs lookin' fordiversion, a kind o' hunt got up, and a pig came into the church wi' a'the collies in full cry and made a bonny to-do among the Elect. Thepoor beast made a breenge and got a hat on its snout, and then a flingo' its heid ended matters, and there was the pig in the deacon's hat, and sair pit aboot was the pig, and sairer the deacon. 

"Aweel, I was reproved and reminded o' the time when I had had a sermona' tae masel'; but the end crowned a', for I had killed an adder thatmorning on the road, and put the beast in my pouch for Hamish. In themiddle o' the sermon, after the Gadarene swine and the dogs wereoutside, the adder somewie cam' alive and crawled on to the aisle, andthe minister eyed it, and then me, and I felt hot and caul', for Ididna ken o' any new evil that might hiv reached him, and I didna seethe beast till the preacher stopped and pointed. 

"'Man o' evil, ' he cried, 'take the image o' your father and go hence, 'and so I'm clean lost, " said Dan, wi' a comical sigh. 

I had just time to lay myself flat in the heather before the servantcame out and walked to the top o' the rise. I could see the loom o'him against the skyline, for the moon was now very low, and then hewhistled, and Dan came leading the horses, and the gipsy carrying thewean. I crawled to the rise but farther away, and prayed that the dogshad gone home and would not get wind o' me. For a while they stood, Dan and the body-servant at the horses' heads, and the Laird a littleapart, and then I heard Dan--

"Yon's him at last, " says he, and I saw a light glimmer for a littleaway out at sea, and the servant ran back to the hut and brought thelighted lantern, and three times he covered it with his cloak, andthree times he swung it bare, and I saw the long black shadow of thehorses' legs start away into the darkness, and then away out to sea aflare glimmered three times and all was dark. 

"Easy going, " says Dan; "McGilp has nae wind to come close in, and it'sa long pull to the cove. "

The Laird swung himself to the saddle, and as the servant mounted, Belle made to give him the tartan bundle, but John, Laird o' Scaurdale, trusted none but himself on a night ride over the road to Scaurdale. 

"Give me the wean, " says he, and loosened his cloak. Belle held thewee bundle to him, and he put it in the crook of his arm. 

"Ye will be a great one and whip the tinkers from your door, my dear, "whispered Belle to the sleeping infant, "but ye've lain in the heather, and listened tae the noises o' the hill nights, and the burns, and theclean growing things, and maybe ye'll mind them dimly in your heart andbe kind when ye come to your kingdom. "

At that Scaurdale leant over his saddle. 

"Ye'll never be in want if ye knock at my door, so long as the mortarholds the stanes thegither. "

"Good night to you, Sir Churchman; I'm in nae swither whether I wouldchange places wi' ye the night, but weemen are daft craturs, poorthings, and I've had my day. "

Then there came the swish, swish o' galloping hoofs in dry bracken, forScaurdale was a bog-trooper and born wi' spurs on, and I heard thewhimper o' the wean, and a gruff voice petting. Belle was greetin'softly, and as Dan made to lift her in the saddle--

"I will not be sitting that way again, " she cried; and I know, becauseher heart was sore, she must be sharp with a man that had done nothingto anger her that I could see. 

"Aweel, I was aye a bonny rinner, " says Dan. "When I was herdin' andthe beasts lay down behind the black hill in the forenoon, I could rintae the Wineport and back before they were rising. " I laughed to thinkhow we estimate time in the college by the rules of Physics, and howthe herd on the moorside did, and wondered who but he could say howlong a cow beast would lie and chew her cud, and how many miles a mancould run in the time she took to chew it. 

"I will not be having you running at all, and, indeed, you have beenkind and good to me. But why should I be going back to that place whenthe thing is done I came to be doing? I will go away to my own folk, and you will be forgetting me. "

"I'll never be forgettin' you, " says he, calling her pet words thatmade me wish myself far enough away, for I was shy of lovers' talk, andhe held her to his breast and spoke quickly, and turned and caught thebridle of his horse. 

"No, " cried the lass--"no, I will not be staying here, " and I was gladthe moon was clouded at her words, "and you will not be seeing me tillI am grown old and wrinkled like a granny. "

At that he gathered her in his arms, and for a while I saw only hishead and not her face at all, except just a blur that looked pale, andthen I heard her say--

"You will be saying that to all these other women, for you will bewicked. "

"Not wicked any more, lass. I'll just be loving you, and why are yeturned soft; where is the lass that asked me would I burn?"

"Indeed, it is just with you I will be too gentle, I think, all mydays, for ye will be a brute and a baby, all in one, and yet you wouldbe aye kind to me. I could not be tholing another man after ye. "

"I think I would not be tholing that either, my dear, " cried he in afierce voice, "but the lantern has to be lighted and the fire. Maybeye'll let me do that much for you, " and this time I saw her smiling, and clinging to him with both her hands. 

At the door she waited till he had made the horse comfortable in thestone fanks, [2] and when he joined her she stretched her arms up andpulled his head down. 

"I am wishing to do this, " she said, and kissed him on the mouth. "Youwill not be loving any more but me, " and she struck him lightly butwith fierce abandon on the cheek, and I heard him laughing, and thenthe door opened and closed, and I had all the hills to myself. A greatloneliness came over me, and I wished the dogs had waited. 

And as I made my way home, I thought of that little whimpering wean inthe crook of Scaurdale's arm, and wondered how she would fare on boardthe _Gull_, for by Dan's word I kent McGilp had shone the flare awayseaward. Scaurdale, it seemed, would be hiding the wean in fairearnest now, and McGilp I kent would whiles be on the French coast. But never a word did I get from Dan for many's the day about Belle, orMcGilp, or Scaurdale--we talked of horses and sheep, until the comingof Neil Beg. 

[1] Courting, clandestine courtship. 

[2] Sheepfold. 

CHAPTER IV. 

I MEET JOCK McGILP AND HIS MATE McNEILAGE AT THE TURF INN, AND LEARN WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE WEAN IN THE TARTAN SHAWL. 

We were at common work enough, Dan and me, in the Blair Mhor when thenight clouds were banking behind the Blackhill to swoop down on thefast flying winter afternoon. Indeed, it was a matter of a braxy ewe, and the poor beast lay at the hedge-side and the blood clotting at herthroat, for Dan had bled her, and the briars o' many a brake trailedbehind her. 

"Braxy and oatmeal, Hamish, " says he, "there's many a lusty lad rearedon worse; but we'll be hivin' tatties and herrin' for a change, andplenty o' sour milk tae slocken the drouth o' it. "

And as he stooped to tie the ewe's clits together to make her a handierload, I looked round me at the cold bare trees, asleep till the springwould waken them with sap. The hills were bleak and barren, the rocksharsh and cold with no warm crotal on them, and just the reek from thehouses rising into the frosty sky. 

The night was just down on us, when I heard the lilt o' a whistle, clear as a whaup's, and with a great melody. To us there camewhistling a kilted lad, his knees red as collops, for he had waded theburn, and the cheeks o' him glowing like wild roses. 

"Ah-ha, Neil Veg, " cries Dan, for he made a work wi' weans always, "isit stravagin' after the lassies ye are this bonny nicht?"

"Indeed no, it iss not that; it's yourself I'll be after, " shrilled thelad, wi' a burning face. 

"And what for will ye be after me, Neil Veg?"

"I will be tellin' you by yourself alone, for my father will be sayin'to me, 'Did you find him, and him alone? '"

At that Dan took him a step aside, with a wink to me not to be minding, and the lad delivered his message in Gaelic and sped away, and hisclear whistle came back to us. 

"A brave lad, Hamish, " says Dan; "he'll have listened to a' the ghostand bogle and bawkin stories since he could creep, and yet he'llwhistle himsel' safe ower the hill and be too proud tae run, an' I'mthinkin' every muircock that craws, and every whaup that cries, out onthe peat-hags, will be a bogle in his childish mind. "

"There's truth in that, " said I, "and I wish I could be hearin' thestories, for you have not the way o' telling them. Ye will not bebelieving them. "

"Come ye raikin' wi' me the night and maybe ye'll be hearing some o'them, " says Dan, and so when the horses were bedded and the kyefothered, we slipped through the planting and took the old peat roadfor it, and that I was to hear stories was all that he would tell me. 

We came out on the old road to the cove, and rough enough passage wemade, for a hill burn that crossed the bare rock o' the road had frozenand melted and frozen again, so that on the worst o' the hill we tookour hands and knees for it, and even that comedown to a hillman wasbetter than breaking our necks over the rocks on the low side, for thetrack was whiles no more than a scratch along a precipice. 

When we came on to good heather again Dan stopped me. 

"Bide a wee, bide a wee, James, " and he took a step from me, and therecame at my very ear the lone night-cry of a gull, so weird andmelancholy a sound, that but for a low laugh beside me again I wouldhave sworn the bird had passed in the darkness. 

"Listen, " says he; "I startled ye first with your Christian name, andye were so made up wi' it, ye wid believe a gull brushed your lug; butlisten, Hamish, listen. "

From out of the night came the answer, and in my mind there came thepicture I had often watched, the grey night seas and the lonely gullflying low, and ever and anon voicing its cry as though it mourned thelost spirit of the deep. 

"There's just the two roads, you see, the shore road and the hill road, and a strange foot carries far, and there's aye a lad on the watch whenthe 'turf's in. '"

So that was Wee Neil's message; McGilp and his crew would be ashore, asmany as could be spared from the schooner, and we were making for theTurf Inn, and as we travelled I asked why it came to be called that. "It's a long story, " said Dan, "but maybe ye'll have noticed a hole ina smiddy wall, where they will be throwing out the ashes. Well, inthis lonely place here, there werena many to trouble, and it cam' to beknown that a man could get a dram if he paid for it, and as much as heliked to be payin' for. Well, well, a stranger cam' in one day andasked refreshment and got it, and then he plankit down a gowden guineaand waited for his change, for the stranger was a ganger, and here wasa capture just waitin' for him. 

"Well, he waited and waited and cracked away wi' the lass, for thereseemed nobody about but just Meg the gleevitch, and she had talk eno'for five men, and a trim pair o' ankles forbye. 

"'I'll be goin' now, mistress, ' says the stranger, rising. 

"'I'm sorry for that, ' says Meg, and looked as if she meant it. 

"'If ye'll just give me my change. . . . '

"'Change!' she cries, 'God save us, change; we sell naething here, ' andshe lifted the guinea oot the old jug on the shelf and handed it back. 'I thought it was just a present, ' says she, makin' eyes at him, 'for athankfu' man's free wi' his siller. Ye were lucky to get the only dropo' drink in the hoose, '--and that was true enough, for the time theyhad been talkin' and Meg kiltin' her skirt tae kind o' divert thestranger's attention, the lads had the keg in a safe place. Aweel, andso he had just to take shank's mare for it. I'll come back tae thehole in the wa'. There was one in the old house, and Meg cut a divotand stuffed the hole wi' it if there was nae danger, and if she hadword o' excisemen or gaugers on the lookout for smuggling she took theturf oot, and that's how the place got it's name (and why we pass theword that the 'turf's in' if there's word o' a run), but it must havehurt Meg to gie back the guinea, for she's a wild long eye for siller. "

We were now close to a white house, stone built and thatched, set amongbig plane-trees, and looking to the sea. At the door I heard Gaelicsongs and great laughing, and then we went inside. At first I sawnothing but two ship's lanthorns, swung from hooks such as we use tohang hams on, and the blazing fire, where a ship's timber burned withwee blue flames licking out, as the fire got at the salt of the sevenseas. Then I made out the swarthy faces turned to us, and heard Dan'sname voiced by the revellers, and a woman, stout built and perky butstill young, that I took to be Meg the gleevitch, from her bird-likeway of making little rushes, or, as we express it, "fleein' at things, "brought us steaming glasses of toddy, so strong that I think she hadwatered the whisky with more whisky, for the tears started to my eyesas I drank my first drink. But I felt fine and warm inside for allthat. Captain McGilp, as tough a looking seaman as ever shook out areef, hoisted himself beside Dan. He had not mind of me, I think. 

"We did yon business o' Scaurdale's, " he whispered, "and got the len'of a cow to keep the wean in milk, and I'll no' say but I forget wherethe beast came frae, for it's in the barrel now, what's left o't. Thewean's in France in a convent among the nuns, where I'm envying her herinnocence, " and the captain became so wild and heedless in his speechthat I drew away. "Ho, my cockerel, " says he, "Miss Mim-mou(mim-mouth), that's the bonniest wie I ken o' gettin' yir wesan cut, "and to Dan, "There's a lot o' the stallion to that colt. " This wouldmean that I resembled my father, the minister now dead, for he survivedmy mother, the Laird's sister, by but a few years. 

"Let the lad be, Jock McGilp, or you and me'll be cuttin' wesands, "says Dan, and I could have flown at the burly smuggler's throat for thejoy of Dan's backing. 

"It'll be his first night, hey? Well, look at McNeilage there; he'sbeen drunk fifteen flaming years. "

"A bonny mate that--fifteen flaming years. "

The mate slowly lifted his head, which had sunk on his massive chest, and as I saw his face I grew amazed, for he resembled nothing so muchas a good-living, well-fed minister. 

"I ha' used the sea, Cap'n, in my time. I loved the nuns and thevirgins in San Iago afore we made a bonfire o' it, ay the holy nuns, but they skirled. Here's tae them, they were good while they lasted, "and the unholy wretch smacked his lips as though he relished the memorymore than the drink. 

"Sanny McNeilage, they ca' me. I've seen what I've seen and what ye'llnever see--I've seen the decks red for a week and all hands drunk;" andthen he turned to me, and his face shone with kindliness, "Are ye anyman wi' a cutlass, my lad?"

"No, " says I, for my blood boiled at the thought of the nuns, "I wish Iwere. "

"So do I, " says he in a pitiful voice. 

"All that was before your mother died, " says a young lad at his elbow, fierce Ronny McKinnon, and the mate put his head in his arms and hisshoulders shook with his greetin', while nods and winks went round thegodless crew. 

"She was English, my poor old mother, " he cried, "and I would lay downmy damned soul for her, but she died fifteen year ago, and she couldnot say 'wee tatties' in the English when she slipped her cable, forshe turned into Gaelic--yes, " and he looked up, the tears in his eyesand rolling down his cheeks. I think I never saw anything so hateful, but then I saw his hand at his hanger and his big shoulders haunching. "Will any o' ye be denying it?" he murmured in his pitiful voice, andthen through the tears I saw the devil mocking, and knew why the crewhastened to reassure him. 

Meg, the gleevitch, kept the drink going and threw more wood on thefire. "Drink up, " she cries, "it's a rid tinker's night this. "

"Why red tinkers, Meg?" says Dan, raising his head from close confabwi' the captain. 

"Ye ken the story fine, " says she, "how the weans hiv the red hair taekeep them warm maybe, lying oot. "

"Not me, my lass, " says Dan; "sit down here beside me and tell us. "

And as we took our drink she told us of the red tinkers and when theytook to the road. 

"Indeed, and that will be a good story too, " said an old shepherd bythe fireside, with his dogs at his feet, "and I will be tellin' youanother, if you will be caring. . . . "

It wore on to the small hours of the morning, and cocks began to crow, and yet we sat. Indeed, by that time I was seeing two fires, and Iknew that most of the crew slept as they sat or sprawled, and the matewas again weeping and leering round for some one to fight, as thoughhis seeming gentleness would entice a stranger. Dan was parrying withMeg, for in her story she had made great stress on a gipsy lass, andall with knowing looks in Dan's direction; but at last we made ourhomeward way, of which I remember little, except that Dan had me on hisback on the worst of the road, and I was singing. 

Next morning I was ill, and black looks I got at the breakfast, although my aunt was kind enough and I caught her smiling at me, for Isuppose I must have cut a queer enough figure, but my uncle was verystern. After I had made some pretence of eating, I rose, and he askedme, in his grandest manner, to come to him in an hour. 

He was among his books, for he was more of a bookworm than his folks, and standing in front of the fire as I entered. 

"Hamish, " said he, "I thought more of ye. Dan is no model to follow, "says he; "forbye, your head is not so strong, if that be any excuse fordrink and devilry on his pairt. I ken of his ongoings, but I hold mypeace, for he minds his work, and I have a promise to his father, mybrother, that's lying far frae his kith and kin in the field ofMalplaquet. Let this be a warning to ye, Hamish, for this morning yewere looking lamentable, " says he, "just lamentable. "

CHAPTER V. 

MIRREN STUART'S ERRAND. 

The shame of my first night's ploy at the Turf Inn lay heavy on me fora while, and then I would be thinking of the swarthy crew with theirknives and their fierce oaths at the cards, of the spluttering glowingfire and the old men of the glens in the glow of it, and when I heardthe wind moan and cry in the planting in the night, I longed to hearthe old dread stories of a people long dead who had raised great stoneson our wind-swept moors, and marked their heroes' resting-places withcairns. 

Something of this I told to Dan as we gathered in the sheep from thefar hills on the day before the big storm. I mind it fine, the greyheavy sky, the bursts of wind that rose ever and anon in the hills, anddied away with an eerie cry, and made me think that all the winds hadword to gather somewhere, and were hastening to the feast like corbiesto a dying ewe. 

There was the smell of snow in the air, and the moss pools were frozenhard, and beautiful it was to see the stag-horn moss entombed in theclear ice, and the wee water-plants, pale and cold and pitiful, at thebottom of the pools. Round the far marches we gathered--the wild shywethers, seeing the dogs, paused as if to question the right of theintruders, and then bounded away like goats, and in my mind's eye I seeyet the whitey-yellow wool where the wind ruffled the fleeces. Dan wasvery quiet that day, speaking seldom except to the dogs. 

"There's something no canny coming, Hamish, " said he; "I feel it in mybanes. We're but puir craturs when a's said and done. A pig can seethe wind, and there's them that can hear the grass growing, but a manjust breenges on, blin', blin', and fou o' pride. "

And again, "Ye've a terrible hankerin' for bawkins, [1] Hamish. Iwhiles think ye will be some old Druid priest come back that'sforgotten the word o' power, but kens dimly in his mind that the whiteglistening berries o' the oak and the old standing stanes are freens. Ye're no feart o' bawkins, and ye're never tired o' hearing about them. Aweel, it's a kind o' bravery I envy ye, for weel I mind that firsttime I heard the Black Hound o' Nourn bay. I can feel the tingle offear run in my bones yet when I think o' the dogs leaving me alane inthat unchancey wood, and that devil beast near me in the dark. "

By this time we were at Bothanairidh, maybe a heather mile fromCraignaghor, the flock heading quietly in and the dogs at heel, and ata bare hawthorn tree Dan stopped. 

"An' this, Hamish, will be another o' your freens, " said he. "There'smany a lilting laugh hidden in the ears o' this old tree, for here itwas the cailleachs cam' tae spin in the long summer forenights, wheneverybody left their hames and took their beasts tae the hill for thesummer. There were no dykes or hedges in those days, and the beastshad to be herded on the hill if the crops were to come to anything. Aweel, the men a' went to the fishing and a' the weemen stayed atBothanairidh, and in the evenings the young lassies would be makinggreat laughing while the cailleachs span; and once, long long ago, whenthe crotal was young on the rocks on the moors, there came a swarthylad and said fareweel tae his lass under this tree. There was red wildblood in the boy, and before he came back he had seen a many men swingfrom the yard-arm. Ay, when he did return, he met a red bride, foranother had awaited his coming. 

"'This will be the bride ye are seeking, ' snarled he that waited, andgave the sailor the dagger where the throat dimples above thecollar-bone. And they say the swarthy lad writhed him up against theold tree and laughed. 

"'As long as this tree stands, ' he cried, 'you'll never hold to yourcoward heart the lass ye have done the dirty killin' for, ' and died. Well, Hamish, I'm no' hand at stories, but the old hawthorn had ayeflourished white until then, and after that the flourish was fine richred, and when he that slew the swarthy lad sought to tear the treedown, his hair changed colour in a night, and the strange folks' markwas on him, and he wandered in the hills and died. "

As we stood, I fitted into Dan's brief story--for his tale seemed to meto resemble more the headings of a story than a real story, --I fittedin a background of great wind-swept spaces, of bare rocks and coldheather and that poor love-maddened outcast wandering alone, andwondered what black pool cooled his brow at the last of it, and therecame to my ears a distant cry, and so sure was I that I had imaginedit, that I never turned to look, till Dan's laugh roused me. 

"Come away from the standin' stanes and the heroes' graves. That wasnathe skirl o' a ghost, but a hail frae a sonsy lass--but what gars herrisk her bonny legs in yon daft-like wie beats me. "

"I think, " says I, "yon'll be Finlay Stuart's Uist powny; there's nonehere has the silver mane and tail. . . . "

"Imphm, " says Dan; "imphm, Hamish, as Aul' Nick said when his mouth wasfu'. Yon's Finlay's beast, and I'm thinkin' o' a' Finlay's lassies, there's just wan wid bother her noddle tae come here away, and that'sMirren; but wae's me, " said he, with his droll smile, "she's set hercap at the excise-man, they tell me. "

The lass drew up her pony beside us, and, man, they were a picture, these two--her hair, blown all loose, rippling like a wave, and theflush of youth glowing in her face and neck, and her eyes shining, andthe noble Hieland pony, with his great curved neck and round darkbarrel, and the flowing silver mane and tail. To me she bowed coldlyenough, but with all the grace of one whose men-folk called themselvesRoyal, or maybe from Appin--especially in their cups. Although itseems the Royal Stuart race were none too particular whatever, but Danhad always his own way with the lassies. 

"Has the de'il run away wi' the excise-man, Mirren, that you're riskinghorseflesh among the peat-bogs?"

"No, " she cries, "no, but I wish he would be taking the whole dollop o'them to his hob, and then maybe decent folks would be having peace. "

"That would stamp ye Finlay's lass if I didna ken already, " says Dan. 

"Ken me, " cried the maid; "I'm well kent as a bad sixpence--a lass thatshould ha' been a lad wi' work to do or fighting, instead o'sitting--sitting like a peat stack, or"--with a fine flare o'colour--"like a midden waiting to be 'lifted. '"

"Ye're hard to please, my dear; there's many a lad wid be sair put ootif ye took to the breeks. . . . "

"It will not be this gab clash I came to be hearin', Dan McBride, but amost private business. "

"Oh, don't be minding Hamish, my lass; he canna pass a rick o' barleybut his eyes and mouth water. It's _just lamentable_, " said he. 

Her red lips took a curl at that, and then her speech came all in arush. 

"I've heard--oh, do not be asking me how I will be hearing thesethings, but the preventive men are lying at the cove waiting for the_Gull_, and I thought maybe if she came the night, wi' a storm comin'from the southard and them trying to make the port, they might all betaken away and transported, and he would be among them. . . . "

"Gilchrist the exciseman, Mirren?"

"Why will ye be naming that man to me?" she cried, in a burst ofpassion. "Is it not bad enough to be doing that I let him tell metheir plans, and him not knowing where I carry them. "

"I might have kent the breed o' ye wouldna be content wi' an exciseman, Mirren. Aweel, Hamish and me will just be having a sail this night, storm or no', and the _Gull_ can coorie into mony's the neuk among therocks; but whit bates me is how they fun' oot the cove. "

"It would just be Dol Bob that told, " whispered Mirren. 

"The dirty slink, " cried Dan. "I'm thinking there will be some talkbetween that man and me soon; but I'm no good enough looking to bethinking ye rade here to warn me, Mirren, so I'll be tellin' RonnyMcKinnon tae keep his heart up yet when the _Seagull's_ here, but ye'llhiv a big handfu' wi' Ronny. "

"I would not be having him less, " she cried, a little pleased as Ithought; and then, as she turned to go, "There's a bonny wild lass atMcCurdy's old hut, Dan, and she told me where to look for ye. Ye mighttell her Mirren Stuart was speiring for her kindly, and thinkingnaething of Dan McBride, for the look she gied me out o' her black eenmade me grue. " [2]

So Belle was still at McCurdy's hut. But Dan was thoughtful again, andnever spoke till we had the sheep in the low sheltered fields. 

But coming home he was whimsical. "Are they not droll now, thelassies, Hamish--here's Mirren Stuart, namely for her good looks, andfor the bold spirit of her. Many's the house she has saved with thatsame Hielan' pony, for Gilchrist, a game lad among gangers, canna keepanything from Mirren, and here she is among the heather wi' word o'treachery, and d'ye ken who she will be doing it for?"

"No, " said I, "except this McKinnon ye spoke of. "

"Ay, McKinnon, just wild Ronny, that she cast out wi' years ago when hewas a decent farmer's son, close to her own place in the Glen yonder atthe far end o' Lamlash, before he slipped away on the _Seagull_. "

"I am wishing, Dan, " said I, "that ye kent less about the smugglers. "

"A man must be doing something, Hamish, to get any pith out o' life. This is what I am thinking we will be doing the night. We will tellthe Laird that it will be as well that somebody should be giving an eyeto the sheep he has wintering at Lamlash and the South End, and then wewill make for McKelvie's Inn at Lamlash and get a boat across to theHoly Island, and gie McGilp a signal frae the seaward side o' it, whereit will not be seen except in the channel. McKelvie at the Quay Innwill ken a' about that. There's a man in the island ye will be glad tomeet if he's in his ordinar--McDearg they ca' him--and after that, Hamish, we will stravaig to the South End and see the sheep there andcome back hame again. Are ye game for it?" says he. 

"Ay, Dan, but there's just this--who is this Dol Beag?"

"Dol Beag has a boat and a wife and weans, and he's a sour riligousman, keen for siller at any price. Well, I'm hoping the gangers havepaid him well by this time, for I am thinking he will not enjoy itlong. "

[1] Fearsome apparitions. 

[2] Shiver involuntarily. 

CHAPTER VI. 

WE TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW TO McKELVIE'S INN. 

With the afternoon came snow, round hard flakes like wee snowballs, dryand silent and all-pervading, and the hills were changed, and therecame on the sea that queer mysterious snow light, and then the windrose skirling, sweeping the uplands bare and filling the quiet hollows. 

At supper-time the gale was at its height, the roar from the iron-boundshore was like giants in battle, and I knew that on the black rocks thespray was rising in drifting white smoke, and the rocks trembling tothe onset of the seas. 

Behind the stackyard, in the old trees, the crows were complainingbitterly with their hard clap-clap tongues, and now and then a greatcrashing warned of the death of some old storm-scarred veteran of thewood. But it was fine, the music of the storm, the blatter of the snowand the wailing cry of the wind, before a great devastating blast came. 

Fine to think that the stackyard was safe and sheltered, and the beastswarm and well, were tearing away at their fodder all unconcerned, andthat the sheep were in the low ground of many sheltering knowes andsturdy whin-bushes, comfortable as sheep could well be, and the thoughtcame to me of how Belle was faring in her lonely sheiling. When thesupper was made a meal of and the horn spoons of the lads still busy, Dan had a word with my uncle, for my aunt was mainly taken up watchingeach new trick of her bairn these days. 

"This snaw, " says Dan, "will likely haud, and I would like fine to kenif a' these hogs ye hiv wintering over the hill will be getting enoughkeep. [1] I'm thinking Hamish and me will be as well tae inquire thenight before it gets worse outside, for worse it'll be, and we'll beback as soon as the weather betters. "

At this my uncle takes a turn round his room with a thoughtful frown onhis brow. 

"No pranks, " says he; "I'll have no gallivanting, but I ken fine yehave an interest in the beasts. . . . Ye can go, " and as we turned toleave the room, he wheeled round with outstretched arm and his whitefinger pointing. 

"No pranks, mind. I'll have no pranks. "

"God's life, " says Dan, as we muffled ourselves for our tramp--"God'slife, Hamish, he's queer names for things, that uncle o' yours; there'snae prank in my heid this night--a queer prank it would be no' tae warnMcGilp, "--and as we tramped through the kitchen where the lassies werecoorieing over the fire telling bawkin stories, and edging closer tothe farm lads for comfort when the gale moaned and whined in the widechimney--as we tramped through, old Betty took Dan by the sleeve. 

"Let go, ye old randy, " cried he, in a great pretence of terror. "I'mthinking the old ones are perkier than the young ones these days. . . . "

"Och, my bairn, my bairn, " cried the old woman, her two hands on him, "will ye not be stopping in this night, this devil's night? It's naehogs that's taking ye trakin' weary miles this very night, and fine yeken the hogs are weel, but ye're just leadin' the young lad astrayefter some quean that'll be stickin' tae him like the buttons on hiscoat. 

"Wae's me, wae's me, will ye not have enough truck wi' the wenchesalready that ye mak' me lie eching and pechin' and listening for thedeath-watch on sic a nicht, "--and at that Jean giggled hysterically andcrept closer to Tam, and the old dame turned on her like a flash. 

"Wheest, ye besom, wi' your deleries; there's trouble enough aboot thenight without you skirling like a craking hen. It's no' your kind I'mfeared for, ye useless one, but these wild hill lassies, for when thedevil is loose among the hills, he gars the wild blood leap in theirveins, and the wind tae loose the knot o' their lang hair--ay, andhe'll bring the man that'll gar them tingle at his touch, and send thered blood flaming in their cheeks. "

Dan's smile was broader and broader, and I noticed the red bloodflaming in the cheeks of our own sonsy dairy lassies, Liz andBetty. . . . 

"Ye were bred in the hills yourself, old mother, " says Dan, and put anarm round the withered old neck, "and I'm kissing you for that, " and wewent out into the smother of the snowstorm. 

At the byre end the old rowan-trees were creaking and groaning to theviolence of the gale, the bourtree bushes were flattened near to theground, and everywhere was white. The driven snow melted on my tongueas I gasped, and I felt the flakes melt in my eyes; but we followed theroad by instinct, for where the hedges should have been only a blackblur showed. On the low road it was not so bad; but when we took thehill road again, I fain would have turned my back to the gale, andstood like a stirk on a wet day, but I powled on after Dan, thinkingshame of my coward heart. Below us the sea roared like a cold, cold, cruel hell; the maddened anger of the breakers made me shiver withdread, and the gloating, horrible grumbling as the seas rumbled intothe coves made a cold sweat break on my back and limbs. But I bent myhead before the gale and clawed my way upwards with numbed fingersclutching like talons to the heather, and prayed that the roots mighthold. So we toiled upwards, Dan always leading, and sometimes I sawhim turning and knew he was speaking; but the wind cut the words asthey left his lips, and bore them tearing and shrieking to the seabelow. 

Before we gained the top of the hill I saw Dan climbing upwards fromthe old peat track, and I followed dumbly as he led me into an oldquarry, long since disused except by the sheep on the warm summer days, and there we lay almost exhausted, content just to know that the stormrushed over our pitiful retreat, and it seems droll to me now that Ispoke scarcely above my breath; but then it seemed as though thestorm-king might hear me if I raised my voice. 

But when Dan spoke the black anger was trembling in his voice. 

"They're lying there snug and dry in our cove, d---n them, and thatpoor _Gull_ straining and crying out there, reaching for her hame, andthem ready to pounce on her crew, the crawling slinks, "--and I knew hewas thinking of the Preventive men. 

In a while we crawled to the path again, and clawed our way to the topof the hill, and there below us was a wondrous sight. The sea raninwards in a noble bay, and the bay was almost landlocked with anisland, but down below us was a myriad twinkling lights, hundreds ofthem, rising and falling. The snow had taken off for a little, and ahazy moon hurrying behind grey clouds showed us the ships tossing andstraining at their cables. Some of the lights seemed to move slowlypast the others, and these I took to be vessels dragging their anchors. 

We stood looking down a while, for with the stopping of the snow aweight seemed to be lifted from us, and then made our way downwardstowards the sea. After our fight upwards, the descent seemed easy andalmost calm, although the wind was howling still; but we were close tofarmed land now, and company, and once in a field sheltered by the woodof the Point, we came on sheep, standing and lying close in by thetrees, and Dan bawled into my ear, "The hogs are doing finely, Hamish;I hadna expected to see them, " and I remembered that we were winteringsheep with old Hector of the Point as well as Easdale and Birrican. Westruck the shore road and passed the big rock, and the sea was washingover the road, carrying spars, and bamboos, and sailors' beds, andleaving them high and dry on the fields by the roadside. 

Groups of noisy seamen passed us with a great clop-clopping ofsea-boots, and many little thatch houses we hurried by, until we cameto the Quay Inn, where there were many people gathered, and pushedourselves through drunken, quarrelling sailors to the counter. 

[1] Forage. 

CHAPTER VII. 

WE SAIL IN McKELVIE'S SKIFF TO THE HOLY ISLAND. 

Through the throng of bearded sailors we strode and made our way to thekitchen of the Quay Inn. A place sacred to kenspeckle folk it was, andfrom its smoke-stained rafters hung many pieces of bacon and driedshallots, and there were also bunches of centaury, and camomile, anddandelion root, and bogbean, for the goodman's wife was cunning inmedicines of the older-fashioned sort. In this place the noise fromthe common room was not so plainly heard, and indeed it gave me theimpression of a haven from the boisterous spirit there. 

As I stood before the blazing fire, guiltily conscious of the puddle ofwater at my feet where the snow had melted, Dan left the kitchen by adoor leading to a yard and stables, and I heard him speaking to someone; and then when he came back there was the goodwife with him, andDan cried for a long hot drink, for the flesh was frozen on his bones. At that the goodwife, with many "to be sures" and "of courses, " hurriedherself here and there, and all the time she would be talking of thesheep in this terrible weather, and of our long tramp across the hill;and then she handed us the drink, and would not be having any paymentat all for it, for were we not freens of her ain folk (however farout), and strangers too, moreover? And then the low door opened, andthe innkeeper entered from the taproom, a dark man, very heavy acrossthe shoulders, and a little bent on his legs like a sailor. I had seenhim as we entered, black-bearded, silent, with his two swarthy sons, eyeing his company from below pent-house brows. His eyes, blue andkeen, took us in from stem to stern, as the sailors say, and he cameclose to Dan before the fire, and--

"Ay, " says he, "it'll be the boat again, " and his voice was a growl. 

"Just that, " says Dan, sipping his drink, and then he talked quickly, and I heard him tell of Mirren Stuart's message and of Dol Rob Beag'streachery (for he had taken the word to the Preventives of where McGilpkept his cargo in the cove above the Snib before it was carted inland, or stowed in many an innocent-looking smack bound for the mainland). 

"Dol Rob Beag will be slipping his cable one of these fine nights, "growled the listener; and then, "There's just the caves at the RhuBan, " [1] says he. 

"I had that in my head, " says Dan, "for the gangers are in the Cove atBealach an sgadan, and McGilp will be in the Channel. McDearg o' theIsle House is in this to his oxters. There's just nothing for it butto show a glim on the seaward side o' the Isle, and McGilp will takethe _Gull_ to the Rhu Ban when the wind takes off; but, man, it'srisky, devilish risky, wi' the bay fou o' boats. "

"It's the deil's own night, " agreed the innkeeper, "black as pitch andblowing smoke, but the snow will be helping us too, " and then we satbefore the fire all silent for a while, the goodwife busy with herinfusions and brews. 

"Will ye be remembering the night they pressganged McKillop?" thussuddenly to Dan. 

"A droll night's work yon. "

"Ye see, " turning to me, "this Neil McKillop would be a likely lad, clever on the boats, and clever wi' the snares--ay, clever, clever--andkept his mother well. Ay--well, there came a night like this, but notso much wind, and the pressgang boat slipped into the bay, and nobodyknowing, and ashore came the crew o' her, and many's the likely ladthey took, and among them Neil McKillop. The boat would just beshoving off from the old Stone Quay when his mother came there in herwhite mutch. 

"'Give me back my son, my only son, ' she cried, standing on thequay-head; 'you will not be taking away the one that keeps me in meatand drink, me an old, old woman. Och, bring him back, my lad, and I'llbe blessing ye and praying for ye in your bloody wars. '

"At that a tarry breeks up with an oar and skelps a splash o' water atthe old woman, and laughed at her with the wind blowing her skirts, andshowing her lean shanks. 

"'Go back to your weeds and your snakes, ye witch, " he cries in theGaelic; 'we'll make a sailor-man out o' your whelp, ' and the oars beganto plash. 

"Down on her knees went the old _cailleach_. 'Bring him to me, yehounds, before I put a curse on ye, ' and she tore her coorie from herhead, and the wind tore through the strands of her white hair, and theyrose like elf-locks. High above her head she threw her arm, herfingers stiff and pointing, there on the quay-head, an awesome sight inthe mirk of a half moon. 

"Then slowly, slowly, softly she began--

"'Cursed be ye all, seed, breed, and generations o' ye. The madness o'the sea come on ye in the still night watches, friendless, friendlesson the face o' the waters be your lives, and your deaths too foul forthe sea to be giving you a cleanly burial. ' Then in a skirl o' rage, her face working, 'The foul things o' the deep shall reive the fleshfrom ye in your death, and in your lives ye shall mourn for the quietstreams o' fresh water and the sight of green things growing--andnever, never, never get nigh them. . . . '

"In the boat the men lay on their oars, with faces white below the tano' wind and weather, and then hurriedly she came astern, and NeilMcKillop sprang on the quay, and to his mother, and the pressgang boatshot into the haze off the land, and the mother and son went back tothe croft on the hillside. "

His tale finished, McKelvie drained his glass at a gulp, and his lipspressed together as though he were unwilling that even the volatileessence might escape, and then--

"We'll go, " says he. "Robin!"

At his word one of the swarthy sons entered and stood waiting, andthrough the open door to the common room I saw groups of sailors, asleep on the floor before the fire, and asleep on the benches wherethey sat; yet some hardened drinkers kept the drink going. 

"Ye see, Hamish, " Dan whispered, "there's a big sea running, and thesesailor boys would rather risk the floor than their wee boats. "

I felt a sinking at my heart, for I knew that the sailors were sweirtto risk their lives, yet there was not one timid face among them, butmany bold and truculent--men used to risk their lives, and maybeenjoying the risk. But I held my peace, for I thought shame of myterror, and before Dan too. So the four of us went out quietly theback way and came to the quay, where we found a boat on the lee side, afloat, and with the mast stepped, and all ready for hoisting the sail, and I wondered if Dan's talking to the goodwife in the inn yard had hadanything to do with it, for the boats at that time of the year weremostly upturned on the beach, and indeed most of the dingies and gigsfrom the ships were also drawn up. 

Robin McKelvie slipped down the quay-wall as nimbly as a cat, andbusied himself with the sail, doing what I know not, though I prayed hemight not loosen any reef, and his father followed, more slowly, for hewas a heavier man, but wonderfully active in a boat. Then Dan bade meclimb down, and I scrambled down and found my feet on a gunwale just asI expected to feel the water, so I sat down in the boat suddenly, andDan was beside me in a wee while. 

Robin had the sail up, and made fast, as his father cast off and tookthe tiller, and the roar of the sea all round me as we sailed from thelee of the quay at first filled me with fear, but soon I felt the skiffrise to the first sea, and I forgot my terror in watching the helmsman. 

"Ay, ay, " he spoke softly; "they're coming now, the three sisters, " andhis eyes seemed to pierce the gloom for the three rolling curling wavesas he shouldered the skiff over them. Sometimes I watched the watercurling over the gunwale, and wondered if ever again I would reach theland, and then a wave would break somewhere near, and the helmsmanwould mutter--

"I ken ye; I will be hearing your whispering, " and it seemed to me asif he were a cunning old warrior in the midst of well-tried foes, waryand courageous, and always winning through. But in the middle of thebay the waves rose madly round us, the stout skiff was tossed like acork, now perched giddily on the crest, and now racing madly to thetrough, and then to the crest again with a horrible side motion (whichI think seamen call yawing), most fearful of all. But McKelvie spoketo his boat as I have heard horsemen speak to their horses. 

When a squall struck us and the skiff lay down to it, he would croonsoftly--

"You will not be killing yourself, lass--easy, easy, --oh, but you areeager for the sea, " and I knew that I was watching a master hand, a mancunning in the moods of the sea; but as I sat he bade me bale the waterout of the boat, for it was slushing about high over the floor-boards, and these had come adrift, and were moving with every motion, so Ibaled with a will, glad for something mechanical to do, to keep my eyesoff the menacing waves which seemed to rush up to devour us, and as ifwe were too poor a prey, spurned us away. Then I saw that we were incalmer water, and the steep shore of the Isle seemed close to, and thelight of the white house clear, and in a little time the sail camerattling down, and the skiff's keel grated on the flat gravel, and wesprang ashore and put the anchor on the beach though the tide was goingback. 

And as we made our way over the gravelly shore I saw a crouching figurerise from among the wrack and come to us. 

"Oh, oh; have ye come for me, father? Have ye come for me at last?"and a girl flung herself into McKelvie's arms, and hung there crying. 

"Wheest, lass, wheest, " commanded the innkeeper sternly. 

"Oh, I just crept as near the sea as I could go, for oh, yon hoose isno' canny, and a' day the ravens from the Red Rocks have walked in atthe doors, fluttering and croaking, and the Red Man is crying that he'sgaun tae his hame the night; and McRae piping to him a' day, and himdrinking and blaspheming. . . . "

"If McDearg's gaun the night, we'll maybe hae news tae stop him, mydear, " said Dan. "Anywie, ye're surely no' feart of a raven'scroaking?"

With that we started for the Isle House, the whitewash of it lookingyellowish against the snow, and all about us the flapping of wings andthe crying of sea-birds as our feet scrunched on the gravel. 

"I canna go there, " cried the lass. "I just canna; let me bide in theboat, " and then, as she saw her brother take the lantern from the bows, she ran to him. 

"Take me wi' ye, Robin. I'll speil tae the Goat's Ledge wi' ye; butoh, do not be making me go back there. . . . "

"Wheest, my lassie, my poor wee lassie, " said her father; "there's naeharm will come on you, wi' your father and Robin beside ye; but youwill not be mentioning any Goat's Ledge, for the devil himself willcarry word to the Preventives. "

So, standing some way from the skiff, we held a council of war, and atlength Robin took his lantern and left us to climb to the Goat Ledgeand make the warning signal, should M'Gilp be in the channel, and weothers made for an outhouse, where we left McKelvie's lass contentenough wi' two collies, for she was at her service in the Isle House, and they kent her. We left her there sitting on a bag of corn and thedogs at her feet, and made our way through the yard to the house. 

[1] Bhuda ban=white headland. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DEATH OF McDEARG, THE RED LAIRD. 

While we were still in the yard the door opened, throwing a scad oflight over the snow, and a high screiching voice came to us--

"Come in, lads, come in; the lassies are weary waiting for their lads, the poor bit things, sair negleckit on this weary isle, wi' nane to seetheir ankles but scarts[1] and solangeese. "

And as we entered she held out a dry wrinkled hand. 

"Prosperous New Year, Young Dan. Six bonny sons Auld Kate wishes ye, tall braw lads that'll no feel the weight o' your coffin; but if a'tales be true, you'll no' be in want. Ech, they're clever, clever, your lassies. Same to you, McKelvie. Your lass has ta'en the rue theday. Happy New Year, young sir; you'll be a McBride too, " and the oldwithered crone peered at me through eyes bleared, as it seemed to me, with the peat reek of a hundred winters. 

I was sore amazed at our welcome, for it was not near New Year, and Iwondered if the scad of light on the snow, shining on us, had taken theold woman back to her younger days, but Dan took me out of my amazement. 

"Humour her, Hamish; humour the weemen. A new face is New Year to AuldKate that keeps house tae McDearg. "

"Och, it's the lassies will be the pleased ones, coiling the blanketsround them; it's Auld Kate that kens, " and then she gave a screitchyhooch and began to sing in her cracked thin voice--

 'The man's no' born and he never will be, The man's no born that will daunton me. '

It's that I used to be singing to your grandfather, Dan, when I was atmy service in Nourn. He had a terrible grip, your grandfather, and thedevil was in him; but he's deid, they're a' deid but Auld Kate. Butwe'll have a dram, and you'll be seeing the Red Laird. " And in alittle I saw that there was more than old age the matter. 

There came the noise of piping in that strange house, and we trampedalong a stone-flagged passage, and entered a room looking to the sea, and there, before a great fire, was McDearg, an old man, with evillooking from his eyes. He sat in his great chair, his head on hisbreast, and his shepherd, with the pipes on his knee, sat listening. 

"A brave night, a brave night, and the devil on the roof-tree, McBride. What seek ye o' the Red Laird? The _Gull_, say ye; the Preventives--tohell wi' the Preventives; there's a bonny cove at the Rhu Ban, lads;but ye're in good time to see the devil coming for Red Roland. "

A terrible squall struck the house and moaned round the gables, and thelowes blew into the room. 

"D'ye hear him, the laughing o' him, and his blackbirds spying allday--ay, the Ravens from the Red Rocks; but they have nae terrors forRoland McDearg. "

A long time he was silent, and then slowly the words came--

"McRae, McRae (for the McRaes were all pipers), play me back, back tillI hear my mother laughing, in the evening, till I see the grass, green, green and beautiful in the sun, and the golden ben-weeds swaying to thebreeze, and I am a boy again--I, Red Roland, searching among theheather, with the scent o' wild honey around me, searching for the shywhite heather to bring coyly to my lass, and bravely the sun shinesamong the hills, and the hawk's brown wings flutter in the blue vault. Play me back, McRae, till I hear the water wimpling on the hill burns, when I lie flat to drink, the brown peaty water, McRae, and the sheeplooking at me before they run. The sun and the sea and the wild windso' my youth, McRae; bring them back to me before I go. "

As he spoke, the Red Laird lolled his head on the back of his chair. His eyes were closed, and his mind looked backwards; and as he criedfor the sun and the growing grass and the wave of the wind in the hay, his hand rose and fell. And McRae, McRae the piper, looked long intothe glowing fire, looked till his harsh face softened and the smilingcame round his eyes, and softly, softly he played. And in his playingI saw the goodman bend over his wife and whisper. I saw her face glowin the evening sun, and I heard her laughter, clear and sweet likediamonds ajingle, as she struck him playfully, and walked stately andslow to the green where her children played on the lush grass, and everand ever she looked over her shoulder for her man, because he was herlover still. And I saw a boy moving among the crags, the honey dustround his knees, and ever and ever his eyes searched the heather, and Iheard his cry of gladness as he fell down beside the lucky heather, white and chaste as a virgin. 

And I looked at Dan and saw him far away in his youth, and evenMcKelvie looked not comfortable. But the Laird was all happy, a boyagain with all his days before him, and when McRae made an end of hispiping, said Dan with a queer sigh--

"A great gift, Hamish, to be drowned in drink, " and as I watched thepiper gulp his usquebach I kent what he meant. 

But at his stopping, the Laird rose. "Let be the days o' innocence, McRae. The March, The March, now, and the onset o' battle. Dirl itout, dirl it out, for Red Roland was first in the charge, and the crieso' fear made the blood tingle in his back, the women screaming, and themen crying, and the red blood flowing, and my father's sword dauntlessin the van--bring it back, McRae. Make my cauld blood hot as in mymanhood. "

When he cried for the battle-music, his clenched fist beat the air, hislong locks tossed like an old lion's mane, and the war love shone inhis eyes. A great change came on the piper. He stood his full height, as straight as a young larch tree, and a cold deadly pride came on hisface, and then with a great swing he threw the drones to his shoulder, his arm caressed the bag, and his foot beat, beat, beat like a restivehorse, till he got the very swing of his pibroch. 

Then with that fine prideful swing of his shoulders he started tomarch, and I saw the clansmen gather, wet from the mountain torrents, with knees red-scarred by the briars of many a wood. I heard theclamour of their talk, and the high note of their anger, and thenswiftly, silently, below a pale moon I saw their ranks lock and thegrim march begin, onward, onward to the southlands. 

And then I heard the wail of the southern mothers, and the laughing cryof the clansmen as the foemen stood to arms, the wild devilish lilt ofit for glory or a laughing death, and all around a black, black land, lighted alone with blazing farms, and the broad red swathe where thehillmen trailed. Came the very struggle, the gasping for breath, thecry of the fallen, the hand-to-hand grip, and then the great blare oftriumph, and the Red Laird yelled aloud--

"Through, by God, through!"

"I've lived my life, McBride, my ain wild life, and the sadness iscoming on me, to leave my bonny hills and the cold splash o' a summer'ssea. The sadness o' the silent peaks and the gloom o' the hiddenvalleys, McBride--ay, but it's fine, the sadness, better than theheated joys o' the south. " And again McRae played, looking into theheart of the fire, and the far-away look in his eyes, and as he playedI felt a lump rise in my throat, for a sorrow I kent not, except thatthe wind moaned eerily through the thatch, and grey and gurly grew thesea, with the black jackdaws flying low inshore. The uneasy cattlewere lowing in the byre, and the rain fell in great drops from theleafless trees--fell on the cold wet earth, and the fire on the hearthwas out, and cold white ash marked where nevermore would peat belighted; and oh! I heard the wail of the mourners, and saw the sobbingdaughter cling to her mother, and the youngest son leave for the wars, the last of his house and name, and his name forgotten in the glensalready. 

"Stop him, stop him, " I cried; "there's cold death at my very side, andhis breath on my cheek like an east wind, " and I would have run fromthe room. 

"Death, " cried the Red Laird--"death. I flouted him in my youth; Iwrestled with him and flung him from me. I laughed at his cold eyesacross a naked sword, and spurned him on the heather; but now in myage, when my bones are brittle and my arms shrunk, he creeps behind meagain, sure, sure o' his prey, " and as he spoke he crouched like astealthy enemy, one groping hand outstretched. Then he flung himselfupright, his eyes flashing, dauntless as a lion. 

"Come then, Death, to the last grips wi' Red Roland; ay, your cold handis at my throat, old warrior--ay, but mine is firmer yet. The Onset, the Onset, the blare o' it, the madness o' it for Red Roland's lastfight, " and at his words the swinging lamp went out with the last greatgust of the gale, and in the darkness came the crash of a fallen man, and Red Roland lay dead in the red glow of his own fire. And as westood there, Robin McKelvie came in with the word that the _Gull_ wasbattling in the channel. 

 * * * * * *

And they carried the dead man and laid him decently on his bed. 

Behind Robin, the house servants, stout dairymaids from the mainland, stood awhisper, their sonsy red cheeks pale and mottled with fear, andamong them came the bullock-feeders; for the Red Laird fattened stockfor the mainland markets, and had his own quay, where the carryingvessels moored in these days, and from the kitchen came the moaning ofold Kate. 

"Ochone, ochone, he's gone, the strong one, and I mind me when his backwas like a barn door and the love-locks curling on his brow, " and shecame into the chamber wringing pitiful, toil-worn hands, and theservants after her, ashiver to be left alone in the dim passage. Roundthe fire they huddled, none speaking except in whispers, as though theyfeared the great unseen Presence; and as they sat in that eerie silencethere came the hollow clop-clop of sea-boots in the passage, and I sawthe serving maids stiffen and straighten as they sat, and a look ofterrible fear came on their faces. 

And McKelvie's lass skirled, "He's coming, " and cooried back in acorner. 

"Can ye not hear the tramping?" and she thrust an arm before her headas a bairn will to escape a cuff. 

With that the door opened, and McKelvie entered in high sea-boots, butthe fear did not leave them, for the Laird was wont to wear sea-bootswhen the weather was bad on his rocky isle; and with their minds alla-taut for warnings and signs, the tramping in the flagged passage wasfearsome enough. Indeed, I breathed the more freely myself whenMcKelvie entered with Dan at his heels. 

Dan had a stone jar in his hand, and he poured a stiff jorum, and heldit to auld Kate, greetin' at the fireside. 

"The Red Laird's gone tae his ain folk, cailleach, " says Dan, standingstraight and manly beside the huddled old woman. "Good points he hadand bad, but he's finished his last rig and taken the long fee. 

"Drink tae the memory o' him, Kate: ye kent him weel, and he had aye adram for a ceilidher. "

"Ou ay, Dan, mo leanabh, ou ay; but I cannot thole the thought o' hisspirit fleeing among the cauld clear stars, for there's nae heaven forhim if his ain piper is no there to cheer him, or mak' him wae. Och, ay, I'll tak' the dram, but I'll be sore afraid there's plenty o'pipers in hell wi' the devils dancing on hot coals tae their springs, and he'll maybe be well enough. "

As Dan put round the drink the doleful mood lifted a wee, and the ladsstarted to tell stories. 

"I mind me, " said Donald, the shepherd--"I mind o' a night I had on thehills at the time o' the lambing, and in the grey o' the morning, whenthe rocks are whispering one to another, and will be just back in theirplaces when a man comes near them, and when ye hear voices speaking notplainly, because o' the scish o' the burn on the gravelly mounds, butif ye listen till the burn is quiet a wee, ye'll be hearing thelaughing o' the Wee Folk at their games. 

"Mora, in the grey o' the morning, I would be just among the sprits[2]above the loch-side, when there came an eerie '_swish, swish_' at myside, slow and soft. I thought it would be a hare, and I stopped tolet her get away, for I would not be crossing her path, but see her Icould not, and I turned round to speak to 'Glen, ' and there was no dogthere at all. 

"Ay, well, I whistled and I whistled in that dreary place till thenoise of it put a fear on me, and I started on again, and there at myside was the swish, swish in the sprits, and I would be poking my crookamong them, but when I would be stopping it would be stopping, and Ifelt my hair bristle on my neck for the fear on me; but I pushed on, looking at my feet and all round me, till something inside of myselfmade me be looking up, and there was something before me, wi' eyesglowering at me--oh, big, big it was, as a stack o' hay, and it was inmy path, and I shut my eyes and stood, for it would kill me. And whennothing would be happening I opened my two eyes, and it was not there, and then I looked round with just my head, and aw!"--and a shudder wentthrough the shepherd, and he gulped at his drink, --"it was just at myown very shoulder grinning at me. And I ran and ran, skirling like ahare, and it behind me--ran till I felt my heart beating in my throat, and ran through burn and briars and hedges till I ran into the barn andfell on the straw, and remembered no more. "

"And why, " says I, "did you not run into your ain house?"

"Are you not knowing that?" says Donald. "If I had run to my house andthe door shut, I would just be fallin' dead on the doorstep. "

"There's McGilp, " says Dan. "He aye carries a sail needle in his keplining, and he'll say it's just to be handy, but it's aye been in thesame place. An' what will it be for, Neil Crubach?"

Neil looked up, his blue eyes hazy with dreaming things out of thepast. His face was very beautiful, and his body massive and strong, but he halted on his leg, and could walk but lamely. 

"Oh, " says Neil, with a kindly smile, "you will be knowing that surely, and you a McBride, and reared among the rocks and the bonnie heather. 

"It will just be that when our forefathers would be among the hill satnight, many and many's the time the evil one would be coming to themand speaking, and sometimes he would be coming in the form of a blackdog, like the Black Hound o' Nourn, wi' a red tongue lolling from hismouth, and sometimes he would be a wild cat louping among the rocks, hissing and spitting wi' his eyes lowin', and the old wise ones in thefar glen found the power in the unknown places in the hills, and theysaid to the young hunters and warriors, 'Aye be carrying steel, forsteel will sever all bargains, ' but a skein-dubh is the best to becarrying in the hills, for a devil will not come near the black-heftedknife wi' a strong bright blade--no, " and Neil Crubach smiled, andlooked among the red embers for his dreams. 

And then, still looking into the embers, he began to speak in hissoft-voiced way--

"They're bonnie wee things, the Wee Folk, and merry as the lambs inJune. 

"When my leg would be troubling me sorely in my mind, and me a lad fitto break a man's back, and to fling the great stone from me like achuckle--ay, in these long-ago days, there was a lass, and, och, shewas just to me in my mind like the sun rising from the sea on a summermorning, and I could have taken her away in my own arms, for I would befierce like my folk, in their hate and their love, and whiles I wouldbe feeling in me the wish to be killing her nearly just to watch hereyes opening like the sky when the white woolly clouds are driftingapart, and among the hills when I wandered I would be dreaming ofholding her in my arms, for they would be great arms in these old days;and one day she came, and I told her all that was in my heart, and shesaid never a word, but just put her white round arms on my shoulder andher head on my breast. "

For a long time he was silent, and I saw the servant lassies look atone another, their terrors all forgot in the beauty of his picture, forthere was colour in his very tone. 

"I would be carrying her in my arms, for was she not but a mountainflower, but when I would have taken her up I saw her eyes with a greatpity in them for my lameness, and I felt hell rising in my heart, forwere not my folk straight in their limbs, and nimble as goats among therocks? and then she saw my face, and I think there would be blackmurder in it, but for myself, not for my white flower, for Neil CrubachI hated when my love looked on this poor limb (it was only a littleshorter, but I knew the pride that was in his race). 

"Then my love looked into my soul. 

"'Neil, ' she said, and drew my head down to her--'Neil, my hero, takeme up, ' and I took her up, and she lay curled in my arms, with her lipsat my neck, and then she whispered, 'Neil, you will not be angry if Isay it now. '

"'Never angry, mo ghaoil, ' and my heart stopped to be listening. 

"'I wish--I just wish, Neil, mo ghaoil, that you would be more lame, formy mother will be seeing us too soon, and I want aye to stay here. '"Neil was just thinking aloud. 

"A year, just a wee year, with her smiling at her spinning, andrunning to meet me in the far fields to be carried home--ay, she wouldbe calling my arms 'home, '--and when we would be ceilidhing she wouldbe saying, 'Neil, it will be time your lass was "home, " and her eyeswould be laughing at me, and no one else would be knowing at all. '

"A year, a wee year, and she lay like a white flower, still and cold, and all my love could not make her hear. 

"And I sat by her silent spinning-wheel and waited till she should comeback night by night; I forgot the old kirkyard, for how would the earthbe keeping my love from coming to me, and as I sat came my old mother, and she was wise and gentle to her lame son. 

"'My son, if you would be lying behind the wee hill when the moon isyoung, maybe you would be forgiving your old mother'--for when she wassad she blamed herself for the fall that left me lame, even when Ilaughed and made nothing of it in her hearing. 

"Behind the wee hill I lay when the moon was young and the grass wascool on my brow, and I would be hearing the breathings of the hills inthe silence as they slept, and the moon sailed behind a black cloud andall the world was dark, and I heard a great laughing in the dark nearme like diamonds and pearls sparkling, so wee was the sound and sobright the laughing, and then the moon sailed out clear silver in ablue sky, and there were all the Wee Folk at their games on the shortturf. Bravely, bravely were they dressed in their green coats, andnear me, sitting and looking with longing eyes I saw my own love, andshe was looking down a wee, wee track in the grass, but it seemed to mehundreds of miles. And my love cried and waved as she looked down thepath, and I heard her laughing, my own love, and then, 'Hurry fast, Neil, and take me home'; and again I heard her laughing joyously, andthen in the track of grass, away and away, I saw a-coming one thathalted on his foot, and he was away and away, but my love clapped herhands, and ran down the path with her arms stretched out to be carriedhome, and I saw all the Wee Folk run to welcome the one that halted onhis foot, and I knew that the path that they were travelling so fastwas just Time, and slowly, slowly only can Neil Crubach march, but sheis running to meet me--my love. "

By this time old Kate had forgotten her troubles, and was away back inher youth, when, if all accounts be true, there were few, few fit tohold a candle to her wild beauty or devilry. 

"Och, the nights like this would not be hindering the ploys when my legwas the talk o' a parish, and my cheeks like the wild red rose. We hada' the lads to pick and choose among, Bell and me; and mora, it was notgear they cam' courting for. 

"There was a time we slept in the bochan to be nearer the beasts, wewould be telling the old ones, but maybe it was not for that at all, for your grandfather was raiking then, Dan McBride, it kinna runs inthe breed o' ye. Ay, well, we were in bed, Bell and me, when the Lairdo' Nourn whistled low outside. 'The devil take ye, Kate, ' Bell wouldbe crying, 'he'll be in, ' for there was only divots in the window inthe bochan. 'He will that, ' says I, and I saw the divots tumbling, andin he came assourying wi' two o' us, and us feart when he gied hisgreat nicker o' a laugh, for fear he would be awakening the old folks, or rouse the dogs, although they kent him well enough, a rake likethemselves. "

"Was he no' the auld devil?" says Dan with a laugh; "two o' ye, and thebest-looking lassies in the countryside. "

"He wasna aul', " cried Kate--"aul'; he was as like you as two trout. He got us two suits o' sailors' claes and he cam' tae see us dressed inthem, and bonny sailors we made, Bell and me, and we went to the Glenand called on our uncles. It was dark inside, and they were sittingower the fire talking slow and loud, and we went in. 

"'What will you be wantin' here in God's name?' said Angus. 

"'We've nae money and nae meat, ' said I, 'and our ship has sailedwithout us, and we're starving. '

"'Starving, John, starving, will ye be hearin' the poor sailor lads. We have not got any money, John, to be giving, but gie the lads an eggapiece, John, an egg apiece; and John brought us an egg, and then Bellwinked at me, and 'Ye hard old scart, ' says I in the Gaelic, and he gotup on his feet, for he would be knowing my voice, and he could not beunderstanding it at all, and when we had finished our devilry I gavehim the egg what I was fit and ran, and Angus would be crying--

"'Give me the graip, John; give me the graip. Angus will kill boas(both). '

"So an' on the night wore through; whiles we would be telling oldstories, and there would be times when we sat silent except for auldKate whimpering at the fireside. 

"These were the days and these were the nights, ochone and ochone, forthe like o' them we'll be seeing nevermore. "

And in the morning the women made a meal, moving stealthily about thehouse and keeping together when the men went out to their beasts--forbirth or death, wedding or christening, the beasts must be looked to, and that's good farming. The seas were breaking white in the bay andthe ships lay at the stretch of their cables, but although we searchedlong and ardently, we could not find the _Seagull_. We were downcastand silent, and no man looked at his neighbour, for the fear was on allof our hearts that McGilp and his crew were lost, and at last I voicedmy dread to the innkeeper. 

"Ye do not ken McGilp to be speaking that way, " said he, and his voicewas hoarse as a raven's croak. "We could not have run a cargo lastnight wi' the sea like a boiling pot; and if the _Gull_ had anchoredoff the Rhu Ban Cove there would be plenty to be wondering why she wasthere. No, no, my lad; there's sailor men on the _Gull_, and a weething will not frighten them. She just ran before it, man, and she'sstanding off and on till the night. "

And so it proved, for that night McGilp himself was rowed ashore, andhis eyes were red as a rabbit's wi' the lashing o' the sea, and thewhite salt was dried on his beard. 

With him was McNeilage, his mate, his face red and shining like awell-fed minister, and the drink to his thrapple. 

"A great night last night, " said he. "Och, a night like the oldroaring times when every ship on God's seven seas was a fortune for thelifting. "

We were on the shore at the Rhu Ban, working and toiling at the cargowith the oars muffled, and no man speaking above his breath, and whenwe had the cargo in the coves, and the seaweed and trash from the shoreconcealing it, we made our way to the outhouse where McKelvie's lasshad waited, for there were friends of the dead Laird's in the house, and new men are hard to trust in the smuggling. And at the outhouse Ispoke to fierce Ronny McKinnon as he stood among the crew. 

"Ronny, " said I, "there was a bonny lass putting herself about for ye, or ye might have been listening to mice cheeping instead o' the wavesout there. "

"I've been in many's the ploy, " says Ronny, "and the lassies liked mewell enough, except just one. "

"Would her name be Mirren now?" said I. 

"I'll no' say but it might just be that, " says Ronny, with a thinkinglook in his eyes. 

"There was a lass o' that name, on a Hielan' pony, met Dan and me atBothanairidh the day before the snow, " says I. "She talked about yefor a while. "

"She would be having nothing good to be saying, " says he with a laugh. "For everything I did was a fault except just I would be sitting athome with my old mother, and so I just fell in wi' McGilp, and left thelassies to claver among themsel's for a year or two, for they will havetoo many cantrips for a simple man. "

"It would just be that lass that told us about the Preventives lying inthe cove near the Snib, and she was sore feart a lad Ronny McKinnonwould be transported. "

"And would she be saying just that, " says Ronny. 

"She would just, " says I. 

"It's no like her temper at a', but I'll be thanking her for that kindthought, " says he, and commenced to his whistling o' pipers' tunes. 

[1] Cormorants. 

[2] Boghay. 

CHAPTER IX. 

MIRREN STUART BIDS HER DOG LIE DOWN. 

It was after the burial of the Red Laird that we returned to the QuayInn in McKelvie's skiff, and this time we had McKelvie's lass and RonnyMcKinnon with us. The _Seagull_ was at anchor now over near Donal'sPoint, for McGilp had much business to attend to. Little skiffs hadflitted in the night through the darkness of the bay. The cove wasempty, and in the sand ballast of many a smack sailing for the mainlandports, there was that hidden that the smacksmen prized more than theirhonest cargoes of coal or potatoes. Ronny McKinnon had been aye aboutthe cove, concealed in the daytime and busy in the night, for McGilptrusted him much, and McKelvie's skiff had made a run with only theinnkeeper and swart Robin on board, except for a keg or two concealedbeneath a sail and a tangled long line. At the Quay Inn Mrs McKelviemade a great work with her lass, and would not be letting her do ahand's turn, but just sit and be resting, and every one was very merryabout the place. The two sons were scattering clean sand on the floor, and the fine scent of cooking in the kitchen was wafted to the tap-roomand made my very teeth water for a square meal, for the sea had made mehungry. Ronny left us at the inn and made his way homewards, and Iwould be hearing his cheery cries to the folk he passed, for he wouldbe everybody's fair-headed laddie, and maybe Mirren Stuart would befeeling surer of her man when he would be sitting at home with his oldmother, for it seemed to me that the lassies that would be passing hadvery bright eyes, and that they would be looking back often too. 

We sat down to a meal in the kitchen, Dan and me, and he kept them allin crack. For the mistress he promised to gather bog-bean when thetime came, and she was in her very element; and there sat Dan McBridewith Gude kens what evil in his head, his eyes smiling at the old dameand listening how she cured a young lass of a stomach complaint withthe wee round caps of the wilks--"for mind you, " says she, "each weeround cap will lift its ain weight o' poison frae the stomach. "

"And the coosp, [1] now, mistress; Hamish here will no' be believing me, but there's de'il the halt better for the coosp than"--and so his talkwent on, and him not believing one word. And when her mother would berattling among the plates on the dresser, Dan would be bending over andspeaking to the lass, and looking into her eyes, and the gruff oldfather saying never a word, and the two sons arguing where it was thatDan had jumped the Nourn burn when the bridge was carried away with thebig spate. And when we had our fill o' eating, we followed Ronny upthe Glen, for Dan would ken how the hogs were doing there now he wasthis length, and so we tracked through the Glen, leaving FinlayStuart's house behind us. As we passed I saw a lass in the stable, andI wondered if Ronny had seen his mother yet. 

It was just the long weary road to the South End that Dan and metravelled, so the reader can follow Ronny, for he told me his storylong after of his coming when we needed him most. And this was thestory that he told me:--

"Man, " said Ronny, "when I took my leave o' ye at the Quay I justthought yon day would see it settled between Mirren and me, once andfor all, and I'll no' be denying a queer happy feeling, for I felt Icould be conquering everything that day; but maybe it was because o'the siller I had in my spluchan to be giving to my old mother, for ifthe want o' it will not be making a lad miserable, the having o' itwill aye keep his spirits up. 

"I would be thinking, inside of myself, that she would be sitting inthe kitchen, my old mother, and shooing the wee white hen away fromlayin' in the bed, and then I would be coming in so quiet, and beputting my hands over her eyes, and she would be kenning me, andlaughing, and greeting, for that I was back. Then I would be makingher spread her brat over her knees, and be throwing the siller into herlap and listening to the cries o' her. But whiles among these thoughtsI would be making pictures o' a limber long-legged lass that could workhorse like a man, and would be on the hill after sheep when herneighbours would be stretching themselves in bed, and rubbing the sleepfrom their eyes. And I was seeing her standing on the top of the hill, wi' the morning breeze playing with her brown hair, wi' the clearsparkle in her eyes and her lips curled to whistle on the dogs, and ayeI would be wondering if I would get a sight o' her when I passed herfather's place. 

"When I came near, there was the great barking o' dogs, and ablack-and-tan collie came at me wi' the burses ridged on his back andhis white teeth showing. 

"'Chance, ye old fool, ' said I, and at that he gave a yelp, and came atme daft to be seeing me, and jumping to be licking my face. I got himto heel, although, mind you, it did my heart good, his welcome, for wewere long friends, and there were few, few that Chance would welcome. But I would aye be liking the dog since the first time I put my armround Mirren, and that was years ago. She would have thrown it fromher that time, for she was like a quick-tempered boy, but at her angrymovement the old dog girned at me, and the rumble o' his growl made uslook, and there he was ready to spring at me, and it makes me laughyet; for Mirren, my own quick-tempered lass, fondled my hand at herwaist to quieten him. 

"'Mirren, ' said I, and I took my arm away, 'there's just nothing for itbut you should put your arm round me, for I can see you will only betholing mine for the sake o' my skin. '

"'There will be many a blue sea below your feet before Mirren Stuartwill be doing that, ' said she, and I let her go a step in front of me, maybe to see the fine swing o' her, and her free mountain stride. 

"I was thinking o' that time when we came to the gate o' Finlay'splace, Chance and me, and the snow had been cleared from before thestable, and when I looked, there was the Uist pony standing at the doorand Mirren busy at the grooming o' him, and her hair was tousled a weeand curled at the nape o' her neck, and her sleeves turned back. 

"I put my arms on the gate and stood watching her, for many a night Iwould be thinking of her and me away, and then maybe because she wouldbe feeling an eye on her, she turned round. 

"'Will ye aye be my lass yet, Mirren?' and I was proud to see the redflush rise to her cheeks. 

"'How many would that be making, Ronny?' she cried, and came half wayand stopped. 

"'Just the one, Mirren, ' said I, and opened the gate and came besideher. 

"'Ye will have changed then since last I kent ye. '

"'Indeed, and I think ye're bonnier yoursel', lass, and I would not bebelieving that possible, ' and we walked to the stable door wi' oldChance at our heels. 

"'They will have surely been teaching you nice talk, the strangerlassies, Ronny. '

"'Mirren, dear, ' said I, and put my hand on her shoulder, 'we will notbe talking that way any more, you and me, ' and at the stable door o'Finlay Stuart's place I put my arm round the shoulders of his proudlass Mirren, and held her back, and made her look at me. 

"'My lass, ' said I, 'in a wee while I will be kissing my trysted wife. '

"'Look at the dog, Ronny, first, ' said Mirren, but her eyes werelaughing. 

"'I will be hearing him without looking away from you, ' said I. 

"And with that I bent my head to kiss her, but her face was turned awayfrom me, and even then I was hearing the growling o' the collie, andwondering where he would be fastening on me. Then with my head quiteclose to her, I whispered--

"'Will it not have been any good at all, dear, all my love for you?Will you be sending me away from you after all?'

"Then as I waited, she said a queer thing--

"'Chance! Chance! _lie down_!' and at that the laughing came on me, and my own lass turned her dear face to me glowing, and with a look ofmingled pride and shame she looked at me and put her arms round my neck. 

"'I will not be a great hand at saying love talk, Ronny, ' shewhispered. 'I can just be holding you tight, but take me if ye will behaving so poor a lass, for I will have been loving you all to myselfall the time. '

"And when a wee while was passed and we found ourselves in the stable(for a lass has always an eye for who may be looking), Mirren Stuartgave me a look of great scorn, but playfully. 

"'It will be as well that one o' us is farmer enough to mind thebeasts, ' said she, and went out and took the garron into his stall, forhe had been clean forgot, and stood looking longingly into his stableand the wind raising a pook o' hair on his tail. "

 * * * * * *

"Well, when the lassies, Mirren's sisters, were by wi' teasing us, Isat down to a meal in Finlay's kitchen, and when I rose on my legs tobe going, my lass flung a shawl round her, and wondrous bonny she wasin that shawl, and we left by the back road to be seeing my mother, andthe lassies flung bachles at us 'for luck. ' And although Mirren wasnot out o' my sight in the house, yet I will be quite sure they kent wewere for the marrying, for I got a glimpse o' Peggy, a rollickingtomboy o' a lass, rubbing herself against Mirren's shawl and crying, 'It's me that will be going off next. '

"And Anne, a ruddy lass, whispered--

"'Now that you will have the lad you were speaking about through yoursleep, Mirren, maybe ye'll be giving me your garters, ' and between oneand the other o' them, it was a red-faced, brave-looking lass thatstood wi' me in my mother's kitchen. 

"And my mother, that I had been wearying for a sight o' for three yearspast, my old mother, kissed the lass first, and then--

"'You will have managed to bring him to his senses at last, Mirrendear, ' said she; and then I found that these two had been having thegreat confabs when I would be away, and my wife has told me since, whenshe was new-fangled wi' me, and very loving, that she would just begoing there to be listening to my mother's stories about me, when Iwould be a wean; and although I will be telling her that the things Iam remembering most are the skelpings I would be getting, she just willbe laughing at me. 

"'It is not one half of what you would be deserving, my man, ' she says. 

"So and on, there we sat wi' the red glow of the fire shining on my oldmother's face, making her look hearty and well in her white mutch, andglinting on Mirren's eyes when she turned to speak, and lowing in thecopper o' her hair, and I would be content to sit and listen to thesetwo, till Mirren had to be going. On the road home she made nocomplaints when I put my arm round her, for was she not my own lassnow. Moreover, it was dark. We were at our first good-night under therowan-trees beside the byre, for rowans will keep the fairies away, andit is good farming to have them where the beasts will be walking underthem every day. We were loath to part, Mirren and me, and she would belying against my breast, when there came the figure of a man running, and I kent him for Gilchrist the excise-man. 

"'Stop a wee, my lad; stop, ' says I. 'What will be hurrying ye?'

"'That damned McGilp has escaped us again, ' said he, 'and Dan McBridehas killed Dol Rob Beag. '

"'Run, Ronny, run, ' cried Mirren, and pulled me to the stable. 'Danwill be needing all his friends before the morning, ' and she had thebridle on the garron, and I was on his back like a flash, and makingfor the Quay Inn before she was done speaking. "

[1] Coosp=chilblain on the heel. 

CHAPTER X. 

DOL BEAG IS FLUNG INTO A FIRE. 

And now you will be coming to meet Dan and me on the long road backfrom the South End, and coming on with us like a good comrade, for Danthat day walked like a man that was fey, and I, who would be thinking Ikent him, might just as weel have been walking with a stranger. Belowthe shoulder o' the big black hill, before ye come to the Laird's Turn, he halted. 

"Man, Hamish, the hills are just vexed wi' me this day, " said he, "andI ken a' their moods, as weel as a bairn kens his mother. "

"To me, " said I, and I would be searching about in my mind for theright words, like a pedant, for was I not college-bred--"to me, " saidI, "they aye look just grandly contemptuous, " and, mind you, my heartwent out to the great strong man at my side because of the soft placein his warm heart for the grim old hills, for I would aye be feared totalk that way to him, for fear of his laughing. 

"I ken what ye mean by grandly contemptuous too, " said he. "I havefelt that way when I would be gathering sheep, and looking up at thecrags and the rocks above me, and the head o' the hill would be turnedfrom me in disdain, and I would be feeling like the wee red antcrawling on the beard o' a warrior, asleep on a glorious battlefield. I canna just be putting the right words to it, but, man, I feel itinside o' me. 

"There's days in the early summer mornings before the heat-haze haslifted when a man can see the hills lying on their backs wi' theirfaces to the sun, like giants resting, and he can see the smile on thebrow o' them when the sun beats down, and it's fine to be imaginingthat they're laughing to one another; and on these days the hills areaye friendly to a man, and when he lies down among the heather thespirit o' the hills will be knowing him, and his forebears, since thehills were established; but ah! they will be glooming at me the day. 

"There's a frown on the brow o' the Urie, and his face is hidden fromme, and listen to the grumbling and flyting o' the burn. They're a'vexed, Hamish, but we're to have company down through the glen, foryonder will be Sandy Nicol driving his stots to the bay. "

We made up on the drover, a wild unkempt man with a great red beardwagging on his broad chest, and fierce blue eyes that seldom winked, and it seemed to me that his dogs--for two deep-chested, lean-flankedblack collies slunk at his heel--it seemed to me that they kent hismind before he spoke a word, for they worked the wild hill-bred stotslike the dogs the old folk will be telling about. 

"Ye would be looking to the hogs, " said he, as if he had kent us fromthe hillside and no greeting was needed; and as he spoke I thought ofan old door swinging on rust-eaten hinges, for his voice was deep andharsh, as though he opened his mouth seldom to speak; and indeed suchwas the case, for he lived on his farm among the hills alone with hisdogs. 

"It's no great day this to be travelling beasts, " said Dan, as wewalked at the tails o' the little herd. 

"Ay, but this is just the day for Sandy. Nae fears o' the evil eye wi'the snaw on the road, for there's something clean aboot snaw, and auldwives are at their firesides, wi' their ill wishes and evil eyes. "

"You will ken the Red Laird's deid and buried, Sandy?"

For a wee while after Dan's question we three walked in silence, andthen the drover turned his wild face to us. 

"We watched the devil coming for him yon night; we watched his coming, ay, away far out on the sea, the black stallions stretched to thegallop like racing hounds, and the hoofs o' them striking white firefrae the water, and the flames o' hell curling and twisting round thewheels o' his chariot. Ay, we watched oor lane, the dogs and me, andhis whip was forked lightning, and his voice drooned the roar o' thegale. "

I felt a grue slither through me when the man stopped, for his harshvoice intoned his words like some dreadful chant. 

"Ye would be late out that night, " said Dan, and again we were silenttill the drover spoke, and the thought came to me that he arranged allhis words in his mind, and then loosed his tongue to them. 

"They were round us, that night, evil spirits and evil beasts, and theywould be lifting the thatch from the roof; and we went out, the dogsand me, and a' the great rocks on the hillside would be jumbling andjarring thegether, for all the evil ones were loose from the pit, andtumbling the hills, and setting them straight, and the blue lowes wererissling on the hill-tops. But I would be holding my steel in my hand, and we sat and watched, the dogs and me. "

"Was it the skein-dubh you would be holding?"

"It would not be the black knife, Dan McBride; it would just be this. "

At that Sandy Nicol showed us a small object, which seemed to me to bea twisted horse-shoe nail wrapped round about with wool; but he wouldnot be letting it go from his palm, and when I would have examined itcloser he put it past. 

"It's not Sandy that would be droving without his steel, " he cried. 

"Would you aye be carrying that?" said I; for he looked so wild andlawless that it was not in me to be believing that he trusted to aughtsave his dirk. 

"There was a time no, mo bhallach, " said Sandy Nicol, "a time when Iwould be selling back-calvers and stots to the Red Laird for themainland markets; and it would just be the wee Broon Lass o' Ardbennanthat saved the beasts--for, ye see, I did not always stay ma lane, andwhen my mother would be failin' and her joints stiffening like a' agedbeasts, the milking would aye be done and the byre mucked when she gotup in the morning. Oh, but she was the wise one, for she would beleaving the best o' the cream in a basin, and maybe a bannock, for thewee Broon Lass, for my mother would be seeing her flitting among thebattens. And before she went away she would be telling me: 'Never beoffering her boots or claes when the snaw comes, Sandy, for the Broonieo' Lag 'a bheithe[1] left in sore anger for that they pitied her in thesnaw. '

"Direach sin, it was a fine day I started to drive the back-calvers andstots, and the sun red wi' a fine-weather haze, and the roads hard anddry, and it was maybe two hours I was on the road and the beastssettled, when there came a woman on the road and a shawl about herhead, and I kent her for a devil's black bairn that could be tellingher ain folk when the rain would come in the harvest, and when thebutter would come on at the kirning. 

"A bad unchancy woman; ye'll ken the breed o' them, for they will besore feart o' clean burn-water, but they'll be coorieing ower a fire a'day, and talking to the black cat, and I had it in my mind to beturning when I saw her, for did she not come into the byre at Dyke-endwhen the beasts were at their fother, and she stood and she eyed them. 

"'So bonny, ' says she, 'so bonny and fat and glossy, and the wee bitspeckled quey calves they'll be leaving, ' and with that she walked upthe byre and ran her hand over the tors of the beasts, crooning away toherself; and another month saw the last of the kye pic calved. 

"Well, well, I stood when she came to me, and she smirked at me. 'Seven braw beasts, and not a lame yin among them, ' says she, andtittered a wee bit laugh that set the dogs girning through their bareteeth; and then she went her way, and her laughing coming back to me, and we would not be far on when the first of the beasts was hirpling;and one after the other the lameness came on them, till I could justhave sat down and grat that I had not set the dogs on the witch. 

"I would just be turning the beasts on the road for a wee, when therecame the wee Broon Lass among the bracken on the hillside, and then Ileft the road and took the dogs with me, and we hid on the low side, for fear to anger the wee Broon Lass. She went among the beasts, andthey would be kenning her, and lowing quietly like calves, and shewould be lifting their feet, and then there would be a hole in theclits o' them a'. And the wee Broon Lass, she blew and she blew intothe hole, and went on to the next, and in a wee the beasts were walkingsound, and taking a bite at the sprits and the scrog on the roadside, and I lay close till I saw the wee one near the rise o' the hill, andstarted the beasts again, and the lameness came near them not any more, but aye I would be carrying the steel after that. "

In the middle of the glen we left Sandy Nicol with his dogs and histravelling beasts, and before we turned the bend where the nut-treeswere I looked back, and there he came on slowly with the sunset lighton him as he came, and I saw him looking to the great rocks on his lefthand as though he waited the coming of something not of this world; andagain he would be looking down through the bare trees to the dark glenwhere the burn was muttering and grumbling coldly, and it was strangeto me that these wild men, so terrible in their anger, would bebelieving all these old stories, until the thought came to me that itwould just be the poetry and imaginings of the Celt, alone among thehills that are aye on the very point of speaking to their children; fora man, and a bold man, will be seeing and hearing strange things amongthe hills, when the mist comes down, when he will have listened to thestories of hate and love and clan feuds of his folks since he could belistening, clapped on his creepie stool close to his mother's skirt, and his head against her knees. 

 * * * * * *

There was great company gathered at the Quay Inn when we entered, although many of the ships had sailed, but there were sailors too, forthe bay was not handy for owners to come at, and the Quay Inn was afavourite, so that it was no uncommon thing for ships to be wind-boundfor days, and even weeks, and there would be the great fights betweenthe men from the ships and the lads from the glens. But there was notrouble when we entered at all, for with the snow and the hard frostoutside, the great fire was the cheery place to be sitting at, andindeed there must needs be ill blood between men if they will not beagreeing over the best of drink, and fine company to be drinking itwith. 

But it was as if every one was well pleased and with no worries, for Isaw no men whispering, with heads close, but every one happy torecklessness, and already there was the darker red flush on the facesthat told of drink taken, and then I saw that many of the men gathered, had been to the cove at the Rhu Ban in their skiffs, and were met hereto celebrate the run in their ain way. A great shouting they made whenDan stood among them, his eyes shining, for a ploy of this kind wasmeat and drink to him, and they made room for us by the fire; whileMcKelvie brought steaming glasses, and winked and nodded, and would belooking wise as though we might ken something about his wares that hewould not be telling everybody, till indeed I could not keep back thelaughing to see the grave stern man so far gone with his own liquor. 

And as we sat I would be watching a sailor with a knife at his hip, andthe lithe swing of the mountaineer in his carriage--a Skye man, I wasthinking; but he stood silent against the jamb of the fireplace, andhis eyes were dreamy and sad, and in myself I knew he was seeing hisown place, and him outward bound. When the night was wearing on itcame his turn to sing, and with his song I knew that my thinking wasright, for his song was a farewell to Skye. Now I know not the words, but the air will haunt me whiles when the days are shortening, and thepictures he painted will never be leaving my mind. 

For I saw the dark sad hills of Coulin, and the sun blood-red on thepeaks, and the heavy dark night clouds tinged and burnished with gold, and the sea was all silent, with the wee waves rippling on the shore. And on the shore was a maiden looking away and away to sea, and thenets all unheeded at her feet, and the seagulls not heeding her at all, and the great sorrow was in her eyes, in the very poise of her; and Iwondered where was the lithe lad she should be having to love her, forher eyes would aye be looking at the empty sea. . . . 

When my mind was wandering on pictures of sadness, of an empty sea andgreat grim silent hills, the inn door was pushed open, and the coldswirl of frosty night air made the roysterers turn, and in there came athick-set junk of a man. Always to my mind, Dol Rob Beag, for he itwas, had a look of a Joonie doorie, being all run to shoulders, and noneck on him at all. His arms hung well to his knee, giving the man theappearance of a powerful animal. His face was brown as a smack's sail, and his eyes red and shifty as a ferret's. 

"What is it ye waant here?" growled McKelvie with a lowerin' look, andthere was silence from the others; and the men put their drink downwhere it would not spill if there should be a scrimmage. Dol Beag puta hand to his beard, and his shifty eyes fixed on the innkeeper. 

"Ceevility, " says he, "from a man in the public. I'm wantin' that, andI'll be payin' for whatever drink I'll tak. Put a refreshment beforeme, McKelvie, and go back again to your affairs. "

There's no denying the man had a cold-steel bravery in him, and a grimsmile flickered on his face as he watched McKelvie, for no Hielan'manborn can thole being likened to a menial, and the dark blood of hatredglowed on the innkeeper's face. 

"I ken the ceevility I would like to be giving to you, Dol Beag, " sayshe, and put a drink on the table, and lifting the coin tendered inpayment he hurled it behind the fire. "I would not be thinking myselfclean if I kept your money. "

Dol Beag was on him before his words were out. 

"The hell take you, " he girned through clenched teeth, and his knifeleft his hip. "Ye'll lick where that lay, McKelvie, ye--ye--maker ofmeats for sailors, " and the sweat rolled off his brow, and his voicewas a skirl of rage. 

McKelvie grabbed a horse-pistol from among his kegs. 

"Ye hound, I'll put a hole in ye that will be hurrying the gaugers taefill wi' siller, " and as quick as light he levelled the pistol and drewthe trigger. The room was filled with brimstone smoke that gripped theback of the throat, but Dol Beag was unhurt, and creeping like apowerful beast on his enemy. (The heavy bullet had smashed through theeight-day clock. ) McKelvie was retreating warily to his barrels again, and I wondered if he had another pistol, when Dan laid his hand on DolBeag. 

"Stop a minute, " said he; "there's some talk due to me before ye killMcKelvie. "

"Ay, ay, wan at a time, McBride; I'll be feenishing the stickin' o'this pig before I will start on you, and you can be countin' yourbastards again, " and with that he whipped round on Dan like an eel withhis dirk hand high. But a spring took Dan clear, and before Dol Beagcould follow, Dan had him in the air spitting like a cat. 

"Ashes to ashes, " says he, "dhust to dhust, " says he, in a thick blindrage, and hurled Dol smash between the stone jambs to the back of thefire. 

I saw Dol Rob Beag's neck take the corner of the jamb, and heard thewrench, and then the singeing smell started, and I pulled him out fromthe fire and the Skye man flung a stoup of water on him. 

"Give him the whisky quick, " cried swart Robin McKelvie; "put it downhis throat, " but Dol Beag lay still. 

A young man at the door--the same exciseman, Gilchrist, that trotted atMirren Stuart's coat-tails--cried in a thin voice, "Christ, he's deid;ye'll swing for this, Dan McBride, " and disappeared in the night. Withthat the sailors made for the door, driven by that fear of the law withthe long arm and the ruthless grasp; but Dan stood for a while lookingon his handiwork in dour silence. 

"He brought it on himself, Hamish, " says he; "but, man, I'm sorry forhis wife's sake. "

"Out, man, out, " I cried at him; "there's nae time for sorrow, " andthere came the clop-clop of a galloping horse on the frozen road, andRonny McKinnon flung himself among us. 

"The back door, damnation, the back door, " he cried, and pushed Danbefore him. "Will ye wait till that wasp's bink is buzzin' aboot yerlugs?"

We followed McKinnon through the kitchen and into the yard behind theinn, and a great fear came on me, for the yard was overhung with abush-covered precipice, and the long icicles glittering, and there wasonly the track round to the main road open. 

"We're trapped, Dan; we're trapped. "

"Trapped nane. Follow me, ye gomeril; there's a track up the broo, "whispered McKinnon, and swung himself among the lowest of the bushes, and we followed. 

"I ken the very branches to put my hand on, " says he, "and where everystane is, for many's the night I ran the cutter for the auld wives. "We were half-way up before Dan spoke. 

"I never kilt a man before, " says he in a low whisper. 

"Ye did weel for a beginner, " says that wild young sea-hawk. "Nobodywill be blaming ye for botching the work. " And as we struggled up hehissed a fierce sea oath at me, when my clumsier boot dislodged anicicle that tinkled like breaking glass in the yard below us. 

"On, man, on, " he whispered. "Ye'll need a' your start, for the gangwill hunt ye doon like a mad dog. "

"Fareweel, Hamish, " says Dan, and put his hand to mine on the cliffhead. "I'll harrow my ain ploughing. "

"Go on, man, go on, " I cried; "they're coming, " for lights wereflashing on the road, and loud voices raised. We had gained a barehalf-mile on the cliff face, for the road up was "round about, " andRonny was impatient. 

"Och, will ye wait for the hangman's rope?" in a fierce whisper belowhis breath. "There's a hidie-hole I ken, but little good it'll dae yewhen the hitch is on your thrapple. " And we started the long race tothe hills, picking out the patches behind the dykes where the groundwas bare. 

[1] Lag 'a bheithe=the hollow of the birch. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE BLAZING WHINS. 

McKinnon was first in that long race and I next to him, for Dan wouldnot let me out of his sight lest I should lag behind and get roughhandling, although indeed, except the gaugers would yelp questions atme which I might not find easy to answer, there was little I had tofear, but it was always in Dan's mind that he had the charge of me. The land was cultivated on a stey[1] face of maybe a half-mile beforethe hill common started, and over the common (where in the summer thecattle and hens were taken) the heather was patchy with bog hay, andshort crisp turf in places. It was this wrought land I feared most, for the snow was not swept in wreaths, leaving darker patches, but laylike a white napkin over the land, and a black object could be seenfrom a great distance. But there was a belting of beech-trees andScots firs marching two farms; and coorieing in sheuchs, where the icecrinkled in metallic splinters under our feet, we crawled to thebelting, and were able to stand upright again, at which I breathed asigh of relief, for my back had a pain like a band of hot iron with thelong bending. We scrambled among the trees, and lay a moment, forthere was a roughness of bushes and briars, and the snow had been blownoff the branches, so there was little likelihood of our being seen. Welay breathing hard and peering through the bushes for signs of pursuit(for the exciseman who cried the news at Finlay Stuart's, not knowinghis listener, would have roused his pack by this time), and that RobBeag was in their pay secretly there was now little doubt. It would beshort shrift for Dan if he were caught. Maybe two minutes we lay, andI could have counted every beat of my heart, as it rose with a greatthud against my chest, and I felt the blood throb in my head like aprisoner dashing against his cell. The noise of a fall of snow fromthe fir branches seemed loud as thunder, although we must have beenquiet enough, for I mind me of the rabbits loping from the burrowsdaintily, and sitting up very boldly, almost under reach of ashepherd's crook from me. 

"They will have taken roun' the road, " says Ronny; "they'll be on usbefore we see them if we lie here. "

On we went in single file in the belting. Briars swung back and cut meacross the face, branches tore at us in passing all unheeded, and oncemy leg, to the knee, sunk into a hole and threw me bodily; but I pulledmyself out, and was lame for six steps maybe, and forgot about it. When we were half-way to the hill common there came sharp and clearthrough the night the neigh of a horse. 

"The doited fules, " cries Ronny. "They've ta'en the horses to ride aman doon among the hills. "

"Let me once win the peat bink, " says Dan, "and I'll wander the devilhimsel'. " And from the ring in his voice I kent his dark mood hadpassed, and waited to see him take the lead; but no, he herded me frombehind, but cheerily now. We had crossed a high road, and entered thebelting of trees again, and along this road the gangers would come, andour spoor was written plain. 

"There will be the collieshangie when they see our marks in the snaw, but they'll founder their horses on the brae and ill-use time tae naepurpose, if just we get ower the common. "

From the high ground we could see the road for half a mile and thehunters in full cry, some on horseback and some afoot. 

"Horse and foot, " says Dan at my ear. "A grim chase, Hamish. I wishye had left me, lad. "

A terrible curse from Ronny made me think our flank was already turned. "The devil blast them. The whuns, I clean forgot the whuns, " and hecalled on the Almighty to blast and destroy every whin-bush that evergrew. 

Amidst the torrent of oaths that buzzed around me I remembered hearingof the whin planting. In these days keep for beasts was scarce, andthe crofters would be cutting green whins, and pounding them betweenflat stones and feeding cattle and horse with them. Indeed, to thisday you'll see the flat stone yet at many a byre-end, although it isnever used now except maybe to set a boyne on on washing days; but thepoor cow beasts were terribly fond of the whins, and they'll tell youyet, the old folks, that when they were herding in their young days, when the beasts got scattered, they would take a whin bush and light itto windward, and let the whin smoke drift down the wind, and the beastswould come running, for they liked the charred whins with the sap stillin the jags. Here and there they planted whins, for at one time theyhad to go all the way to the castle for them, and on one side thecommon was a great dense bank of them, thick as corn, and well grown. 

"They'll be round us like collies round a marrow bane, " said Ronny, andas he spoke there was a shout from the highroad, and Dan laughed. 

"This is where the kirn starts, " and looking over my shoulder as I ranI saw the horsemen spread out like a fan (on either side the belting)where we crossed the road, and the men on foot were on our heels. 

They knew of the bank of whins we must struggle through, and relied ontheir horses' speed to take them round the planting and catch us comingout while the men on foot harried our rear. It was 'twixt devil anddeep sea, and the smuggler cursed himself for leading us into the clovehitch. 

Between us and the whins was a burn with steep earthy banks, and toowide and deep to risk horses over. So the horsemen on our left madefor a slap[2] where a rough peat-track crossed the burn, but those onour right kept straight on, like the road to Imachar. At the lower endof the whins the burn was shallower and the banks low. 

We flung across the stream, carrying down an avalanche of loose earthand stones after us, and breenged into the maze of prickly bushes, winding through those that the snow had been blown off. But mostly thebushes were dry and bare of snow, and this indeed proved our safety. We were nearly through the clumps when the horsemen on our rightcrossed the burn with a great floundering and splashing, and those onour left came galloping over the peat-track, and the first horsemangalloped past us, so close that I heard the squeak of the saddleleather. We were crouched in a wee burn winding among the bushes; forthey grew strongly on either side, and left a little tunnel which onecould creep through without much hindrance, and as the riders drovetheir unwilling beasts among the whins we crawled upwards like cats. While the men on foot beat for us, and the horsemen kept wary eyes fora movement to betray us, we crept from the whins and crawled likeadders belly flat up the little stream, over which dry bracken stillhung and straggling whin bushes, like soldiers marching away from themain body. We had crawled maybe fifty yards, when McKinnon turned hisface to me, and the blood was drying on his cheeks and brow where thewhins had marked him. 

"Stop, " his lips only moved; and I stopped and turned to Dan, for hestill had the rear-guard. 

The burn had worn out a round hole under our bank, and we crawled inand lay there, and never, never will I forget the cold of that pool andthe streak of light above us, for we lay in a brook that a sheep couldwalk over, and indeed its very narrowness was our safety, for it surelyhad been watched else. And while we lay in the frozen cold of thepool, the water tinkled and gurgled and laughed, and went plout-ploutat my knees, as though it was a hot summer day and we were stooping todrink. 

"We must just lie here like rats, " whispered the smuggler, and I heldmy chin to stop the chattering of my teeth, "for this burn getsnarrower than a sheep drain. We must just steep in the water and thinkof the whisky. "

We could hear the swishing among the whins, and the shouts of therabble behind us, and the clatter of horses' hoofs on the shingle ofthe burn, and the splashing. 

"They're in there like rabbits in a patch of corn in the harvest, "cried one man. 

"By God, if I could only get that Ronny McKinnon under my bonny bluehanger, " said Gilchrist, the ganger that had the soft side for MirrenStuart. 

"One good prog wid pay for this night's daftness, " growled his leader, and again came Gilchrist's voice--

"Was I tae ken McKinnon was ootside Finlay Stuart's and a dozen o' yein the kitchen. "

"Umph, " sniffed Ronny, "it's the great company that gathers atFinlays, " and indeed Mirren Stuart saved many's the house at that time, for the gangers and excisemen went after her sisters, while old Finlaysmiled grimly, and Mirren got hold of the secrets. 

"If a man runnin' like that Gilchrist can blurt oot the news and keeprunnin', it's maistly truth, but if he stops and begins to walk, andtwist his mouth before he speaks, he's makin' lies, " said McKinnon, andturned himself in the water. 

The searchers were beginning to tire of beating. 

"Roast the devil oot. " "Ay, gie McBride a taste o' the fire. "

"I'm thanking God for a fool, " said Dan, "if the whins will just burn, but whins are dour revengefu' bushes. "

"Burn, " says Ronny--"burn; they'll hiv a bleeze ye'll see for twentymiles--we're bate, Dan. "

"Na, na, " says Dan. "Wait you, yonder's a twinkle, anither. Man, they'll mak' a bonny lowe, and waste a heap of good keep. "

Men were rushing hither and thither with flaming branches, and already, when the breeze freshened, you could hear the roar and crackle. Thegreat lilac flames leapt ten feet in the air, and the night rainedstars. The sparks fell above us like fire-flakes, and some came downand sizzled out in our pool. 

When the flames were roaring like a hurricane, Dan spoke softly--

"We'll go now. "

"Are ye daft?" said Ronny. 

"Ye don't ken the effect o' a fire like that, " said Dan. "A man mustlook at it, and see the lowes ploofin' into the sky, and the sparksfleein'. He canna help himsel'. The horses will be needing a lot o'handling too, and the men on the low side'll just hiv tae run taewinward or lie in the burn, for the heat o' whuns is terrible. They'lla' face the flames waitin' till we run oot like bleezin' deevils, andthey're sae sure that we will start every moment, they will not lifttheir eyes for fear they will be missing the sight o' us. "

"We must just risk it, " said I, "for I'm like to freeze here. "

Dan put his head out of our hole and crawled out, and I followed, andRonny last. We could feel the air warm, and the night was clear asday, and yet the searchers stood gazing at their fire as Dan had said. We crawled flat like snakes, keeping among dark patches as much as wecould, till we came to the turf dyke, and still our pursuers tended thefire. Slowly and softly we crossed into heather, and lay for a minute. Then, looking down across the common, Dan threw back his head andlaughed in his silent fashion. 

"We're among our ain heather now, Hamish, " says he. "In an hour we'llbe among the peat hags. I've a mind tae whistle them up. "

"I've lain long enough in the water, Dan, " said I. 

"Aweel, " says he, "we'll just make McAllan's Locker for it; eh, Ronny?"And again we started to run, zigzagging to the dark bits till wecrossed the first rise, and we stood looking back. The whins were allablaze and the trees in the belting standing out clear, and the littlefigures still running with the torches. 

[1] Steep. 

[2] Opening. 

CHAPTER XII. 

McALLAN'S LOCKER. 

Over the first rise of the hills was a long dreary waste--treeless, awesome, desolate. Whiles, as we ran, a curlew would rise, and itslong whirling cry rose in the night, filling the ears and leaving anemptiness afterwards in the silence, for things not canny to befilling. Once we startled a herd of red-deer feeding round the mossylips of a frozen pool, and away they galloped. One lordly stag wheeledwith antlers high, gazed at our flight, and vanished, leaving us inthat dreadful stillness, and a cold eerie wind whined and sighed overus. We spoke little, having no breath to spare, for the ground wasgrowing more steep and broken towards the second rise, up which weclambered, sliding and falling, grasping frozen heather till we reachedthe top. The hill was now a riddle of peat hags and binks, like abee's skep, a place of treachery and slimy death, although the frostwould have most of the sinking pools in its iron hand; but we neverstopped the long stride that seemed so slow to me at first. Dan bentand twisted through the peat banks like a hound on the trail. Here wasa place where folk had wrought, cutting their fuel for generations; andGod knows what memories were lurking here from the old days, whatghosts of love and hatred, what spirits of tears and laughter. Wouldthe race never end? My tongue, dry and swollen, stuck raspily againstthe roof of my mouth. Round my lips was a hot fire, for I had graspeda handful of snow and melted it in my mouth as I ran. We were past thepeat hags, and the ground fell away under our feet; the heather gotscantier and sprits more common, until we had descended, maybe, fivehundred feet into a wide valley with a level plain at its heart, withmany clumps of stunted birches and hardy firs. Here was the greatgrazing for young beasts in the summer, away here in the glen, but nowonly stillness and desolation. A wide burn rumbled and splashed on itsgravelly banks in front of us, and we could hear the deep noise of awaterfall. 

"Hold in to the fall, " cried McKinnon, and his voice was hoarse as araven's. 

"I ken this like the back o' my hand, " said Dan, and led us, with nevera break, to an easy crossing. 

And now we took the greatest care of our going, for a great hill rosebefore us steep, as it seemed to me, as the wall of a house, and thenall our care was made useless, for the snow began again. 

Slowly, blindly we clambered and spelled up the hillside, now numb withcold, now fiery hot, Dan always in the lead, and me groaning at hishurdie. 

"Keep a stout heart, Hamish; this is the last o't. "

We were now, as it were, on a ladder on the hill face, for there were asuccession of great holes like steps, on each of which three men couldstand--the giant's steps, the old folks called them. 

At the back of the step where we three lay was a grey rock, as thoughthe earth had been worn away, leaving the rock partly bare. As we layDan struck it three times with a stone about the size of aputting-ball, and a great low baying sounded, and my blood ran cold, and then the grey rock moved inch by inch, and I heard a great rift ofGaelic, and Dan went crawling like a snake through the hole, and myselfand McKinnon at his heels. 

"Welcome, hearty welcome; whatever drives ye sae fast. Welcome toMcAllan's Locker. "

"It's latish for ceilidhing, " said Dan. "I'm hoping me and my friendsare not putting ye out in any ways, but just a shakedown o' breckans isall we're asking, and thankful for it. "

"Better the bottom o' the locker than the end o' the cable. Sit yedoon and warm yourself. "

I was sore done wi' the long running, and lay on the rook floor with myhead on my arms, and I felt as a hound feels after a long chase, tillthe caveman answered Dan. At the first I thought his tongue had beenmalformed as he stood in the light, for a growling and grumbling camefrom his throat; and as he growled, from the darkness of the chamber agreat brindled dog stalked to his side and stretched his fore-paws, opened a mouth like a red pit, and whined with outstretched curlingtongue. 

"He would tear down a stag, him, " says Dan, nodding at the brute. Again came the growling rumbling from the stranger. 

"Hark tae him, Marr; hark tae him--a stag. Ho, ho, ho! He would teara man's throat oot at his first leap, " and man and dog rumbled andgrowled in devilish mirth. "Sing tae me, dog--sing, " and the man threwhis head up, and there came the long greeting howl of a dog baying themoon, and dog and man howled in unison, with swaying bodies and headsthrown upwards. 

"God, but the open hill's a bonny place, " said McKinnon, and a shiverwent over him. In this terrible place we lay the night--a great gloomyforbidding place in the belly of the hill. Shiver on shiver wentthrough me as I looked round me. The walls were rock, bare and dry, converging high up in the gloom; for there was just the peat fire and acruisie alight. Once, as though disturbed in its sleep, I heard arock-pigeon "rookatihoo coo-a" away above me in some cranny that mustopen on the hill face. The smoke curled up in a rude dry-stone chimneyfor about five or six feet against the rock, and the bulk of it stillascended in a column, although the chimney stopped, but a waving pallhung over the cave, swaying and undulating in long waves and streamers, and the air below was cool and fresh. There were great carvings on thewalls--warriors and ships, galleys and horses a-rearing, and on a flatstone projecting from the chimney, and serving as the brace ormantelpiece, were models of ships made from the breast-bones of birds, some quite large and others very small, and needing an infinite deal ofpatience. There were rough stools and a table, all of which must havebeen made inside the cave, and, indeed, the bark was dry and brittle onthe legs. Great bundles of heather, fashioned like narrow beds, layalong the wall in the firelight, and like a dark unwinking eye thelight glimmered on a pool. There were square steps cut in the rockdown to the pool, which was shaped like a horn spoon with the handlecut off short, and the water entering it from a crack in the rock, noiselessly as oil, trickled silently away in a little sloping gutterto the back of the cavern. Who first discovered the cavern I neverknew, but by the fire lay, twisted and blackened, the hilt and half ofa sword, and in a corner a black and rust-pitted breastplate. The backpart of the cave narrowed, and through a passage the Nameless Manpassed to bring us meat and drink. Have you walked on a bare moor roadin the pit mirk wi' a drizzle of soft mist in a silence you could hear?Have you felt the fear coming over you, like a cold hand on your heart, when ye knew that a thing gibbered and mouthed at your side? Well, thethought o' that man, the Nameless Man, brings fear to me in a lightedroom. 

For he was a dead white man, his hair, lank and white, hung round hisshoulders, his beard was slimy and soft as a white hare's, face andhands cold, dead white, and his features were frozen. 

No trace of any feeling showed on his face. His voice and his laughterrumbled from his throat, leaving his face unchanged, only his pupilswaxed and waned like a cat's in the dark. He was covered with apatchwork of skins and tatters of cloth, and as he set meat before us, venison, it came to me that he must hunt his food in the dark, alwaysin the dark. That cold whiteness was not of the good God's sunlight. As we ate, Dan told him some of our story, and the Nameless Man sat, ahandful of his beard in his hand, his elbow on the table, and his eyesgrowing and fading. 

"I'm sair feart I left him deid, " said Dan. "If they come for us, dog, when we're lying at the still and the good water turnin' to finewhisky--and the good nice water, trickling and dripping through therocks for a hundred years--if they creep upon us, dog, what will we bedoing, you and me, Marr? Ho--ho--ho! killing them, eh? Leaving theirbones wi' the white bones away in there--the old, old bones, " and dogand man made a howling of laughter. I knew then that this was thewatcher of a smugglers' still; for let the gang o' Preventives do theirworst, whisky would still be made in the hills. 

It came to me then why the folk would be leaving peats for the weefolks, as they said, when they would be taking down the creels from thehills; for the Nameless Man threw more on the fire from some hiddenstore, likely nearer his worm, when we had finished eating. The greatdog lay at the rock by which we entered, and I saw that the stone wasswung on a balance; but if there was a way to open from the outside Inever knew till long after. McKinnon and Dan lay talking, but I wassilent for the most part, thinking of the sword and the armour, and ofthe people who fashioned the well, and wondering about the old, oldbones away through the dark passage into the heart of the hill. Thefar, far-away stories were in my mind of Finn and his warriors, of hisgreat dogs and his queens. Did Ossian the bard tune his harp to greatdeeds, and to lovely women of the land of the Ever Young, in the caveof the past? Into my musings--for sleep had nearly come over me--brokethe voice of the Nameless Man. 

"I gave her to drink of the foamy milk--warm, and the bubbles of frothin it. 'Drink, my lost lass, ' said I, 'for ye loved me well once, ' andall the time I would be telling her that death was coming with thewhite milk. And she took up the fine nice milk and drank, because shehad loved me well once, she that loved me yet but feared--the coward, the soft, soft, white coward that would lie on another man's heartafter I had keeled her for myself. Ay, she took up the milk and drank, and I took my ways, and they came running to Glen Darruach to tell meshe had died. 

"Oh, oh! the dark, the dark, and never more the sun shining on thebonny blooms of dark Darruach, never mair the white lambs running, andthe gleam on the wing of the moorcock. 

"Ay, they would be for the killing of me, and I lay among the rafters, under the thatch of my mother's house, and listened to them miscallingme, the black killer--the bloody man that had the black art and theevil eye; and it came over my heart to catch them by the hair, and pullthem up to me as they were speaking, and let my black knife kiss theirhearts. It was all red, red before me, up there under the thatch, andthem down below, and my sisters shaking when they saw me watching downin the dark. It's droll, droll--because a soft white coward died--theywould kill me, me that would kill a man when I drew my dirk--ho, ho, ho!

"I lay hid among the rocks above the Herring Slap, alane day and night, and the blue rockdoos left their nestlings and circled above my lair, till I was feart that folk wid see them, and come peering down and getme. But a herrin' skiff took me away from that place in the dark ofthe night, and I drifted to the warm South Seas and the darkling womenand the white glistening houses; but she came with me, she that haddied. I would be seeing her rising before the bows o' the ship, risingfrom the sea, and waving on me to follow, and the weather was worse andworse at her every coming. An' there was a man o' the Western Isles inthe crew, and he had the sight, and would be telling o' the womanrising from the sea, and her hair blowing over the yeast o' the waves, and her eyes staring, staring, and the waving of her hand when I was atthe tiller; and so bad the weather got, and the sickness among thecrew, that the captain swore he would send the woman's man to her, andhe lay aft in his cabin, and drank rum till his boy was feart toventure near him; and then he came on deck--a fine wild man, all in hisfinery o' lace and golden earrings, and he called his sailors aft tomake choice of the woman's man. There was many there that would havebeen making choice of me, but my hand was quick on the dirk, and no manspoke above a whisper, and then I looked over the bows, and I would beseeing her coming, and the man of the Western Isles cried out in hisfear--

"'She's wavin', she's wavin', Chrisht's mercy. ' He was pointing to thegrey seas, and the froth was on his lips. 

"And as he was standing gazing I creeped round behind him like a cat, so quiet, and I had my arms round him before his eyes were winking. 

"'Go to your wet love, ' I cried, and I flung him over the rail by thepoop, and the captain was at the laughing. 

"'The curse is lifted, my lads, ' he roared. 'Crowd the sail on her. Heigh-ho for the North and the gay adventures!' But after that therewere two to be watching in the darkness when I took the tiller--ay, andI crawled from the sea at last, and came to the hills again--in thedark. 

"Oh, the dark, the dark, and never mair the sun shining on the heatherhowes of dark Glen Darruach. " As we lay on the heather beds theNameless Man wandered through the cave, and the booming of his voicerumbled in the heart of the hill, as he wandered through unknowngalleries in the dark. The day came at last, and I saw a wee shaft oflight filter down some way on the cavern walls, but we could only liestill till the dusk would come again, and we might make our way amongthe hills, for after our sleeping Dan and Ronny and me had a greatconfab. 

"I canna lie here like a rat in a hole a' my days, " said Dan. 

"Ye'll never sleep sound till there's many a mile o' blue sea betweenyou and Dol Beag's hunters, " said I. "If we could pass the word for askiff. . . . "

"We're daft, we're clean daft, " cried Ronny. "McGilp is lying at thenorth end, standing off and on. If we can just make Loch Ranza, ye'resafe. "

"Ay, " said Dan. "I'm thinking it's the Low Country now for me, Hamish. Whatever money is due me, ye'll leave wi' McGilp, and he'll find a wayfor sending it on. I'm sair sweirt tae part frae my bonny horses foryon mauk's sake. . . . And there's the bonny spaewife, Hamish; ifanything comes wrong tae that lass I'll be relying on you. " And thenfor a long time he sat brooding at the fire. 

In the afternoon a change came over the Nameless Man. He crawled onhis knees about the cave, whining and howling like a beast. He glaredat the black pool, and pointed. 

"She's there in the water. " And then with a yell to the dog, "Had her, Marr; tear her sinery; rive her sinery, good Marr. " And he hissed thehound on to his vision, and the dog, frenzied at his crying, breengedinto the pool, and the man whined with joy, and caressed the soakingcoat. Later on in the day, after we had had a meal, he sat at thepassage-way and eyed us, and the dog girned and showed his teeth. 

"They'll no come creepin' into the dim places where the queer thingsare hidden, no--spying and spying. " And when we paid no heed to hisravings, except that we kept the fire bright and had armed ourselves, he lay down and slept across the passage-way, his head on the hound'sflank. At every movement of our bodies the growling rumbled to ourears, and the bristles rose on the dog's back. But when it was nearlydark the sleeper wakened, and we left the dreadful place calledMcAllan's Locker, and took to the hills again. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

DAN McBRIDE SAILS FROM LOCH RANZA. 

For a while we lay silent on the giant's step of McAllan's Locker, andI felt my spirits lighten to be outside of that place. The hills weresilent, but from the cave came a baying and growling of dog and man, atfirst as from a distance, and growing louder and louder, as though theNameless Man and his grim hound ranged through the unknown caverns. Wethree sprauchled upwards, for we had no relish to meet these two, andas we neared the rise of the hill the baying filled the night, andsuddenly the great hound bounded down the hillside with great twistingleaps, and at his heels the wild figure of his master followed. In thevalley they played like gambolling puppies, rushing at one another andwrestling, with whiles the brute worrying the man playfully, and whilesthe man kneeling on the dog; then away they would dash separately, wheeling and leaping and rubbing their flanks in the snow. For a longtime the game went on, and then the players slunk closer, the shaggyheads thrust skywards, and the long whining cry rose on the night; thenaway they ranged, running flank to flank through the peat hags and overthe rise of the hill we had crossed the night before. 

"He'll be a bold man that shepherds these hills in the lambing, " saidDan. 

All through this night we held our course a little to the west of thepole-star, though McKinnon and Dan had travelled the way before. Wewere now in the middle of the great barren range, frowning mountainsmenaced our path, and burns rumbled in the darkness; and when Dan spokehis voice was thick with anger--

"I lifted a snipe o' a man, and I flung him the back of the fire. Whatis there in that to be running from?

"If the man has freens, I'll meet them a' wherever they like; but thisrunning sticks in my gizzard. It's just ain brother tae caul' fear, "and we marched on in grim silence. 

On the mountains my feet were almost without feeling at all with thecold, and my clothes sticking to my shoulders with sweat; and on thelast of the hills McKinnon clapped like a startled hare. 

"Look at yon, " he whispered; "they're to win'ward o' us after a'. "

Far below us a little light flickered and blinked on the hillside, andwe watched it, hardly breathing, and again I heard my heart begin topound. 

After some wee while of watching, Dan grunted--

"Umph!" says he. "Ye see droll things in the hills when ye're rinnin'for dear life. Yon's just Tchonie Handy Ishable and his lantern. "

"I never would be believing that story, " said Ronny. 

"Man, if I had the time I would get his secret this night, " says Dan. "Ye see, Hamish, yon's an old man down yonder, and they'll be saying hepays the Duke's rent in the big money. They've the story of how hefound a hoard o' it among the hills; and it's likely enough, for many'sthe bold stark lad took to the Southern Seas from these glens. Och, an' I ken folk mysel' that found an iron pot o' doubloons in the peatbink; but aul' Tchonie, he just takes what he will be needin', and hetakes it at night when the folks are abed. They used to be followinghim, but he was skilly among the rocks, and they would maybe come onhis lantern sitting lighted, and once they found a dagger stuck at theentrance to a cave to keep the wee folk from shuttin' it when a man wasinside; but they were never able to get the secret, for Tchonie HandyIshable would be sittin' over his peat fire when the lads came back inthe mornin'. "

At the screich o' day we came from Glen Chalmadale into the thatchedvillage of Loch Ranza. At a house some way back from the othersMcKinnon stopped us. 

"The man that lives here is a farmer and a fisherman, " said he, "and avery po-lite man in his taalk moreover, for I know him well, " and hemimicked the Loch Ranza speech, which, indeed, is very proper speech, and I was very startled at one time to hear the very weans with thepolite way of it. 

"Ye will be havin' the dogs on us, " says Dan in a low voice; "andthere's folks here that are unfreens o' mine. "

"Alaister Jock has weans enough to do without the dogs, " says Ronny, "for dogs are unchancy beasts in the smuggling nights, and Alaisterhimsel' will be always up wi' the drake's dridd. "

In a little time Ronny came back to us, and we made our way intoAlastair's house, a place where a grown man could stand broad-soled onthe clay floor and touch the rafters of the roof with the flat of hispalms. The peat fire was smouldering on the floor, and the reek madeits way out at the rigging. Alastair himself, a tall stooped man witha red beard and a thin beak of a nose, brought peats and threw them onthe fire. 

"There was one came for you in the night yesterday, " says he to Dan inhis very proper polite way. "I would not be having her in my house atall, for I am a reeleegious man with a family to rear before the Lord. I put her into the byre with the kye, for she is of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage; and my wife sprinkled a little meal and a littlesaut over the rumps of the kye to keep away her spells, for we mustmeet spell with spell--not that I will be believing in these evil-doersof the Black Art. "

"Och, I kent, I kent, " cried Dan, long before Alastair had done withhis speaking, and disappeared through a door which gave me a glimpse ofa cow's head looking over its biss, and it struck me that the byre wasthe handy place to get at in Loch Ranza. Ronny and Alastair werethrang at the talking, with the farmer laying off with his hands, andwagging his head like a minister in the pulpit, and all in a voice soraised in tone that I believed from hearing him what our folks say, that when two farmers are ploughing at the north end they can talkcomfortably across three fields, and they are great at the handling oftheir skiffs and bold sailors. I heard Dan--

"Och, my lass, my ain lass; it went sair against my heart to be leavingwithout seein' you at all. "

I heard her brave voice with a crooning quiver like a mother's. 

"I ran, I ran all the long road, for I kent it all from the first o'it, " and in the dimness of the byre I could see these two clinging toeach other. 

"Is it the sight[1] ye think ye have now, my droll dark lass?" saysDan, looking down at her, one arm holding her away from him and thegreat love in his eyes. 

"There's whiles I come near to hating you when you will be talking likethat, " said the swarthy girl. "Mirren Stuart brought me word. "

"You'll be glad to be rid o' me then. You'll be forgetting me soon, "and the man let his arm drop from her shoulders, and the coldintolerant pride of his voice stung like a whip-lash, for he nevercould thole that the woman he loved could even have a thought differentfrom his own, let alone a love-hatred. 

I expected a proud heart-breaking lie from the sombre beauty, but forall his answer she crept close, and clung to him with both hands, andhid her face on his breast; then holding him at the stretch of her armsshe raised her head, and looked Dan in his eyes. 

"Oh, man, " she cried, "I have that that will keep me in mind o' ye, shameless, shameless that I am, " and two great tears rose in her eyes, the first tears I ever saw there, but Dan lifted her in his arms like ababy. 

"Was ever there such a mother for a bold man's son, " I heard him cry ina voice of love and pride and laughter. 

In Alastair's kitchen the thought came to me then what will the son ofthese two be--the father strong as a mountain ash, and with the cruelarrogant pride of a long-bred race behind him, his own will his onlylaw, and the queer twist of tenderness for old stories and old songsand his love for all nature--a stark man, who would reach out and takewhat he desired; and the mother fiercely tender, wildly, passionatelyloving her chosen man, all the dark East in her black eyes, all thedeadly South in her blazing angers--a graceful, hard, blue steel bladeof Damascus, with jewel-encrusted hilt and sheath of velvet. What wasthe son of these to be?

Alastair slipped out quietly, and Ronny and me sat at the fireside. 

"We'll manage, " said McKinnon, "for the gomerils have let us slip attheir bonfire and lost us. The goodman here is McGilp's man, and hisskiff's ready, and the _Gull_ will be close in behind the point at highwater. It will just be good-bye to Dan McBride wi' the turn o' thetide. "

"But how can this godly man be a smuggler?" said I, more to make talkthan anything else. 

"Godly men must live like ither folk, " said Ronny. 

For a while we sat there till Dan and Belle joined us, and the lasscould not be letting go of her man, the brave proud lass. I watchedher hand quivering in his great brown one, and her eyes following hisevery change of look, and her face was all sorrow. I came near tohating Dan McBride too. 

In the grey of the morning we made our way stealthily to the shore bythe point. 

Dan and the gipsy stood some way from us, on the cold dark shore head, and I think we had all a lowness of spirits, for that place is more sadand mournful than any place I have ever seen. 

"You'll set McCurdy's hut to rights for my dark wife, " said Dan to me, "and let it be her own place, and the money that is lying with myuncle, you'll be giving her when she needs it, " and there he went on, keeping up her heart with his talk, and his eyes were straininglongingly to the loom of hills in the dimness, like a man sayingfarewell, and I think the gangers and Dol Beag were clean forgot. 

There came to our ears the low swish-sch of a boat gliding andslithering over wrack, and the beating of wings in the air as thesea-birds left the beach, and Alastair's boat grated on the gravel ofthe shore. 

"Will ye no' come wi' me, my dear, " cried Dan to the lass as she clungto him, and I had a twinge of jealousy that I was all forgot. 

"Oh, fain, fain wid I be to travel wi' ye, my man, the cool long roadsand the waving green meadows; but oh! ye hivna the nature o' myfolk--there will be the great battles calling ye, and I would be tryingto keep ye beside me, till ye grew weary o' me. But you will rememberalways and always in your wanderings you will never be thinking of me, but just that I will be loving you somewhere, " and with a great cry, "Have I no' loved ye--can I ever be forgetting ye?"

When Dan would have taken her to his heart, she sprang away, her eyesblazing. 

"Do not be petting me, " she cries. "I am not a bairn to be quieted. Tell me ye love me--I want my ain fierce lover that wid make me kneelto him because he loved me--the love in his eyes and the strength o'his hands, --oh, I have loved a man. " And then the man answered, andshe saw the sorrow of parting in his face. 

"My ain brave lass" . . . And at his words she came to him--"I will bewaiting for you all the long days, for I will be with you again; butoh! it were better for all that ye never set your boot on these shores, for then the storm-clouds will gather, and the lightning will leap inthe scarred mountains--my love, my love; but my heart cannot be braveenough to forbid you to come back to me. " And for an instant the wildfierce woman clung to her lover, then fled from the shore. Dan steppedinto the waiting boat in silence, his head on his breast, and a wordfrom McKinnon or me, I think, would have kept him; but we said ourfarewells, and Alastair set to the sculling, and we watched thereceding boat from the shore head until she drew close to the_Seagull_, and we saw Dan climb on board, and the skiff returning. 

As we walked back to Alastair's, we saw Belle standing on a ridge ofhigh ground, with the morning light behind her--dark against the light, and her eyes straining to the sea; and as we came closer I spoke, thinking to take her away from her sorrow, but her dark eyes remainedfixed on the schooner, as though she had never heard me. There was alittle mist hanging over the sea. 

We sat down to a meal of salted herrings in Alastair's kitchen, theweans round us still sleepy and barefooted, and with tousled red locks, which they flung from their eyes with a gesture very like a spiritedHielan' pony tossing its mane; and when I looked from the dooragain--which I was glad enough to do, for the reek was a little nippyto my eyes--as I looked from the door I saw Belle returning, and withher no other than Robin McKelvie of the Quay Inn. There was no sign ofthe _Seagull_, for a fog had come down on the firth, and even themelancholy pleasure of seeing Dan's ship again was taken from me. 

McKelvie stood at the door, and his face was red with running, andstreaked with white in places with fatigue. 

"My father thought ye would make for this place. Rob Beag's no' dead, "he said; "the devil has more for him to do yet. "

[1] Second sight. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

WE RETURN. 

We made the great to-do in Alastair's kitchen between the exceedinggladness of the news and the foolishness of our flight, and Alastairhimself was rowing in the fog after the _Gull_--only Belle said noword, but went quietly behind a rick of peats close to the house, andI, following her in my slow useless way, came on her suddenly, her armsoutstretched to the empty sea, and such a look of anguish on her facethat I was silent. No words at all came from her, but her bosom roseand fell as she battled with her sorrow. 

"The man's not deid, " said I, for I felt that was the great news, butlittle did I know the woman. 

"Dead, " she cries--"dead, " and laughed. "Would that dog's death havebrought a tear to my eyes. Hamish, Hamish, I have lost my man. "

And wondrous fierce and beautiful she was as I left her. 

We made our way back by the drove road, Ronny McKinnon and me, and wewere silent for the most part, for there was that in my throat to keepme from speaking, for Dan was gone, and no rowing would get him back, and who could get word to him. 

There was the whiteness and stillness of snow over everything, and Imind me how my mind would cling to wee things, like the footprints ofrabbits, and the wee bits of grey fur here and there, and the flight ofcushies in the trees, to come back with a start to the _Gull_ away outin the Firth, and Dan on board of her. 

Silently we ate our bannocks at a little burn under some stunted treesand close to the shore, and wearily trailed on; and just at thedarkness I made out the lights of the big house, and came into thekitchen, where Ronald McKinnon had a meal. He took away over the hillfor his mother's house then, as he said, but I'm thinking maybe MirrenStuart would have another way of it, and at his going I went to thatgrim man, the Laird. 

He was with his back to a red fire of peats, and looked dourly at me. 

"What new devilry is this?" says he, and bit his lip. "Here are womenand men gane gyte wi' the tellin' o' death and murder--and where is DanMcBride?"

"There is nae murder that I ken, " said I, "and the hogs are doingfinely. "

I believe the man had clean forgot about the sheep. 

"Hogs, " quo' he; "deil tak' the braxy beasts. Sir, where is DanMcBride?" and at that I told him. 

"And there's more yet, " said I, for I had passed my word. "There'smore to tell yet. "

"Ay, " said he, "there will be. Well, tell on. "

And I told him of Belle and the old hut. He was not so veryill-pleased. 

"See that the woman has what she will be needing, " said he--"a cow andsuch-like, Hamish, and peats and gear and plenishings. Poor lass, poorlass. Hech, sirs, this will no' make bonny tellin' to the mistress. The mistress will no' be pleased wi' this--she'll be in need o' sillertoo. "

 * * * * * *

So it was on the first good day, with the sun red through a frostyhaze, and the snow melted for the most part, we yoked the horses to thecreels, and took gear and plenishing and peats to McCurdy's hut away inthe hills over beyond the peat hags, and it was a weary cow beast thattrailed behind, tied to the spars. 

When we came over the last rise and stood to breathe the horses, I sawBelle at her door, shading her eyes under her flattened palms from therays of the sun, and watching for us; and the horses looked in wonderto see a house so far among the hills, and tossed their ropy manes. 

Man, they were the great little horses we had these days, with littleheads such as I have seen in the paintings of Arab steeds, and an alerteager look to them, broad forehead, and soft neat muzzle. Closecoupled they were, with a great girth, broad chest and slopingshoulders, and legs like iron. But it was the pride and the strengthof them I never tired of, and it may be there was truth in the talk ofthe old folk, that the Hielan' horse was come off Spanish or Moorishhorses of the Armada. But none could tell me if these Arab horseswould be having the silver tail and mane of our little horses. And asI stood looking, I thought me it was a dreary wild place for a lass tobe living her lane, with the muirfowl for company and the great geeseflying north in the spring, and the bleating of sheep in the mist. 

So all that winter I worked by the cottage; on the dry days thatchingand building, keeping a little horse to take me over the peat road inthe gloaming. 

In the mornings I would be at it with mattock and spade delving hard atthe founds, and I had the great days sliping stones. Indeed, I becameso strong and proud of myself that you will see to this day on thathillside the dents I struck on great boulders, that now I would besweir to move. I had with me an old man from the Lowlands, very goodat the building of dry-stone dykes, a knowledgeable man in many ways, but especially in trees and gardens and such-like. The byre we builtwas not very big, and very dark, but it was cosy, too, under thecrooked joists, and covered with heather scraws and thatch. In theloft I put flat boards across the joists, and made a square hole in thedoorway, and brought hens and cocks to be making the place morehomelike. 

All this was on my uncle's hill land, but I had my way of it, andjaloused maybe that the mistress was putting in her good word, for shehad aye a soft side for young Dan. When I told him about breaking infrom the moor, he hummed and hawed and gloomed at me. "This will meanthe less sheep, " says he. 

"There's a wean coming, " said I, and felt the blood rise in my face tobe saying it. "Has he to be put in the heather, and die maybe in asheuch like a braxy ewe. "

"Tut, " says he, his colour rising a bit; "these are no words to be inthe mouth of a boy, " but I kent I had him on the soft side. "A manmust be dacent to his ain blood, " said he, and that was the last of it. 

So we had the great days at the burning of heather, and when I would berunning with a kindling here and there, and watching the lowes lickinto the dry scrog with a hiss before the breeze, I would be thinkingmuch of Dan and Ronny McKinnon and me in the blazing whins, and thegangers and excisemen and riff-raff of that kidney hallooing round us. Belle loved this burning and the very fierceness of the flames, withthe eerie gloaming falling, and she would not be heeding the cries ofOld Betty (for Betty was much with her these days for company) to bekeeping indoors. 

"Hamish, " she would say, coming close to me in the ruddy light, and thedark cheeks of her glowing and her eyes flashing--"Hamish, I have thatin the heart of me. " And as she stood thus pointing to the fires, alllit up and wild and beautiful, I thought there must surely have beenaway back in her story a priestess who tended fires in some far Easternland. 

Well, well, it's fine to be thinking back on these far-off days, andthe work we made at the dyke-building round the first park, and how wegathered the lying stones and rousted out the deeper-set ones; and thedyker made all grist that came to his mill, for he would split upconsiderable boulders with great exactness and skill, a feat that nevercame easily to me. Then there were the stone drains to be making, andthe great talking about the run of the water, and the lie of the land, and the niceness with which we laid those drains! They were all joysto me. I dreamed green meadows and well-kept dykes and good beasts. 

And then the ploughing--a sair job ploughing heather roots--and thefurrows I drew would have brought the laughing to Dan McBride; but thesoil was not so black, but where the rabbits had burrowed there wasgood green grass among the red scrapings. The sowing and the harrowingwere the easy job after that, and I mind me how I leaned on that dykeand gazed on the first three acres won out of the hill, when the greenbreard was showing, as a man might gaze on his first-born son. Inthese night trakings in the hills I learned the shape of every stuntedbush and tree, and the place of every rock on either hand, and many'sthe droll ploy I came into. Ye'll still see the track yet down fromthe peat hags like a scar on the hillside, but the stories of the roadare lost in the swirling mists, and carried away in the winter gales. 

There was a burn running over the road down from the little loch withthe green rush islands, where the sea-birds build, and the staghornmoss is boot-deep, and in that little plouting burn there was grandwater to be making the whisky. And in the gloaming have I seen alonely man with his dog at heel, hurrying by the burn-side, through thebare birch trees, and disappearing to his night watch in some cunningplace on the hillside. And once at the place where there is now alittle holly-tree, gnarled and full of years, I met the limber ladswith the kegs on their backs, and carrying the worm and all the gearfor the whisky-making. And we buried everything in the peat hags belowthe three hills, for the excisemen were close on us, and there theylie, kegs and stoups, to this day; and would not the whisky be fine tobe drinking now, but maybe a little peaty. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE STRANGER ON THE MOORS. 

It would be well on into May, for the men were thrang with work, andthe lassies at the big house haining a bit of bannock to be puttingunder their pillows for fear of hearing the cuckoo, when first I heardthe strange whistling. It is not a very lucky thing to be hearing thecuckoo and you wanting food, and I think this is just a haver of theold folk to be making the young ones rise early on the fine clearmornings; but many's the first bite I ken was taken from below thepillows, and the cuckoo crying like all that. 

There was a thick bit of a wood behind the stackyard at the big house, and as I lay listening to the sounds of the early morning there cameoften of late this clear melody, not loud but sweet and thrilling, as Ihad heard Ronny McKinnon whistle and Dan too, and the words of thattune are not to be talked about; but when I went quietly to theplanting one morning there was only the little moving of birds in thegreyness of the morning and the stillness of the wood. 

I came back to the kitchen and rummaged the aumary for something to beeating, and made my way to the stable and put a feed before my beast, and watched him hard at it and the other beasts stamping and rattlingat their chains in their impatience. 

We were on the hill road before the sun, for there was the matter of acalf to be seeing to, and it was fine to be alone in the fresh day withthe dew still heavy on the green grass and wetting the horse to thefetlocks; and the sun was coming up in the East, and here and there thecurl of blue smoke rising up from far-out clachans. I would maybe beon the other side of the black hill and going finely, and relishing thegreen of the new growth, when there came to me that sweet whistlingagain, and cooried by the roadside beside a grey stone I saw a mansitting. He was the droll figure of a man, with outlandish garb andwee gold earrings. His teeth showed white as milk against his swarthyface, and he had many colours about him, at his throat and his waist, and useless tatters and tassels, but withal he had the proud bearing ofmountain folk, and level black brows. 

Abreast of him we came and he bended low, but with such grace and somuch dignity that it were as though he were a king receiving a vassal. 

"Have you the Gaelic?" said I in the old tongue. 

"Cha nail, cha nail, cha nail, " cried he, so quickly and with suchgestures of his hands that I was startled. 

"Geelp, " said he--"Geelp. "

"Are you McGilp's man?" said I. 

"Man, yass, " says he, and all his body would seem to be very glad; andthen I questioned him of his whistling, and got his story from him. 

By his way of it, he had been a camp-follower or servant to ahorse-soldier in the Low Countries, which was maybe true, for I willnot be denying these wandering folk have the way of horse, and he madea play of himself to be showing how he was beaten often with thestirrup-leather. Some time in his wanderings in the Low Countries hefell in with "les Ecossais, " and he was at the play-acting again withhis hands to be describing the Scotch soldiers, and then from somepouch or hidie-hole about his outlandish garb he brought Dan's letter. 

At that I sat on the roadside, and the Eastern man, with the rein loosein his hand, crouched on his hunkers before me like an image. 

There was much of sadness in that letter, and much of Belle the gipsylass, and of many wanderings from France to the Low Countries, "Hamish, man, I'm minding the very stanes in the hill dykes and thetrack o' the sheep on the hillside. " Why he had been kind to theEgyptian he told me. "Ye'll ken fine, Hamish, for what lass'ssake, "--and sent him into France with a Scotch soldier he kent, returning there, with directions to wait at the little town on thecoast where McGilp would whiles be, and "bring you this word o' me anda wheen things for Belle. " He was asking me to see McGilp too. Thelast of it was like Dan. "I'm thinking, Hamish, if the houris in hisparadise kenned the words o' the spring I've been deaving him wi', theEgyptian would be very greatly thought of. "

When I was by with the reading of Dan's news, "Ye'll have anotherletter, " said I, making signs at the pagan. 

"Yass, " and at that he put it in my hands. It was for Belle. 

We got on the road again, the pony trotting now and the messengerrunning easily, one brown hand at the stirrup-leather, and very manytimes he would be saying "Geelp, " till it came on me that McGilp wouldbe wishing to be seeing me at once. 

At Belle's cottage door I dismounted, and with the clatter of the horsethere came old Betty, with that queer look on her face of disdain andmystery, and just itching to be at the talking. 

"_The wean's hame_, " said she, and slammed the door with a last nod ofher old head and her lips pursed up; and then there came the snufflingill-natured greeting of a wean that made me grue as I made my way tothe byre, for till then my mind had clean forgot the calf I was to beseeing that day. 

In the byre we sat, the heathen and me--for we were but simple men inthis affair--and the byre was a dark place to be sitting, and in awhile old Betty came, havering at hens and talking to herself. As shecame and stood in the doorway and looked closely within, with her backbent and her hand on the lintel, her eyes fell on the messenger, andshe let a great cry from her in the Gaelic. To be putting it inEnglish is not so good, but it would be like this, "What dost thourequire of me, father of devils?" and she fell on her knees. Well, well, I can laugh at that sight yet. But she "came to" in a little, and took me into the sunlight, and said the gipsy lass would be seeingme for a little time; and I was taken to Belle's sleeping-place, andher arm was round her wean, and she was lying on her back, and herblack hair a little damp curling on the pillow. 

"You have been very good, " said she. "My man, your kinsman, will beowing you thanks. " And at that her eyes suffused, and two great tearsgathered and glittered, and she smiled up to me, and I gave her theletter and turned away. 

In a long while she cried, proud and piteous--

"Bring me the messenger; he will have his father's gift for my son. "And the lilt of joy in her voice made me think shame to be a man atall. Silently the messenger came, his eyes on the ground, and kneeled, and at that they were at it in their own Gaelic, and Belle raised thewean a little, and I saw his face wrinkled and red, and his bluestaring eyes. And the man laid a long blue blade across the bed, andthe little groping fingers of the child fluttered a moment, and thenclosed on the hilt, and when I lifted the gleaming snake-like sword, from the hilt scroll with a tinkling fell a ring, and it fell on thebosom of the mother--and she lay and smiled. 

 * * * * * *

But I made a safe place for that sword and scabbard (for the messengergave that last into my hands), and for many nights in my dreams thelittle dimpled hand fluttered and closed on the hilt. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

I HAVE SOME TALK WITH McGILP IN McKINNON'S KITCHEN. 

In the gloaming I left the sheiling, and took my way through the hill, as we say, for McKinnon's house by the glen on the road to Birrican, and the first of that road is just plain guessing, but after, maybe, amile there rises up the Mulloch Mhor, the big peak of the Island, andwith that, a little to a man's left hand, the road to the sea is easy. There is a road crossing that way that you'll still see running inthrough the Planting above the Letter, and through by the LittleClearing, and joining the road to the castle. 

To the left of me I could hear the kye at the Bothanairidh, where therewas a common grazing, for by this time it was well to have the beastsaway from the steadings, because there was no great fencing in thesedays, and the weans would be put to the herding, out on the hillside. You'll see yet the wee turf byres where the kye were milked, and thefounds of the bochans where the old folk had their summer, with thehens and beasts about them. And many's the story I could be tellingabout these summer quarters when the lassies and old wives would be atthe spinning. 

All the glen on the right of me was a McBride place, but you will notget that name there any more now, and nothing belonging to them but thetrees, old and straggling, that they would be planting long ago, andthe furs on the side of the hill where they had rigs about, andlazy-beds. 

There were not many houses on the shore in these days, except maybe ata place they would be calling Clamperton, not very far from McKelvie'sInn. 

Ronny was the pleased man to welcome me to his house, and Mirren, hiswife, was at her best to be showing what a thrifty goodwife she wasmaking, and she was very kind, and spoke good words to me; so, thinksI, Ronny will have been telling her about the talk we had yon day onthe Isle. 

"They will be saying, " says Mirren, "that yon dark lass has her troublepast her. "

"I am hoping that, " said I, and looked at Ronny's mother sitting verybright and perky by the fire, with a clean white mutch on her head andthe strings not tied. 

"It is goot, " says she, "to have a boy whatever--a boy iss a goodthing, no matter which way he will be got, " and she ended her littletalk with a very brisk demand. "Gif me a dram, Mirren; yes"--and thatset us to the laughing, for the young wife was setting the drink beforeus and not making signs of giving the old one any. 

We sat down to a meal of roasted fowl, very tasty, and a very good dropof spirits to it, and I would be laughing inside of myself because ofthe boldness of McKinnon to be praising his wife's cooking before hisain mother, and Mirren was greatly pleased too; indeed, many's the timeI will be thinking that the road to a quiet lass's heart will be topraise her cooking. When we had made an end of the eating I gaveMcKinnon the story of the stranger that came whistling at uncannyhours, and asked him where I would be like to find McGilp, for itappeared the man wanted speech with me. 

"You are on the right tack, " says he, "for I am waiting for his hand onthe sneck any time this two hours past, " and the dishes were hardlycleared away when the smuggler bent his head to be coming in the door, for in these days there were no locks in the Isle of the Peaks. 

There came in with the man a kind of waft of the sea as he threw offhis great-coat and clattered his cutlass in a corner--a fine figure ofa man, towering up to the rafters, and his voice held in as though itwould be more comfortable to hurl an order in the teeth of a gale. 

"Ha!" says he, looking from McKinnon to his wife; "she has brought youto port finely. " But he was mightily complimentary, and gave many goodwishes with his glass in his great hand. 

"And how are you, Mister Hamish?" says he. "Every plank sailing--infine trim--and that's good hearing these days. "

With that McKinnon got his fiddle, and played us many sprightly airs, for he was a very creditable performer, and the smuggler would beasking for this or that one, and nodding his head with great spirit. 

"You would have speech with the Pagan, " said he, when the night waswearing on. "An' cold eneuch he was when I picked him up at the moutho' the Rouen river, for I had an express from a compatriot, Mr Hamish, serving overseas"--this with a very grand air. 

"Were you wanting speech with me?" said I, for I could see the drinkwas going to his head. 

"It's a wee thing private, " says he; "but tak' up your dram. I cannathole a man that loiters wi' drink till the pith is out of it. "

At that we drew our chairs close before the fire. 

"Many's the time we would be talking about ye, Mr Hamish, " says he, "Dan and myself; yon time we left ye in the haar at Loch Ranza--asenseless job, too, by all accounts, and Alastair rowing to thesuthard, and us creeping out to the nor'west; he'll be hard to findnow, by Gully--ay, Dan will be hard to find. 

"I am hoping you are not close-hauled for time, " says he, "for it'shard to come at my tale, Mr Hamish; but ye see, Dan McBride had somenotion o' what might occur--I am thinking ye will see with me there. 

"I am giving you the man's words, ye see, for he had great faith in ye. 

"'Ye'll say to Hamish, ' says he, and I'm telling you he was a soberman--'ye'll say, I am not wanting the wean to grow up like a cadger'sdog, to be running from kicks and whining for a bone. '

"I am no' great hand at this wean business, Mr Hamish, but McBride wasa fine man. "

At that I made mention of the wean he had taken to the convent inFrance. 

"I'm with you there, " says he. "I was paid good money for that job, and I ken what I ken, and mair--what I've found out. Ye'll no' hivgreat mind o' Scaurdale's son? No? Aweel, he was a bog-louper, andwild, wild at that, but he fell in wi' some south-country lady--acousin o' his ain, that stopped for years at Scaurdale--a young thingthat was feart to haud the man, but fond o' him too. I canna mind thename o' her. The long and short of it was jeest this--she married onan Englishman, a landed man and weel bred--Stockdale they ca'edhim--but he turned oot ill after a', and the first wean was a lassinstead o' a boy. And I'm jalousin' she would be getting herkeel-haulings for that, poor lady. Ye ken weel that young Scaurdalebroke his neck, and ye ken where. 

"'I'll be in hell or hame, ' says he, 'in forty minutes. ' At the QuayInn it was, and his horse lathered and foaming and wild wi' fear. Aweel, Mr Hamish, he's no _hame_ yet. 

"Things were going from bad to worse with the lass he lost, and her manaye at the bottle, and sometimes she would be finding him lookin' atthe wean and cursing, so what does she do but get word to the old Lairdo' Scaurdale, who was fond o' her and a just man. I'll wager ye, hedid not hang long in irons. The thing was done circumspectly, mindyou--nae high-handedness--but Belle's folk were about Glen Scaur, adroll wandering band, claiming great descent from Eastern folk, andwith horses and dogs and spaewife among them; and Belle (as they willbe calling her) was the daughter o' the Chief, a very proud man. 

"They were a wandering tribe, Mr Hamish, and they wandered into thesouth country, and I'm thinking ye saw the bonny spaewife coming backher lane, except for a wean, on a morning ye ploughed stubble. 

"But here's the droll bit, " says he. "Stockdale was kilt an his horse, too, in his ain park, for he scoured the place like a madman after thewean was lost. Weel, weel, that finished the lady, poor body. Ye'llsee how things are now, Mr Hamish, " says he. 

"Yon's an heiress. An' that's a' I'll be saying, " says he, forMcKinnon came in from his stable, "but the Laird, your uncle, was inthe ploy, " says he, "or I'm sair mistaken, and the Mistress too. "

With that we rose to be going, and had a glass, and the captain's lastwords were--"Ye'll mind yon: 'I'm not wanting the wean to grow up likea cadger's dog. '"

As I was walking home that night the thought came into my head of thewisdom of Betty at the big house. 

I minded her saying to me on the Sunday that Belle took the wean in thetartan shawl to the Mistress--her very words came back to me--

"The wean has the look o' John o' Scaurdale. "

PART II. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

I TURN SCHOOLMASTER. 

There were many things to be doing in these days--peats to be cuttingand carted home and built into tidy stacks, just as you can see themto-day, and the sprits and bog hay to be saving, for we were not goodat growing hay, and then, when the boys grew up, there was theschooling of them. It was the boys we would aye be calling them, Dan'sboy and the Laird's son, and they were fine boys. 

Bryde McBride, that was the name of Dan's son, and Hugh, with a wheenother names, was the young Laird, who was schooled in Edinburgh and wasnot long back to us, and there was a lass Margaret, his sister. Theywould be with me everywhere on the long summer days, and me with thebooks by me; but mostly in the summer we would hold school at the WeeHill, for there was a green place as level as the page of a book, and alittle turf dyke enclosing it nearly, that we called the Wee Hill. Wae's me, now they have hens scarting about the place, and thegreenness is gone from it. 

There was the stone of twenty-two snails close by, for that was thenumber we found on it, a thing I have many times thought about; andgreat games we had, Bryde with his black hair and swarthy skin and wildblue eyes, with laughter just ready in them, and the speed and grace ofa wild cat; and Hugh, ruddy like his folks, and dour too and veryloyal; and the lass Margaret, who could turn Bryde with her littlefinger, and gloried in the doing of it. Ay, they grew up with me, andwould be swimming with me in the sea, and every path in the hills wewould be riding over, and we were happy together. These were thehappiest hours of all, ochone; the sun shone more brightly and the dayswere longer. 

And in his mother's eyes there was none like Bryde. The sun rose andset on him, his every little mannerism was a joy, and I have watchedher gazing at him for long without speech, and suddenly rise and presshis head against her heart, and her happiness was when he looked upfrom his task and smiled. I think never was a hand laid on him inanger. 

There was something elemental about the lad. He would stand mothernaked in the dim morning light below the little fall, and his ponyawaiting him, and he kent every horse and dog within twenty miles. Indeed, there was a time when he would have slept with his horses. 

"They might be needing me in the night, " said he. 

In these days we grew hay in a droll fashion. If there was a fieldnamely for good grass, we would be getting green divots from it andputting them in our own parks, and scattering good rich earth round thedivots. And when the grass was blown about by the winds, the seedswould fall and strike on the loose scattered earth, so that thesedivots were the leaven that leavened the whole field. But when he wassixteen and man grown, a fair scholar and expert with the sword, Brydewould be laughing at the notion. And he was strong and tough like themountain ash. 

"Hill land, " said he, "will only be growing hill grass, " and he set hisfolk and he went himself and took the seeds from the hill grasses. Guid kens how long it took him, but he sowed his hill grasses with hiscorn, and the seeds came, as we say, and he cut it and threshed it withthe flails; and after that he had hay-stacks in his yard, and hisbeasts were well done by, so that at the fair he got great prices bothfor stots and back-calvers. And, indeed, it was at the fair that firstI saw the mettle in the boy, although his eyes had always dancingdevils in them. There was much drink in these days, and the mainlanddealers had not the head for it that the boys from the glens had. Theyoung boys would be holding saddle beasts from the early morning andmaking the easy money. Aweel, on this fair day, Margaret the maid, thesister of Hugh, had craked and craked to be seeing the beasts and theferlies, and her mother, the Lady, and her father, the Laird, were soreagainst it. 

"I will be with Bryde, my cousin, " said she; "and who will meddle me. "(I was clean forgotten. )

"He is not a real cousin, Margaret, " said the mother. 

"He is a fine lad; you will go, my lass, " said the Laird, for blood wasmore to him than a stroke left-handed across a shield, and that day sherode with Hugh and me--Margaret, the Flower of Nourn. Tall she was andlimber like a lance, her eyes like blue forget-me-nots that grow by theburn mhor, fearless and daring, with long black lashes. Her brown haircurled at her white neck, and her white chin was strong like a man's, but very soft and beautiful; her lips red, and her teeth like pearls. 

She was silent for the most part on the road that day, though whilesshe would be quizzing her brother about the lassies in the collegetown, for he had two years of the College at St Andrews. He was thegreat hand with the lassies by all accounts, Hugh, and many's the timehis mother would be havering about them, but that man, my uncle, wouldwink as though he would be amused. 

But when we passed McKelvie's Inn and saw old McKelvie there, stout andhearty, but very white about the head, and had a salutation from RonaldMcKinnon thrang with the dealers, and Mirren not far off stillsonsy--when we passed there I saw that Margaret was all trembling; andwhen we saw Bryde, tall and swarthy, coming to us, I saw the smiling inher eyes and her face aglow. 

"What was that, my dear lass?" said I, looking at her. 

"That would be my heart leaping, " said she, with a laugh and a blush. 

And Bryde lifted her from her little horse, and her hands were nevertired to be touching him. She was all tremulous with laughter andeager-eyed, and the red was flaming in her cheeks, and she would beordering Bryde like a queen, but pleadingly withal. 

"You will stable my little horse, " said she, and when Bryde, smilingdown at her, took the bridle, "But--but I will be coming with you, " shecried, "or surely you will be forgetting to halter him, or letting himrun off and leave me, " and as those two with the proud little horsemoved to the inn, I saw her look up at the boy with all her heart inher eyes and her lips smiling a little pitifully. 

"Do you think I would be caring, Bryde, if he ran off--if you were leftwith me?"

Ah, she was brave in her loving, was the Flower of Nourn. 

Mirren McKinnon, that was once Mirren Stuart, was dowie that day, andher eyes red with greeting, for her son had gone to the sea, as hisfather had long ago. "I will be missing his step, " she said softly, "when my man is on the hill, " but Ronny would not be listening. 

"It will make a man of the lad, " said he; "there's something clean andfine about the sea. "

Bryde had sold his beasts well, and it was his pleasure to be showingMargaret the bonniest foals, rough-haired and tousled as they were, andHugh and me would be passing judgment. There was a mob of mares andfoals and yearlings gathered in one place, and the mainland dealersbargaining with the farmers--always on the point of fighting by theirway of it, and laughing to scorn the offered prices, as you will see tothis day when folks are dealing in horse. 

And as we stood a little way off, a great burly red-faced man--aLowland dealer, strong as a tree, and a wit in a coarse way--turned hisround drink-reddened eyes on us a time or two, and whispered behind hishand to his cronies, and I heard the titter of Dol Beag's laughing asHugh pointed to a bonny yearling colt, and we stepped away, but not sofar that I heard the dealer's words. 

"Ou ay, " says he, looking at Bryde, "Dan's is he? I've heard tell o'him, but whitna queen is't that's lookin' at him like a motherlessfoal?"

At that Bryde put Margaret in my hands. His face was like a devil'sand his teeth showed as though his mouth were dry. To Hugh he gave oneword. "Stop!" said he, and the word was a snarl. 

Never another word he spoke, but leapt among the bargainers, and slidthrough the great flailing arms of the bucolic wit, and his right handsank into the man's red throat. I see him still, his left hand behindthe man's back, the shoulders raised, all the lithe length of him as hestood on his toes, his eyes like blue flame. I saw him shake his enemyas a dog shakes a rabbit. The great red face took a blae colour--thetongue protruded from his mouth and the eyes stared wildly. Men wouldhave dragged Bryde off, but he hissed a "begone" through clenched teeth(it was a word of his mother), and they fell back as from asword-stroke. 

"Go down, go down, ye beast, if ye never come up, " he girned, and flungthe man from him to the earth, where he lay. 

I heard no word, and no look that I saw passed between, but Margaretleft us and ran to Bryde. 

"Put your foot on that cur, my lady, " says he, cold as an icicle, andhis head bare. Her two white hands trembled at his sleeve and sheturned her face from the groaning man in horror, and then she raisedher great blue eyes in one long look, and then her little foot buttouched the man's shoulder. 

A grim smile came over the face of Bryde McBride, like sunlight in adark pool. "A brave lass, " said he, and I only heard her reply, andsaw her colour rise at his praise. 

"Take me home, " she whispered, "Bryde--Bryde _dear_. "

"Drink, " cried the man on the ground, "drink. God, I wis near hand itthat time. "

On the road home we pretended to be very merry, for nothing wouldplease Margaret but Bryde would ride to her father's house. On thehill road she set spurs to her horse with a challenge to Bryde, andthey left us some way behind, Hugh and me. 

"Man, " said Hugh, and his face was troubled, "this will not do. "

"No, " said I, and hated myself, "for the boy's as good as you or me. "

"Good!" cries Hugh; "he's like the mountains--he's granite, and whatare we but dressed sandstone--and the lass kens it, " says he. "Godhelp us. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE FIRST MEETING. 

When we made our way indoors the dogs were bounding and frolickinground Margaret, and she was all laughter. Her eyes were dancing, andher wind-whipped cheeks glowed darkly; then she turned, one daintyfinger at her lips, and we kent that no word of her doings that day wasfor the ears of her parents. 

There was a bustle of women-folk about the house, and the noise ofcrockery, and booming into the corridors came the voice of John, Lairdof Scaurdale. 

"Chick or child, " says he, "she's all I have--a wee Frenchified, Laird, but she'll learn the wie o' the Scots yet. "

And as Margaret entered, a little startled, and us at her heels, "Comeben, my dear, " he cries, "I've a new friend for ye, " and beside themistress I saw Helen Stockdale. 

I was always the great one for watching faces, and as these two maidensapproached, I saw the glowing cheeks of Margaret pale a little, herlips press together, and her chin become a little proud, but her eyesnever wavered; but Mistress Helen beats me to be describing. There wasan elegance about her and an air of languor, maybe from her sombre darkeyes, yet her every movement was graceful, and her smile a thing to belooking for, and she was slender as the stalk of a bluebell. The Lairdof Scaurdale was in great humour, well on to seventy, his teeth stillstrong and white, and his shoulders with but a horseman's stoop. 

"Kiss, my dearies, " says he; "was ever such dainty ladies? Hugh, man, where are your manners, and you such a namely man among the Saint Andralassies. Hoots, man, this blateness does not become ye; ye've sleptwi' the lass before. Ha, Saint Bryde o' the Mountains, " says he toBryde, "well done, sir, " for Mistress Helen, with a quick flashingupward glance, had rendered her little hand for salutation. 

And at his words I saw, like a flash, a look of cold hate leap in theblue eyes of Margaret McBride. 

I did much thinking while the others would be talking, and I thought ofthe day, fresh from the college, when we ploughed the stubble and Bellebrought the wean in the tartan shawl, --the wean that grat beside Hughin the old room when Belle carried her from the wee byre--the wean thatwas carried to McCurdy's hut with Belle and Dan McBride, and had lainin the crook of the arm of John of Scaurdale that night when McGilp hadshown a light away seaward. 

And there she was before me, Helen Stockdale, and I minded McGilp'swords, "Yon's an heiress. "

And sitting there in dour silence, there came on me such a longing forDan McBride that I could have wept. Eighteen years had I watched theploughing and the harvesting, the cutting of the peats and the cartingof hay, and never a word of Dan since the queer outlandish messengercarried my word to him to come home. The boys were grown men, theLaird and his Lady getting on in years, and the old folk going awaywith every winter, and never a word. 

McGilp and his _Seagull_ were not so often at the cove these lastyears, and yet McKinnon had a crack with him in Tiree, where he wasbuying a horse or two. 

"Young Dan's deid, " said McKinnon, "and Dol Beag will be hirpling abootand eating his kail broth for many's the day. "

There was one that never doubted--Belle, and after eighteen years shewas little changed, a weary look sometimes in her eyes, for was she notlike a wild thing chained, but more like a sister to Bryde than amother. 

And old Betty, Betty of eighty winters, sat by the fireside and wouldlook at Bryde with her old, old eyes, hardly seeing, and whiles shewould be calling the boy "Young Dan, " and whiles havering of MissJanet, his grandmother. 

"You will be clever, clever, " she would be saying to Belle, "and youwill get another man yet. . . . "

And one night as I stood at the door--a clear night, I mind, with aharvest moon--"Hamish, " said Belle, and her hand was at her heart, "Icould go to him barefoot, for is he not always with me in the night?"

As I sat dreaming and listening in a kind of a way to the talk roundme, it came on me that Margaret kept near to her mother, and once onlydid I see her look at Bryde, a hurried puzzled look, --but Hugh wasardent already, his face flushed and his laugh merry, and MistressHelen was happy too. 

There was the great struggling with our language, and she had a drolltaking way of it that Hugh would be correcting in his college manner;but Bryde sat back, listening mostly, his face proud and swarthy in theshadows, and sometimes smiling to Mistress Helen, for her eyes wouldcome back to him often. 

When the moon was up, Bryde rose. 

"With your leave, " said he, "I will be on the road. "

Margaret came over beside me and put her hand into mine. 

"You're early, sir, you're early, " cried Scaurdale; "it's asourying wi'the lasses ye will be at. "

The mistress looked not so ill-pleased at that, but it seemed to meMargaret's hand tightened in mine with a little tremble. 

"I'm thinking, Scaurdale, we will be getting a pair of colours forBryde, " said my uncle. "Would he not make a slashing light dragoon?"

At that Mistress Helen clapped her hands. "I think yes, " said she, "but yes, certainly. "

"I would be going to the sea, " said Bryde, "like Angus McKinnon--thetall ships and the strange countries, the white sails in the moonlight, and the black cannon and the cutlasses, " said he, and then with a sortof shame, "and all that, " but his eyes were full of longing and hischeek flushed. 

"Ah oui, " cried Helen, "I am seeing all that, M'sieu. "

And Hugh McBride looked glumly at Bryde as he left. 

"I am forgetting, " said Margaret, "I am wanting Bryde. Take me, Hamish, " and her hand was pressing mine. But I thought to be teachingher a lesson, and sat still a little. 

"What is it you will have been forgetting, Margaret?" said I. 

"Oh--oh, " says she, her face all suffused, "it will just be about a puphe was to be bringing me. . . . "

At that I took her with me. "Pup, " said I; "pup, Margaret. What taleis this?"

"Cat or dog, or--or anything, " she cried. "I am wanting him. "

Bryde was at his horse's girths, and old Tam with a lanthorn. 

"Bryde, " cried the lass, "I am wanting you. "

He had the horse out by this time, and I went away a little, but Iheard her say--

"You never kissed my hand, sir--no, not in all your life. "

"No, Mistress Margaret, " said the boy. 

"But why, why, why?" said she, and I laughed to see her stamp. 

"Ye see, " said he, and mounted, then bending over his saddle, "Ye see, my dear, I was loving your hand all that time, " and the clatter of hishorse's feet on the cobbles brought me to my senses. 

"Pup, " said I. 

"But, Hamish, " whispered the lass, "I am wanting him. "

"For what now?"

"I am wanting him _to keep_, " said she, and put her head against myarm--the brave lass. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE RIDERS ON THE MOOR. 

I would be seeing very little of Bryde for many a day after that, forthere was aye work to be doing at his hill farm, and hard work will bebringing sound sleep. 

But Hugh was become the great gallant, with old Tam rubbing hisstirrups with sand from the sand-brae, that and wet divots, till theirons shone like silver. 

"Hoch-a-soch, " he would say, "the young Laird is ta'en wi' the weemen. I will be at the polishing o' his horse's shoes next, and it iss thefine smells he will be haffin' on his claes--fine smells for theleddies, yess. "

"Tush, man, " said the Laird, "ye smell o' my Lady's bower. Yourforebears had the reek o' peats about them, or a waft o' ships. . . . "

But the road to Scaurdale would be drawing Hugh. 

"It is Mistress Helen that will be having the dainty lad, Hugh, mydear, " his sister would be flashing; "your folk would not be hanging solong at a lassie's coat-tails, if old stories will be true. "

But he had an answer for her. 

"What tails will Bryde be hanging at, my lass?"

"His plough-tail, my dainty lad, " said Margaret, and laughed to beprovoking him. 

"Maybe ay, Meg, " says he, "and maybe no. "

It was not long after that when Margaret would be wheedling me to be onthe hill. 

"See, Hamish, my little brown horse is wearying for the air o' thehills and the spring water, " and she would smile with her brows raiseda little and her lips pouting. 

When we were on the brow of the black hill--

"I am thinking we will ride to the peat hags, " said Margaret, "andwe'll maybe be seeing Bryde, " and she laughed in my face, and, indeed, after that she was always at the laughing. 

"What would his father be like, Hamish--Bryde's father?"

"A fine man he was, Margaret, but a little wild. "

"Ay, " said she, "he would be spoiled with the lasses. "

And for a while she was thoughtful. Bryde was at his plough-tail on anoutlying bit, but his horses were standing at the head-rig, and Brydewas laughing and talking to a lady, and when I saw the serving-manholding a pair of Scaurdale's horse, I kent the lass. 

"I am wondering, " said I, "where is Hugh, and Mistress Helen so farfrom hame; but ye were in the right of it, Margaret, for Bryde is athis plough-tail. "

"He will have good company even there, it seems, " said the lass. 

But in a little Helen and she were at the talking. 

"And where would you be leaving all your cavaliers, Helen, " saidMargaret, for Hugh had been telling us of the young sparks at Scaurdale. 

"Cavaliers, Margaret!" with a very dainty moving of the shoulders. "Ofthese I am weary this day, and so I inflict myself on the dragoon, " andhere she bowed very low and gracefully to the ploughman, and there wasa little devilry in her black eyes. 

Bryde was at his furrow again when Hugh joined us with his very brawclothes, and he was a little dour-looking. 

"We're all on the moor these days, " says he, "and keeping a man fromhis work seemingly. "

"But now you have come we will ride to Scaurdale, " said Helen, butMargaret would not be heeding. 

"I am to see my cousin's wife, " says she, "in the house yonder, withHamish here; but here is Hugh on edge to be on the Scaurdale road, andBryde eager to be ploughing. " So Margaret and I made our way to thehouse, and it was hard to be knowing where the shepherd's hut was amongthe outbuildings of the steading, and as we turned into the stackyardand watched Hugh and Mistress Helen ride on, Margaret turned to me. 

"Is it not droll, " said she, "that a man o' my folk, my own brother, cannot be putting a ring on the finger of an easy lass like that?"

"Are you thinking she is easy?" said I. 

"I am thinking she is a merry lass and wants a bold man--she will beloving a bold man. "

"I think that too. "

"Who is it?" said Margaret, like a flash. 

"Oh, just Hugh. "

"Hamish, " said the lass, "ye never lied to me before. "

A halflin lad took the horses and we came to the house, and there wasBelle to meet us, smiling to Margaret, and her eyes wandering to whereher son was at the ploughing. 

Now it was a droll thing to me to watch these two, for Margaret McBridehad the pride of her mother, and there were many times when she wouldbe very haughty, and yet in this moorland farmhouse she would be allsoftness and the quiet laughter of gladness, and talking very wisely toBelle about homely things. And I would often be laughing at Margaretand her talk of milk, and fowls, and calves, and lambs, but she wouldbe very serious. 

"A woman should be knowing these things, Hamish, " she would say. 

But Belle was the slave of Margaret since the days when Hugh and Brydeand the little wild lass would be playing in the heather, and climbingfor jackdaw's eggs or young rock-pigeons in Dun Dubh. But that dayMargaret was beside old Betty, and making her comfortable in the chairby the fire of red peats. 

"Will you be very wise, old Betty?" said she, looking down on the oldone. 

"Yess, yess, Betty has the wisdom, and Betty kens the secrets o' thehill folks, but ye will not be needing to ken the secrets, for will younot be keeping the lads away from ye with a stick. Na, na, ye will notbe needing the love secret. "

"My motherless lass!" cried Margaret, with a droll laugh, "and is therea secret way of it?"

"Yess, yess, a very goot way, mo leanabh; you will chust be scraping alittle from the white of your nail and putting it in his dram, yess, and he will be yours through all the worlds. . . . "

"But what, " said I, "if he'll not be taking a dram?"

"I could always be wheedling him, Hamish, " she laughed. At that Ilooked at her. 

"I am thinking of Hugh, " says she, "Hugh and Mistress Helen, " but shehad the grace to be shamed a little. 

"Indeed, " said Belle, "they are a bonny pair, the young Laird and theyoung lady. She will be riding here many times, for the Laird ofScaurdale will have been telling her old tales of the place. "

"Will they be making a match of it?" said I. 

"I am hoping that, Hamish, " said Belle--"and, indeed, she is liking thehills and the folk, and fond of the horses too, and will be keen to beseeing Bryde breaking the young beasts, and watching him for long. Shewill whiles be putting the old tartan shawl round her. "

At that Margaret went out of the house, and in a while I saw her withBryde, walking step for step with him on the lea he was breaking, andher hand would sometimes be beside his on the stilt of the plough. 

On the home road that day I would be showing her the road we hadtravelled that night of the whin-burning, and where in the hills wasMcAllan's Locker, and wondering what had come to the Killer, the deadwhite man. And I would be minding a story of a dog that howled in thenight and slunk by in the darkness of Lag 'a bheithe, and I wondered ifthe Nameless Man had gone to his love that beckoned in the pool, or ifthe ravens had got him at the last of it, and if the pigeons builtstill away in the cranny of the Locker, and there was a sadness in me. 

She had not been speaking, the lass beside me, and her merriness wasall gone, for she was aye merry with Bryde, and at last--

"Hamish, " said she, "there is something will happen. "

And on top of my own mood I was startled, and the words did not come tome. 

"Am I not the daft lassie?" said she, and started to the singing ofmerry airs; but before we saw the rowan-tree that grows on the face ofthe black hill, her songs were sad again. 

"He will be lonesome away there, Bryde, " said she, looking back. 

"He will be looking for a lass one of these nights, " said I, a littleangry, "and there are bonny lasses here and there, between here andScaurdale. "

"I am wishing, Hamish, I could be at the herding and the kelp-burningwith the other lasses, " said she, looking at me, and there was a littlesmile at her lips, and a kind of eagerness I did not understand. 

"Do you think Bryde will be looking at these wenches, " said I in greatscorn (for I feared he did). 

"No, Hamish, no, " she cried amidst her laughter, and I understood then. 

"Mistress Margaret, " said I, "I am not a match for you in wit, itseems, but since we are agreed he canna just be suited with theselassies, there will just be two left by your way of it. "

"Between here and Scaurdale, Hamish, " said she, "it is your own words Iam giving you. "

"Bryde is a fine lad, " said I, "but he's like to be spoiled, and, " saidI, "your mother will have told you he has not even a name. " At thatthe dull anger I had been choking down most of that day broke over me. "Damn the whole affair, " said I, and dismounted. 

When I lifted her from her horse, she was laughing and blinking tearsfrom her lashes, and she put her arms very tightly about my neck. 

"Oh, Hamish, Hamish, " said she, "I will have been doing that thiswhile. "

CHAPTER XX. 

"THE LOVE SECRET. "

Lassies are droll creatures, and will tell many things the one to theother in the way of a ploy, and Margaret McBride made great work withold Betty's love potion, and that to Helen alone. 

"I will be trying it on Hugh, " said she, "when I have you sleeping, forI will get scraping the white of your nail then. "

And now this is the droll thing that came about. We had a day afterthe otters at the Bennan, a wet cold day, with little that waslaughable in it, except that a man of the Macdonalds took an otter homeover his shoulders, and the beast dead, as we thought; but coming in athis own door it gripped him by the back of his hip, and at the start hegot he let a great cry to his wife in the Gaelic. 

"Fell the beast, fell the beast, " and the wife, with a beetle in herhand, and in a flurry of excitement to be felling the beast, came adour on her man's head that felled him, poor man, and we left themthen, the otter killed at last, and the man and wife demented with thesuddenness of the happenings, and came to the house of Scaurdale. 

Now the lassies, Margaret and Helen, were in the mood for a ploy, andMargaret it was who scraped the little white powder from Helen'spolished nail. "A wee tashte, " she laughed, "old Betty would besaying, 'chust a wee tashte. '" And when the boys came in red-faced andwith sparkling eyes (for I was watching the prank), "Now, " saidMargaret, "I will be giving poor Hugh his dram, and then everythingwill do finely. "

"But, " said Helen, "I will be my own cup-bearer, or maybe the charmwill be a useless thing. " And she took the old glass--a rummer itwas--and she carried it very daintily to the boys and bowed. 

"Here is refreshment, my tired hunter, " said she, and gave the glassinto Bryde's hand, and that swarthy hillman raised the glass to thecup-bearer and drained it. 

"I will not be very clever, it seems, Hamish, " said Margaret. 

But I had admiration for Helen, for she came back, laughing verysoftly. "Now we shall prove your charm, Mistress Margaret, " said she;"for truly M'sieu Hugh did not require it, but Bryde--he is cold andhard like his own hills with me. "

And that very night it was as though old Betty's havers were potentspells, for Bryde was the fair-haired laddie with the Laird ofScaurdale always, and as the evening wore on he grew a little flushedwith wine, so that all his silence left him, and he was very shyly boldand very gallant; but Margaret was stately and proud like her mother, and smiled but little. And Hugh gloomed and laughed by turns, and hadan air of patronage to his cousin that was hurtful for me to be seeingin him. 

Hugh and Margaret were stopping at Scaurdale, but when the moon waswell up Bryde was for the road. At that there was an outcry, for hewas the soul of the place. The Laird of Scaurdale would have hinderedhis going, and Helen made much ado, but his horse was brought, and wecame to the door to be seeing him off. 

There was a brave moon, and the hillside very plain, and the noise ofthe burn rumbling--a fine night to be out. 

"I could be riding home too, " said Margaret. 

Bryde slipped his boot from the stirrup. 

"Jump, " said he, "and in two hours you'll be home, if Hamish and Hughwill be allowing it. "

I think she would have liked to go, for I saw the flash in her eyes, and her quick smile, but then--

"No, " said she; "it is a little cold here, " and turned to go in. 

Helen was at the Laird's side. 

"But I have never ridden so, " said she. "Would Monsieur take me to thebridge--a little way and back, " but before the Laird had given hisassent she was in the saddle and off with a wave of her arm; and Ithought of the night when she had ridden that way once before, with thefather of Bryde on the big roadster, and the Laird was thinking thesame thing. 

They were back in a little; indeed, the hoof-beats were very plain allthe time, but Helen was white as she dismounted, and her good-bye wasvery low, and she listened to the klop-to-klop of the hoofs for a longtime before she came in. 

That night she came into Margaret's room (for the lass told meeverything), and sat down wearily by the bedside. 

"Your spell works, Mistress Margaret, " said she. 

I think Margaret would raise herself on her pillows. 

"Ah, " said she, "have you brought Bryde to heel, Helen?"

"The spell works, " said Helen, "but I think backwards. Margaret, mabelle, he brings me to heel, it seem. "

"They all have that knack, my men-folk, " said Margaret--"mostly. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

DOL BEAG LAUGHS. 

To town-bred folk the country in the winter time is an arid waste. There is no throng of folk, no lighted ways, nor much amusement bytheir way of it; but to the countryman the winter is the time--the longdark nights for ceilidhing, the days after the rabbits and hares, andthe cosiness about a steading, with the beasts at their straw andturnips, and the lassies to be coming home with, and the old storiesthat will make the hair rise on a man's head. Och, these are thenights to be enjoying. 

I would whiles take a stick and the dogs and over the hill for it toMcKinnon's for a crack with Ronald and Mirren, and then we would go tothe Quay Inn and listen to the singing, or talk to McGilp--for McGilphad left the sea and settled at McKelvie's, where he was very muchrespected as a moneyed man, having sold the _Seagull_ to McNeilage, hismate. He was much exercised by the morals of the place, and veryreligious, except when in drink, which would be mostly every night. 

On such a night, with Ronald and myself at the table and McGilpopposite, the door opened, and in came Bryde and Hugh with a cold swirlof sleet, and sat down beside us, and Robin McKelvie brought theirdrink, and old McKelvie came ben to be doing the honours. We wereclose by the fire, for McGilp liked to be hearing the sough of the windin the lum, and him snug and warm. On the other side of the fire wasDol Beag, a man well over fifty, very silent, and I could not thole thelook of his crooked back. But there was with him one of his ownkidney, and he began to let his tongue wag. 

"We had many's the ploy in the old days, " says he, "and wild nightstoo. It will chust be twenty years off an' on since I was swundgedbehin' that fire like a sheep's heid--yes. 

"I will haf forgotten what ploy that was--I was aalways fighting. "

"Dol Beag, can ye no' be quate before dacent folk?" said Ronald. 

"Ou ay, Ronald, I was chust thinking of the old ploys--I see you havestrangers with you. "

Then he turned to Bryde--

"You will be a stronger man than your father, and he wass a fine man, but you would kill a man too. Yes, but we will not be talking ofkilling when it's the lassies you will be thinking about, and I'mhearing the southern leddy is very chief with you, " and he sniggeredand went out. 

"God's blood, " said Hugh in a white rage, "do you let any drunken rogueblackguard a lady?"

"I am not to be touching that man, " said Bryde, and his face was darkred. 

"Have I to live to see one of my name a coward--a bastard and a coward?"

"By the living God, you lie, Hugh McBride, " said Bryde through histeeth, and struck Hugh on the mouth with the back of his hand. 

"That will be all that is needful, " says Hugh with a bow; "there's ayard outside, and maybe McKelvie will be giving us a couple oflanthorns. "

Never a word said Bryde, but the breath whistled through his nostrils, and we made our way through the kitchen, for it was easier to stop thebig burn in spate than these two. There were cutlasses on the wallcrossed like the sign of a battle on a map, and Hugh had them down. 

"I think they are marrows, " says he, trying to be calm, but his veryvoice shook with rage. 

"Outside, " said Bryde. 

There was a puddly yard, squelched with the feet of cow beasts. Thescad of light from the door and the two lanterns lit up the yellowtrampled glaur, and both the boys stripped in silence and stood onguard, and then started. 

McGilp and McKinnon and the McKelvies were there only, and if these hadnot been my own boys I could have enjoyed the business, for they werematched to a hair, and tireless as tigers. 

The blue blades sprang from cut to parry like live things, and in thelight I saw the same cruel smile, line for line, in both faces. Thesnow was falling in big wet flakes, and the fight went on, neithergiving an inch, and then from behind came a thin voice--

"The McBrides are at it, hammer and tongs--the Laird and the bastard, te-he, " cried Dol Beag from the dark. 

At that word Bryde's blade seemed to waver an instant, and Hugh's bitinto his thigh, but like a flash I saw Bryde recover, and a lightningstroke and Hugh's cutlass was clattering on the cobbles, and then I sawBryde whirl his sword round his head, and raise himself uplifted for adreadful blow that would have cleft his cousin to the chest, and thecruel smile was still on both faces, and then Bryde stopped. 

"It's no' true, Hughie, " said he, and lowered his hand and walked backto the kitchen, swayed a minute, and thrust his arms out blindly, andfell on the flagstones. 

"Have I killed him, Hamish?" cried Hugh--"have I killed Bryde? God, what will Margaret say to this?"

"I do not know what you have done, " said I. "It would be maybe betterif he is dead, for I think you will have killed his spirit. "

We would have had him to bed in the inn, but he came to himself. 

"Hamish, " said he, "take me home to my"--and in a brave voice--"to mymother. "

And Hugh went out of the room, and I knew he would never be a boy again. 

McKelvie's wife was at the doctoring of the wound with her concoctions, and I made what job I could of it, and then we put Bryde in a peatcreel, with straw and blankets, and took him to his mother. 

"It was just a daft prank, " said he to Belle, who leant over him likesome wild fierce creature. "It was just a mad ploy, mother. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE SHAMELESS LASS. 

I left Bryde sleeping at last and restless, with Belle wide-eyed by hisbedside, and traked down to the big house very bitter at heart againstHugh, for the quarrel had been of his seeking; and when I came underthe rowan-trees and past the moss-covered stone horse-trough, the greyday was coming in. And at the little window of Margaret's room I saw awhite face peering, and there in a bare stone-flagged lobby she came tome, a stricken white thing, and dumb. She had no words at all, butstood gazing at my face, her hands twisting and twisting, and a strangemoving in her white throat. 

"Come, my lass, " said I, and took her up and carried her to my room, where there was still a glow of red in the wide fireplace, and I kickedthe charred wood together, and threw dry spills on that and made ablaze, and set her in my chair in the glow of it, for she was stiffwith cold, being but half clothed or maybe less. Then I brought froman aumery some French spirit, and she took a little, shivering andmaking faces, but it lifted the cold from her heart. Yet in her eyeswas a dreadful look, as of one who had gazed all night over bottomlesschasms of nameless fear. 

"And now, Mistress Margaret McBride, " said I in as blithe a voice as Icould be mustering, "why am I to be finding you in cold lobbies, andcarrying you to my chamber like the ogre?"

At that came the saddest little smile over her face, and all her bodyseemed to relax. 

"Tell me, " said she, "there would not be laughing in your voice andhim--away, " and even then I was thinking she would be afraid to saythat grim word. 

"Bryde will have a sned from a hanger, " said I, making light of it. "You will have seen deeper in a turnip, and I left him sleeping. "

"The dear, " said she--"the dear, " and then looking at me, "Oh, Hamish, Hamish, be good to me; I will not can help it. "

"Where is Hugh?" said I. 

"He came into us, " said the lass, "like a wraith. "

"'I have provoked my cousin, ' he said, 'and wounded and maybe killedhim, and I am owing him my life forbye, ' and I ran to be waiting foryou, and locked my door on all of them, even my mother. "

She had a droll coaxing way with her, Margaret--a way of saying, "Willyou tell me?" and then of repeating it, and she started now. 

"Hamish, " said she, "will you tell me one thing? Will you tell me?"

I nodded. 

"Would it be--will you tell me--truly?" and she waited for my assent. 

"Would it be Helen the boys were fighting over?"

"It would not, " said I, and she said nothing more after that; but as Itook her to the door she pulled my head down. 

"I am thinking often, Hamish, " said she, "you are the best one of usall. "

 * * * * * *

Now I will say this--that Bryde was like a wean in bed, fretful andill-natured and restless, and his mother had to be beside him when folkcame in, and I think in his new knowledge he feared she might suffersome indignity. 

And he lashed his pride with a new-found humbleness, and railed athimself. I can hear his words on that day I brought Margaret to beseeing him, and she had many dainty dishes to be describing. 

"It is very kind of you indeed, " said he, "to be minding a poor bodylike me, and kind of your people to be allowing you to visit my motherand myself. "

And at the sound of these words the poor lass was red and white timeabout, and at last fell all aback like a little ship in the wind's eye. 

"Oh, Bryde, " cried she, "what is this talk of my people? Are not mypeople your own people also?"

"I have my mother's word for it, " said he, with his arm over his eyes, and the dark blood surging upwards over throat and cheeks. 

The lass was on her knees by his bedside at that. 

"Do you think, " she cried--"do you think _that_ would weigh with me; Ihave kent that long syne. "

"It was news to me, " said he, turning his face away; "bonny news to me. "

"This will be news to me also, " said she, her face hidden, "for I wouldbe thinking in the night-time--in the dark--I would be thinking itwould maybe be _me_ you differed over. 

"You, Mistress Margaret, " cried he. "What could I ever be to such asyou--but a servant?"

"Bryde McBride, do you ken what there is in my heart to be doing toyou, " and her eyes were all alight, and her breath coming fast--herface close to his and her arms round him: "I could be kissing your hurttill it was healed. I am wanting your head _here_, here at my heart, for I am yours--I will be yours--I will be yours. "

"Some day, " said Bryde in a soft whisper, with amazement in histones--"some day you will find a man worthy of that great love. . . . "

But she was at her wheedling now. 

"Will you tell me, Bryde--will you tell me truly?" and she put her lipsto his ear. "I love you, Bryde--did ye not know? Am I not a shamelesslass?"

"There never was maiden like you before, Margaret, " said he. "I amalways loving you, always. . . . "

"But tell me, " she cried--"tell me, " and she put her ear close to hismouth, and her eyes were closed and a smiling gladness on her face. 

"Love you, " he cried in a great voice. "The good God will maybe beknowing the love in my heart for you, " and his face was grey with pain, but at his words she pressed her face to his gently. 

"Now, " she said, "I will be happy again. "

And when I came into the room there was the lass standing very proudwith her hand on his brow. 

"Is he not a restless boy, our Bryde?" said she, and there was prideand love and tears and laughter in her tones, and she left us together. 

"Hamish, " said he, "you will not be bringing her here again ever--Iwill not be strong enough lying here . . . " and then in a lower voice, "My mother has a ring, " said he. "I could not be asking her, mymother, and who is there to turn to but you, " and I told him of themessenger who came from the Low Countries with Dan's letters and hismother's ring. 

"And your baby fist closed on the sword, " said I. 

"The sword, " said he. "Where is my father's gift?"

At that I went to the old byre where the heathen had sat that day, andI digged the cobbles from a corner of a biss close to the trough, andthere, wrapped in a sheep's skin in a box, was the sword as I hadburied it long ago, and I brought it to Dan's son. 

He took it with a kind of joy, and his eyes all lit up. 

"My father would be knowing, " said he, and drew the blade. "This willclear the tangles. "

There were flowers very beautifully let into the blade in thin gold. "Is she not a maiden richly dowered?" said Bryde--"a slim grey maiden, a faithful maiden, who will be lying at my side, and fierce to bedefending me?"

Belle hated that sword from the first day, but Bryde had it by him athis bedside always. 

There were many folk coming and going these days, and Ronny McKinnonand McGilp would be sitting with Bryde, and they would have the greattales of ships and the sea, and whiles Ronny would have his fiddle andplay, and whiles it would be the old stories they would be telling. 

There was a day too when Hugh McBride and Helen came a-riding on themoors, and the thought came to me that both were a little sobered, andthe lass had not the same gaiety about her; but I was thinking maybeshe would be anxious about the Laird of Scaurdale, for there was wordthat he would not be keeping so very well of late. 

There was a sternness about Hugh as of a man that would be carrying agrim load, but Bryde made very much of him always, and I am thinkingthat was not the least of his troubles, for there were some wordsbetween us after the fight. 

"Yon was a dirty business, " said Hugh. "I am not fit to stand in thesame park with my cousin, and I will have told him that, " for hismother would aye be warning Bryde never to lay hands on Dol Beag allhis days. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

HELEN AND BRYDE McBRIDE REST AT THE FOOT OF THE URIE. 

There was a long time that Bryde was lame and weak, for he had lostmuch blood, but his strength came back to him, and it is droll to thinkthat he had grown in his bed. When he was out he could not be havingenough of the hills, and the fields and the sun. He would be talkingto the very beasts about the place in his gladness, and Hugh would begiving him an arm, and they would often be at the laughing likebrothers; but for long was Margaret, his sister, cold to Hugh. 

And in the month of May, Bryde came down to the big house, and theLaird and his Lady welcomed him at the door, and Margaret behind themvery sedate by her way of it. 

And the Laird gave Bryde a good word that day in my hearing. 

"You will not be minding that tale, my lad, " said he, with his hand onBryde's shoulder. "We will whiles be a little careless in themarrying, our folk, " said he, "but the blood is strong enough, and wehold together. "

But for all that I kent that there would be something strange aboutDan's son since he rose from his bed, and I think that Margaret kent ittoo, for I would be seeing a wistful look in her eyes when no one wouldbe near her. 

And then there was a day when Hugh brought Helen to the house, and shewas closeted a long time with Margaret. 

"Your cousin Bryde will be leaving us ver' soon, " said she. 

I will never be the one to deny that Mistress Helen came fast to thebit. 

"Will Hugh have been telling you that?" said Margaret in a certain tone. 

"Hugh--no. I meet Bryde ver' often. He is good to be meeting--thereis a fire and dash about him, " and at that she spread out her whitehands with a fine gesture, and took a turn to the window, herriding-switch at her teeth. 

Now there was an intolerance about Margaret which you will find oftenwith a proud spirit, and that Bryde should be happy away from her hurther like a lash. The women maybe will have a name for it, for therewas a smile in Helen's eyes as Margaret spoke--

"I am glad, " said she, "he will have so good a friend as you. Maybe hewill be staying if you were to ask him. "

"And you, Margaret?"

"I do not come of folk who ask, " said Margaret, with great unconcern;then for no reason seemingly (but maybe thinking of a certain time whenshe all but asked) her neck and face and forehead grew dark withmantling blood. 

"Is he then not of your people who are slow to ask--favours?" saidHelen. "I think so, yes. Do you remember I ride with him a little wayfrom Scaurdale? There is a moon, and the hills ver' clear and wegallop. "

"I am minding, " said Margaret. 

"'It is Romance, ' I say to him, and he will be carrying me away off tothe hills, and he is laughing. 

"'An unwilling captive, ' he says. 

"'Not ver' unwilling, ' I say, for he looked ver' gallant. 

"'But a willing captive, she would kiss me, ' said Bryde, your cousin, and then I make no movement of my head, but my eyes are looking at hislaughing down at me--_asking favours_, ma belle, and still I not move, and he throw back his head (comme ça), and say--

"'I do not beg--even kisses, ' very proudly he looks, ma belle, and hisblue eyes laughing. . . . "

"I am remembering that the charm was working, Helen, " said Margaret, ina voice like the north wind for coldness. 

"Ah oui, " cried Helen, "backwards it work--I kiss _him_ la la, " and shelaughed like silver bells a-tinkle. 

Now that was a daftlike tale to be telling, but Margaret was for evercleaving me with Helen after that. "She is beautiful, " she would tellme, "and merry and a great lady, and I think any man will be lovingher, " but there were many nights when Margaret lay wide-eyed, for allthat she drove Bryde from her with jest and laughter. But I think itwas well that she never kent of the meeting of Bryde and HelenStockdale at the ford in the burn yonder at the foot of the Urie. 

On a summer morning that was, with the heat-haze hardly lifted and longslender threads of spider webs clinging to the leaves of the birches bythe burnside, and the bracken green and strong, with the white cuckoospittals on them that will leave a mark like froth on the knees of ahorse. To the pebbly ford above the "Waulk Mill" came Bryde, ridingloosely with slack rein, for he was thinking much these days. In theburn his horse halted to drink, and then rested a little from thewater--his head high and his ears forward--Bryde looking to his pathfor the South End, for he was on some errand of grazing beasts. Thenthere came that fine sound, the distant neigh of a horse, and the horsein the burn answered gallantly, and came splashing on, passaging andside-stepping a little, with curved crest. And there by the burnsidethey met, Bryde and Helen. 

Their words at the meeting were formal enough, for there were houses ata little distance from the crossing; but you will only be seeing thefounds of them now, and the plum-trees gone to wood, and the stragglinghawthorns and the heather growing to the very burnside by theLagavile. [1] But at the meeting there was a rich glowing colour in theface of the maid, and her lips were parted in a little smile, and hergreat eyes, sombre often, but now alight with love a-laughing in them, rested on the man like a caress. 

"Ha, well met, my swarthy dragoon, " said she, "or are we sailors thismerry morning?"

"There's aye the night for dreams, Mistress Helen, but in the daytime Iwill be but a plain farming body, concerned about bestial. . . . "

"Bestial, " quo' she, as they rode in the old track by the burnside thatyou'll see yet from the other road, "my horse is a-lathered, and I tooam concerned about bestial. We will let us down, " said she, "in theshade yonder, and rest the horses, and be good farmers together--yes?"

Bryde slacked the girths and tied the horses, and then joined the lasson a little mound of green like a couch. 

"And now, " cried Helen Stockdale--"now, sir, here are we in the greenwood with neither page nor groom--squire and dame--and I am loving it, "said she, and her little brown capable hand took one of his great hardones. 

[1] Laga vile=hollow of the tree. 

"You have fine hands, M'sieu Bryde, " said she, her fingers over his tobe comparing them, "great and strong and well-tried. "

And there fell a silence between them, and as both strove to break thatsilence their eyes met, and there came a quick changing of colour onthe face of Helen, and Bryde's hand closed over hers. And as she satby his side her eyes lowered, and the curling lashes sweeping hercheek, it came to the man how very beautiful she was, her pride allforgotten. He felt her hand trembling in his, and then she raised herhead with a questioning little sound at her lips, and looked at him, and smiled, pouting. 

"And must _I_ beg, " she whispered. 

"I think, " said Bryde, "that the horses are rested. "

The light left her eyes, as the sea darkens when a cloud comes over thesun. Red surged the blood over throat and face and brow. She sprangto her feet, twisting her whip in her brown hands. By the horses sheturned--

"Am I lame, or blind, or ugly?" she cried. "Oh, man, I could kill you. . . But some day, Monsieur, some day I shall laugh when that proudMistress Margaret flouts your love . . . " She laughed, mocking. 

"'It will be no concern of mine whether Bryde McBride goes or stays, 'says the Lady Margaret. 'I do not beg--and what is he to me. '"

"You are a droll lass, " said Bryde, with a frown on his face--"a drolllass, and very beautiful--so Mistress Margaret . . . " but Helen brokeinto his talk. 

"Am I beautiful to you, M'sieu? I am honoured, " but her eyes weresoft--"but what would the proud Margaret say to that?"

"We will forget her, Mistress Helen--what have I to be doing except tobe a loyal kinsman to her?" and here the drollest laughing came overHelen. 

"I am sure she will be loving _that_, " said she, "a loyal kinsman. "

And although her breath was still flurried with her swift rage, hereyes were laughing at the man. 

"I can never be in anger with you, Bryde, " said she. "I wish it werenot so. "

"Are you wishing to be angry with me now?" said he in a deep voice, with one great arm round her shoulder, and his face bent to her. Andas she looked at him a sort of fierceness came over Helen. She flungher arms round the man, and stood on tiptoe to be reaching up to him. 

"Some day I will be forgetting my convent teaching, " said she, "andthen I will make you love me, and you will be mine _altogether_. "

"There will be something in that, " said Bryde, and laughed a loudringing laugh, as the drollness of the business came on him. And whenhe looked down, there was the lass all humbled, and tears standing inher eyes, and a pitiful little mouth on her. 

"You are laughing at me, Bryde, " said she in a little voice, shakily. 

"No, dear, no, " said he, "I would be thinking of the Laird of Scaurdaleif he kent, and me with a name to be making. Do not be greetin', " saidhe, "there will be nothing at all to be greeting for, " and he set heron her horse gently, and they rode on by the burnside, and watched thebrown trout flash in below the boulders, and darting across the amberpools, just as they do to-day. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE HALFLIN'S MESSAGE. 

I mind that there was a good back-end that year, as we say, with plentyof keep for the beasts, and the stacks under thatch of sprits by theend of September, and I would be standing in the stackyard as a manwill, just pleased to be seeing things as they were, and swithering ifI should be taking a step to the Quay Inn, when the halflin lad fromBryde's place came up to me. 

"He is not yonder, " said he, in a daft-like way. "He will not be inhis own place any more. "

And then I got at him with the questions. 

"The mother will be sitting all day and not greeting terrible, " sayshe, "and Betty will be oching and seching like a daith in the house;and I came to be telling you--and he will have the thin sword with him. "

And the lad lisped and boggled at the English, till I shook the Gaelicinto him--and there was the story. 

It would be two nights ago that Bryde McBride came into the loft wherethe halflin was sleeping, and bade him dress. 

"He would be all in his good claes, " said the lad, "and the sword onhim, " and he told me how the two of them had carried a kist through thehill and down behind the Big House--"there would still be a light inthe young leddy's chamber, " for Bryde McBride had stood looking at it, and talking in the Gaelic. "And, " said the lad, looking over hisshoulder half fearfully, "he said, 'If ever there is a word comes outof your mouth about this, Homish, I will be ramming three feet o' bluesteel through your gizzard, ' and we would be carrying the kist down tothe herrin' slap (Bealach an agadan) and to the shore. There was askiff lying there all quiet and three men waiting, and when we would beamong them they took the kist, and wan of the sailors wass saying theywould be in Fowey soon, but the master turned on me, and he had moneyfor me. 

"'You will be minding the place until I come back to you, ' he said, 'orI'll reive the skin from you for a bridle, ' and he made me go away fromthe rocks and to be going back, but I lay among the trees, and I wouldbe seeing the men put the kist on board, and then they rowed away withthe master sitting at the stern and looking back, for I would be seeinghis face white in the moon, " and at that the poor lad was so near thegreetin' that I took him to the kitchen for a meal of meat, and it allcame plain to me as I sat there among the serving bodies and the dogs. 

I minded the way the boy had taken the sword from me, as he lay in hisbed. "This will be clearing the way, " he had said, and now he would bestarted to the clearing, and then there was Margaret. 

"You will not be bringing her here again, for I am not strong enoughlying here. "

That would be at the time he would be lying with Hugh's sword-stroke inhis thigh, and calling himself a misbegot, and not fit to be speakingto decent folk. And I minded the pride of him, and kent the veryfeelings that had sent him away, but I was wishing he could have stayedfor all that, for his mother's sake. 

At that time I had no word of what had happened at the ford of the burnat Lagavile, or that Mistress Helen in her rage had turned Margaret'swords to her own purpose, but that I got later from Margaret herself. 

Well, I went into the house and told them, and there was the tiravee;and Margaret like to go out at the rigging, for indeed she was a littlespoiled. And Hugh it was that got the rough edge of her tongue, until"I will go and fetch him back, " said he. 

"You!" says she, "you! As well might the hoodie-craw bring back thekestrel, " and at that the mother bridled. 

"What kind of talk is this in my house?" said she, "and to yourbrother. Mend your manners, mistress. What is this fly-by-night (tosay nothing worse) to you?"

"He will be all the man ever I will have, " said Margaret, standing up, and her eyes flashing, and at that her father, roused by her bravery, laughed aloud. 

"Capital, " he cried, "capital, "--and then, "Hoot, my wee lass, " saidhe, "you're young yet. Come away wi' me, " and she went out with him, leaving us sitting mumchance. 

"The best thing that could have happened, " said the mistress, and madeher way to the kitchen, for if things were not right she must have somework on her hands. 

The very next day I made my way to the stable and found Margaret'shorse gone. 

"She is away like the devil spinning heather, " said old Tam. "She'llbe at Bothanairidh by noo, " and so it was, for when I came to the farmon the moor there was Margaret, thrang at the talking to the halflin, and looking blither than I had thought to see her; and thinks I tomyself, he will have been telling her about Bryde and the lightedwindow--and that I was right I know, although Margaret would never betelling me what it was that Bryde said that night; and the halflin Iwould not be asking, but I would be telling the lass about the threefeet of blue steel in the lad's gizzard, and at that she would laugh atme. 

"I will be giving him a golden guinea for every foot o' blue steel, "said she, "and when I will have Bryde back he will be giving him thedouble of it, for telling me these good words, " and I believe the daftlassie did just that. 

But Belle would be fit for nothing but sitting and mourning. "Oh, whydid I leave my own folk and the tents and the horses, the laughter o'the little ones, and the winding roads, to be left desolate on thisweary moor--desolate, desolate, and mourning like the Israelitishwomen--the father is not, and now is the son gone from me. "

And when Margaret would have comforted her, "Are not you of the samefolk, maiden?" she cried, turning her eyes bright and hard and dry onthe lass, "the same cruel proud breed"; and then again, "He was a goodson--there never was woman blessed with such a son, kind and brave andloving, the very beasts would come to his whistle. "

"But this will not be the finish, " said I; "the dogs are not howling, "and at that old Betty brisked herself. 

"Yess, yess, the dogs will not be greeting Belle, woman, and that is asure sign, " said she, wonderfully cheered. "Bryde will be coming backa great man, and bringing old Betty a silk dress and good whisky--yess. "

"Where is Fowey, Hamish?" said Margaret. 

"On the coast of England, a place the smugglers frequent, " said I. 

"Bryde will be with the smuggling laads, " cried Betty, clapping herhands. "Is he not the brisk lad, and he will be bringing the whiskysure--maybe it will be brandy moreover. "

And we left them a little cheered that day, and Margaret still lookedhappy with her thoughts. 

It was in October, the fair day, that Mistress Helen came to visitMargaret, and Hugh had carried her the news of Bryde's going. 

"Your cousin has gone to his tall ships, " said she to Margaret, "thetall ships and the black cannon and the cutlasses, you remember, mabelle. "

"Bryde has gone away truly, " said Margaret, and then the two retired totheir confidences. But the next day it was that Margaret told me ofthe meeting by the ford. 

"I am hating that woman, Hamish, " said she, "with her bravery and herbeauty, and her charms that will be working backwards. . . . "

"Who was it that started these same spells?" says I. "Was it not inyour mind to be trying these havers on Bryde yourself?"

"It was not in my mind that Helen Stockdale should be trying them onhim, " said she, "at any rate. "

And at my laughing she left me in a pet, but not long after she wouldbe telling me--

"There is something fine and brave about that woman, too, Hamish, " shewould say, "for she would be telling lies to Bryde McBride of what Ihad said about his going, and yet she told me all these lies. I couldnot be doing that, " said Margaret. "No, I could not be owning to athing like that--myself. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

I RIDE AGAIN TO McALLAN'S LOCKER. 

There came a weariness of the spirit over me that long dreary winter, and all nature was there to be seconding my dismal thoughts. Formonths never did I awake but my first thought would be, "What is therenot right?" and then I would be remembering that Bryde was not any moreon the moorlands. 

It seemed to me that always there was a drizzle of soft rain and ablanket of cold mist, that would be half hiding the friendly places, that the very hills were become the abode of strange uncanny beastsinstead of decent ewes and fat wethers, and that the mists would behiding the revels of the folk a man does not care to be speaking of. The trees would be dreary and sad--the sea always grey and gurly andochone, the very roads had the look of bareness and emptiness, asthough all a man's friends had marched over them, never to return. 

Margaret, the Flower of Nourn, had taken to walking alone in the rain, under the trees by the burnside, or maybe I would be seeing her on theshore, and looking to the sea, and her songs were sad--ay, when shetried to be at her gayest. And once I am minding, when she was with meon the shore-head watching the men at the wrack-carting--

"I am wondering, " said she, dipping her hands in the little waves, "Iam wondering if these little waves will maybe once have swirled underthe forefoot of his ship, " and I had not the heart to be giving her alesson on physics, and a little understanding of the laws that will begoverning the waves. 

And Hugh that was the gallant would be interesting himself in all thematters of farming, and seldom riding out with his clean stirrups andpolished leathers, and there were times when I was sore put to it to bekeeping my hands off him, because he would be so douce and agreeable. 

I would be trying the drink often, and took my glass with the Laird, myuncle, but it would not be bettering me any, and a man that drink willnot be making merrier company of is in no good way. 

At the farm in the hills the halflin would be doing finely--a littlelavish with the feeding, as a body will be when the keep is not hisown, but the beasts would be looking well, and the steading clean andtidy. Belle, it seemed to me, was a little dazed for many a long day, and whiles I would be finding her with some wee childish garb ofBryde's, and greeting and laughing at it in her hands, and old Bettyyammering by the fireside, mixing her stories of bawkins and wee folk, and the ploys she would be having in her young days at the peats. 

There was a moon at the New Year, I mind, and me standing in front ofBelle's house, and Belle herself at the open door, with the lightbehind her, when there came to my ears the sound of a shod beastwalking, and, thinks I to myself, this will be a horse broke loose. Then I saw the beast, and after a little wheedling and coaxing I wasable to get my hand on his bridle. He was a great horse, bigger thanany of ours, and a weight-carrier; but it was the gear on him that Icould not be understanding, for there was on him a heavy saddle with ahigh pommel and cantle, and his bridle would have strange contrivanceson it, but especially a spare curb chain strapped to the headpiece, andthe bit was altogether new to me, resembling the bit with the longcurving bars that the old crusaders would be using long ago. 

He was thin and drawn up at the belly, but his eye was full and fiery, and I kent this was no serving-man's beast, but I took him to thestable and gave him a stall, with dry bracken for a bedding, and ameasure of corn and peas, and the halflin came from the loft and got atthe rubbing of him down, gabbling all the time about pasterns andwithers, and Belle watched me, saying no word. 

"There will be word for him in the morning, " said I; "this will surelybe a beast from the Castle, " and at that Belle went into the house, andI left the halflin still watching the strange horse and made my way onfoot across the hill. The peewits were circling over me with eeriecries, and now and then on the moor-side the curlews would be cryinginto the night--lonely as I was lonely; and in every heather tussock Iwould be seeing shapes, and dreading the thought of the Nameless Manand his brindled hunter, till my hair was like to rise on my head, andI would feel it in my legs to be running, but that I kent my folk, deadand gone, would be laughing at me, in their own place, for our pastfolk are not so much dead as just away, and maybe watching; and maybe Iwould be comforting myself with the thought that the Killer would bedead long syne in the course of nature--he and his great dog--but forall that I had a twig of rowan in my hand, for the night was not canny. And there came a kind of lifting of my spirit when I got the glint ofthe lights of the Big House, and kent there would be folks to betalking to and dogs to give a man heart. 

When I was come to the stable door, there was old Tam, thrang with hisbottles of straw for the horses' last bite (a thing to bring a man tohimself it is to listen to horse beasts riving at straw and crunchinginto turnips), but Tam laid down his bundle and came close to me. 

"There was a man here, " says he, "in the gloaming after you would beleaving for your ceilidhing, and he would be giving me a _festner_, "says he, with a toothless grin and his old eyes gleaming; "ay, a noble_festner_, " says he, "_from the bottle_. He would be wanting speechwith you. "

"Whatna man was he?" said I. 

"A red-faced man and very clean, " says he, "and his face shining like awean's. Och, he might be wan of the Elect but for the glint in theeyes o' him and free wi' the bottle--a great _performer_ with thebottle. "

"Would he be leaving any word?" said I, for I would be wearying to comeat the man's business. 

"He kind o' let on tae some knowledge o' a place McEilin's Locker orthat, " says Tam. "Ye would be expected there the night. I am mindinghe would be calling himself McNeilage--the mother o' him was Sassenach. "

"Would he be speaking o' the _Gull_?" said I. 

"No, man, but a party told me, " said the old rascal, "a party told methat the skiffs were below Bealach an sgadan before the moon was up, and Tam is thinking that there will be some fine, fine water on themainland side before the morning--afore the more-nin, " says he. 

There was a strange thumping at my ribs when I had the garron at thedoor, and would be tramping the long yellow straw from his forefeet, and I led him out of the yard and we were on the shoulder of the blackhill when the moon was beginning to go down. And now there were nothoughts of ghosts or bawkins in my head, and I would be laughing whenthe moor-birds would be rising with a quick whirring of wings under thehorse's feet in the heather. At a long loping canter we crossed thepeat hags, and slithered into the valley on the other side and made theburn. I mind I stood the horse in the burn to his knees, and he cooleda little, and then started to be pawing at the water, and snoring at itglinting past his legs, and tinkling and laughing down the glen. Theheather was dark and withered, and at the banks of the stream I amseeing yet the long tufts of white grass, like an old man's beard, shaking with a dry rustle, and there was the sparkle of the last of themoon making a granite boulder gleam into jewel points, and then we madeour way to the Locker. I was not very sure of the place, but I madethe three long whistles on my fingers that the boys will be using whenthere is help needed. From the hillside I got the answer, clear andpiercing like a shepherd's, and then all would be silent except for theswishing of the heather and the thumping at the ribs of me, for I wouldbe sure now that Bryde was in the Locker on some mad ploy. When I wascome near the entrance I dismounted and left the beast loose, for Ikent he would make his way home to his stable. As I was clambering upthe last of it, a voice came to me. 

"Oh man, Hamish, hurry, " and it was not the voice of Bryde, but I kentthe voice, and the eagerness of it and the gladness. 

"Dan, " I cried, "och, Dan, " and after that I am not remembering. How Icame to be sitting in the Locker with Dan beside me, and the smokeeddying up, and the droll-shaped pond and the queer carving all there, as it would be yon daft night twenty years ago, I am not remembering. 

But there was Dan McBride with a sabre slash from his ear to the pointof his chin, and a proud set to his head, and a way of bending from hiships like a man reared in the saddle. A great martial moustache curledat the corners of his mouth. Dan McBride that was away for twentyyears, and mair. He was arrayed in some outlandish soldier rig, withgreat boots and prodigious spurs. 

"The lass, " says he at the first go-off, "what came o' the lass thatwill be my wife?" says he, with a great breath. "Is all things rightwith Belle?"

"Finely, " says I; "you will be seeing her with the daylight. "

"Man, I will have been needing that word, " says he. 

"What am I to be calling ye, man?"

"Hooch, " says he, and his words were sharper and fiercer than of yore. "My father's rank will be good enough for me, but ye will call me DanMcBride and naething else. Major I was in the Low Countries, and thewarrant's in my saddle-bags, " says he. "Wae's me, for I've lost that, horse and all. "

But I had a word to say to that. 

"The horse will be sleeping in the stable, " said I, "and I will be theman that's put him there, " and told him about the strange horse. 

"Yon crater, Dol Beag, didna just dee, " says he after a while. 

"Nor a drop out of his lug, " says I, "if ye will be overlooking acrooked back. I sent ye that word with the heathen. "

"The heathen--the skemp--yon was the last o' the heathen--hilt or hairo' him that I saw, and me mixed up wi' daftlike wars--it was a packetthat reached me--in Dantzig, " says he, "after lying a year, frae somesensible wench calling hersel' Helen Stockdale. . . . "

I was dumb at that, but I was remembering the lass asking of the Scotthat took the Pagan to the mouth of the Rouen river. "Ay, a priestgave the packet to a Scots friend o' mine in Rouen, and then it came tome at a tavern in Dantzig. I didna bide long there. I was landed wi'the smugglers at Fowey, " says he, "and McNeilage put me ashore lastnight at the Point and was to leave word for ye. It was a thoughtgruesome here, " says he, "wi' McAllan and the dog among the bones benthere--deid? Ay, deid twenty years, Hamish, by the look o' things. Tell me about Belle, " said he, "Belle and the boy, Hamish. The lassthat wrote had a great word o' the boy, and she wanted me hame. I amnot sure why--weemen are such droll . . . Is she religious?" says he. 

"Ye'll be seeing, " says I. 

And then again, "I had to have a crack wi' ye, Hamish, before I couldbe doing anything; it's no' canny coming in on folk after a matter o'twenty years. "

All that night we sat before a fire with no other light, and many atime I would be thinking of the Killer dying in there in the dark, andthe dog beside him; the Nameless Man was not in Dan's mind, but thelength of the night. 

"Belle and the boy--'a likely lad, ' ye say. Hoch, he'll come hame, Hamish, never fear--the lasses will be taking him hame at his age. "

And when we were stretched before the red glow of the fire he wouldstill be at the talking, and the last I am minding was his voice. 

"I will have lain beside the fire on the battlefield and seen the eyeso' the wolves glowering through the lowes, Hamish; but, man, it was aking to this weary waiting, a king to this. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A WEDDING ON THE DOORSTEP. 

It was at the drakes' dridd that Dan roused me, and we left McAllan'sLocker behind us with its gruesome keepers, and came down the hillsideto the burn. I mind that there was a raven above us in the morningair, and his vindictive croak-croak was the only living sound that cameto us as we marched. 

At the burn I saw the track of the garron where he had crossed in thenight, and at the burnside Dan stopped. 

"Many a time have I wearied for the sight o' a burn, Hamish, cold andsweet and clean, when we would be drinking water that was stinking, "and he made preparations to splash his face; and it was droll to seethe bronze of his face stop at the throat, and the skin below like aleek for whiteness. 

There were many things to be telling the wanderer--that he had got somenotion of from McNeilage of the _Seagull_, but for the most part it washard to talk to a man walking fast. 

We came up over the last of the three lonely hills, with bare moorlandsand peat hags fornent us, and away below the sea, and I held on for thehouse on the moor that once was McCurdy's hut. The first beast we sawwas a raddy, a droll sheep with four daft-like horns, and there came agreat crying of curlews; and then, when we came near to the housewithout yet seeing it, there was a look of wonder in Dan's face. 

"There was nae grass here when I left hame, " says he; "this will beyour work, Hamish. Ye were aye a great hand for grass. "

As he spoke, it seemed to me that the voice was the same voice that Ikent when I was a boy, but I was at the walking now and hurried him on. 

"Grass, " said I; "look at yon, " and I pointed to the parks and thesteading, with the smoke rising straight from the lums into the frostymorning air. 

"That was the young lad's work, " said I. 

"He will be a farmer at all events . . . " and there was on Dan's faceas he spoke a look of pride and pity all mixed. 

"Belle will not be knowing you are here. "

"Ay, but she will that, Hamish--ye don't ken Belle; look, man, look, she's at the doorstep now. " And if ever a man had it in his bones torun it was Dan, and at the door they met--the very door where the womanhad kissed her man and smote him on the cheek, when I lay in theheather, and the Laird of Scaurdale rode with the wean in the crook ofhis arm--the same Helen that had brought them there then, had broughtalso this happy meeting. It was a picture I would be aye wishing Icould be painting--Belle, her dark face flushed, her eyes suffused, thepride, the love, the longing of her, and her hands twisting andclasping, and her lips trembling, without words coming to them. Theheaving breast and the little flutter at the delicate nostril, what mancan be telling of these things; and Dan, his brows pulled down, and thescar red on his cheek, and his arms half outstretched--Dan took hiswoman into his arms as a man lifts a wean, and I saw his head bend toher face, and the wild clasp of her arms round him, and her lipsparting as she raised them to his. 

I did a daftlike thing then, for I put the saddle on the greathorse--and he was a mettle beast, with many outlandish capers--and Irode through the hill to the kirk, and left word that the ministerwould be doing well to ceilidh at the house on the moor. 

And indeed it was well on in the afternoon when that grave mandismounted a little stiffly from his pony, and I made bold to searchfor Dan and Belle, and tell my errand. It would maybe be a chancybusiness, but these two were like bairns then--and on the doorstep theywere married. And when the minister's little pony was on its roadhome, and the sun still red to the west, and we three still standing atthe door, Belle with with her two hands on Dan's arm, said he--

"I had clean forgot, my dear, but Hamish would always be rememberingthe due observances o' the sacraments. "

A wedding, it seems to me, will be waking the devil of speech in allwomen, and old Betty would be havering like all that. 

"What would I be telling ye?" she would say. "Has he not had the waleof all the weemen, and never the wan could be keeping him but you. Andyou a young thing yet--there will be time for a scroosch of weans; itis Betty that kens, and Bryde the lad will be daidlin' his brother onhis knee. 

"Ye could have been waiting, " says she, "till the lad would be home, and standing under his mother's shawl before the minister, but ye wouldbe that daft to be at the marrying--hoot, toot. "

 * * * * * *

Dan came back to his farming as a boy returns to his play, and it wasdroll whiles at the head-rig to see him straighten his back from theplough stilts, with also a quick far-seeing look to right and left ofhim, and an upward tilt to his chin that brought back the soldier in amoment; and then ye would hear the canny coaxing to get the horses intothe furrow again, and the lost years were all forgotten. 

My uncle took the news of the wedding finely. 

"I'll not be denying Belle is a clever woman, " says he, "a managingtwo-handed lass--imphm. There might have been more of a splore, " sayshe, "and no harm done--a wheen hens and a keg would not have been outof place. "

But my aunt was not in his way of thinking. 

"There would surely be no occasion, " said she (when Margaret was notthere), "the woman was well enough done by already. "

"You would not have him live there in open scandal?" said I. 

"An old song now, " says she; "we always kind of put a face on things, but if Dan would be making a decent woman of Belle, there is nothing tobe said. "

I rode with Hugh and Margaret to be seeing Dan for the first time, andhe had his soldier garb on him when we sat down to meat; and Margaretkept close to him at the table, and their talk was of the Low Countriesand a soldier's life, and yet for all that he would be telling her howthe lassies would be dressing themselves, or the manner of the braidingof their hair, and for Hugh and me he would be giving a great insightinto the working of soils and manures, and the different kinds ofcattle beasts and horse; and very little talk of war we got from him, unless, maybe, it would be a story he would be telling that would giveus an inkling of the business. He would aye be harping on the waste ofland, and indeed if there was nothing else to be doing, he would behaving good red earth carted from useless places and scattered on hisown fields, which I think the old monks would be doing round theirmonasteries long ago, a practice maybe learned from Rome in the earlydays, but I have no sure knowledge of it. 

It was that day that Helen came to the moor house, and among us, withword from John of Scaurdale for Dan to be coming to see him, and I sawthat the very sight of her made a difference; for the face of Hughflushed as he stood to greet her, and Margaret took to the talking in avivacious manner that was not like her. 

And Dan had many words for his visitor. "For, " says he, in a grandfashion, "were it not for you, madam, I might be finding myself lyingin harness, with the half o' Europe between me and this bonny place;"and again, after a quizzing look, "I will not be the one to think youwill be overly religious either"; but I am thinking I was the only onethat would be getting the meaning of that saying. 

"But why did you not return--many years?" said Helen. 

"Just precisely that I would never be the one to see one o' my namedangling at the end o' a cart tether, " said Dan, "or jingling at across-roads on a wuddy. Many a night I would be at this place, " sayshe, with a smile to his wife, "but there was no word for me, and theyears came and went, and there would be fighting to be going onwith--och, it was a weary waiting when there was no little warsomewhere, but it's by wi' now, the great thing is that it's bywith. . . . "

Hugh and Mistress Helen went their own road, and we watched them fromthe doorstep, and Dan himself put the saddle gear on Margaret's littlehorse, and walked a bit of the way with us on the home road. 

"I am liking that man too, " said Margaret, when we were alone, "but Iam thinking there was a liking for the wandering, and the fighting inhim, or else he had been back long syne. "

"He would have his happy days these twenty years, " said she, "in newtowns and among new folk, and Belle kind of chained to the moorhere--it is that silent woman I will be liking the best of all, Hamish. "

"My dear, " said I, "you are not understanding the pride of your ainfolk. Yon was the God's truth and nothing else he told Mistress Helen;the hangman's rope is no decent to be coiled about a man's folk. It'sjust the cleverness of Helen Stockdale I will be made up with--thesimple sending of a screed of news; what beats me is why she did it. "

"And that's easy to me, " says Margaret. "It would just be a gift toBelle, Hamish. "

"To Belle, " says I. 

"There are maybe more ways o' killing a cat than choking it withbutter, " said the lass, "but that will be a very effective way, andeven the cat might like it, I am thinking. Ye'll mind, Hamish, thatBelle is the mother o' Bryde McBride, and what could not but bepleasing to the mother, would be like enough to please the lad, thatdoted on her a' his days. "

"I think I am seeing it, " said I. 

"Ay, but Helen never would be seeing it like that, Hamish. She saw itlike a flash, and sent the letter that brought back Dan, and I am notsure but Bryde would be here yet, if the mail had but come to handsooner. "

"Margaret, " said I, "are there none among the young sparks coming aboutthe place that you could be tholing about ye?"

"No, " says she, with a smile; "there is a word among the kitchenwenches that whiles comes into my mind, Hamish. "

"The kitchen wenches' conversation will be doing finely for me, " saysI, a little put out. 

"It is none such a bad saying either, Hamish. This is it, " said she, "and there's no great occasion to be in a black mood with a lass--

"A clean want, Hamish, is better than a dirty breakfast. That's whatthe lassies say, whiles, in the kitchen. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

MARGARET McBRIDE KISSES HELEN. 

It would always be a great pleasure for me to be watching Dan, the wayhe would be toiling against the heather, and draining in the moss inthe seasons, and rearing his horses, for his great war-horse sired manyfoals, and maybe to this day you will see the traces of that breed inthe little crofts where the horses and cattle beasts are as long bredas the names of the folk that own them. They were black for the mostpart, the breed of the war-horse, and very proud in their bearing, butbigger beasts than the native breed, and not so much cow-hocked(although that is a hardy sign), nor so scroggy at the hoof--ay, andthey would trot for evermore. You will maybe hear to this day a farmersaying of a mare of that strain: "She is one of the old origineels. "But whiles the twenty years of his soldiering would come over the man, and ye would be hearing him at his camp-songs in the French language, and there would come a prideful swing to his body, and a quick way ofspeech, and an overbearing look, as though maybe the common work wasgalling, and the sheep and beasts nothing better than for boiling in asoldier's camp-kettle. These times would maybe be after a fair or awedding, and indeed he was not to be interfered with except by his ownnative folk, for he would ride at a ganger or an exciseman for thepleasure of seeing them run like dafties when the mood was on him--or adrop too much in him--and for no ill-nature whatever; but it wasfearsome to see the big black horse stretch to the gallop, with flyingmane and wicked eye a-rolling. But Belle could tame her man, and shekent his every mood and his every look. It was droll and laughable tooto see her hand his little son to Dan (for old Betty was right: therewas another son to Belle--not a "scroosch, " as the old one said, butone boy, and they put Hamish on him for a name: Hamish Og they calledhim, and he ruled that house). 

"Here is your son to be holding for a little, my man, " that dark womanBelle would be saying, and Dan, in his big moods, would be answering--

"Have I not held the sword in my hand for twenty years, and what wereweans to me in these days?"

"Very little--I am hoping, Dan, " his wife would answer with a straightdark look, and the beginning of a laugh in her eyes, for always Danwould be remembering the first boy this wife of his had reared in thoseyears, and a kind of shame would come over him, and Belle would laughfor that she had her man back, and her laughter was a thing to gladdenthe heart, and Dan would never be tired of hearing it. So the big moodwould pass, and the hard-fighting farmer would be at work again; butwhiles, after the laughing, the old longing, half-fierce look would bein Belle's eyes, and I kent it was not Dan or Hamish Og she wasthinking of, but her first-born, Bryde. 

And as the years wore on there was another thing to be watching inBelle. She would take the wean in a shawl swathed round her limberfigure, and only the little head of him outside of it, and his eyesseeing things, like a young bird, and she would walk to the rise whereold John of Scaurdale's man waved the lanthorn to McGilp on the nightwhen I chased the deer, and there she would stand for long, lookingseaward and crooning to the wean. This she would be doing every nightbefore the gloaming. 

"He will come on yon road, " she would sometimes be telling Hamish Og, and point to the grey sea away to the suthard. 

Now these freits are very catchy, and will follow folks that put faithin them, and there are many such folk to this day; and even MargaretMcBride would always be putting great faith in the crowing of a cock--anoble fellow he was, of the Scots Grey breed. At the feeding-timeMargaret would be thrang with her white hands in a measure of grain, and I would be hearing her speaking to the chanticleer. If he would becrowing once, it was not good, and she would be coaxing him. 

"Have you not better word than that?" she would flyte at him at thesecond cry; and if the bird would crow the three times, she would belavish with the feeding and grow cheerful. And there was a time whenMistress Helen was with her at this task, and curious at all thetalking. 

"If he will cry three times--is it that something happens?" said Helen. 

"It will be good news. "

"Perhaps a lover comes?"

"I am not to have a man, it seems, " says Margaret. 

"If my lover comes, " murmured Helen softly, with her slow smile, "Iwill know--another way. "

"In what way?" says Margaret, throwing the last of the grain to thefowls about her feet. 

"Something will _leap up_ here, ma belle, where my heart is. "

And for some reason Margaret, the Flower of Nourn, dropped her graindish and kissed her guest. 

Now there is little to be telling when little things only are in thememory, and yet the days with little to be remembering are the happydays, that go past quickly like youth, and leave but vague memories ofsunshine and laughter--of nights, and song, and dance. And there weregreat nights of happiness, for in these days the folk had the time tobe knowing one the other, and neighbourly. And maybe in an eveningthere would be gathered at Dan's place all the old friends of hisyouth. You would be seeing Ronald McKinnon and Mirren, sitting in thecircle round the fire, thrang at the knitting--both man andwife--kemping as they called it: that is, each would tie a knot in theworsted and make a race of it, who would be finished first. And JockMcGilp too would be there, standing off and on, between the stories ofhis wild seafaring days and the ghost stories of his youth; and RobinMcKelvie and his sister that met us on the shore head of the isle thatnight the Red Laird passed; and there was no Red Roland in her mindthese days, for she had weans to her oxter. And maybe, perched on atable like a heathen god, the tailor would be working; and if therewere young lassies with their lads, ye would have the fiddle going, andthe hoochin' and the dancing. 

And even in the cottars' houses the good-wife would have a meal on sucha night, and it would be pork and greens, or herring and potatoes; andthen when it was bedtime in the morning, the ceilidhers would take theroad, with maybe a piper at the head of them, and it would be atanother house they would be meeting on the next night. Wae's me, thesedays are fast going, and there are bolts and bars on the doors now. The story of a winter's ceilidhing would be a great book for finestories. 

And into a meeting of this kind, when the evening was well on, cameHugh McBride, and there was the great scraping of chairs and stoolsback from the fire, and Belle would have been putting a fire in abetter room; but Dan had been too long in the field for these capers, for all that Hugh would be Laird and very grand above common folk. Danwaved him to a chair in his polite way, and made him very welcome. ButHugh was not seeing chairs that night, much less sitting quietly. There was a sparkle in his eye and a flush on his cheeks, and his smilewas for everybody, and when the lave of the folk were on the road hetold us the news. 

"Mistress Helen will be having me, " says he. "Och, I will have beensinging every love-song I was remembering since I left the gate atScaurdale. "

And we made a great "to-do" about it, and we were not any the bettermaybe for what we drank to his luck, and the lass's luck; and on thehill-road home he was at the singing again. 

"She is a fine lass, Hamish--my wife that will be; is she no'?"

"A fine lass. "

"For a while--a long while the night, --it was in my mind that she wouldnot be caring to have me, for she has the wale of brisk Ayrshire ladsto pick from, and she swithered long. "

"'We were babies together, ' says she, 'in your mother's house?'

"I heard tell of that from my mother. "

"'And Bryde, he was not born yet--Bryde, your relative?'"

"He was born in the hill house yonder, beside the 'three lonely ones, 'Helen. "

"'Three lonely ones, Hugh, ' said she, very low--'three lonely ones. Ifeel it in my bones that always there will be three lonely ones. '

"Till the frost and the rain of a million years level the hills, " saidI. 

"'A million years, Hugh! It is long to wait. '

"It will not be so long as I have waited, Helen; and she smiled atthat, Hamish, and then--

"'You have a very old name in this place, my guardian says. '

"Ay, an old name, Helen. 

"'Then, ' said she, 'I think--I think I will be, what they say, "all inthe family. "'"

"What would she mean by that, Hugh?"

"I am not sure, " said he, "but I ken that John o' Scaurdale and myfather are set on a weddin', and the lass kens it too, and I amthinking it is the land she is thinking of; it will be all in thefamily when we make a match of it. "

"Just that, " said I; but in my mind there was another thought that Inever was telling, and this was it--

Mistress Helen was thinking that Bryde would never have Margaret, because of a fault that was none of his making, and that would leavetwo lonely ones; and maybe, too, she was thinking that she herselfwould never be having Bryde (for another reason), and that would makethree lonely ones. As for being all in the family--well, if she couldnot be having Bryde, she could be having his cousin, and I'm thinkingthat not the half of an acre of land was even in her mind at all. Butit would not do to be telling that to a man that would just have lefthis trysted wife. 

When Margaret had the word there were tears standing in her eyes. 

"I am wondering if there would be something to leap up when Helenpromised herself to our Hugh, " said she. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

IN WHICH BETTY COMPLAINS OF GROWING-PAINS. 

It was the Halflin that brought me word that Betty was not so well, andwould I be coming to see her. 

"What is her complaint?" said I. 

"It iss the growing-pains, in her old legs, and in the top of heroxters--wild, bad, ay, terrible bad. "

There was a great change in the old one, it seemed to me, when I wasseeing her. She would be so very wee-looking in her bed, and herspirits so low. She looked at the lotions and mixtures I had fetchedwith me, and then shook her head sadly, and cried in the Gaelic, "Thehour of my departure is come. Hamish, Hamish, is the whisky to be notany more use?"

"There are the good words I could be saying, " says she in a whisper, "but the minister is no' for them. "

"Whatna good words?"

"Och, chust to be calling on the saints, St Peter and St Paul--mora, but Paul wass the lad, " and she brisked up a wee at that, andwhispered, "There are them I could be naming, Hamish, that St Paulwould be curing. Ay, bodies and beasts I have seen the good wordsworking a cure on, but wae's me, Hamish, I will never be hearing thecuckoo again. I am loath to part wi' this bonny place, calm andpeaceful for a body's old age, and I will be missing the fine smell ofthe grass when it will be newly cut, and the clink of the stones on thecutting-hooks. "

"Well, Betty, it will be the road we all must go at the hinder end--afine road, Betty, from the point at the Gorton to the Island; for itwas in her mind to be in the old burial-ground, and you will be lyingthere among your folk, on yon holy place, with the sun beating down andthe cool blue sea at your feet, and all the friends sitting on theMount of Weeping above the Brae, thrang at the greeting; and maybe onan east-wind night the spirit of ye will be hearing the rattle ofhalyards and the plash of the anchors, when the boats come in forshelter--and Bryde's among them. . . . "

"Bryde, Hamish--och, the limber lad. . . . Are you thinking it is allover wi' Betty, Hamish?"

"Ay, Betty. "

"_Well, it's no'_--give me a little spirits, " said she, a look ofindomitable courage on her face, and pursing her lips into a thin line. 

When I put the spirits into her hand she sipped a little, and coughedpolitely at the strength of it, and then turned herself towards me. 

"A grain o' water, " said she. "You will be liking it plain yourself, but I would aye be liking a little water--after it. Many's the dayhave I been waiting for the coming of Bryde, the dear one, the limberlad, and I will be tholing yet a wee, for I will be seeing him before Iwill be going to my own place. "

And with that Margaret came to be speaking to the old one, and formyself I made my way outside to where I could be laughing in comfort, for the sight of Betty's face when she had made up her mind to betholing a little longer was too much for me. 

It was after this visit to Betty that Margaret would be asking me to betaking the dogs and catching her a pair or two, maybe, of youngrabbits, for they were well grown, and she took butter in the blade ofa kail, and such-like truck, and went to see Mhari nic Cloidh. 

She was come of a great race this Mhari nic Cloidh, a race that hasgiven the old names to glens and to burns, a race that led theBrandanes of the Kings; but she was old and lived alone, except maybewhen the young lassies would be doing the scouring of her blankets, tramping like all that, and among the lassies was the saying that Mharinic Cloidh had the gift. 

Well, for that I will not be saying, but she would aye have a dram forkent folk, and Dan McBride took me with him there many a time. Well, well, the young boys would be tormenting the old lady--they would belighting green branches in the fire in her sleeping-place, to smeek herout, not meaning any ill, but just for a ploy, and to see her lindgingat them with the stick from her bed, and craking and raging at themtime about, to be taking the divot off the top of the lum. And thatwas the great diversion for them; but when Margaret went to her thistime she was thrang at the building of her stack of peat, and there waswith her a younger woman, and Mhari nic Cloidh was not in good wind, for the first of her words came to us: "A traill, " says she to herhelper. "Traill, " it seems to me, would be meaning in the English, "lazy, useless, bedraggled"; but there is no word in English that wouldbe giving the contempt of that word, which I am thinking would havesome connection with the Norse word "troll, " but I am not sure of it. But there was no end to her kindness for Margaret. 

"It was in me that you would be coming, mo leanabh, fresh and beautifullike the bloom on the hawthorn, a maiden of the morning, bringing giftsin her hands. "

So I left them in the house, and tried my hand at the building of thepeats till I was seeing that the traill was well contented to besitting watching me and doing nothing; and at that I left the rick, forI cannot put up with idleness; besides, I was not making a very goodhand at the building. When I put my head into the room again, Mharinic Cloidh was thrang at the talking in a droll sing-song voice, andthis was the air of it--

"The word will come over the water--soon it will be coming--ay, soon--there will be one coming from the sea. "

Now I was jalousing that Margaret was like the lave of lassies, verykeen to be at the probing into the future, a thing that is not canny tobe having any belief in, and not in accordance with the Scriptures; butfor all that--

"What havers was it the old one would be telling you, and me outside atthe peats?"

"She will be getting old and thinking droll thoughts, Hamish--just oldwives' havers, about the crops and the wars that will be coming. . . . "

"And the word from the sea, Margaret? Will that be news of a battlemaybe?"

"I am not sure I was understanding that, " said she, looking away. "Iam thinking that would be not anything at all, " but I could see herhiding a smile. 

"I am hoping there is no harm come to Bryde, " said I, "and the wordcoming home on a ship. "

At that the sly smile (for it was sly) was quick to vanish from thelass's face, and she turned to me then. 

"I am hating you when you croak like a raven, wishing evil, " shecried--"there will be no harm to Bryde. I will be having news of himsoon, and I will be going on a journey with him. . . . "

"Well, my lass, could you not have been telling me" (for she was angryand nearly weeping), "instead of talking about crops and wars, " said I. 

"Are you not always telling me it is havers, " she cried out, "and notfor sensible folk to be listening to, and putting belief in. I amthinking you are worse than me, " and at that she left me in a fineflare of temper. 

 * * * * * *

Now on the shore from Bealach an sgadan till you come well below therise of the hill of the fort there is a roughness of grass and spritsthat will put a fine skin on grazing beasts, maybe from the strength ofthe salt in the ground and the wrack, for with high tides the place isoften flooded. We would graze young beasts there all the summer with aherd-boy at the watching of them. A lonely eerie place for a nightvigil, with nothing but waterfowl and cushies for company; and on aSabbath I went there (for a man must see his beasts, no matter for theevil example of stravaging on the Lord's Day), and when I would bethrough with the queys I walked on the little path, on the short turfwell past the grazing, to the place where the rocks on the shore arevery large, and set in droll positions, as though maybe a daft giant ofthe old days had cocked them up for his play, and at this place, lyingcurled between the smaller boulders, was a man twisting a bit oftattered rope into fantastic knots, and eyeing his work with a drollhalf-pleased look, and his head a little to one side. 

I gave him good-day, and he started round suddenly all alert, like aman well used to handling himself. 

"Ay, " said he, "there will be mackerel there, " and he pointed to thesea, all a-louping with the fish, and then he unravelled his knots, andsmoothed the strands with hands brown as a bark sail, and hard-lookingas an oak. 

"You will be following the sea?"

"Just that, " said he, "this long while--seven years maybe. I was atthe herdin' before that with my father--it is a homely thing to behearing the crying o' the sheep in the hills. Many's the time I wouldbe thinking on that when the fog would be round us, and naething to belistening for but the creaking o' a block in the rigging. Maistsailor-men have the notion o' a farm, " says he, "when they will be atsea. I am thinking it will come to that wi' me too, when my father isold and my mother. "

"Where is your place?" said I. "Are you from these parts?" for therewas a look about him I kent, and yet could not be naming it. 

"Ronald McKinnon is my father, " said he. 

"And you went to sea years ago, " I cried at him, "just before the fairon the green. You are Angus McKinnon, and Ronald, your father, will bethe proud man. "

"Yea, I was thinking you would be kennin' me soon, " said he, laughing;"and my father was telling me you would be walking here on a Sunday. It will be very sedate in our house this day, and McGilp, that wasmaster of the _Gull_, waling the Bible for stories of sailing craft;and my father reading about Jacob, and yon droll tricks he would bedoing with the cattle o' his mother's brother--yon was sailin' near thewin'. 

"I was seein' beasts like yon, speckled and spotted and runnin' wild"(he would be thinking of Laban's herd), "in an island in the Indies, "said Ronald's son after a while. 

"A herd?"

"A herd--ay, kye in legions. We made a slaughter o' them andsmoke-cured the flesh for the harnish casks--the Frenchmen are theclever ones at that work--'boucan, ' they would be saying; and, man, itaye minded me o' a bochan wi' the smoke and that"; and I was thinkingwhile Angus McKinnon was speaking of the wee black huts that our folkwill be calling bochans to this day, and wondering if the French hadput that name on them, for smoky they are indeed. 

"It was _that_ I was coming to, " said the sailor; "it would be there Ifell in with your kinsman. "

"Ay, " said I, sitting up and thinking of Mhari nic Cloidh; "is it BrydeMcBride you are meaning?"

"Just that, " said he, looking far to sea; "a devil o' a man yon, witheyes that would drill a hole in an oak timber. He came there in aprivateer--Captain Cook, I think, was master of her, Bryde McBridemate--lieutenant, the crew would be saying, for the schooner carriedletters o' marque--a fast ship and well found; the _Spray_ was the nameof her. "

"And Bryde McBride--had you speech with him?"

"I had that--ay, we yarned for long and long, him in his fine clothesan' all, and very pressing with the rum. He would be speaking aboutyou, and telling me if I was seeing you ever to be saying he would bedoing finely, and very full of notions about growing fine crops when hewould be back again. It was droll to be listening to him yarning abouthis crops, and me with all the stories I would be hearing from the crewof his schooner. "

"Ay, man; but what like is the boy?"

"The boy, " says he, and laughed. "Lord, he is a boy, ye may weel sayit, quiet and smiling, and fond of throwing back the head of him andlaughing. He will aye be doing that; but there is no man will run foulo' him, drunk or sober, in these seas, and there are bold sailor-men inthe Indies, ay, bold stark men. He carries a long lean sword wi' abonny grip--the maiden, he will be calling her, --she will have kissedmany, they were saying. . . . "

"And is he coming home?"

"He would be settling that, " said the sailor; "but there were storieso' bonny bright eyes in Jamaica and the towns there-away--ay there isdancing and devilry in these bonny places"; and McKinnon's son sighedin a way that would have brought no pleasure to the ears of his mother, Mirren Stuart, that used to ride the Uist pony in her young days. 

The grass was wet with dew when I left the sailor and made my roadhome, and I mind that I looked away to the suthard for a sail, andthere was a queer gladness and a sorrow in me, and a grave doubt aboutthat old woman Mhari nic Cloidh and her havers. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE RAKING BLACK SCHOONER. 

I met Belle and Dan with the boy with them at the big stones away belowthe peat hags where the sea lies open to a man's look, and I took theyoung boy on my shoulder and laughed at Belle when she would be sayinghe was too big to be carried, and there was the look of pride in theswarthy face, pride and tenderness, as she stood, her hand on the armof her man. But Dan kent me better. 

"Out with it, Hamish. What good news gars ye giggle like a lass?"

"Man, " I said, "have ye no' heard?--McKinnon's son is home, and hasword o' Bryde. Betty will be seeing him with this boy in his arms yet. Bryde is coming home. "

Belle's hands came to her heart for a little, and then her arms wereround Dan like a wild thing. 

"Oh, man, man, are you not glad?" she cried--"are you not glad?"

"Glad!" said Dan, and swallowed hard. "Ay, lass, glad is not theword, " and then he kept shaking my hand, and looking at me withoutwords, but Belle was afire. 

"Hamish, " she cried, clinging to me with her daftlike foreign ways, "will you always be bringing me good news till I am old and ugly?"

That night old Betty forgot her growing-pains and sang to the boy, Hamish Og, and it was a mercy that he had not much of the Gaelic sofar, for the songs were not very douce, and not what a body might beexpecting from an old woman that had seen much sorrow; but I am oftenthinking that she would have her good days too, for she would beenjoying her biting, and putting a pith into it that made Dan himselfstare in wonder. 

And I told my uncle and my aunt the news when Margaret was not by, forI kept mind of her talk of old wives' havers, and I kent the mother ofMargaret would not be telling her, nor the Laird either for that part, for he was a good deal under her thumb in these matters; but for allthat I might have been sparing myself the bother, for this is what cameof it. 

We were gathered for the reading and Hugh a little late, as was usualwhen he went 'sourrying--God forbid that he should--when he wentcourting, and after the reading there was a little time to talk, and, said he, stretching his legs--

"Helen was telling me Bryde will be home one of these days. "

Now here, thinks I, is a bonny kettle of fish, for Margaret was sittingwith us, but for all the suddenness of it she never geed her beaver, and I kent then that she had word some way. 

"Mistress Helen has quick news, " said I. 

"She has a maid yonder, Dol Beag's lass, and she brought the word fraeMcKinnon's son, it seems; Kate Dol Beag had the news. "

"Imphm, " said I, for Margaret was looking down and smiling in a waythat angered me a little--"imphm, " said I. "Did she say was hebringing his wife with him?"

"Wife?" said Hugh with a start. 

Margaret was not smiling now, but I will say this; she was making abrave try at it. 

"Some lady in Jamaica, " said I, "wi' bonny bright eyes, young McKinnonwas thinking. "

At that Hugh left us, smiling. 

"Hamish, " said Margaret, "you are not being kind to me any more--it isnot true. "

"Margaret, when did you see Ronald's son?"

"Oh, I was looking for a sailor coming home, " said she, "since yon daywe went to old Mhari nic Cloidh's, and then the lassies told meRonald's boy was home--and--and the night you were at Dan's theybrought him here--a nice quiet boy--and I _happened_ to go into thekitchen when he was there . . . And, Hamish, it is not nice to beunfriends like this, you and me, and I would not be meaning yon I saidto you about old wives' havers--_now_, " and after that she came and satbeside me, and put an arm round my neck. 

"Will you tell me this, Hamish?" says she in her wheedling voice. "Will you tell me truly?"

"What is it?" said I. 

"Did McKinnon's son say anything about bonny bright eyes?"

"He said there were bonny bright eyes in Jamaica and the townsthereabout, Margaret, and he kind o' looked as though maybe he waswearying to be back there. "

"Poof!" said she, "and was that all. I am thinking I would maybe belike that myself, if the Lord had made me a boy. "

"Well, my lass, there's nane will deny that Bryde was a little that wayhimself--he would aye have a quick eye for a likely lass from what Ican mind. "

"Well, " said she, being very merry and bold, and showing herself beforeme, "am not I a likely lass, Hamish, my dear?"

Now the old folk will use that expression with a very definite meaning, and when I thought of that I was feeling my face smiling, and me tryingnot to, as I looked at the lass. 

"Hamish, " she cried, "did you ever look at a lass like that before--itis a wonder to me you are not married long ago, " and then with a frownon her face, but half laughing yet, "I ken, " she cried, "she wasmarried already, poor Hamish--was it Belle?"

But I was thinking it was time to be putting an end to her daffing. 

"Listen, my dear, " said I; "I ken another likely lass. "

"Oh?"

"Helen, " said I. 

"Likely, " she cried--"likely, the likeliest lass I will ever be seeing, Hamish--_for a sister_. "

But for all that she would be jibing at Hugh and his marriage. "Hughie, " she would cry, "the fine sunny days are passing. When I geta man I am thinking it will be half the joy of it to be out with him onthe hills and among the trees, and maybe on the sea. You will bewaiting till the rainy days come, and that will not be so lucky. "

"Och, " said Hugh, "I will be sitting inside with the lass I marry onthe wet days. "

"Yes, Hugh; but I would be liking to be out with him in the rain andlaughing at it and loving it, because I would be with him. "

"The Lord should have made you a man, " said I, "for you would bekissing your lass on some hill-top with the rain in her brown face andclinging to her curls, Margaret. "

"Brown face and curls, " she cried. "I wonder. Would my lass have beenlike that, Hamish, like Belle, or with a look--like Mistress Helenmaybe; but I would be loving the kissing anyway, " said she. 

And Helen Stockdale was often with us, whiles, to my thinking, a littleskeich[1] with Hugh, as though maybe she would rouse the temper in him, for that she seemed to delight in, but never would she be telling uswhat her man should be like. 

"Husban', " she would say, with a shrug of her shoulder, "_il fautnecessaire_--one must, I think, be sensible; is it not so?--perrhaps inanozer world one may know from the beginning, " and I often wondered ifshe had forgotten how something should leap up at her heart. She wouldtalk to Margaret about her gowns, using terms that never before had Iheard tell of, and sending as far as Edinburgh for her braws, which, Iam thinking, was a waste of good money, but I kept my thumb on that. For the wedding was to come off at the back-end, and I would be hopingthat the weather would keep up, and the harvest be well got, wedding ornot. 

And in these long summer evenings very often I would be taking one ofthe men with me and a net, and taking the boat from the beach we wouldgo out with the splash-net, for I would be fond of the sport as well asof the daintiness of the eating in salmon trout. In the dusk we wouldbe leaving, and whiles not coming in till it was two or three o'clockin the morning. 

I am thinking that maybe long ago the folk on the island would bewatching for an enemy landing from the water, for with the sea as calmas a mill-pond and just the loom of the land--maybe through a haze--thesenses will become very alert, and any little noise without the boat aman will be hearing, and wondering about, as well as listening to thesplash of a fish falling into the water after a gladsome leap, and thenoise of splashing of the oars to frighten the salmon-trout into themeshes. 

On an August evening we were in the little bay near the rock at themouth of the wee burn that passes the great granite stone on theshore--for that is a namely place for trout. There was a bright goldengleam as the oars dipped, and a swirl of phosphor fire at the sternlike little wandering stars, when I heard the noise of oars and thecreak of thole-pins, and I turned to look, thinking maybe some otherwas at the fishing, but the boat was heading for the port at thePoint--wrack-grown now, and only to be seen at low tide. 

In the bay at anchor was a schooner, a low raking black schooner, withthe gleam of her riding light reflecting a long way over the watertoward the shore--a sign of rain, we say. In a little I heard a gruffvoice in the English, for the words came to me plainly--

"Easy, starbo'd; easy, all, " and then the scrunch of a keel on sand, and after a little time I heard a boat being shoved off and the thrustof oars, and then the same voice again--

"Give way together, " and it came to me that the quick command had thering of a Government ship, and I was wondering if the _Gull_ was makingfor her home port, for my heart somehow warmed to the _Gull_, andMcNeilage, when I would be looking at the loom of that raking blackschooner, and hearing the quick short strokes of the oars of therow-boat with no singing or any laughter. We had a good catch of fishwhen we got started to row back to the place where we beached thelittle boat, and it would be the best of an hour's rowing to get there. Little we spoke passing round the Point, except maybe to voice a wonderthat a boat should come in there. And never another word was said tillsuch times as we would be going gently, feeling, as it were, for thelittle gut in the rock, where we made a habit of coming ashore. 

The sky was clearing to the eastward, the light giving a droll shape tothe bushes, and showing a little mist hanging low when the keel gratedon the gravel, and there on the shore-head was a man standing, asea-coat, as I think they name it, round him. The eeriness of the dimlight, the wild squawks of the sea-birds in the ears, and that greatdark figure standing motionless, put a dread on the serving-man. 

"In the name of God, " said he, "cho-sin (who is it)?"

"If he is Finn himself, " said I, trying to be bold, "he will be givingus a hand with the skiff whatever. "

There came a ringing laugh from the stranger. 

"Well done, Hamish; ye'll aye make good your putt--a bonny lan' tackthey would make wanting you. "

"It is he, " cried the serving-man. 

"Bryde, " I cried, "what is it makes you come back this way and at thistime of the night?"

These were the daftlike words I had for him, and me holding his handand clapping him on the back, as if he were a wean again. 

"It was a notion I had, " said he, "to come back the way I would beleaving yon time--in the dark. "

[1] Frisky. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

TELLS WHERE BRYDE MET HAMISH OG. 

What would you be having me tell you now?--of how we carried the fishhome from the skiff, of how we walked slowly up the shore road, withBryde standing to look at the places he would have been remembering. 

"I have been in many places, " said he, "but I am not remembering sobonny a place as this. "

Would it be pleasing you to hear that when we came to the Big House, Bryde left me standing, and went through the wood behind the stackyardand stood on the knowe and looked at the window where the Flower ofNourn slept. 

"Now, " said he after that, "I will go to my mother. "

"She will be awaiting, " said I, "your mother and the boy Hamish--yourbrother. "

"And who, " said he stopping, "who is the father of my brother?" andthere was a whistling of his breath in his nostrils. 

"Your father, " said I. 

"Ah, " said he, "is that man home?" and his pace was quicker and therewas a line deep in his brows. "How long has my father been in thisplace?"

"It would be soon after you would be following the seas, and they weremarried. "

"He was a little behind the fair, it seems, " and the bitterness in hisvoice was not good to be hearing. We were silent until we came insight of the white stone below the house on the moor on the road to thethree lonely ones, and then I cried, pointing--

"She is waiting. "

"I see her, " said he, "and the boy with her, " and I looked at thefar-seeing sailor eyes with the little wrinkles at the corners thatseamen and hillmen have, and he left me. When I reached the stone theywere there, the son comforting the mother, and the little boy Hamishstanding a little way off, affrighted. 

"Take me, " he cried, his arms out, "Hamish is feared of the great blackman, " and I would have taken him, but Bryde was before me. 

"Come, little dear, " said he, and smiled, and the boy came to himslowly, the mother watching, and then Bryde swung his little brother onhis shoulder. 

"We will be doing finely now, " said he; "and you kent I was coming, "said he to the mother, smiling at her. 

"I saw her sailing in the Firth, your black schooner, the neatness ofher, and the pride, and I said, 'It is my son's ship you are'; and whenshe was at an anchor in the calm water I was watching for the littleboat to be coming to the shore, but the darkness was down and yourfather took me away. Morning and evening, " said she, "rain or fine, Iwould be looking for you since Angus McKinnon came home. "

"What--is he home then? I forgathered with him, I mind. I was mate onthe _Spray_, " said Bryde. "Well, he would be telling you I was lucky. I have word that I can be sailing a King's ship if I will be goingback. "

At the door of the place that was old McCurdy's hut, Dan McBride wasstanding. The white was streaking in the redness of his face, and hewas shaking. Bryde put the boy in his mother's arms, and it is droll, but Belle went to the side of her man. 

"Dan, " said she, "I have brought you your son, " and she looked from oneto the other, her lips quivering. Bryde opened his mouth to speak, looking at his father--a long level look. 

"You are a fine man, " said he, "my father. "

At the words Dan took a great gulp of a breath and his eyes werefilling. 

"I will have a great son, " said he, and cried aloud on his Maker. "Myson, oh, my son, can you be forgiving your father?"

"There is no ill in my heart for you, " said the son, "only pity and astrange love since the day that Hamish put your gift to me into myhand. I will have been carving my own name with that sword, and it iskindness in you to be lending your name to me. "

"My name and all that I have, " cried the father, and took his son intothe house. 

Well, well, it is easy to be writing of that meeting, but the dread ofit that was on me I kent afterwards when we were at meat, when we hadall laughed together. It would be Betty that brought the laughing onus, for she would be crying to us to ken who was the stranger. 

And when Bryde went to her bedside, she scrambled up among her pillows. 

"Will you have been fetching a silk dress for Betty?" she cried at him. 

"Silk and lace and more, " said Bryde. 

"Not brandy, " says she, her lips pursed up. 

"Just brandy. "

"Come and be kissing me first, " said she, a little tremulously, "andthen we will maybe be having a drop of it. "

The halflin, a stout man now, and clever with horse, came in to thehouse to be seeing Bryde. 

"Ye can be riving the skin off my bones, " said he, "for I was tellingher about yon. "

"About what?" said Bryde, but I think that he kent, for his face wasdark. 

"About the words ye would be telling her yon night ye left wi' thekist, and her not there to be hearing. She would be giving me siller, "said the halflin. 

I am thinking he would get mair siller. And most of that day, it wouldbe nothing but questions, Bryde sitting with his brother on his knee, and Dan going out of himself with little kindnesses. 

"Hugh is not married, ye tell me. What ails the man?"

"Och, " said I, "his days o' freedom will be getting fewer, for theywill be at the marrying soon. "

"We will be having a spree then, " said Bryde. "I am thinking I have apresent for Mistress Helen in my traps. "

And his kists and bags and droll cases came from the stone quay in theevening, and I was greatly taken with the cunningness of the cases ofleather, fashioned likely from a cow belly, and with the hair stillsticking, although maybe a little bare and worn, and the cornersclamped with iron, making a box of leather of a handy shape for a packbeast, or easy to be stored in a ship. 

And the cries of Betty when she had her dress (all of fine black silkwith much lace, fine like cobwebs), the cries of her were heartening ina body so old, but maybe a little foolish. For his mother he had ahost of things--a chain of fine gold with a pearl here and there atintervals, and a watch for me of chased silver, very large andhandsome. To his father he gave a bridle of plaited hair andornamented with silver, a very fine bit of work, and too beautiful foreveryday use, but Dan sat with it on his knee, and indeed it was hungin the place of honour beside his great sword. 

And we sat long listening to Bryde when the strangeness wore off him, and he was telling us of how he came on board a King's ship and workedand fought until his officers were proud of him, and of how he becamean officer on board a frigate, a position most difficult to attain toin those days (although there are other men from the island who havedone the like, as a man can be reading in the records). He told us ofhis sailing days in the privateer _Spray_ in the Indies, and of hismeeting with Angus McKinnon, but of these things I will not be writingat any length in this story. 

The father and son left me a good way on the home road, and I made myway indoors with no noise, and there was not so much as a dog barking, and when I was in my own place I sat thinking for a long time. 

And it came on me that Bryde was the wise one to be going away with hissword, and to be making a name for himself, and siller. For the Brydethat was fit to command a King's ship would be far different from theboy on a moorside farm, and I was weaving dreams like a lass at herspinning when the door was opened behind me and Margaret stood lookingin, a light held high in her hand and her arm bare. 

"When will he be coming?" said she. It would likely be the man thatwas with me at the splash-net that would be telling her the news. 

"He has been here already, " said I, "and you sound sleeping. "

"I will be easy wakened, Hamish; a chuckle stone at the window wouldnot have been putting you out of your road. Will he be changed in hisfeatures?" says she, "and was he asking for all of us?"

"Indeed he was all questions, " said I; "but I am not remembering thathe spoke of you, my lass. "

"My motherless lass! am I clean forgot then?"

"I would not say that either, " said I, and told her about the windowgazing. 

"He will be a little blate for such a namely man, " said Margaret, but Icould see there was a glow of pleasure over her. 

"It will be long past time for the bedding, " said I. 

"There is no sleep will come to me this night"; and then, "I wonderwill the daylight never be coming?"

"Margaret, " said I, and I am glad always that I said this--"Margaret, "said I, "Bryde will be coming here in the morning; you will be meetingyour kinsman on the road, " said I, "and that will be doing him akindness. 

"Maybe he will not be for me to be meeting him, Hamish?"

"There's aye that, Margaret, but I would be risking it. "

CHAPTER XXXI. 

BRYDE AND MARGARET. 

I think truly there was not much sleep for Margaret, even as she said, for did not I hear her moving, and I would be thinking of her turningand twisting fornent the image-glass. 

And I will tell you where the place is that they met, Bryde andMargaret, on the hill where the cairn stands and no man knows who wouldbe the builders. For the lass walked easy and slow to the Hill of theFort, as we will be calling it, and then turned to the ridge that runsto the right hand, for that way one can be seeing all the valley. Andshe sat by the foot of the cairn. I am thinking that the far-seeingblue eyes of Bryde would be watching every rise and hollow, or why elsewould he have made the cairn, for that is not just the nearest road tothe Big House. 

To her he came there and stood before her, and she rose to be meetinghim, but had no words of greeting. It is like she would be rehearsingin her mind how this meeting should go, but for all that she rose, andher hands clasped and pressed themselves hard at her heart, and sheturned herself a little away from him, only her eyes holding his. 

"Br--Bryde, " was the word that came softly between her lips like awhisper. 

But the man took two strides and was at her side, his hands not yettouching her, and there came a trembling on the lass. 

"If you cannot be loving me and keeping me for ever, " said she, "do notbe touching me, for if you will be touching me I am lost, " and therewas a dignity in her bearing, although her lips were quivering. 

"I am not fit to be touching you, for I have no right folk, " said he. 

"Do you think it is heeding _that_ I will be, if it is me and no otherthat has your heart?"

"But that has aye been yours, little lass, from the beginning, forthere is sunshine and gladness where you are. "

"Then, " she cried, "then, my darling, I will not can wait any longer, "and he held her close and looked down into her eyes. There was a placeof flat rocks a little way off, and he carried her there, and a whiteswirl of mist hung around them, and the wind blowing it away, and thesun licking up the trailing white wreaths. 

"We are on the high ground, " he cried; "look, my dear, the sea belowus, and the woods and the heather, the sun and the mist and the windsare round us--it is here that I would be loving to kiss you. "

"Kiss me, then, " she cried, "for I have been dreaming of such?"

Always when I am on the hill I will be looking at that little rockyplace, and seeing these two, brave and proud and young and loving, seeing them clasped heart to heart on that high wind-swept spaceagainst the sky, with the little curls and whirls of mist and the sunlicking up the floating wreaths. So must the young gods have loved. 

And they sat there with the wild-fowl only and the sheep to be seeingthem. 

"Bryde, " cried the girl, looking at her man with great starry eyes andher cheeks aglow, "Bryde, will it anger you if I will be tellingsomething. "

For answer he smiled down at her. 

"Mhari nic Cloidh did tell me this would come, and there is more tocome. There is to be a journey we will be making together--and listen, for these will be her words, 'And his hand will be over yours at therough places, and he will lead you to the land of the pleasant ways, the wide green meadows, starred with flowers and the blue of sparklingseas, '--are not these good words?"

"My heart would be in such a land, " said he. "My dear, could you betrusting yourself to me in the great new land, for the farming is inthe very marrow of my bones. Would you be grieving for your own folk, and your own hills, in that new land, where the cattle would be grazingknee-deep in grass, and the horses roaming in herds, long-tailed andwith great tangled manes--roaming on the great pastures?"

"I would be loving that place!" she cried. 

"There would be the house-building. By a stream the house would be, where there would be fishing, and the byres and the stables and thedykes to be building, and you would be loving to see the little foalsnear to you, and the young calves in the joy of living, runningdaftlike races in the sunshine. "

"Bryde, is it not the land of the Ever Young you will be showing me?"

"It is a young land, a land for strong youth. I could be gettingground there, " said he, "in that far America; but would you not bevexed when the years went by--vexed at the strange faces, and yearningfor the cold splash of the sea in summer, and the green of the wavingbracken, the purple of the hills, and the sound of voices that youwould be knowing?"

"Would I not be having you, Bryde? Is there anything I could bewishing for more than that? I am loving that land, and, " shewhispered, snuggling her head close to his side, "when we are grown oldand our--our--children gone from us, maybe if you would be wearying forthis place, we could be coming back and lying down yonder, " said she, pointing to the old kirk, "among our folk. "

"There would maybe be some of the boys here coming with us, --AngusMcKinnon and Guy Hamilton and Pate Currie, " says Bryde, "and we couldbe talking of this place and remembering it when it would be New Year, and telling the old stories again. "

"Do you know who I think will be coming?" cried Margaret. "I amthinking Hamish will be coming too. "

When they rose to leave the place--and they were loath to leave--theface of Margaret was changed; there was a glamour of joy over her, andher eyes were not seeing very well, but rather looking away into thathappy future, and she clung to Bryde. 

"Will I be too happy?" she whispered fearfully, and made the sign thatwards off the spirit of evil. "Bryde, we will not be telling this fora wee while, --I am to be holding my happiness in my hands, holding itto my heart, and nobody knowing. "

 * * * * * *

It will whiles make me smile to think of the coming of Bryde andMargaret to the Big House that day, for with all her cleverness theeyes of Margaret could not be leaving her man, and her mouth wouldtremble into a smile, and her cheeks glow at a word; but Bryde that daywas all-conquering. 

To my aunt--the Leddy, as they will be naming her--to her he was allcourtesy, all deference, yet he would be surprising her into quicklaughing--indeed, I will always be remembering her words. 

"My dear, " said she, and her voice trembling, "I am glad to welcomeyou--I am glad to be proud of you, for I will have loved you like myown son, " and she kissed him very heartily and wept a little, and theLaird, my uncle, broke out--

"Hoots, what is it for--this greetin'; the lad kens he's welcome. King's ship or no', and we will be having a bottle of the wine ofOporto, " says he, and came back with it himself, handling the dustyage-crusted bottle with great skill, and we drank Bryde McBride hishealth. "'To the day when you will be slaying a deer, '" said theLaird, "'and to the day when you will not be slaying a deer, ' and I'mthinking, Bryde, to-day you will have had a very good hunting. "

And at that we drained our glasses, and Mistress Margaret and themother of her would be looking with new eyes at the Laird, for therewas a double twist to the thrust, and so it was that Bryde took up hislife among us again, after his wandering to the sea. But he would bebetter for the wandering, having made himself a milled man in the hardschool of the world. 

You will be thinking of him on the farm on the moor, with that greatred man his father and the brother Hamish that came so late, and Belle, that silent woman, watching with dark soft eyes. Margaret, the Flowerof Nourn, was there often and none to gainsay her, for Bryde did notlong keep his love a secret, but bearded the Laird, and won, for allthat the old man opened the business with a great sternness. 

"You will be over sib to the lass, " says he at the first go-off, "buther mother will be telling me she will have set her heart on you, and, Bryde McBride, " said he, at the finish of it, "as you do to the lass, so may God deal wi' you. "

And in all that time, although he would be in every house mostly, andHugh and he often thrang at the talking, and on the hill together andamong the crops, in all that time till the wedding of Hugh, never did Ihear that Helen Stockdale had speech with Bryde McBride. But I was tohave word of it. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

BRYDE AND HELEN. 

And this is how the matter fell out. There will be to this day a loveof stravaging among the young men, and maybe in the old ones as well, and I kent that Bryde would whiles be ceilidhing, and often he and Dan, his father, would be at McKinnon's, where Angus would be trying hishand at the farming, and it was the fine sight to be seeing old McGilpon the hill with Angus, and thrang at the working of sheep. 

I am minding once that I was seeing them and Angus working a youngcollie bitch, Flora, he would be calling her, and she would not beworking any too well, and that would be angering McGilp. There was asteep knowe where they were and a wheen sheep on it, and the bitchwould not be understanding how to gather, and at the last of it McGilpgave a great roar out of him. 

"Lay aloft, ye bitch, " he roared in exasperation, "lay aloft, damn ye, "and at that great sea voice Flora made off and left them, and I am notwondering at it, for surely never was a dog so ordered; but RobinMcKinnon was telling me that when he was at the ploughing and McGilpwalking with him step for step, the smuggler would be crying to thehorses, and them turning in at the head-rig--

"Luff, " he would cry, "luff, luff, and come to win'ward and we'll giveyou the weight o' the mainsail down the hill. "

It would be doing a man's heart good to be hearing Bryde making a mockof the old captain at these times, and the good laughter of him thatwould start a houseful o' folk to laugh also. It was when he was forMcKinnon's that he fell in with Helen. 

The stubble was white in the fields, and the leaves red and brown andyellow, still holding here and there to the trees, a great night with atouch of frost for the kail, and the half of a gale coming out thenor'west. 

Bryde was on his road for a crack with McGilp and Angus, and the roadwas swept bare and dry and the night clear as a bell, when there camethat fine sound, the clatter and klop of riding-horse. They were onhim at the bend above the Waulk Mill, Helen on her black horse, Hillman, and the serving-man hard put to keep with her. You see herthere--the black on his haunches and the breath of him like a whitecloud, and Bryde standing and his sea-coat flapping in the wind. Therewas no greeting from her, but her arms stretched out. 

"Take me down, " she said, and he lifted her. 

Then to the serving-man--

"Walk the horses; but no--your mother's cottage is at the burnside. Gothere and I will come soon, " and the lad walked the horses away, andthese two stood watching. Then Helen turned to Bryde and looked athim, her black eyes flashing, her cheeks wind-whipped, her hair adisarray with the speed of her travelling, and her lips smiling. Ifever there would be beauty in a woman in the white night with a halfgale, it was in Helen. She took his two hands and stood back from hima little and looked, and then from her white throat there camelaughter, bubbling laughter, like a little brook in summer, joy andhappiness and content was in her laughing. 

"Dear, " she cried, "dear, " to the great dark man, and in her tones werethe sounds you will hear in the voice of a mother. "But God is kindthat I see you again before I am wife to your cousin. And you too, "and her laughter came again, "your cousin will be wife to you. It isdroll, " and she had always a taking way of that word. "Listen, myfriend, here is this good night with a great strong wind and the moonclear like the fire of the Bon Dieu, and the little stars merry andtwinkling, and the great white road. Are not we the children of thisnight? Are not we the frien's of the night peoples?"

Bryde nodded, still looking. 

"Then this is mine--all this night, this good night. Come. "

On the dry bracken, a little way from the roadside, he spread his coatto make a resting-place for her. 

"Now, " she cried, "tell me. "

"This is not right, Helen, " and then--

"I care not for right, " she cried, and her laughing came again, but hewaved her words aside. 

"It will be only days now and you will be the wife of Hugh. "

"No--no--no, " she clasped her arms round herself. "All this will behis, but my heart--my heart will be waiting, but this one night myheart is mine. See, " she cried, "he beat--beat--beat for joy. Once Itell you I will forget my convent ways, and I will make you forget. See, my mother love one man and marry another, and I am born, and allin me cry for that hill man--it is the cry from my mother in me. "

Her hand was holding his arm. "Hugh tells me you will go to Americawith Margaret. It is not true--tell me. "

"It is true, Helen, " said Bryde; "I am loving her for that, God blessher. "

"Ah, but will not Helen be blessed a little too, " said the lass, andfor the first time there were tears in her eyes, and one great dropfell like a white pearl in the moonlight. "Dear, this is not you, socalm--that is like Hugh, --you are cold. Why do I cry and you notcomfort me?" She pouted her lips. "One kiss, and I will rememberalways. "

"One kiss, " said Bryde, laughing, "and I will never be forgetting. "And at that they laughed. 

"Ah, now it is Bryde--come, we will go to the horses, " and she sprangto her feet. 

With the serving-man at his mother's door she had a word--

"You will come home in the morning--to-night you will stay with yourmother. "

On the road, with Bryde mounted alongside of her on the servant'sbeast, she set spurs to her horse Hillman, and he reared, and as hepawed in the air she laughed, and she pointed with her whipoutstretched--

"Take me over that hill, and we will not come back ever, ever again. "

And after the first mad gallop--

"I will tell you--you love Margaret, why--because Margaret is herealways since you were ver' little boy, always Margaret. . . . "

"Helen, I am loving Margaret because--I will not can tell why, butthere is peace and a great happiness in me when she is near me. "

"I understand; it is that so great calm--me, I would kill you if youlove me and become cold; but she--she would smile and her heart bebreaking. "

"I am thinking that too, " said Bryde, and his eyes were soft. Thehorses were walking side by side, snapping a little playfully, for theywere loving the night. 

"Mon coeur, " whispered the lass, and her voice was low and her facehalf-shamed, but very brave. "We would have so great a son, " said she, and hung her head low after one long look at the man. At the jerk onthe rein, the horses stopped. 

"You are the bravest lass I will ever meet, " said Bryde, and there wasa fire of admiration in his eyes, and a ring in his voice. Her handsgroped out to his blindly, and she swayed to him. 

"It is heaven to be here, " said she, and pressed her face against hisbreast, her eyes wide and dark, and her face half hidden. "Dear, "--herwhole body quivered at the word, --"there is not any word a man can saywill be telling how much I am loving the bravery of you for that word. It is in me to hold you here against my heart for the bravery of it. "

"Take me, " she whispered--"see, I am ready, " and she opened her armswide and held her face upwards. Her eyes were fast shut and the longlashes dark on her cheek. There came a look of infinite tenderness onthe fierce swarthy face of Bryde McBride. 

"And afterwards, my brave lass?"

"Ah, then, I could not let you go. Jesu aid me . . . You are mine fromthe beginning; it is not right that you love that other. Be kind tome, Bryde, let me whisper--je t'adore, always I love you--thus, " shecried, and kissed him wildly in a kind of madness. "I think, " saidshe, "when I am standing with Hugh to be married, I think I will run toyou, " and then--

"Take me home now, " all brokenly she spoke, "my brave night isfinished. "

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

HOW JOHN McCOOK HEARS OF THE PLOY AT THE CLATES. 

There is a fate that stalks in the hills and plays with the lives ofthe folk in the valleys. "You will stop with your mother, "--these werethe words that Helen gave her serving-man, John McCook, that night sherode with Bryde, and McCook stayed for a little in his mother's house, and then, being young and of good spirit, he made his way to the inn tobe seeing his friends. And he sat with them in McKelvie's place abovethe quay, and now and then when Robin would be bringing drink into aroom a little apart, he would be hearing gusts of laughter, and whilesthe snatches of words. 

And McCook was wanting to know who would be in the room, to be tellinghis news when he reached Scaurdale, and he moved his stool so that hisear was near to the crack of the door, and he could see a little intothe place. There was great company in that room--McGilp and DanMcBride were there, and Ronald McKinnon and his son Angus, and two orthree of the men of the old names who would be sailor-men too, andthere was great argument, for the men would be sailing their boats, andtheir glasses on the table representing the sloops. Once there camehigh voices and deep oaths when a Kelso luffed his vessel so close tohis rival's that he spilled Charleach Ian's glass, but Rob McKelvierighted the vessel and loaded her again with spirits, and the racingwould be continued. 

As the time went on the voices were none so loud, but still he couldhear, and it was Ronny McKinnon that was speaking most, and the talethat came to McCook was this:--

"There would be folk at the South End, " said Ronald, "bien folk of hisown name some of them, and the harvest was very good for this year, andthere would be a considerable of spirit and salt to be taken acrossquietly. It will be hidden well, " said Ronald, "at the Cleiteadh mor, and the _Gull_ will be there in the offing, and send her boats ashore. There will be none to expect a ploy that night, for it will be thenight that Hugh McBride will be married on the English lady, and thatwill be a diversion. "

For, indeed, on such an occasion the half of a parish would be merrywith the eating of hens and drinking of spirit, and the piping anddancing. 

"I will be there, " said Dan, "and my son Bryde. It's long since I willhave been at the smuggling, " and then there came singing of Gaelicsongs that you can be hearing yet, and at that McCook took off his dramand went out at the door, for he would be early on the road the nextday. 

 * * * * * *

There is a fate that stalks in the hills and plays with the lives ofthe folk in the valley. 

Kate Dol Beag, as ye ken, was a lass at her service at Scaurdale, abonny dark ruddy lass and keen for the marrying, and the lad she hadher eye on was the serving-man, McCook. And when these two were in thestackyard at Scaurdale and well hidden behind the ricks on the nextnight, she yoked on him. 

"It is not me you are liking, " said she, and put his hand from herneck, "for last night you did not come home and me waiting. "

"I could not be coming home, my lass, " said he, "for the young mistressmade me stop at my mother's, and Bryde McBride, the sailor, rode withher. "

"Ay, " said Kate, "she came home like a lass that goes to hergrave-claes instead o' her braws, and never a word from her, but awhite hue round her lips and her eyes staring. . . . Did you go to myfather's, " said Kate, for she was of a jealous nature. 

"No, I was at McKelvie's for a wee after I would be with my mother, andI was thinking Dol Beag your father would be there too. "

"There was no lass you were with, then?"--this a little more softly andher body came closer to his. 

"There was no lass that I saw, " said McCook, "but there were manypeople at the inn, " said he. 

"Give me the news, then, " she cried, and put an arm round his neck nowthat she kent he would not have been with another woman. And then hetold her how the South End folk would be at the smuggling on the nightof the wedding, and all that he had heard, meaning no ill, and the lasswas laughing, and her kindness came back to her. 

"I will not have been good to you, " said she, and lay back against thestack, "and I am wearying this long while for your arms round me, andthe jagging of your hair on my face. "

And as she sat there was more of her ankle showing than she would maybebe liking in strange company. 

"Ye have the fine legs, " said John, looking at them, for he would be agreat gallant by his way of it; but the lass just smiled and pulledthem under her. 

"It will be as well ye should ken, my man, " said she, "and I will beneeding them the morn, for I am to be walking hame and seeing my folk. "

And there they were in each other's arms, and he promised to meet herwell on, on the road home, for she was feart of the giant that lived inthe glen and was killed by the folk long ago--but that is an old wife'stale. 

 * * * * * *

They were good to her at hame the next day when she was seated with herfolk at a meal, and after that she was with her mother for a while, alittle red in the face, but brave enough. 

"He will be marrying me, mother, " said she; "I ken he will be coming toyou soon, and--and there will be no cutty-stool either, " said she, "forhe is a nice lad and dacent, if he will be a little game, " maybethinking of the stackyard. 

"Time will be curing that, " said her mother. 

"I daresay that, " and then with a hearty laugh and her head flung back, "Kate will be helping too, " said she, and ran into the kitchen. 

Dol Beag, her father, was baiting a long line, his crook back throwinga great black shadow on the wall. 

"There will be great doings at your place soon, Kate, " said he. 

"Ay, there's nae talk but marrying yonder. I am thinking the mistresswould rather be having the other man, " said she, and rose to put peaton the fire. 

"Whatever other man is it?" says the mother. 

"Kate will be meaning Dan McBride's bastard, " says Dol Beag, and hishand shook a little on the hook. 

"He is free with his money whatever, and a fine man they are saying. "

"Ay, ay, the father o' him was free with his gifts too, " said herfather. "They will all be thonder, I am thinking. Laird and leddiesand bastards, the whole clamjamfry. We will be hoping for a good dayat the time o' the year. "

"John McCook would be telling me there will be a ploy that night at theCleiteadh mor, " said the lass; "the folk will have a cargo ready. McBride and his son will be there for the ploy, " said the lass, "but hesaid no' to be speaking of it. "

Her father stopped a little at his baiting. 

"They were aye the great hands for a ploy, " said he, and twitched hisshoulder, and the black shadow on the wall wobbled and was still. There came a long whistle as you will hear a shepherd call. 

"That will be himsel', " said Kate. 

"Fetch the lad in, " said the mother, and went to the fire. 

Dol Beag took down the great Bible. "We will worship the Lord, " saidhe, "before you will be leaving, " and he opened the Book and read, andthe voice of him rolled in relish of the Gaelic, and then they kneeledon the bare floor and Dol Beag prayed before his God, and John McCook, opening his eyes, saw his lass smiling to him. 

The lad and lass took the hill road in the moonlight, and the motherwatching them. 

 * * * * * *

Dol Beag lay in his bed long, turning and turning like a man not at hisease, and then he rose and put his clothes on him. 

"Where will you be going at this hour?" said his wife. 

"Woman, " said he, "I will have forgotten if the skiff is high on theshore-head, for the wind is away to the west'ard, " and he went out intothe night. 

In an hour maybe he was in again and the cruisie lighted, and again hefell on his knees by the side of the bed and prayed aloud, and his wifewould be hearing in her sleep. 

"Lord, look on Thy servant. Was not I the straight one before Thee, straight like a young tree, and strong before Thee. Lord, look thenfrom that great mountain. Thy home and Thy dwelling-place, and see me, Thy servant, twisted and gnarled like the roots of a fallen tree. Itwill be in Thy hands to raise up or cast down, and the wicked arebefore Thee. Strike, God of Battle, and the raging sea, strike andspare not the wicked, for Thy servant will have waited long. "

 * * * * * *

Gilchrist, who was now the head of the gangers and preventives, turnedon his pillow after Dol Beag had crept out. 

"Ay, Mirren Stuart, " said he, "Mirren Stuart that rade the Uist ponyand laughed at me in my young days--maybe, Mirren, ye will come to mydoor yet--my _back_ door. "

 * * * * * *

And those two that took the road up through the Glen by the burnsidepast the very trees where Bryde and Helen sat on yon June morning whenthe spider-webs were floating--John and Kate that dawdled on the road, for never was a road too long for young folk in love--these two wouldbe making but the one shadow on the road, for the lass had thrown hershawl over them both, and for a long time they were in the heather, notfar from Birrican, at a place they will be calling Oliver's garden--thewherefore I will not know, unless maybe some of Cromwell's men would bekilled there, for I have heard the old folk say that Cromwell'sgarrison at the Castle would be put to the sword; but I have no sureknowledge of the garrison, or of the place of the killing, although Iam hoping that the folk did bravely, for it is never in me to beforgiving the Drove at Dunbar. But it was not Dunbar that these loverswere heeding about--ye will have been in the heather with a lass maybe, so you will be guessing that. 

"Would you be telling the mother of you that we would be for marrying, Kate?"

"Yes, " said the lass in a whisper, and put her head against the curveof his breast. "I could be sleeping here. "

"Och, my lass, it is fine to be sleeping in the heather. My father andhis brother would be lying out like the kye in the summer, when theywould be at the smuggling, they will be often telling me. And, Kate, "said he, "you would not be saying any word o' the ploy at the Cleiteadhmor, for your father, Dol Beag, is not very chief with Dan McBride. "

"It will not be spoken of, " said she; but the lass held her man thecloser. "You will not be thinking of going to that place. I could notbe letting you go there now. "

"It will be the rent o' the crofts and steadings, the smuggling money, "said he, "and sair wrocht for, and if they will not be hindering me, Iwill be going there. I was hearing at hame that Gilchrist is mad for anew hoose, and he will have the promise of it if he can be puttinghands on a still, or 'making seizure, ' as they will be naming it. "

A shiver went over the lass. "What is it makes ye grue?"

"I am wishing to greet to think you will be leaving me on that night. "

"Come hame, lass, " said McCook, and shook himself as a horse will shakeon a cold day; "there is a goose on my grave too, " said he, and laughedand kissed her. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

WHAT CAME OF THE PLOY. 

Bryde and Margaret would be aye at their planning, and the lass with aglamour of joy at the sewing and marking of linen; and whiles it wouldseem that Bryde himself was forgot, but there would be times when theywould be away for hours together, the lass with her two arms clingingto his, and laughing up into his face, and the folk would be smiling tobe just seeing her, for it was as though her love was so good and greata power that she must be kind to the whole world. 

"Why will you be loving me?" she would cry, and stand, her great blueeyes all loving. 

"My dear, " Bryde would say, "the day grows brighter when you are withme; there is peace in my heart and gladness. The flowers are morebeautiful and the sea is grander. Och, I cannot be telling you inwords. "

"I will be content and listen; this is the way of it with me, " and sheput her hand to her breast. "There is something here that will growwhen you are near me, and I am telling myself that will be my happinesschoking me. Am I not the daft lass?"

And little Hamish would be with them often, and Dan and Belle wereproud folk, but walking soberly for fear of too much happiness; butonce when we watched the father and his two sons coming home, and theyoung boy between them, begging to be lifted and swung across littlepools. Belle spoke--

"Hamish, keep guard, " she said in that droll fashion that belonged toher. "Once when I was young there was a dream of evil came on me, butI am forgetting it--I am forgetting. "

"I will be loath to part with Bryde, " said Dan. "We were longstrangers; but, Hamish, my heart cannot hold the love I will have forhim, and maybe when Hamish Og is grown he will go to Bryde's place, andBryde will be coming home. I would be wishing to see a grandson. "

And at the Big House it would be Bryde this and Bryde that, till I amthinking poor Hugh would be near demented. 

And the night before the wedding Bryde stayed with us, and we had agreat night of it, for Hugh would not be having any other for his bestman, as they will be calling it, and Margaret was to be helping thelass Helen, and was at Glenscaur already with the Laird and her mother, and that night Hugh slept with Bryde like boys again, and I would behearing the laughing of them. 

In the morning Bryde was up and crying that the sun was shining, andthat it would be time to be on the road. 

"You will not be last at your ain wedding, " he would say to Hugh, forthe boy was not very clever with his fingers that day; but we gave hima good jorum, and he brisked up at that, and we got on the horses andaway, with the bauchles raining round our lugs and the horses sketch. On all the road the folk would be walking to be seeing the couple, andit was all we could be doing to be holding the horses, for there wouldbe salutes from blunderbusses, and flags on the trams of creels, oldflags and tattered from many's the sea, and we came to Scaurdale, andsmuggled Hugh into the house like a thief, for fear he would be seeingHelen, and got at the dressing of him. 

It was Bryde who had mind of all the freits. 

 "Something old and something new, Something borrowed and something blue, "

he would be singing, for it will not be lucky to be married without thedue observance of these old sayings. 

I would be sitting with Hugh in his room, and Bryde away to be seeingif all things were ready, and to have a word with Margaret, for thiswedding would be putting things into his head maybe. At last back hecame, tall and swarthy and smiling. 

"She is a beautiful wife you will be getting, Hughie, " said he; "andMargaret and the old women will have her imprisoned, so you will becoming with me, "--and we took Hugh out under the trees where the placewas made ready, and the guests were gathered, and in a little Helencame to his side and Margaret with her, and the marrying was begun. 

And the Laird of Scaurdale was lifted out in his chair, very white, butwith a good spirit in him yet. 

It would be Helen I would be watching, for her hand was tight clenched, and she swayed a little as a flower sways, but she spoke bravely. Itwould be a long business, a marriage in these days. 

But when the ring was on her finger and Margaret had lifted the veil, she turned to her man, and held him to be kissing her. 

"You are kind to me, Hugh, " said she in a little low voice. 

And when it would be Bryde's turn to be at the kissing, she kissed hischeek. 

"I am your cousin now, is it not?" said she, with a little smile, and Icaught her as she swayed, and all her body would be a-quiver like afiddle-string. 

There would be a great spread there in the open--pasties of mutton fromblack-faced ewes, very sweet and good to be remembering, and fish too, and fowls roasted and browned, and the crop of them bursting withstuffing. There was sirloin and pork, and dishes of every kind. Therewas ale, good strong ale, that puts flesh on a man if he will be havingthe rib to be carrying it. For dainty folk foreign wine, and for grownmen brandy and usquebach. It would be a goodly feast, with muchlaughing and neighbourliness among the guests, and there is a drollthing I am remembering, and that is the good clothes of the folk. Ifyou will be taking time and rummaging about in some old kist, you willbe finding these clothes to this day, with the infinite deal of sewingon them, and the beautiful buttons, and you will likely be finding tooan old lease maybe, with all the stipulations anent the burning of kelp. 

I am wishing that you could be with us on the road on such a day, forevery man would be stopping and getting his dram, and giving his goodwishes to the pair before he would be going on with his business. 

And Hugh would be speaking for his wife and himself, and giving histhanks to the folk for their well-wishing. And the old Laird ofScaurdale made the lassies keep their faces lowered, for he would be abluff hearty man, with little false modesty in him, if indeed he wouldbe having any of any kind. 

"There is nothing, " says he, "will be taming a lass like skelping awean, or curing him o' the hives, and it's weans I will be wantingabout the place, " says he. 

I will not be telling too much about the talk, for these would bewilder days than now, as you can be seeing if you will be looking atthe Session Records. 

Then in the evening the dancing would be going on, with the pipers intheir own place, three of them abreast, and piping until their faceswould be shining with the joy of it. Och, the great joyousness of thedancing, with the lassies taking a good hold of their skirts andlifting them to be getting the bonny steps in, and the boys from theglens hooching with upthrown arm, now this and now that, and theirshoes beating out the time as though the music and the dancing was inthe very blood of them, and indeed so it was. 

And there would be fiddlers too, and step-dancing, and singing andeverything to be making merry the heart of a man. 

Hugh and Helen would be leaving the dance at last, and there was a buzzof laughing, although nobody would be knowing where the pair of themwere to be that night; and it was then that Margaret would be at hergood-nights to Bryde, for they could not be having enough of each otherall that day. 

"It will be you and me next, " said Bryde, "Margaret, my littledarling, " and she crept closer to him. 

"Take me somewhere, " said she, "where the folk will not be seeing. "

And then, "I will have been mad to be doing this all this night, " saidshe, and pulled his head down to her and kissed him. "Tell me, Bryde, oh, tell me. "

"I am loving you, " said he, and his eyes burning, "loving the grace andthe beauty and the bravery in you, " and he lifted her into his arm likea wean, and his face was bent to hers and her white arms round him. Her eyes were softly closed, and a little white smile on her face. 

"For ever and ever, my great dark man, " she whispered. 

"Darling, " said Bryde, "little darling, for ever and ever, " and with aface all laughing and her eyes like stars she ran from him to her room. 

And coming from her door--for he had followed her, laughing at herdainty finger raised in smiling command--coming from her closed doorwith her love about him like a cloud, there met him his cousin's wife, and he could hear the crying of the dancers below, and Hugh's voiceforbidding pursuit. 

"Good-night, " said Helen, and gave him her hand--it was very cold. "Good-night, " and then with a half sob, "Jus' _won_ kiss, " shewhispered . . . I am often wondering. . . . 

 * * * * * *

I would be with Belle when Bryde came among the dancers again. Hereyes were yearning over him. 

"I am wishing I had you home--you will be too happy, my wild boy. "

"There are none to be wishing evil this night, " said Bryde, and laugheddown at his mother; and then, "There is no lass so bonny as my mother, Hamish, " and he put his arm round her. "I will be behaving, littlemother, " said he, and then Dan came to us and took Belle away. 

 * * * * * *

It made high-water at five in the morning, and there was the last of amoon showing the darkness on the shore and throwing a gleam on the sea. 

There were folk moving on the beach, all silently except maybe youwould be hearing a sech of a breath, as when a man will be stretchinghimself after resting from a load. There would come now and then thehowling of a dog, an eerie sound, and then he would be at the barking along way through the night. Sometimes a little horse would come out ofthe darkness with a pack-load on his back, and men would be lifting theload and laying it on the beach, and there would be quiet whispering, and the little horse be led away and swallowed up in the dark among thescrog and bushes. And in a while there came the soft noise of muffledoars, a sound very faint that will be stirring the blood of a man, anda little knot of folk gathered round the barrels on the beach. 

"That will be the boats now, " said Dan McBride. 

"It will be all quiet, " said Ronald McKinnon, "and Gilchrist will notbe having his new hoose yet for a wee. "

And Gilchrist--if Ronny had only kent--Gilchrist and his men shifted alittle among the bushes, and old Dol Beag was there among themtrembling a little and his mouth praying. 

John McCook came close to Bryde McBride, and pointed to the very placewhere the gangers were lying waiting. 

"Would there be something moving there among the bushes?" said he. 

"A sheep maybe, " said Bryde. 

"I am wishing I had the dogs with me, " said John. 

There were silent figures of women, with shawls tight about theirshoulders, and they looked a little fearfully to the dark places. 

Margaret was in her first sleep and dreaming, and it was a daft dream, and her lips curled softly and parted a little, for in her dreams Brydewould be knocking and knocking at her door. 

"I am just thinking this, " she was saying to her dreaming self, "because he would be tormenting me to be kissing him again, " and sheopened her arms and her lips pouted, and then again came the knocking, low at the first of it, and then growing louder, until at last shebecame broad awake, and there would be only a little moonlight in herroom. 

"Who is it?" she said, standing a little fearfully behind her door, andher heart beating. 

"Let me in; oh, let me in, " she could hear a woman's voice, and openedthe door, and a lass flung herself inside. 

"He will be away to the smuggling, mistress, " cried the lass, "and Iwill be feart, I will be feart, for I told my father--I told my father. "

"Go back to your bed, Kate, " said Margaret; "it is the nightmare. Whowill be gone to the smuggling?--there will not be any smuggling. "

"At the Clates, mistress--my man is there, the man I am to be marrying, and your man, mistress, and his father, " and then she got her words. "It is my father I am dreading, " said she. "Dol Beag is my father. Iam thinking he is a little wrong in the head, and to-day my mother cameto be telling me to keep my man beside me. Oh, if my own mistresswould be free I would be telling her, and what would be frighteningher, my poor mistress--with the wrong man in her bed. "

"Out of my way, " said Margaret, and she started to her dressing. "Awayfrom me, with your wicked thoughts, ye traitor. "

"Go, you fool, " for she was in a royal rage--"go to the stable andwaken the men. Hurry, " she cried--"hurry, " and shoved the wench beforeher and came to my door, and it was not long until I had the horsessaddled. 

 * * * * * *

Margaret was on Helen's black horse Hillman, her face a white mask andher lips a thin line. Ye will have heard that Mistress Helen was abold rider, but you were not seeing Margaret that night. It has cometo me since that she would be like Bryde in her rage. She had theblack at the stretch of his gallop, and cutting him with the whip, anda ruthlessness like cold iron was in her voice when she spoke to him. I do not like to be thinking of her then, for it would not be thus shewould be using horse. 

 * * * * * *

Round a bend of the road in this mad ride we smashed into Hugh andHelen, their horses walking quietly, and I learned afterwards that theywere to spend their bridal night at the village called Lagg, and hadmade their escape quietly. 

I have often wondered why Helen was not on her own black horse thatnight, and I think it was that she had put all thoughts of Bryde fromher mind--for Bryde was fond of the black, and would be praising andpetting him often. 

But she kent her horse in the passing, and well she kent his rider. 

"Come on, " I cried to Hugh, and gathered my horse under me, for I wasall but thrown. 

"No, no; _they're married_, " cried Margaret, and cut again at theblack, although he was half maddened already. 

As he leapt from the lash I heard Helen--

"Ah, Hillman, " she cried (now Hillman was a by-name for Bryde), andthen, "Where is the so great calm of Margaret?"

"The gaugers are at the Clates--Gilchrist and Dol Beag and Bryde andDan. Can ye not see what will come of it?" I know not what I cried toHugh as we galloped. 

But at my words Helen leaned forward on her saddle, and coaxed herhorse in a whisper, and he stretched to the gallop like a hound. 

"A droll beginning this, " said Hugh. "Helter-skelter ower thecountryside for a wheen gangers. What sort o' bridal night is this?Could they no' keep their dirty fighting out o' my marriage. . . . "

"Ye were not meant to ken, Hugh. "

"And I wish I did not ken. God, look at Helen--look at my wife--lookat yon. "

For Helen was abreast of Margaret and leaning from her saddle, andspeaking to the black horse, and he kent her voice and swerved to hismistress. 

"Do-you-know-who-he-is-like, my brave Hillman?" said Helen. 

"He is like his mist . . . He is like the devil, " said Margaret. 

Sometimes yet I can see Helen's face clear-cut upraised against thesky, her curling black hair flying loose, and never, never will Iforget her laughing--the devilry and the joy of it. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

DOL BEAG LAUGHS AGAIN. 

Angus McKinnon stretched himself on the shore at the Clates. "I am notliking this waiting, " said he to Dan McBride; "McNeilage might havebeen standing closer in. "

"It will be the Revenue cutter he is feared of, Angus, " said his father. 

"The Revenue boat is lying off the White Rock in Lamlash, " said Angus. "McNeilage will be getting old and sober. "

"Wait a wee, Angus--wait a wee, my boy. " It was another McKinnon, afriend of his own, that spoke. "Things are just right; the wee boatswill be in 'e noo. It is a good park of barley I had, yes, and thebest of it in the kegs. "

"Angus is right, father, " said a tall lass with a shawl about her head, not hiding the bonny boyish face of her. 

"Hooch ay, lass; Angus will be always right by your way of it, --it isin your bed you should be. "

The wee boats were close inshore now, and the _Gull_ well off, for theClates is not a nice place if the wind will be shifting to the suthard. With the grating of the keel of the first boat on the beach the menmade a start to be lifting the kegs, and carrying them to the boat andwading, for it is not very safe to let a boat go hard aground if therewill be a hurry to be shoving her off again. 

Into this mix-up of bending and hurrying folk came the voice ofGilchrist the gauger. 

"In the King's name, " he roared, and his men sprang forward. 

And these were the words that I heard when Helen and Margaret flungthemselves from the horses and ran forward into the press of people. 

There was the dropping of kegs and the straightening of folk at thevoice, but I saw the great figure of Dan cooried beside the boat. Thencame Gilchrist's voice again--

"Touch nothing--you scoundrels will touch nothing--I mak' seizure inthe King's name. Get roon' them, lads, with your pieces ready, " andthe excisemen made a circle of the smugglers. The second small boatwas nearing the shore. 

The lass McKinnon, with the bonny boyish face, stooped to pick up hershawl, and Gilchrist was jumping and shouting. "A bonny catch, " hecried--"a bonny catch, " and at that the boyish lass straightenedherself. "The boats ahoy, " she cried, "ahoy, the boat; the gaugers areon us. "

"Stop the bitch, " screamed Gilchrist, and sprang at the lass with hisfist raised. 

"Back, ye damned kerrigan, " and Bryde's voice was high like abugle-note, and he sprang forward. 

"Dan McBride has the sailors on us, " came a shout from Dol Beag, andthen Dan's great voice, laughing, "Fall on, lads; fall on. Into themwith the steel. "

"Fire, " screamed Gilchrist--"fire, or we're by wi' it, " and the piecesburst and spattered round us in a wild confusion. With the blaze ofthe pieces I saw Dol Beag spring at Bryde as a wild cat springs;crooked and bestial he was, and his knife flashing, but swifter thanthe knife-flash was the love of the maid, who fell as Bryde fell. Intothe bedlam of smoke and noise and groaning men, came the horriblelaughter of a man, wild and high and devilish. 

"McBride, Dan McBride, McBride, Dan McBride, look at the bonny bastard;look at your bonny bastard. " Dol Beag was crawling and writhing on thebeach like a beast, and then suddenly the breath left him. At thatterrible sound, scream and scream of laughing, the excisemen drew back, and the sailors stood fidgeting and looking half afeared, and therecame the sharp crack of a signal gun from the _Gull_ and the rattlingcr-a-ik, cr-a-ik of halyards. 

"Back on the boats, " cried Ronald McKinnon, for well he kent McNeilagewould make sail for only one thing, and that was the Government ship;and the sailors drew off quickly with their wounded. The excisemenstood reloading the flintlocks, and Gilchrist, in a flutter of fear, gave no orders until the skiffs were offshore and rowing hard for the_Gull_, waiting with her sails all aback. 

But for me, at that laughing I turned, and I saw the ruddy face of DanMcBride blench like linen, his legs become weak like a man that has amortal blow, and he came to his son. Bryde was on his back at his fullstretch on the shore, and his right arm under his head, with a littleswitch of hazel in his hand; and lying against his breast with her armsround his neck was Helen. 

Margaret McBride was on her knees, and her hand held in the fast gripof her man. 

They brought lanterns round us now, and I would have lifted Helen, forthe dark stain on her back was growing and growing. 

"Let me be, " she whispered; "I am happy. "

And then there came on the face of Bryde a slow smile, and his eyesopened wide. 

"I think I am not hurt--my shoulder--a lass came between----" and thenin a loud voice of terror, "Margaret, Margaret. "

"I am s-safe, Bryde--safe--it is Helen. " Margaret was weeping, and atthese words Helen spoke to Bryde, even as we were staunching her wound. 

"My Bryde, " said she with a little smile, "and--I--was--almost--thebride--of Hugh. It--is--droll--poor Hugh. "

Margaret would have taken the proud dark head to her breast, butHelen's voice came faintly, "J'y suis, j'y reste. Be very good toBryde, Margaret, ma belle, while he is with you--you bring him peaceand a great contentment and a so _great calm_. " I wonder could she besmiling. "When he come to me he will 'ave no great calm--no greatcontentment--only--only--a great love. "

So passed that proud spirit. 

And her serving-man, John McCook, would be with her on the journey, forhis body was cold on the shore-head, and all the gameness out of it, for a ganger's bullet found his heart, for all that Kate Dol Beagthought she had it. But because John McCook was come of good folk, Itook the dagger from Dol Beag's hand in the darkness, and wiped itclean, and put it back into the sheath, while folk were seeing to thewound on Bryde's shoulder, for a bullet had passed through it, even asHelen robbed Dol Beag of his vengeance. 

And of the folk, only those who dressed Helen for her last journey knewthat her death was a dagger-wound, these and our own people. 

The daylight was strong when we would be blowing out the lanterns, andthe _Gull_ was away to the westward of the Craig, and the Revenue boathard on her heels, but making little of it; and then came folk andlifted Dol Beag, and his back would not lie evenly on the board, butgave his body a cant to one side, and there was no wound on him, for Ithink he died of his laughing, and when he would be passing, DanMcBride covered his face. . . . 

It is after the dark wet days of winter that the sun comes again, bringing greenness to the world and joy into the voices of birds, andso came happiness to Bryde and Margaret in the old house of Nourn, forHugh could not thole his native place for many years, and indeed didgreat things in America. And Margaret McBride would take her sons tothe wee hill and tell them the great tales and the old stories, and herarm would be on the shoulder of her man, and her eyes resting on him. 

And at night, after the reading, when the boys would be sent scamperingto bed, you would see Bryde carrying a little lass to hersleeping-place, and Margaret, his wife, following--and they would standby the bedside and listen to the laughing--and you will know the nameof that brave little lass.