WHAT'S MINE'S MINE

By George MacDonald

IN THREE VOLUMES

VOL. I. 

CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 

CHAPTER

 I. HOW COME THEY THERE? II. A SHORT GLANCE OVER THE SHOULDER III. THE GIRLS' FIRST WALK IV. THE SHOP IN THE VILLAGE V. THE CHIEF VI. WORK AND WAGE VII. MOTHER AND SONVIII. A MORNING CALL IX. MR. SERCOMBE X. THE PLOUGH-BULLS XI. THE FIR-GROVE XII. AMONG THE HILLSXIII. THE LAKE XIV. THE WOLVES XV. THE GULF THAT DIVIDED XVI. THE CLAN CHRISTMASXVII. BETWEEN DANCING AND SUPPER

WHAT'S MINE'S MINE. 

CHAPTER I. 

HOW COME THEY THERE?

The room was handsomely furnished, but such as I would quarrel withnone for calling common, for it certainly was uninteresting. Not athing in it had to do with genuine individual choice, but merelywith the fashion and custom of the class to which its occupiersbelonged. It was a dining-room, of good size, appointed with all thethings a dining-room "ought" to have, mostly new, and entirelyexpensive--mirrored sideboard in oak; heavy chairs, just the dozen, in fawn-coloured morocco seats and backs--the dining-room, in short, of a London-house inhabited by rich middle-class people. A big fireblazed in the low round-backed grate, whose flashes were reflectedin the steel fender and the ugly fire-irons that were never used. Asnowy cloth of linen, finer than ordinary, for there was pride inthe housekeeping, covered the large dining-table, and a company, evidently a family, was eating its breakfast. But how come thesepeople THERE?

For, supposing my reader one of the company, let him rise from thewell-appointed table--its silver, bright as the complex motions ofbutler's elbows can make it; its china, ornate though not elegant;its ham, huge, and neither too fat nor too lean; its game-pie, withnothing to be desired in composition, or in flavour natural orartificial;--let him rise from these and go to the left of the twowindows, for there are two opposite each other, the room having beenenlarged by being built out: if he be such a one as I would have fora reader, might I choose--a reader whose heart, not merely his eye, mirrors what he sees--one who not merely beholds the outward showsof things, but catches a glimpse of the soul that looks out of them, whose garment and revelation they are;--if he be such, I say, hewill stand, for more than a moment, speechless with something akinto that which made the morning stars sing together. 

He finds himself gazing far over western seas, while yet the sun isin the east. They lie clear and cold, pale and cold, broken withislands scattering thinner to the horizon, which is jagged here andthere with yet another. The ocean looks a wild, yet peacefulmingling of lake and land. Some of the islands are green from shoreto shore, of low yet broken surface; others are mere rocks, with abold front to the sea, one or two of them strange both in form andcharacter. Over the pale blue sea hangs the pale blue sky, fleckedwith a few cold white clouds that look as if they disowned the earththey had got so high--though none the less her children, and doomedto descend again to her bosom. A keen little wind is out, crispingthe surface of the sea in patches--a pretty large crisping to beseen from that height, for the window looks over hill above hill tothe sea. Life, quiet yet eager, is all about; the solitude itself isalive, content to be a solitude because it is alive. Its life needsnothing from beyond--is independent even of the few sails of fishingboats that here and there with their red brown break the blue of thewater. 

If my reader, gently obedient to my thaumaturgy, will now turn andcross to the other window, let him as he does so beware of casting aglance on his right towards the place he has left at the table, forthe room will now look to him tenfold commonplace, so that he toowill be inclined to ask, "How come these and their belongings HERE--just HERE?"--let him first look from the window. There he seeshills of heather rolling away eastward, at middle distance beginningto rise into mountains, and farther yet, on the horizon, showingsnow on their crests--though that may disappear and return severaltimes before settling down for the winter. It is a solemn and verystill region--not a PRETTY country at all, but great--beautiful withthe beauties of colour and variety of surface; while, far in thedistance, where the mountains and the clouds have business together, its aspect rises to grandeur. To his first glance probably not atree will be discoverable; the second will fall upon a solitaryclump of firs, like a mole on the cheek of one of the hills not faroff, a hill steeper than most of them, and green to the top. 

Is my reader seized with that form of divine longing which wonderswhat lies over the nearest hill? Does he fancy, ascending the otherside to its crest, some sweet face of highland girl, singing songsof the old centuries while yet there was a people in these wastes?Why should he imagine in the presence of the actual? why dream whenthe eyes can see? He has but to return to the table to reseathimself by the side of one of the prettiest of girls!

She is fair, yet with a glowing tinge under her fairness whichflames out only in her eyes, and seldom reddens her skin. She hasbrown hair with just a suspicion of red and no more, and a wavinessthat turns to curl at the ends. She has a good forehead, arched alittle, not without a look of habitation, though whence that comesit might be hard to say. There are no great clouds on that sky ofthe face, but there is a soft dimness that might turn to rain. Shehas a straight nose, not too large for the imperfect yet decidedlyGreek contour; a doubtful, rather straight, thin-lipped mouth, whichseems to dissolve into a bewitching smile, and reveals perfectteeth--and a good deal more to the eyes that can read it. When themouth smiles, the eyes light up, which is a good sign. Their shapeis long oval--and their colour when unlighted, much that of anunpeeled almond; when she smiles, they grow red. She has an objectin life which can hardly be called a mission. She is rather tall, and quite graceful, though not altogether natural in her movements. Her dress gives a feathery impression to one who rather receivesthan notes the look of ladies. She has a good hand--not the dollhand so much admired of those who can judge only of quantity andknow nothing of quality, but a fine sensible hand, --the best thingabout her: a hand may be too small just as well as too large. 

Poor mother earth! what a load of disappointing women, made fit forfine things, and running all to self and show, she carries on herweary old back! From all such, good Lord deliver us!--except it befor our discipline or their awaking. 

Near her at the breakfast table sits one of aspect so different, that you could ill believe they belonged to the same family. She isyounger and taller--tall indeed, but not ungraceful, though by nomeans beautiful. She has all the features that belong to aface--among them not a good one. Stay! I am wrong: there were intruth, dominant over the rest, TWO good features--her two eyes, dark as eyes well could be without being all pupil, large, andrather long like her sister's until she looked at you, and then theyopened wide. They did not flash or glow, but were full of the lightthat tries to see--questioning eyes. They were simple eyes--I willnot say without arriere pensee, for there was no end of thinkingfaculty, if not yet thought, behind them, --but honest eyes thatlooked at you from the root of eyes, with neither attack nor defencein them. If she was not so graceful as her sister, she was hardlymore than a girl, and had a remnant of that curiously lovelymingling of grace and clumsiness which we see in long-legged growinggirls. I will give her the advantage of not being further described, except so far as this--that her hair was long and black, that hercomplexion was dark, with something of a freckly unevenness, andthat her hands were larger and yet better than her sister's. 

There is one truth about a plain face, that may not have occurred tomany: its ugliness accompanies a condition of larger undevelopment, for all ugliness that is not evil, is undevelopment; and so impliesthe larger material and possibility of development. The idea of nocountenance is yet carried out, and this kind will take moredeveloping for the completion of its idea, and may result in agreater beauty. I would therefore advise any young man of aspirationin the matter of beauty, to choose a plain woman for wife--IFTHROUGH HER PLAINNESS SHE IS YET LOVELY IN HIS EYES; for theloveliness is herself, victorious over the plainness, and her face, so far from complete and yet serving her loveliness, has in it roomfor completion on a grander scale than possibly most handsome faces. In a handsome face one sees the lines of its coming perfection, andhas a glimpse of what it must be when finished: few are prophetsenough for a plain face. A keen surprise of beauty waits many a man, if he be pure enough to come near the transfiguration of the homelyface he loved. 

This plain face was a solemn one, and the solemnity suited theplainness. It was not specially expressive--did not look speciallyintelligent; there was more of latent than operative power init--while her sister's had more expression than power. Both werelady-like; whether they were ladies, my reader may determine. Thereare common ladies and there are rare ladies; the former MAY becountesses; the latter MAY be peasants. 

There were two younger girls at the table, of whom I will saynothing more than that one of them looked awkward, promised to behandsome, and was apparently a good soul; the other was pretty, andlooked pert. 

The family possessed two young men, but they were not here; one wasa partner in the business from which his father had practicallyretired; the other was that day expected from Oxford. 

The mother, a woman with many autumnal reminders of spring abouther, sat at the head of the table, and regarded her queendom with asmile a little set, perhaps, but bright. She had the look of a womanon good terms with her motherhood, with society, with theuniverse--yet had scarce a shadow of assumption on her countenance. For if she felt as one who had a claim upon things to go pleasantlywith her, had she not put in her claim, and had it acknowledged? Hersmile was a sweet white-toothed smile, true if shallow, and a morethan tolerably happy one--often irradiating THE GOVERNORopposite--for so was the head styled by the whole family from motherto chit. 

He was the only one at the table on whose countenance a shadow--asof some end unattained--was visible. He had tried to get intoparliament, and had not succeeded; but I will not presume to saythat was the source of the shadow. He did not look discontented, oreven peevish; there was indeed a certain radiance of success abouthim-only above the cloudy horizon of his thick, dark eyebrows, seemed to hang a thundery atmosphere. His forehead was large, buthis features rather small; he had, however, grown a trifle fat, which tended to make up. In his youth he must have been verynice-looking, probably too pretty to be handsome. In good health andwhen things went well, as they had mostly done with him, he wassweet-tempered; what he might be in other conditions was seldomconjectured. But was that a sleeping thunder-cloud, or only theshadow of his eyebrows?

He had a good opinion of himself-on what grounds I do not know; buthe was rich, and I know no better ground; I doubt if there is anymore certain soil for growing a good opinion of oneself. Certainly, the more you try to raise one by doing what is right and worthdoing, the less you succeed. 

Mr. Peregrine Palmer had finished his breakfast, and sat for a whilelooking at nothing in particular, plunged in deep thought aboutnothing at all, while the girls went on with theirs. He was a littleabove the middle height, and looked not much older than his wife;his black hair had but begun to be touched with silver; he seemed aman without an atom of care more than humanity counts reasonable;his speech was not unlike that of an Englishman, for, although bornin Glasgow, he had been to Oxford. He spoke respectfully to hiswife, and with a pleasant playfulness to his daughters; his mannerwas nowise made to order, but natural enough; his grammar was asgood as conversation requires; everything was respectable abouthim-and yet-he was one remove at least from a gentleman. Somethinghard to define was lacking to that idea of perfection. 

Mr. Peregrine Palmer's grandfather had begun to make the familyfortune by developing a little secret still in a remote highlandglen, which had acquired a reputation for its whisky, into a greatsuperterrene distillery. Both he and his son made money by it, andit had "done well" for Mr. Peregrine also. With all three of themthe making of money had been the great calling of life. They werediligent in business, fervent in spirit, serving Mammon, andfounding claim to consideration on the fact. Neither Jacob nor JohnPalmer's worst enemy had ever called him a hypocrite: neither hadbeen suspected of thinking to serve Mammon and God. Both had goneregularly to church, but neither had taught in a Sunday school, oronce gone to a week-day sermon. Peregrine had built a church and aschool. He did not now take any active part in the distillery, butworked mainly in money itself. 

Jacob, the son of a ship-chandler in Greenock, had never thoughtabout gentleman or no gentleman; but his son John had entertainedthe difference, and done his best to make a gentleman of Peregrine;and neither Peregrine nor any of his family ever doubted hisfather's success; and if he had not quite succeeded, I would havethe blame laid on Peregrine and not on either father or grandfather. For a man to GROW a gentleman, it is of great consequence that hisgrandfather should have been an honest man; but if a man BE agentleman, it matters little what his grandfather or grandmothereither was. Nay--if a man be a gentleman, it is of the smallestconsequence, except for its own sake, whether the world counts himone or not. 

Mr. Peregrine Palmer rose from the table with a merry remark on theprolongation of the meal by his girls, and went towards the door. 

"Are you going to shoot?" asked his wife. 

"Not to-day. But I am going to look after my guns. I daresay they'vegot them all right, but there's nothing like seeing to a thingyourself!"

Mr. Palmer had this virtue, and this very gentlemanlike way--that healways gave his wife as full an answer as he would another lady. Hewas not given to marital brevity. 

He was there for the grouse-shooting--not exactly, only "as itwere. " He did not care VERY much about the sport, and had he carednothing, would have been there all the same. Other people, in whathe counted his social position, shot grouse, and he liked to do whatother people did, for then he felt all right: if ever he tried thegate of heaven, it would be because other people did. But theprimary cause of his being so far in the north was the simple factthat he had had the chance of buying a property very cheap--a fineproperty of mist and cloud, heather and rock, mountain and moor, andwith no such reputation for grouse as to enhance its price. "Myestate" sounded well, and after a time of good preserving he wouldbe able to let it well, he trusted. No sooner was it bought than hiswife and daughters were eager to visit it; and the man of business, perceiving it would cost him much less if they passed their autumnsthere instead of on the continent, proceeded at once to enlarge thehouse and make it comfortable. If they should never go a secondtime, it would, with its perfect appointments, make the shootingthere more attractive!

They had arrived the day before. The journey had been fatiguing, fora great part of it was by road; but they were all in splendidhealth, and not too tired to get up at a reasonable hour the nextday. 

CHAPTER II. 

A SHORT GLANCE OVER THE SHOULDER. 

Mr. Peregrine was the first of the Palmer family to learn that therewas a Palmer coat of arms. He learned it at college, and on thiswise. 

One day a fellow-student, who pleased himself with what he calledphilology, remarked that his father must have been a hit of ahumorist to name him Peregrine:--"except indeed it be a familyname!" he added. 

"I never thought about it, " said Peregrine. "I don't quite know whatyou mean. "

The fact was he had no glimmer of what he meant. 

"Nothing profound, " returned the other. "Only don't you seePeregrine means pilgrim? It is the same as the Italian pellegrino, from the Latin, peregrinus, which means one that goes about thefields, --what in Scotland you call a LANDLOUPER. "

"Well, but, " returned Peregrine, hesitatingly, "I don't find myselfmuch wiser. Peregrine means a pilgrim, you say, but what of that?All names mean something, I suppose! It don't matter much. "

"What is your coat of arms?"

"I don't know. "

"Why did your father call you Peregrine?"

"I don't know that either. I suppose because he liked the name. "

"Why should he have liked it?" continued the other, who was given tothe Socratic method. 

"I know no more than the man in the moon. "

"What does your surname mean?"

"Something to do with palms, I suppose. "

"Doubtless. "

"You see I don't go in for that kind of thing like you!"

"Any man who cares about the cut of his coat, might have a littlecuriosity about the cut of his name: it sits to him a good dealcloser!"

"That is true--so close that you can't do anything with it. I can'tpull mine off however you criticize it!"

"You can change it any day. Would you like to change it?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Stokes!" returned Peregrine dryly. 

"I didn't mean with mine, " growled the other. "My name is anhistorical one too--but that is not in question. --Do you know yourcrest ought to be a hairy worm?"

"Why?"

"Don't you know the palmer-worm? It got its name where you gotyours!"

"Well, we all come from Adam!"

"What! worms and all?"

"Surely. We're all worms, the parson says. Come, put me through;it's time for lunch. Or, if you prefer, let me burst in ignorance. Idon't mind. "

"Well, then, I will explain. The palmer was a pilgrim: when he camehome, he carried a palm-branch to show he had been to the holyland. "

"Did the hairy worm go to the holy land too?"

"He is called a palmer-worm because he has feet enough to go anynumber of pilgrimages. But you are such a land-louper, you ought toblazon two hairy worms saltier-wise. "

"I don't understand. "

"Why, your name, interpreted to half an ear, is just PILGRIMPILGRIM!"

"I wonder if my father meant it!"

"That I cannot even guess at, not having the pleasure of knowingyour father. But it does look like a paternal joke!"

His friend sought out for him the coat and crest of the Palmers; butfor the latter, strongly recommended a departure: the freshfamily-branch would suit the worm so well!--his crest ought to betwo worms crossed, tufted, the tufts ouched in gold. It was notheraldic language, but with Peregrine passed well enough. Still hedid not take to the worms, but contented himself with the ordinarycrest. He was henceforth, however, better pleased with his name, forhe fancied in it something of the dignity of a doubled surname. 

His first glance at his wife was because she crossed the field ofhis vision; his second glance was because of her beauty; his thirdbecause her name was SHELLEY. It is marvellous how whimsicallysentimental commonplace people can be where their own interestingpersonality is concerned: her name he instantly associated withSCALLOP-SHELL, and began to make inquiry about her. Learning thather other name was Miriam, one also of the holy land--

"A most remarkable coincidence!--a mere coincidence of course!" hesaid to himself. "Evidently that is the woman destined to be thecompanion of my pilgrimage!"

When their first child was born, the father was greatly exercised asto a fitting name for him. He turned up an old botany book, andsought out the scientific names of different palms. CHAMAEROPS wouldnot do, for it was a dwarf-palm; BORASSUS might do, seeing it was aboy--only it stood for a FAN-PALM; CORYPHA would not be bad for agirl, only it was the name of a heathen goddess, and would not gowell with the idea of a holy palmer. COCOA, PHOENIX, and ARECA, oneafter the other, went in at his eyes and through his head; none ofthem pleased him. His wife, however, who in her smiling way hadfallen in with his whim, helped him out of his difficulty. She wasthe daughter of nonconformist parents in Lancashire, and had beenencouraged when a child to read a certain old-fashioned book calledThe Pilgrim's Progress, which her husband had never seen. He did notread it now, but accepting her suggestion, named the boy Christian. When a daughter came, he would have had her Christiana, but his wifepersuaded him to be content with Christina. They named their secondson Valentine, after Mr. Valiant-for-truth. Their second daughterwas Mercy; and for the third and fourth, Hope and Grace seemed nearenough. So the family had a cool glow of puritanism about it, whilenothing was farther from the thoughts of any of them than what theirnames signified. All, except the mother, associated them with thecrusades for the rescue of the sepulchre of the Lord from thepagans; not a thought did one of them spend on the rescue of a livesoul from the sepulchre of low desires, mean thoughts, and crawlingselfishness. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE GIRLS' FIRST WALK. 

The Governor, Peregrine and Palmer as he was, did not care aboutwalking at any time, not even when he HAD to do it because otherpeople did; the mother, of whom there would have been little lefthad the sweetness in her moral, and the house-keeping in herpractical nature, been subtracted, had things to see to withindoors: the young people must go out by themselves! They put on theirhats, and issued. 

The temperature was keen, though it was now nearly the middle ofAugust, by which time in those northern regions the earth has begunto get a little warm: the house stood high, and the atmosphere wasthin. There was a certain sense of sadness in the pale sky and itscold brightness; but these young people felt no cold, and perceivedno sadness. The air was exhilarating, and they breathed deep breathsof a pleasure more akin to the spiritual than they were capable ofknowing. For as they gazed around them, they thought, like Hamlet'smother in the presence of her invisible husband, that they saw allthere was to be seen. They did not know nature: in the school towhich they had gone they patronized instead of revering her. Shewrought upon them nevertheless after her own fashion with herchildren, unheedful whether they knew what she was about or not. Themere space, the mere height from which they looked, the rarity ofthe air, the soft aspiration of earth towards heaven, made them allmore of children. 

But not one of them being capable of enjoying anything by herself, together they were unable to enjoy much; and, like the miser who, when he cannot much enjoy his money, desires more, began to desiremore company to share in the already withering satisfaction of theirnew possession--to help them, that is, to get pleasure out of it, asout of a new dress. It is a good thing to desire to share a goodthing, but it is not well to be unable alone to enjoy a good thing. It is our enjoyment that should make us desirous to share. What isthere to share if the thing be of no value in itself? To enjoy aloneis to be able to share. No participation can make that of valuewhich in itself is of none. It is not love alone but pride also, andoften only pride, that leads to the desire for another to be presentwith us in possession. 

The girls grew weary of the show around them because it was soquiet, so regardless of their presence, so moveless, so monotonous. Endless change was going on, but it was too slow for them to see;had it been rapid, its motions were not of a kind to interest them. Ere half an hour they had begun to think with regret of Piccadillyand Regent street--for they had passed the season in London. Thereis a good deal counted social which is merely gregarious. Doubtlesshumanity is better company than a bare hill-side; but not a littledepends on how near we come to the humanity, and how near we come tothe hill. I doubt if one who could not enjoy a bare hill-side alone, would enjoy that hill-side in any company; if he thought he did, Isuspect it would be that the company enabled him, not to forgethimself in what he saw, but to be more pleasantly aware of himselfthan the lone hill would permit him to be;--for the mere hill hasits relation to that true self which the common self is so anxiousto avoid and forget. The girls, however, went on and on, led mainlyby the animal delight of motion, the two younger making many adiversion up the hill on the one side, and down the hill on theother, shrieking at everything fresh that pleased them. 

The house they had just left stood on the projecting shoulder of ahill, here and there planted with firs. Of the hardy trees there wasa thicket at the back of the house, while toward the south, lesshardy ones grew in the shrubbery, though they would never, becauseof the sea-breezes, come to any height. The carriage-drive to thehouse joined two not very distant points on the same road, and therewas no lodge at either gate. It was a rough, country road, a gooddeal rutted, and seldom repaired. Opposite the gates rose the steepslope of a heathery hill, along the flank of which the girls werenow walking. On their right lay a piece of rough moorland, coveredwith heather, patches of bracken, and coarse grass. A few yards tothe right, it sank in a steep descent. Such was the disposition ofthe ground for some distance along the road--on one side the hill, on the other a narrow level, and abrupt descent. 

As they advanced they caught sight of a ruin rising above the browof the descent: the two younger darted across the heather toward it;the two elder continued their walk along the road, graduallydescending towards a valley. 

"I wonder what we shall see round the corner there!" said Mercy, theyounger of the two. 

"The same over again, I suppose!" answered Christina. "What a roughroad it is! I've twice nearly sprained my ankle!"

"I was thinking of what I saw the other day in somebody'stravels--about his interest in every turn of the road, alwayslooking for what was to come next. "

"Time enough when it comes, in my opinion!" rejoined Christina. 

For she was like any other mirror--quite ready to receive what wasthrown upon her, but incapable of originating anything, almostincapable of using anything. 

As they descended, and the hill-side, here covered with bracken andboulders, grew higher and higher above them, the valley, in frontand on the right, gradually opened, here and there showing a glimpseof a small stream that cantered steadily toward the sea, nowtumbling over a rock, now sullen in a brown pool. Arriving at lengthat a shoulder of the hill round which the road turned, a whole mileof the brook lay before them. It came down a narrow valley, withscraps of meadow in the bottom; but immediately below them thevalley was of some width, and was good land from side to side, wheregreen oats waved their feathery grace, and the yellow barley wasnearly ready for the sickle. No more than the barren hill, however, had the fertile valley anything for them. Their talk was of the lastball they were at. 

The sisters were about as good friends as such negative creaturescould be; and they would be such friends all their lives, if on theone hand neither of them grew to anything better, and on the otherno jealousy, or marked difference of social position throughmarriage, intervened. They loved each other, if not tenderly, yetwith the genuineness of healthy family-habit--a thing not to bedespised, for it keeps the door open for something better. In itselfit is not at all to be reckoned upon, for habit is but the merestshadow of reality. Still it is not a small thing, as families go, ifsisters and brothers do not dislike each other. 

They were criticizing certain of the young men they had met at thesaid ball. Being, in their development, if not in their nature, commonplace, what should they talk about but clothes or young men?And why, although an excellent type of its kind, should I take thetrouble to record their conversation? To read, it might have amusedme--or even interested, as may a carrot painted by a Dutchman; butwere I a painter, I should be sorry to paint carrots, and the girls'talk is not for my pen. At the same time I confess myself incapableof doing it justice. When one is annoyed at the sight of thingsmeant to be and not beautiful, there is danger of not giving themeven the poor fair-play they stand in so much the more need of thatit can do so little for them. 

But now they changed the subject of their talk. They had come to apoint of the road not far from the ruin to which the children hadrun across the heather. 

"Look, Chrissy! It IS an old castle!" said Mercy. "I wonder whetherit is on our land!"

"Not much to be proud of!" replied the other. "It is nothing but thewalls of a square house!"

"Not just a common square house! Look at that pepper-pot on one ofthe corners!--I wonder how it is all the old castles get deserted!"

"Because they are old. It's well to desert them before they tumbledown. "

"But they wouldn't tumble down if they weren't neglected. Think ofWarwick castle! Stone doesn't rot like wood! Just see the thicknessof those walls!"

"Yes, they are thick! But stone too has its way of rotting. Westminster palace is wearing through, flake by flake. The weatherwill be at the lords before long. "

"That's what Valentine would call a sign of the times. I say, what aradical he is, Chrissy!--Look! the old place is just like an emptyegg-shell! I know, if it had been mine, I wouldn't have let it cometo that!"

"You say so because it never was yours: if it had been, you wouldknow how uncomfortable it was!"

"I should like to know, " said Mercy, after a little pause, duringwhich they stood looking at the ruin, "whether the owners leave suchplaces because they get fastidious and want better, or because theyare too poor to keep them up! At all events a man must be poor toSELL the house that belonged to his ancestors!--It must be miserableto grow poor after being used to plenty!--I wonder whose is the oldplace!"

"Oh, the governor's, I suppose! He has all hereabout for miles. "

"I hope it is ours! I SHOULD like to build it up again! I would livein it myself!"

"I'm afraid the governor won't advance your share for that purpose!"

"I love old things!" said Mercy. 

"I believe you take your old doll to bed with you yet!" rejoinedChristina. "I am different to you!" she continued, with Frenchifiedgrammar; "I like things as new as ever I can have them!"

"I like new things well enough, Chrissy--you know I do! It isnatural. The earth herself has new clothes once a year. It is butonce a year, I grant!"

"Often enough for an old granny like her!"

"Look what a pretty cottage!--down there, half-way to the burn! It'slike an English cottage! Those we saw as we came along were eitherlike a piece of the earth, or so white as to look ghastly! This onelooks neat and comfortable, and has trees about it!"

The ruin, once a fortified house and called a castle, stood on asloping root or spur that ran from the hill down to the bank of thestream, where it stopped abruptly with a steep scaur, at whose footlay a dark pool. On the same spur, half-way to the burn, stood alow, stone-built, thatched cottage, with a little grove about it, mostly of the hardy, contented, musical fir--a tree that would seemto have less regard to earthly prosperity than most, and looks likea pilgrim and a stranger: not caring much, it thrives where othertrees cannot. There might have been a hundred of them, mingled, instrangest contrast, with a few delicate silver birches, about thecottage. It stood toward the east side of the sinking ridge, whichhad a steep descent, both east and west, to the fields below. Theslopes were green with sweet grass, and apparently smooth as a lawn. Not far from where the cottage seemed to rest rather than rise orstand, the burn rushed right against the side of the spur, as if togo straight through it, but turned abruptly, and flowed along theside to the end of it, where its way to the sea was open. On thepoint of the ridge were a few more firs: except these, those aboutthe cottage, the mole on the hill-cheek, and the plantation aboutthe New House, up or down was not a tree to be seen. The girls stoodfor a moment looking. 

"It's really quite pretty!" said Christina with condescension. "Ithas actually something of what one misses here so much--a certaincosy look! Tidy it is too! As you say, Mercy, it might be in England--only for the poverty of its trees. --And oh those wretched barehills!" she added, as she turned away and moved on. 

"Wait till the heather is quite out: then you will have colour tomake up for the bareness. "

"Tell true now, Mercy: that you are Scotch need not keep you fromspeaking the truth:--don't you think heather just--well--just aleetle magentaish?--not a colour to be altogether admired?--just alittle vulgar, don't you know? The fashion has changed so muchwithin the last few years!"

"No, I don't think so; and if I did I should be ashamed of it. Isuppose poor old mother Earth ought to go to the pre-Raphaelites tobe taught how to dress herself!"

Mercy spoke with some warmth, but Christina was not sufficientlyinterested to be cross. She made no answer. 

They were now at the part of the road which crossed the descendingspur as it left the hill-side. Here they stopped again, and lookeddown the rocky slope. There was hardly anything green betwixt themand the old ruin--little but stones on a mass of rock; butimmediately beyond the ruin the green began: there it seemed as if awave of the meadow had risen and overflowed the spur, leaving itsturf behind it. Catching sight of Hope and Grace as they ran aboutthe ruin, they went to join them, the one drawn by a vague interestin the exuviae of vanished life, the other by mere curiosity to seeinside the care-worn, protesting walls. Through a gap that mightonce have been a door, they entered the heart of the sad unhopingthing dropt by the Past on its way to oblivion: nothing looks sounlike life as a dead body, nothing so unfit for human dwelling as along-forsaken house. 

Finding in one corner a broken stair, they clambered up to a gap inthe east wall; and as they reached it, heard the sound of a horse'sfeet. Looking down . The road, they saw a gig approaching with twomen. It had reached a part not so steep, and was coming at a trot. 

"Why!" exclaimed Christina, "there's Val!--and some one with him!"

"I heard the governor say to mamma, " returned Mercy, "that Val wasgoing to bring a college friend with him, --'for a pop at thegrouse, ' he said. I wonder what he will be like!"

"He's a good-big-looking fellow, " said Christina. 

They drew nearer. 

"You might have said a big, good-looking fellow!" rejoined Mercy. 

"He really is handsome!--Now mind, Mercy, I was the first todiscover it!" said Christina. 

"Indeed you were not!--At least I was the first to SAY it!" returnedMercy. "But you will take him all to yourself anyhow, and I am sureI don't care!"

Yet the girls were not vulgar--they were only common. They did andsaid vulgar things because they had not the sensitive vitality toshrink from them. They had not been well taught--that is roused toLIVE: in the family was not a breath of aspiration. There was plentyof ambition, that is, aspiration turned hell-ward. They thoughtthemselves as far from vulgar as any lady in any land, being in thisvulgar--that they despised the people they called vulgar, yetthought much of themselves for not being vulgar. There was little inthem the world would call vulgar; but the world and its ways arevulgar; its breeding will not pass with the ushers of the highcountries. The worst in that of these girls was a FAST, disagreeableway of talking, which they owed to a certain governess they had hadfor a while. 

They hastened to the road. The gig came up. Valentine threw thereins to his companion, jumped out, embraced his sisters, and seemedglad to see them. Had he met them after a like interval at home, hewould have given them a cooler greeting; but he had travelled somany miles that they seemed not to have met for quite a long time. 

"My friend, Mr. Sercombe, " he said, jerking his head toward the gig. 

Mr. Sercombe raised his POT-LID--the last fashion in head-gear--andacquaintance was made. 

"We'll drive on, Sercombe, " said Valentine, jumping up. "You see, Chris, we're half dead with hunger! Do you think we shall findanything to eat?"

"Judging by what we left at breakfast, " replied Christina, "I shouldsay you will find enough for--one of you; but you had better go andsee. "

CHAPTER IV. 

THE SHOP IN THE VILLAGE. 

Two or three days have passed. The sun had been set for an hour, andthe night is already rather dark notwithstanding the long twilightof these northern regions, for a blanket of vapour has gathered overthe heaven, and a few stray drops have begun to fall from it. A thinwind now and then wakes, and gives a feeble puff, but seemsimmediately to change its mind and resolve not to blow, but let therain come down. A drearier-looking spot for human abode it would bedifficult to imagine, except it were as much of the sandy Sahara, orof the ashy, sage-covered waste of western America. A muddy roadwound through huts of turf--among them one or two of clay, and oneor two of stone, which were more like cottages. Hardly one had awindow two feet square, and many of their windows had no glass. Inalmost all of them the only chimney was little more than a hole inthe middle of the thatch. This rendered the absence of glass in thewindows not so objectionable; for, left without ordered path to itsoutlet, the smoke preferred a circuitous route, and lingered by theway, filling the air. Peat-smoke, however, is both wholesome andpleasant, nor was there mingled with it any disagreeable smell ofcooking. Outside were no lamps; the road was unlighted save by thefew rays that here and there crept from a window, casting a doubtfulglimmer on the mire. 

One of the better cottages sent out a little better light, thoughonly from a tallow candle, through the open upper half of a doorhorizontally divided in two. Except by that same half-door, indeed, little light could enter the place, for its one window was filledwith all sorts of little things for sale. Small and inconvenient forthe humblest commerce, this was not merely the best, it was the onlyshop in the hamlet. 

There were two persons in it, one before and one behind the counter. The latter was a young woman, the former a man. 

He was leaning over the counter--whether from weariness, listlessness, or interest in his talk with the girl behind, it wouldnot have been easy, in the dim light and deep shadow, to say. Heseemed quite at home, yet the young woman treated him with a marked, though unembarrassed respect. The candle stood to one side of themupon the counter, making a ghastly halo in the damp air; and in thelight puff that occasionally came in at the door, casting the shadowof one of a pair of scales, now on this now on that of the twofaces. The young woman was tall and dark, with a large forehead:--somuch could be seen; but the sweetness of her mouth, the bluenessof her eyes, the extreme darkness of her hair, were not to bedistinguished. The man also was dark. His coat was of some roughbrown material, probably dyed and woven in the village, and his kiltof tartan. They were more than well worn--looked even in that poorlight a little shabby. On his head was the highland bonnet called aglengarry. His profile was remarkable--hardly less than grand, witha certain aquiline expression, although the nose was not roman. Hiseyes appeared very dark, but in the daylight were greenish hazel. Usually he talked with the girl in Gaelic, but was now speakingEnglish, a far purer English than that of most English people, though with something of the character of book-English asdistinguished from conversation-English, and a very perceptibleaccent. 

"And when was it you heard from Lachlan, Annie?" he asked. 

After a moment's pause, during which she had been putting awaythings in a drawer of the counter--not so big as many a kitchendresser--

"Last Thursday it was, sir, " answered the girl. "You know we hearevery month, sometimes oftener. "

"Yes; I know that. --I hope the dear fellow is well?"

"He is quite well and of good hope. He says he will soon come andsee us now. "

"And take you away, Annie?"

"Well, sir, " returned Annie, after a moment's hesitation, "he doesnot SAY so!"

"If he did not mean it, he would be a rascal, and I should have tokill him. But my life on Lachlan's honesty!"

"Thank you, sir. He would lay down his for you. "

"Not if you said to him, DON'T!-eh, Annie?"

"But he would, Macruadh!" returned the young woman, almost angrily. "Are not you his chief?"

"Ah, that is all over now, my girl! There are no chiefs, and noclans any more! The chiefs that need not, yet sell their land likeEsau for a mess of pottage--and their brothers with it! And theSasunnach who buys it, claims rights over them that never grew onthe land or were hid in its caves! Thank God, the poor man is nottheir slave, but he is the worse off, for they will not let him eat, and he has nowhere to go. My heart is like to break for my people. Sometimes I feel as if I would gladly die. "

"Oh, sir! don't say that!" expostulated the young woman, and hervoice trembled. "Every heart in Glenruadh is glad when it goes wellwith the Macruadh. "

"Yes, yes; I know you all love my father's son and my uncle'snephew; but how can it go well with the Macruadh when it goes illwith his clan? There is no way now for a chief to be the father ofhis people; we are all poor together! My uncle--God rest hissoul!--they managed it so, I suppose, as to persuade him there wasno help for it! Well, a man must be an honest man, even if there beno way but ruin! God knows, as we've all heard my father say ahundred times from the pulpit, there's no ruin but dishonesty! Forpoverty and hard work, he's a poor creature would crouch for those!"

"He who well goes down hill, holds his head up!" said Annie, and apause followed. 

"There are strangers at the New House, we hear, " she said. 

"From a distance I saw some young ladies, and one or two men. Idon't desire to see more of them. God forbid I should wish them anymanner of harm! but--I hardly understand myself--I don't like to seethem there. I am afraid it is pride. They are rich, I hear, so weshall not be troubled with attention from them; they will look downupon us. "

"Look down on the Macruadh!" exclaimed Annie, as if she could notbelieve her ears. 

"Not that I should heed that!" he went on. "A cock on the barn-ridgelooks down on you, and you don't feel offended! What I do dread islooking down on them. There is something in me that can hate, Annie, and I fear it. There is something about the land--I don't care aboutmoney, but I feel like a miser about the land!--I don't mean ANYland; I shouldn't care to buy land unless it had once been ours; butwhat came down to me from my own people--with my own people uponit--I would rather turn the spigot of the molten gold and let it rundown the abyss, than a rood of that slip from me! I feel it even adisgrace to have lost what of it I never had!"

"Indeed, Macruadh, " said Annie, "it's a hard time! There is no moneyin the country! And fast the people are going after Lachlan!"

"I shall miss you, Annie!"

"You are very kind to us all, sir. "

"Are you not all my own! And you have to take care of for Lachlan'ssake besides. He left you solemnly to my charge--as if that had beennecessary, the foolish fellow, when we are foster-brothers!"

Again came a pause. 

"Not a gentleman-farmer left from one end of the strath to theother!" said the chief at length. "When Ian is at home, we feel justlike two old turkey-cocks left alone in the yard!"

"Say two golden eagles, sir, on the cliff of the rock. "

"Don't compare us to the eagle, Annie. I do not love the bird. He isvery proud and greedy and cruel, and never will know the hand thattames him. He is the bird of the monarch or the earl, not the birdof the father of his people. But he is beautiful, and I do not killhim. "

"They shot another, the female bird, last week! All the birds aregoing! Soon there will be nothing but the great sheep and the littlegrouse. The capercailzie's gone, and the ptarmigan's gone!--Well, there's a world beyond!"

"Where the birds go, Annie?--Well, it may be! But the ptarmigan's notgone yet, though there are not many; and for the capercailzie--onlywho that loves them will be here to see!--But do you really thinkthere is a heaven for all God's creatures, Annie? Ian does. "

"I don't know what I said to make you think so, sir! When the heartaches the tongue mistakes. But how is my lady, your mother?"

"Pretty well, thank you--wonderfully cheerful. It is time I wenthome to her. Lachlan would think I was playing him false, and makinglove to you on my own account!"

"No fear! He would know better than that! He would know too, if shewas not belonging to Lachlan, her father's daughter would not lether chief humble himself. "

"You're one of the old sort, Annie! Good night. Mind you tellLachlan I never miss a chance of looking in to see how you aregetting on. "

"I will. Good night, Macruadh. "

They shook hands over the counter, and the young chief took hisdeparture. 

As he stood up, he showed a fine-made, powerful frame, over six feetin height, and perfectly poised. With a great easy stride he sweptsilently out of the shop; nor from gait any more than look would onehave thought he had been all day at work on the remnant of propertyhe could call his own. 

To a cit it would have seemed strange that one sprung frominnumerable patriarchal ancestors holding the land of the country, should talk so familiarly with a girl in a miserable little shop ina most miserable hamlet; it would have seemed stranger yet that sucha one should toil at the labour the soul of a cit despises; butstranger than both it would seem to him, if he saw how such a man istempted to look down upon HIM. 

If less CLEVERNESS is required for country affairs, they leave themore room for thinking. There are great and small in every class;here and there is a ploughman that understands Burns, here and therea large-minded shopkeeper, here and there perhaps an unselfishduke. Doubtless most of the youth's ancestors would likewise haveheld such labour unworthy of a gentleman, and would have preferreddriving to their hills a herd of lowland cattle; but this, the lastMacruadh, had now and then a peep into the kingdom of heaven. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE CHIEF. 

The Macruadh strode into the dark, and down the village, wasting notime in picking his way--thence into the yet deeper dark of themoorland hills. The rain was beginning to come down in earnest, buthe did not heed it; he was thoroughbred, and feared no element. Anumbrella was to him a ludicrous thing: how could a little rain--ashe would have called it had it come down in torrents--hurt any one!

The Macruadh, as the few who yet held by the sore-frayed, fast-vanishing skirt of clanship, called him, was the son of thelast minister of the parish-a godly man, who lived that which hecould ill explain, and was immeasurably better than those parts ofhis creed which, from a sense of duty, he pushed to the front. Forhe held devoutly by the root of which he spoke too little, and itsupplied much sap to his life and teaching--out of the pulpit. Hewas a genial, friendly, and by nature even merry man, always readyto share what he had, and making no show of having what he had not, either in wisdom, knowledge, or earthly goods. His father andbrother had been owners of the property and chiefs of the clan, muchbeloved by the poor of it, and not a little misunderstood by most ofthe more nourishing. For a great hunger after larger means, theambition of the mammon-ruled world, had arisen in the land, and withit a rage for emigration. The uncle of the present Macruadh did allhe could to keep his people at home, lived on a couple of hundreds ayear himself, and let many of his farms to his gentlemen-tacksmen, as they were called, at lower rents; but it was unavailing; oneafter another departed, until his land lay in a measure waste, andhe grew very poor, mourning far more over his clan and his countrythan his poverty. In more prosperous times he had scraped together alittle money, meaning it, if he could but avoid spending it in hisold age, for his brother, who must soon succeed him; for he washimself a bachelor--the result of a romantic attachment and sorrowin his youth; but he lent it to a company which failed, and so lostit. At length he believed himself compelled, for the good of hispeople, to part with all but a mere remnant of the property. Fromthe man to whom he sold it, Mr. Peregrine Palmer bought it for twicethe money, and had still a good bargain. But the hopes of the lairdwere disappointed: in the sheep it fed, and the grouse it might bebrought to breed, lay all its value in the market; there was noincrease in the demand for labour; and more and more of thepeasantry emigrated, or were driven to other parts of the country. Such was the present treatment of the land, causing human life toebb from it, and working directly counter to the creative God. 

The laird retired to the humble cottage of his brother the pastor, just married rather late in life--where every comfort love couldgive waited for him; but the thought that he could have done betterfor his people by retaining the land soon wore him out; and havingmade a certain disposition of the purchase-money, he died. 

What remained of the property came to the minister. As for thechieftainship, that had almost died before the chief; but, revivingby union with the reverence felt for the minister, it tookthereafter a higher form. When the minister died, the idea of ittransmitted to his son was of a peculiarly sacred character; whilein the eyes of the people, the authority of the chief and theinfluence of the minister seemed to meet reborn in Alisternotwithstanding his youth. In himself he was much beloved, and inlove the blessed rule, blessed where understood, holds, that to himthat hath shall be given, he only who has being fit to receive. Thelove the people bore to his father, both pastor and chief, crownedhead and heart of Alister. Scarce man or woman of the poor remnantof the clan did not love the young Macruadh. 

On his side was true response. With a renewed and renovatingconscience, and a vivid sense that all things had to be made new, hepossessed an old strong heart, clinging first to his father andmother, and then to the shadow even of any good thing that had comefloating down the ages. Call it a dream, a wild ideal, a foolishfancy--call it what you please, he was filled with the notion ofdoing something in his own person and family, having the remnant ofthe clan for the nucleus of his endeavour, to restore to a vitalreality, let it be of smallest extent, that most ancient ofgovernments, the patriarchal, which, all around, had rotted into thefeudal, in its turn rapidly disintegrating into the mere dust andashes of the kingdom of the dead, over which Mammon reigns supreme. There may have been youthful presumption and some folly in thenotion, but it sprang neither from presumption nor folly, but fromsimple humanity, and his sense of the responsibility he neithercould nor would avoid, as the person upon whom had devolved theheadship, however shadowy, of a house, ruinous indeed, but not yetrazed. 

The castle on the ridge stood the symbol of the family condition. Ithad, however, been a ruin much longer than any one alive couldremember. Alister's uncle had lived in a house on the spot where Mr. Peregrine Palmer's now stood; the man who bought it had pulled itdown to build that which Mr. Palmer had since enlarged. It was but ahumble affair--a great cottage in stone, much in the style of thatin which the young chief now lived--only six times the size, withthe one feature indispensable to the notion of a chief's residence, a large hall. Some would say it was but a huge kitchen; but it wasthe sacred place of the house, in which served the angel ofhospitality. THERE was always plenty to eat and drink for any comer, whether he had "claim" or not: the question of claim where was need, was not thought of. When the old house had to make room for the new, the staves of the last of its half-pipes of claret, one of whichused always to stand on tap amidst the peat-smoke, yielded its finalministration to humanity by serving to cook a few meals for masonand carpenter. 

The property of Clanruadh, for it was regarded as clan-propertyBECAUSE belonging to the chief, stretched in old time away out ofsight in all directions--nobody, in several, could tell exactly howfar, for the undrawn boundary lines lay in regions of mist andcloud, in regions stony, rocky, desert, to which a red deer, not tosay a stray sheep, rarely ascended. At one time it took in a portionat least of every hill to be seen from the spot where stood theruin. The chief had now but a small farm, consisting of some fairsoil on the slope of a hill, and some very good in the valley onboth sides of the burn; with a hill-pasture that was not worthmeasuring in acres, for it abounded in rocks, and was prolific inheather and ling, with patches of coarse grass here and there, andsome extent of good high-valley grass, to which the small blackcattle and black-faced sheep were driven in summer. Beyondperiodical burnings of the heather, this uplifted portion receivedno attention save from the mist, the snow, the rain, the sun, andthe sweet air. A few grouse and black game bred on it, and manymountain-hares, with martens, wild cats, and other VERMIN. But sotender of life was the Macruadh that, though he did not spare theselast, he did not like killing even a fox or a hooded crow, and nevershot a bird for sport, or would let another shoot one, though thepoorest would now and then beg a bird or two from him, sure ofhaving their request. It seemed to him as if the creatures werealmost a part of his clan, of which also he had to take care againsta greedy world. But as the deer and the birds ranged where theywould, it was not much he could do for them--as little almost as forthe men and women that had gone over the sea, and were lost to theircountry in Canada. 

Regret, and not any murmur, stirred the mind of Alister Macruadhwhen he thought of the change that had passed on all things aroundhim. He had been too well taught for grumbling--least of all at whatwas plainly the will of the Supreme--inasmuch as, however man mightbe to blame, the thing was there. Personal regrets he had nonebeyond those of family feeling and transmitted SENTIMENT. He wasable to understand something of the signs of the times, and saw thatnothing could bring back the old way--saw that nothing comesback--at least in the same form; saw that there had been much thatought not to come back, and that, if patriarchal ways were ever toreturn, they must rise out of, and be administered upon loftierprinciples--must begin afresh, and be wrought out afresh from thebosom of a new Abraham, capable of so bringing up his children thata new development of the one natural system, of government should bepossible with and through them. Perhaps even now, in the new countryto which so many of his people were gone, some shadowy reappearanceof the old fashion might have begun to take shape on a higher level, with loftier aims, and in circumstances holding out fewertemptations to the evils of the past!

Alister could not, at his years, have generated such thoughts butfor the wisdom that had gone before him--first the large-mindedspeculation of his father, who was capable even of discarding hisprejudices where he saw they might mislead him; and next, theresponse of his mother to the same: she was the only one whoentirely understood her husband. Isobel Macruadh was a woman of realthinking-power. Her sons being but boys when their father died, sheat once took the part of mediator between the mind of the father andthat of his sons; and besides guiding them on the same principles, often told them things their father had said, and talked with themof things they had heard him say. 

One of the chief lessons he left them wrought well for the castingout of all with which the feudal system had debased the patriarchal;and the poverty shared with the clan had powerfully helped: it wasspoken against the growing talionic regard of human relations--that, namely, the conditions of a bargain fulfilled on both sides, all isfulfilled between the bargaining parties. 

"In the possibility of any bargain, " he had said, "are involvedeternal conditions: there is relationship--there is brotherhood. Even to give with a denial of claim, to be kind under protest, is aninjury, is charity without the love, is salt without the saltness. If we spent our lives in charity we should never overtake neglectedclaims--claims neglected from the very beginning of the relations ofmen. If a man say, 'I have not been unjust; I owed the man nothing;'he sides with Death--says with the typical murderer, 'Am I mybrother's keeper?' builds the tombs of those his fathers slew. "

In the bosom of young Alister Macruadh, the fatherly relation of thestrong to the weak survived the disappearance of most of the outwardsigns of clan-kindred: the chieftainship was SUBLIMED in him. Themore the body of outer fact died, the stronger grew in him thespirit of the relation. As some savage element of a race willreappear in an individual of it after ages of civilization, so maygood old ways of thinking and feeling, modes long gone out offashion and practice, survive and revive modified by circumstance, in an individual of a new age. Such a one will see the customs ofhis ancestors glorified in the mists of the past; what is noble inthem will appeal to all that is best in his nature, spurring themost generous of his impulses, and stirring up the conscience thatwould be void of offence. When the operative force of such regardshas been fostered by the teaching of a revered parent; when theinfluences he has left behind are nourished and tended, withthorough belief and devoted care, by her who shared his authority inlife, and now bears alone the family sceptre, there can be no boundset to their possible potency in a mind of high spiritual order. Theprimary impulse became with Alister a large portion of his religion:he was the shepherd of the much ravaged and dwindled Macruadh-fold;it was his church, in which the love of the neighbour wasintensified in the love of the relation and dependent. To aid andguard this his flock, was Alister's divine service. It wasassociated with a great dislike of dogma, originating in the recoilof the truth within him from much that was commonly held and taughtfor true. 

Call the thing enthusiasm or what you will, so you believe it there, and genuine. 

It was only towards the poor of a decayed clan he had opportunity ofexercising the cherished relation; almost all who were not poor hademigrated before the lands were sold; and indeed it was only thepoor who set store by their unity with the old head. Not a few ofthe clan, removed elsewhither, would have smiled degenerate, andwith scorn in their amusement, at the idea of Alister's clinging toany supposed reality in the position he could claim. Among suchnevertheless were several who, having made money by trade, wouldeach have been glad enough to keep up old traditions, and been readyeven to revive older, had the headship fallen to him. But in thehands of a man whom, from the top of their wealth, they regarded asbut a poor farmer, they forgot all about it--along with a few othermore important and older-world matters; for where Mammon gets in hisfoot, he will soon be lord of the house, and turn not merely Rank, his rival demon, out of doors, but God himself. Alister indeed livedin a dream; he did not know how far the sea of hearts had ebbed, leaving him alone on the mount of his vision; but he dreamed a dreamthat was worth dreaming; comfort and help flowed from it to thoseabout him, nor did it fail to yield his own soul refreshment also. All dreams are not false; some dreams are truer than the plainestfacts. Fact at best is but a garment of truth, which has tenthousand changes of raiment woven in the same loom. Let the dreameronly do the truth of his dream, and one day he will realize all thatwas worth realizing in it--and a great deal more and better than itcontained. Alister had no far-reaching visions of anything to comeout of his; he had, like the true man he was, only the desire tolive up to his idea of what the people looked up to in him. The onething that troubled him was, that his uncle, whom he loved sodearly, should have sold the land. 

Doubtless there was pride mingled with his devotion, and pride is anevil thing. Still it was a human and not a devilish pride. I wouldnot be misunderstood as defending pride, or even excusing it in anyshape; it is a thing that must be got rid of at all costs; but evenfor evil we must speak the truth; and the pride of a good man, evilas it is, and in him more evil than in an evil man, yet cannot be initself such a bad thing as the pride of a bad man. The good manwould at once recognize and reject the pride of a bad man. A pridethat loves cannot be so bad as a pride that hates. Yet if the goodman do not cast out his pride, it will sink him lower than the badman's, for it will degenerate into a worse pride than that of anybad man. Each must bring its own divinely-ordained consequence. 

There is one other point in the character of the Macruadh which Imust mention ere I pass on; in this region, and at this time, it wasa great peculiarity, one that yielded satisfaction to few of theclan, and made him even despised in the strath: he hated whisky, andall the drinking customs associated with it. In this he was notoriginal; he had not come to hate it from noting the degradation andcrime that attended it, or that as poverty grew, drunkenness grew, men who had used it in moderation taking more and more ascircumstances became more adverse, turning sadness into slavery: hehad been brought up to hate it. His father, who, as a clergymandoing his endeavour for the welfare of his flock, found himselfgreatly thwarted by its deadening influences, rendering men callousnot only to the special vice itself, but to worse vices as well, hadbanished it from his table and his house; while the mother had fromtheir very childhood instilled a loathing of the national weaknessand its physical means into the minds of her sons. In her childhoodshe had seen its evils in her own father: by no means a drunkard, hewas the less of a father because he did as others did. Never anevening passed without his drinking his stated portion ofwhisky-toddy, growing more and more subject to attacks of hadtemper, with consequent injustice and unkindness. The recollectionmay have made her too sweeping in her condemnation of the habit, butI doubt it; and anyhow a habit is not a man, and we need not muchcondemn that kind of injustice. We need not be tender over a habitwhich, though not all bad, yet leads to endless results that are allbad. I would follow such to its grave without many tears!

Isobel Macruadh was one of those rare women who preserve in yearsthe influence gained in youth; and the thing that lay at the root ofthe fact was her justice. For though her highland temper wouldoccasionally burst out in hot flame, everyone knew that if she werein the wrong, she would see it and say it before any one else wouldtell her of it. This justice it was, ready against herself as foranother, that fixed the influence which her goodness and herteaching of righteousness gained. 

Her eldest child, a girl, died in infancy. Alister and Ian were herwhole earthly family, and they worshipped her. 

CHAPTER VI. 

WORK AND WAGE. 

Alister strode through the night, revolving no questions hard tosolve, though such were not strangers to him. He had not been to auniversity like his brother, but he had had a good educationalbeginning--who ever had more than a beginning?--chiefly from hisfather, who for his time and opportunity was even a learned man--andbetter, a man who knew what things were worth a man's human while, and what were not: he could and did think about things that a manmust think about or perish; and his son Alister had made himselfable to think about what he did not know, by doing the thing he didknow. But now, as he walked, fighting with the wind, his bonnet oflittle shelter pulled down on his forehead, he was thinking mostlyof Lachlan his foster-brother, whose devotion had done much tonourish in him the sense that he was head of the clan. He had notfar to go to reach his home--about a couple of miles. 

He had left the village a quarter of the way behind him, whenthrough the darkness he spied something darker yet by the roadside. Going up to it, he found an old woman, half sitting, half standing, with a load of peats in a creel upon her back, unable, apparently, for the moment at least, to proceed. Alister knew at once by hershape and posture who she was. 

"Ah, mistress Conal!" he said, "I am sorry to see you resting onsuch a night so near your own door. It means you have filled yourcreel too full, and tired yourself too much. "

"I am not too much tired, Macruadh!" returned the old woman, who wasproud and cross-tempered, and had a reputation for witchcraft, whichdid her neither much good nor much harm. 

"Well, whether you are tired or not, I believe I am the stronger ofthe two!"

"Small doubt of that, Alister!" said mistress Conal with a sigh. 

"Then I will take your creel, and you will soon be home. Come along!It is going to be a wild night!"

So saying he took the rope from the neck of the old woman rightgently, and threw the creel with a strong swing over his shoulder. This dislodged a few of the topmost of the peats which the poor oldthing had been a long way to fetch. She heard them fall, and one ofthem struck her foot. She started up, almost in a rage. 

"Sir! sir! my peats!" she cried. "What would you be throwing awaythe good peats into the dark for, letting that swallow them theyshould swallow!"

These words, as all that passed between them, were spoken neither inScotch nor English, but in Gaelic--which, were I able to write itdown, most of my readers would no more understand than they wouldPhoenician: we must therefore content ourselves with what theirconversation comes to in English, which, if deficient compared withGaelic in vowel-sounds, yet serves to say most things capable ofbeing said. 

"I am sorry, mistress Conal; but we'll not be losing them, " returnedthe laird gently, and began to feel about the road for the fallenpeats. 

"How many were there, do you think, of them that fell?" he asked, rising after a vain search. 

"How should I be knowing! But I am sure there would be nigh six ofthem!" answered the woman, in a tone of deep annoyance--nor was itmuch wonder; they were precious to the cold, feeble age that hadgone so far to fetch so few. 

The laird again stooped his long back, and searched and searched, feeling on all sides around him. He picked up three. Not another, after searching for several minutes, could he find. 

"I'm thinking that must be all of them, but I find only three!" hesaid. "Come, let us go home! You must not make your cough worse forone or two peats, perhaps none!"

"Three, Macruadh, three!" insisted the old woman in wavering voice, broken by coughing; for, having once guessed six, she was notinclined to lower her idea of her having. 

"Well, well! we'll count them when we get home!" said Alister, andgave his hand to her to help her up. 

She yielded grumbling, and, bowed still though relieved from her burden, tottered by his side along the dark, muddy, wind-and-rain-haunted road. 

"Did you see my niece to-night at the shop?" she asked; for she wasproud of being so nearly related to those who kept the shop of thehamlet. 

"That I did, " answered the chief; and a little talk followed aboutLachlan in Canada. 

No one could have perceived from the way in which the old womanaccepted his service, and the tone in which she spoke to him whilehe bent under her burden, that she no less than loved her chief; buteverybody only smiled at mistress Conal's rough speech. That night, ere she went to bed, she prayed for the Macruadh as she never prayedfor one of her immediate family. And if there was a good deal ofsuperstition mingled with her prayer, the main thing in it wasgenuine, that is, the love that prompted it; and if God heard onlyperfect prayers, how could he be the prayer-hearing God?

Her dwelling stood but a stone's-throw from the road, and presentlythey turned up to it by a short steep ascent. It was a poor hut, mostly built of turf; but turf makes warm walls, impervious to thewind, and it was a place of her own!--that is, she had it toherself, a luxury many cannot even imagine, while to others to heable to be alone at will seems one of the original necessities oflife. Even the Lord, who probably had not always a room to himselfin the poor houses he staid at, could not do without solitude;therefore not unfrequently spent the night in the open air, on thequiet, star-served hill: there even for him it would seem to havebeen easier to find an entrance into that deeper solitude which, itis true, he did not need in order to find his Father and his God, but which apparently he did need in order to come into closestcontact with him who was the one joy of his life, whether his hardlife on earth, or his blessed life in heaven. 

The Macruadh set down the creel, and taking out peat after peat, piled them up against the wall, where already a good many waitedtheir turn to be laid on the fire; for, as the old woman said, shemust carry a few when she could, and get ahead with her store erethe winter came, or she would soon be devoured: there was a deaththat always prowled about old people, she said, watching for thefire to go out. Many of the Celts are by nature poets, and mistressConal often spoke in a manner seldom heard from the lips of alowland woman. The common forms of Gaelic are more poetic than thoseof most languages, and could have originated only with a poeticpeople, while mistress Conal was by no means an ordinary type of herpeople; maugre her ill temper and gruffness, she thought as well asspoke like a poetess. This, conjoined with the gift of the secondsight, had helped to her reputation as a witch. 

As the chief piled the peats, he counted them. She sat watching himand them from a stone that made part of a rude rampart to thehearth. 

"I told you so, Macruadh!" she said, the moment she saw his handreturn empty from the bottom of the creel. "I was positive thereshould be three more!--But what's on the road is not with thedevil. "

"I am very sorry!" said the chief, who thought it wiser not tocontradict her. 

He would have searched his sporan for a coin to make up to her forthe supposed loss of her peats; but he knew well enough there wasnot a coin in it. He shook hands with her, bade her good night, andwent, closing the door carefully behind him against a great gust ofwind that struggled to enter, threatening to sweep the fire she wasnow blowing at with her wrinkled, leather-like lips, off the hearthaltogether--a thing that had happened before, to the danger of thewhole building, itself of the substance burning in the middle of itsfloor. 

The Macruadh ran down the last few steep steps of the path, andjumped into the road. Through the darkness came the sound of onespringing aside with a great start, and the click of a gun-lock. 

"Who goes there?" cried a rather tremulous voice. 

"The Macruadh, " answered the chief. 

The utterance apparently conveyed nothing. 

"Do you belong to these parts?" said the voice. 

A former Macruadh might have answered, "No; these parts belong tome;" Alister curtly replied, "I do. "

"Here then, my good fellow! take my game-bag, and carry it as far asthe New House--if you know where I mean. I will give you ashilling. "

One moment the chief spent in repressing a foolish indignation; thenext he spent in reflection. 

Had he seen how pale and tired was the youth with the gun, he wouldhave offered to carry his bag for him; to offer and to be asked, however, most people find different; and here the offer of paymentadded to the difficulty. But the word SHILLING had raised the visionof the old woman in her lonely cottage, brooding over the loss, realor imaginary mattered nothing, of her three far-borne peats. What ahappy night, through all the wind and the rain, would a silvershilling under her chaff pillow give her! The thought froze thechief's pride, and warmed his heart. What right had he to deny hersuch a pleasure! It would cost him nothing! It would even bring hima little amusement! The chief of Clanruadh carrying his game-bag fora Sasunnach fellow to earn a shilling! the idea had a touch ofhumorous consolation in it. I will not assert the consolation strongenough to cast quite out a certain feeling of shame that mingledwith his amusement--a shame which--is it not odd!--he would not havefelt had his sporan been full of sovereigns. But the shame was notaltogether a shameful one; a fanciful fear of degrading thechieftainship, and a vague sense of the thing being an imposition, had each a part in it. There could be nothing dishonest, however, inthus earning a shilling for poor mistress Conal!

"I will carry your bag, " he said, "but I must have the shillingfirst, if you please. "

"Oh!" rejoined Valentine Palmer. "You do not trust me! How then am Ito trust you?"

"Sir!" exclaimed Alister--and, again finding himself on the point ofbeing foolish, laughed. 

"I will pay you when the job is done, " said Valentine. 

"That is quite fair, but it does not suit my purpose, " returnedAlister. 

They were walking along the road side by side, but each couldscarcely see anything of the other. The sportsman was searching hispockets to find a shilling. He succeeded, and, groping, put it inAlister's hand, with the words--

"All right! it is only a shilling! There it is! But it is not yoursyet: here is the bag!"

Alister took the bag, turned, and ran back. 

"Hillo!" cried Valentine. 

But Alister had disappeared, and as soon as he turned up the softpath to the cottage, his steps became inaudible through the wind. 

He opened the door, went in, laid the shilling on the back of theold woman's hand, and without a word hurried out again, and down tothe road. The stranger was some distance ahead, tramping wearily onthrough the darkness, and grumbling at his folly in bribing a fellowwith a shilling to carry off his game-bag. Alister overtook him. 

"Oh, here you are after all!" exclaimed Valentine. "I thought youhad made off with work and wages both! What did you do it for?"

"I wanted to give the shilling to an old woman close by. "

"Your mother--eh?"

"No. "

"Your grandmother?"

"No. "

"SOME relation then!" insisted the stranger. 

"Doubtless, " answered the laird, and Valentine thought him a surlyfellow. 

They walked on in silence. The youth could hardly keep up withAlister, who thought him ill bred, and did not care for his company. 

"Why do you walk so fast?" said Valentine. 

"Because I want to get home, " replied Alister. 

"But I paid you to keep me company!"

"You paid me to carry your bag. I will leave it at the New House. "

His coolness roused the weary youth. 

"You rascal!" he said; "you keep alongside of me, or I'll pepperyou. "

As he spoke, he shifted his gun. But Alister had already, with a fewlong strides, put a space of utter darkness between them. He hadtaken the shilling, and must carry the bag, but did not feel boundto personal attendance. At the same time he could not deny there wasreason in the man's unwillingness to trust him. What had he abouthim to give him in pledge? Nothing but his watch, his father's, agift of THE PRINCE to the head of the family!--he could not profanethat by depositing it for a game-bag! He must yield to his employer, moderate his pace, and move side by side with the Sasunnach!

Again they walked some distance in silence. Alister began todiscover that his companion was weary, and his good heart spoke. 

"Let me carry your gun, " he said. 

"See you damned!" returned Valentine, with an angry laugh. 

"You fancy your gun protects your bag?"

"I do. "

The same instant the gun was drawn, with swift quiet force, throughthe loop of his arm from behind. Feeling himself defenceless, hesprang at the highlander, but he eluded him, and in a moment was outof his reach, lost in the darkness. He heard the lock of one barrelsnap: it was not loaded; the second barrel went off, and he gave agreat jump, imagining himself struck. The next instant the gun wasbelow his arm again. 

"It will be lighter to carry now!" said the Macruadh; "but if youlike I will take it. "

"Take it, then. But no!--By Jove, I wish there was light enough tosee what sort of a rascal you look!"

"You are not very polite!"

"Mind your own politeness. I was never so roughly served in mylife!--by a fellow too that had taken my money! If I knew where tofind a magistrate in this beastly place, --"

"You would tell him I emptied your gun because you threatened mewith it!"

"You were going off with my bag!"

"Because I undertook to carry your bag, was I bound to endure yourcompany?"

"Alister!" said a quiet voice out of the darkness. 

The highlander started, and in a tone strangely tremulous, yet witha kind of triumph in it, answered--

"Ian!"

The one word said, he stood still, but as in the act to run, staringinto the darkness. The next moment he flung down the game-bag, andtwo men were in each other's arms. 

"Where are you from, Ian?" said the chief at length, in a voicebroken with gladness. 

All Valentine understood of the question, for it was in Gaelic, wasits emotion, and he scorned a fellow to show the least sign ofbreaking down. 

"Straight from Moscow, " answered the new-comer. "How is our mother?"

"Well, Ian, thank God!"

"Then, thank God, all is well!"

"What brought you home in such haste?"

"I had a bad dream about my mother, and was a little anxious. Therewas more reason too, which I will tell you afterwards. "

"What were you doing in Moscow? Have you a furlough?"

"No; I am a sort of deserter. I would have thrown up my commission, but had not a chance. In Moscow I was teaching in a school to keepout of the way of the police. But I will tell you all by and by. "

The voice was low, veiled, and sad; the joy of the meeting rippledthrough it like a brook. 

The brothers had forgotten the stranger, and stood talking till thepatience of Valentine was as much exhausted as his strength. 

"Are you going to stand there all night?" he said at last. "This isno doubt very interesting to you, but it is rather a bore to one whocan neither see you, nor understand a word you say. "

"Is the gentleman a friend of yours, Alister?" asked Ian. 

"Not exactly. --But he is a Sasunnach, " he concluded in English, "andwe ought not to be speaking Gaelic. "

"I beg his pardon, " said Ian. "Will you introduce me?"

"It is impossible; I do not know his name. I never saw him, anddon't see him now. But he insists on my company. "

"That is a great compliment. How far?"

"To the New House. "

"I paid him a shilling to carry my bag, " said Valentine. "He tookthe shilling, and was going to walk off with my bag!"

"Well?"

"Well indeed! Not at all well! How was I to know--"

"But he didn't--did he?" said Ian, whose voice seemed now to tinglewith amusement. "--Alister, you were wrong. "

It was an illogical face-about, but Alister responded at once. 

"I know it, " he said. "The moment I heard your voice, I knewit. --How is it, Ian, "--here he fell back into Gaelic--"that when youare by me, I know what is right so much quicker? I don't understandit. I meant to do right, but--"

"But your pride got up. Alister, you always set out well--nobly--andthen comes the devil's turn! Then you begin to do as if yourepented! You don't carry the thing right straight out. I hate tosee the devil make a fool of a man like you! Do YOU not know that inyour own country you owe a stranger hospitality?"

"My own country!" echoed Alister with a groan. 

"Yes, your own country--and perhaps more yours than it was yourgrandfather's! You know who said, 'The meek shall inherit theearth'! If it be not ours in God's way, I for one would not care tocall it mine another way. "--Here he changed again to English. --"Butwe must not keep the gentleman standing while we talk!"

"Thank you!" said Valentine. "The fact is, I'm dead beat. "

"Have you anything I could carry for you?" asked Ian. 

"No, I thank you. --Yes; there! if you don't mind taking my gun?--youspeak like a gentleman!"

"I will take it with pleasure. "

He took the gun, and they started. 

"If you choose, Alister, " said his brother, once more in Gaelic, "tobreak through conventionalities, you must not expect people to allowyou to creep inside them again the moment you please. "

But the young fellow's fatigue had touched Alister. 

"Are you a big man?" he said, taking Valentine gently by the arm. 

"Not so big as you, I'll lay you a sovereign, " answered Valentine, wondering why he should ask. 

"Then look here!" said Alister; "you get astride my shoulders, andI'll carry you home. I believe you're hungry, and that takes thepith out of you!--Come, " he went on, perceiving some sign ofreluctance in the youth, "you'll break down if you walk muchfarther!--Here, Ian! you take the bag; you can manage that and thegun too!"

Valentine murmured some objection; but the brothers took the thing somuch as a matter of course, and he felt so terribly exhausted--for hehad lost his way, and been out since the morning--that he yielded. 

Alister doubled himself up on his heels; Valentine got his wearylegs over his stalwart shoulders; the chief rose with him as if hehad been no heavier than mistress Conal's creel, and bore him alongmuch relieved in his aching limbs. 

So little was the chief oppressed by his burden, that he and hisbrother kept up a stream of conversation, every now and thenforgetting their manners and gliding off into Gaelic, but as oftenrecollecting themselves, apologizing, and starting afresh upon thepath of English. Long before they reached the end of their journey, Valentine, able from his perch to listen in some measure of ease, came to understand that he had to do, not with rustics, but, whatever their peculiarities, with gentlemen of a noteworthy sort. 

The brothers, in the joy of their reunion, talked much of things athome and abroad, avoiding things personal and domestic as often asthey spoke English; but when they saw the lights of the New House, asilence fell upon them. At the door, Alister set his burdencarefully down. 

"There!" he said with a laugh, "I hope I have earned my shilling!"

"Ten times over, " answered Valentine; "but I know better now thanoffer to pay you. I thank you with all my heart. "

The door opened, Ian gave the gun and the bag to the butler, and thebrothers bade Valentine good night. 

Valentine had a strange tale to tell. Sercombe refused to accept hisconclusions: if he had offered the men half a crown apiece, he said, they would have pocketed the money. 

CHAPTER VII. 

MOTHER AND SON. 

The sun was shining bright, and the laird was out in his fields. Hisoats were nearly ready for the scythe, and he was judging where hehad best begin to cut them. 

His fields lay chiefly along the banks of the stream, occupying thewhole breadth of the valley on the east side of the ridge where thecottage stood. On the west side of the ridge, nearly parallel to, and not many yards from it, a small brook ran to join the stream:this was a march betwixt the chief's land and Mr. PeregrinePalmer's. Their respective limit was not everywhere so well defined. 

The air was clear and clean, and full of life. The wind was asleep. A consciousness of work approaching completion filled earth andair--a mood of calm expectation, as of a man who sees his enddrawing nigh, and awaits the saving judgment of the father ofspirits. There was no song of birds--only a crow from the yard, orthe cry of a blackcock from the hill; the two streams were left todo all the singing, and they did their best, though their water waslow. The day was of the evening of the year; in the full sunshinewas present the twilight and the coming night, but there was a senseof readiness on all sides. The fruits of the earth must be housed;that alone remained to be done. 

When the laird had made up his mind, he turned towards the house--alowly cottage, more extensive than many farmhouses, but looking nobetter. It was well built, with an outside wall of rough stone andlime, and another wall of turf within, lined in parts with wood, making it as warm a nest as any house of the size could be. Thedoor, picturesque with abundant repair, opened by a latch into thekitchen. 

For long years the floor of the kitchen had been an earthen one, with the fire on a hearth in the middle of it, as in all thecottages; and the smoke rose into the roof, keeping it very dry andwarm, if also very sooty, and thence into the air through a hole inthe middle. But some ten years before this time, Alister and Ian, mere lads, had built a chimney outside, and opening the wall, removed the hearth to it--with the smoke also, which now had its ownprivate way to liberty. They then paved the floor with such stonesas they could find, in the fields and on the hill, sufficiently flatand smooth on one side, and by sinking them according to theirthickness, managed to get a tolerably even surface. Many otherimprovements followed; and although it was a poor place still, itwould at the time of Dr. Johnson's visit to the highlands have beencounted a good house, not to be despised by unambitious knight orpoor baronet. Nor was the time yet over, when ladies and gentlemen, of all courtesy and good breeding, might be found in such houses. 

In the kitchen a deal-dresser, scoured white, stood under one of thetiny windows, giving light enough for a clean-souled cook--and whatwindow-light would ever be enough for one of a different sort? Therewere only four panes in it, but it opened and closed with a button, and so was superior to many windows. There was a larger on theopposite side, which at times in the winter nights when the cold wasgreat, they filled bodily with a barricade of turf. Here, in thekitchen, the chief takes his meals with his lady-mother. She and Ianhave just finished their breakfast, and gone to the other end of thehouse. The laird broke his fast long ago. 

A fire is burning on the hearth--small, for the mid-day-meal is notyet on its way. Everything is tidy; the hearth is swept up, and thedishes are washed: the barefooted girl is reaching the last of themto its place on the rack hehind the dresser. She is a red-haired, blue-eyed Celt, with a pretty face, and a refinement of motion andspeech rarer in some other peasantries. 

The chief enters, and takes from the wall an old-fashioned gun. Hewants a bird or two, for Ian's home-coming is a great event. 

"I saw a big stag last night down by the burn, sir, " said the girl, "feeding as if he had been the red cow. "

"I don't want him to-day, Nancy, " returned her master. "Had he bighorns?"

"Great horns, sir; but it was too dark to count the tines. "

"When was it? Why did you not tell me?"

"I thought it was morning, sir, and when I got up it was the middleof the night. The moon was so shiny that I went to the door andlooked out. Just at the narrow leap, I saw him plain. "

"If you should see him again, Nancy, scare him. I don't want theSasunnachs at the New House to see him. "

"Hadn't you better take him yourself, Macruadh? He would make finehams for the winter!"

"Mind your own business, Nancy, and hold your tongue, " said thechief, with a smile that took all the harshness from the words. "Don't you tell any one you saw him. For what you know he may be thebig stag!"

"Sure no one would kill HIM, sir!" answered the girl aghast. 

"I hope not. But get the stoving-pot ready, Nancy; I'm going to finda bird or two. Lest I should not succeed, have a couple of chickensat hand. "

"Sir, the mistress has commanded them already. "

"That is well; but do not kill them except I am not back in time. "

"I understand, sir. "

Macruadh knew the stag as well as the horse he rode, and that hishabit had for some time been to come down at night and feed on thesmall border of rich grass on the south side of the burn, between itand the abrupt heathery rise of the hill. For there the burn ran sonear the hill, and the ground was so covered with huge masses ofgrey rock, that there was hardly room for cultivation, and the bankwas left in grass. 

The stalking of the stag was the passion of the highlander in thatpart of the country. He cared little for shooting the grouse, blackor red, and almost despised those whose ambition was a full bag ofsuch game; he dreamed day and night of killing deer. The chief, however, was in this matter more of a man without being less of ahighlander. He loved the deer so much, saw them so much a part ofthe glory of mountain and sky, sunshine and storm, that he liked tosee them living, not dead, and only now and then shot one, when thefamily had need of it. He felt himself indeed almost the father ofthe deer as well as of his clan, and mourned greatly that he coulddo so little now, from the limited range of his property, to protectthem. His love for live creatures was not quite equal to that of St. Francis, for he had not conceived the thought of turning wolf or foxfrom the error of his ways; but even the creatures that preyed uponothers he killed only from a sense of duty, and with no pleasure intheir death. The heartlessness of the common type of sportsman wasloathsome to him. When there was not much doing on the farm, hewould sometimes be out all night with his gun, it is true, but hewould seldom fire it, and then only at some beast of prey; on thehill-side or in the valley he would lie watching the ways and doingsof the many creatures that roam the night--each with its object, each with its reasons, each with its fitting of means to ends. Oneof the grounds of his dislike to the new possessors of the old landwas the raid he feared upon the wild animals. 

The laird gone, I will take my reader into the PARLOUR, as theycalled in English their one sitting-room. Shall I first tell himwhat the room was like, or first describe the two persons in it? Ledup to a picture, I certainly should not look first at the frame; buta description is a process of painting rather than a picture; andwhen you cannot see the thing in one, but must take each part byitself, and in your mind get it into relation with the rest, thereis an advantage, I think, in having a notion of the frame first. Forone thing, you cannot see the persons without imagining theirsurroundings, and if those should be unfittingly imagined, theyinterfere with the truth of the persons, and you may not be able toget them right after. 

The room, then, was about fifteen feet by twelve, and the ceilingwas low. On the white walls hung a few frames, of which two or threecontained water-colours--not very good, but not displeasing; severalheld miniature portraits--mostly in red coats, and one or two asilhouette. Opposite the door hung a target of hide, round, andbossed with brass. Alister had come upon it in the house, covering ameal-barrel, to which service it had probably been put in aid of itseluding a search for arms after the battle of Culloden. Never moreto cover man's food from mice, or his person from an enemy, it wasraised to the WALHALLA of the parlour. Under it rested, horizontallyupon two nails, the sword of the chief--a long and broad ANDREWFERRARA, with a plated basket-hilt; beside it hung a dirk--longerthan usual, and fine in form, with a carved hilt in the shape of aneagle's head and neck, and its sheath, whose leather was dry andflaky with age, heavily mounted in silver. Below these was acard-table of marquetry with spindle-legs, and on it a work-box ofivory, inlaid with silver and ebony. In the corner stood a harp, anErard, golden and gracious, not a string of it broken. In the middleof the room was a small square table, covered with a green cloth. Anold-fashioned easy chair stood by the chimney; and one sat in itwhom to see was to forget her surroundings. 

In middle age she is still beautiful, with the rare beauty thatshines from the root of the being. Her hair is of the darkest brown, almost black; her eyes are very dark, and her skin is very fair, though the soft bloom, as of reflected sunset, is gone from hercheek, and her hair shows lines of keen silver. Her features arefine, clear, and regular--the chin a little strong perhaps, not forthe size, but the fineness of the rest; her form is that of ayounger woman; her hand and foot are long and delicate. A morerefined and courteous presence could not have been found in theisland. The dignity of her carriage nowise marred its grace, orbetrayed the least consciousness; she looked dignified because shewas dignified. That form of falsehood which consists in assuming thelook of what one fain would be, was, as much as any other, impossible to Isobel Macruadh. She wore no cap; her hair wasgathered in a large knot near the top of her head. Her gown was of adark print; she had no ornament except a ring with a single ruby. She was working a bit of net into lace. 

She could speak Gaelic as well as any in the glen--perhaps better;but to her sons she always spoke English. To them indeed English wastheir mother-tongue, in the sense that English only came addressedto themselves from her lips. There were, she said, plenty to teachthem Gaelic; she must see to their English. 

The one window of the parlour, though not large, was of tolerablesize; but little light entered, so shaded was it with a rose-tree ina pot on the sill. By the wall opposite was a couch, and on thecouch lay Ian with a book in his hand--a book in a strange language. His mother and he would sometimes be a whole morning together andexchange no more than a word or two, though many a look and smile. It seemed enough for each to be in the other's company. There was aquite peculiar hond between the two. Like so many of the young menof that country, Ian had been intended for the army; but there wasin him this much of the spirit of the eagle he resembled, that hepassionately loved freedom, and had almost a gypsy's delight inwandering. When he left college, he became tutor in a Russian familyof distinction, and after that accepted a commission in thehousehold troops of the Czar. But wherever he went, he seemed, as hesaid once to his mother, almost physically aware of a linestretching between him and her, which seemed to vibrate when he grewanxious about her. The bond between him and his brother was equallystrong, but in feeling different. Between him and Alister it was acable; between him and his mother a harpstring; in the one case itwas a muscle, in the other a nerve. The one retained, the other drewhim. Given to roaming as he was, again and again he returned, frompure love-longing, to what he always felt as the PROTECTION of hismother. It was protection indeed he often had sought--protectionfrom his own glooms, which nothing but her love seemed able totenuate. 

He was tall--if an inch above six feet be tall, but not of hisbrother's fine proportion. He was thin, with long slender fingersand feet like his mother's. His small, strong bones were coveredwith little more than hard muscle, but every motion of limb or bodywas grace. At times, when lost in thought and unconscious ofmovement, an observer might have imagined him in conversation withsome one unseen, towards whom he was carrying himself with courtesy:plain it was that courtesy with him was not a graft upon the fineststock, but an essential element. His forehead was rather low, freckled, and crowned with hair of a foxy red; his eyes were of theglass-gray or green loved of our elder poets; his nose was a veryeagle in itself--large and fine. He more resembled the mask of thedead Shakspere than any other I have met, only in him theproportions were a little exaggerated; his nose was a little toolarge, and his mouth a little too small for the mask; but themingled sweetness and strength in the curves of the latter preventedthe impression of weakness generally given by the association ofsuch a nose and such a mouth. On his short upper lip was a smalllight moustache, and on his face not a hair more. In rest hiscountenance wore a great calmness, but a calmness that might seemrooted in sadness. 

While the mother might, more than once in a day, differ tofault-finding from her elder-born--whom she admired, notwithstanding, as well as loved, from the bottom of her heart--she was never KNOWNto say a word in opposition to the younger. It was even whisperedthat she was afraid of him. It was not so; but her reverence for Ianwas such that, even when she felt bound not to agree with him, sheseldom had the confidence that, differing from HIM, she was in theright. Sometimes in the middle of the night she would slip like aghost into the room where he lay, and sit by his bed till the blackcock, the gray cock, the red cock crew. The son might be awake allthe time, and the mother suspect him awake, yet no word pass betweenthem. She would rise and go as she came. Her feeling for her youngerson was like that of Hannah for her eldest--intensest love mixedwith strangest reverence. But there were vast alternations andinexplicable minglings in her thoughts of him. At one moment shewould regard him as gifted beyond his fellows for some great work, at another be filled with a horrible fear that he was in rebellionagainst the God of his life. Doubtless mothers are far too ready tothink THEIR sons above the ordinary breed of sons: self, unpossessedof God, will worship itself in its offspring; yet the sons whom HOLYmothers have regarded as born to great things and who have passed awaywithout sign, may have gone on toward their great things. Whether thismother thought too much of her son or not, there were questions movingin his mind which she could not have understood--even then when he wouldcreep to her bed in the morning to forget in her arms the terribledreams of the night, or when at evening he would draw his little stoolto her knee, unable or unwilling to enjoy his book anywhere but by herside. 

What gave him his unconscious power over his mother, was, first, thethings he said, and next, the things he did not say; for he seemedto her to dwell always in a rich silence. Yet throughout was sheaware of a something between them, across which they could not meet;and it was in part her distress at the seeming impossibility ofeffecting a spiritual union with her son, that made her so desirousof personal proximity to him. Such union is by most thinking peoplepresumed impossible without consent of opinion, and this mistakerendered her unable to FEEL near him, to be at home with him. If shehad believed that they understood each other, that they were of likeOPINION, she would not have been half so unhappy when he went away, would not have longed half so grievously for his return. Ian on hispart understood his mother, but knew she did not understand him, andwas therefore troubled. Hence it resulted that always after a timecame the hour--which never came to her--when he could endureproximity without oneness no longer, and would suddenly announce hisdeparture. And after a day or two of his absence, the mother wouldbe doubly wretched to find a sort of relief in it, and would spendwakeful nights trying to oust it as the merest fancy, persuadingherself that she was miserable, and nothing but miserable, in theloss of her darling. 

Naturally then she would turn more to Alister, and his love was astrengthening tonic to her sick motherhood. He was never jealous ofeither. Their love for each other was to him a love. He too wouldmourn deeply over his brother's departure, but it became at once hisbusiness to comfort his mother. And while she had no suspicion ofthe degree to which he suffered, it drew her with fresh love to herelder born, and gave her renewal of the quiet satisfaction in himthat was never absent, when she saw how he too missed Ian. Theirmutual affection was indeed as true and strong as a mother coulddesire it. "If such love, " she said to herself, "had appeared in themiddle of its history instead of now at its close, the transmittedaffection would have been enough to bind the clan together forcenturies more!"

It was with a prelusive smile that shone on the mother's heart likethe opening of heaven, that Ian lowered his book to answer herquestion. She had said--

"Did you not feel the cold very much at St. Petersburg last winter, Ian?"

"Yes, mother, at times, " he answered. "But everybody wears fur; thepeasant his sheep-skin, the noble his silver fox. They have to fightthe cold! Nose and toes are in constant danger. Did I never tell youwhat happened to me once in that way? I don't think I ever did!"

"You never tell me anything, Ian!" said his mother, looking at himwith a loving sadness. 

"I was suddenly stopped in the street by what I took for anunheard-of insult: I actually thought my great proboscis was beingpulled! If I had been as fiery as Alister, the man would have foundhis back, and I should have lost my nose. Without the least warninga handful of snow was thrust in my face, and my nose had not even achance of snorting with indignation, it found itself so twisted inevery direction at once! But I have a way, in any sudden occurrence, of feeling perplexed enough to want to be sure before doinganything, and if it has sometimes hindered me from what wasexpedient, it has oftener saved me from what would have been wrong:in another instant I was able to do justice to the promptitude of afellow Christian for the preservation of my nose, already whiteningin frosty death: he was rubbing it hard with snow, the orthodoxremedy! My whole face presently sharpened into one burning spot, andtaking off my hat, I thanked the man for his most kind attention. Hepointed out to me that time spent in explaining the condition of mynose, would have been pure loss: the danger was pressing, and heattacked it at once! I was indeed entirely unconscious of the stateof my beak--the worst symptom of any!"

"I trust, Ian, you will not go back to Russia!" said his mother, after a little more talk about frost-biting. "Surely there is workfor you at home!"

"What can I do at home, mother? You have no money to buy me acommission, and I am not much good at farm-work. Alister says I amnot worth a horseman's wages!"

"You could find teaching at home; or you could go into the church. We might manage that, for you would only have to attend the divinityclasses. "

"Mother! would you put me into one of the priests' offices that Imay eat a piece of bread? As for teaching, there are too many hungrystudents for that: I could not take the bread out of their mouths!And in truth, mother, I could not endure it--except it were requiredof me. I can live on as little as any, but it must be with someliberty. I have surely inherited the spirit of some old sea-rover, it is so difficult for me to rest! I am a very thistle-down forwandering! I must know how my fellow-creatures live! I should liketo BE one man after another--each for an hour or two!"

"Your father used to say there was much Norse blood in the family. "

"There it is, mother! I cannot help it!"

"I don't like your holding the Czar's commission, Ian--somehow Idon't like it! He is a tyrant!"

"I am going to throw it up, mother. "

"I am glad of that! How did you ever get it?"

"Oddly enough, through the man that pulled my nose. I had a chanceafterwards of doing him a good turn, which he was most generous inacknowledging; and as he belonged to the court, I had the offer of alieutenant's commission. The Scotch are in favour. "

A deep cloud had settled on the face of the young man. The ladylooked at him for a moment with keenest mother-eyes, suppressed adeep sigh, and betook herself again to her work. 

Ere she thought how he might take it, another question broke fromher lips. 

"What sort of church had you to go to in St. Petersburg, Ian?" shesaid. 

Ian was silent a moment, thinking how to be true, and not hurt hermore than could not be helped. 

"There are a thousand places of worship there, mother, " he returned, with a curious smile. 

"Any presbyterian place?" she asked. 

"I believe so, " he replied. 

"Ian, you haven't given up praying?"

"If ever I prayed, mother, I certainly have not given it up. "

"Ever prayed, Ian! When a mere child you prayed like an agedChristian!"

"Ah, mother, that was a sad pity! I asked for things of which I feltno need! I was a hypocrite! I ought to have prayed like a littlechild!"

The mother was silent: she it was who had taught him to praythus--making him pray aloud in her hearing! and this was the result!The premature blossom had withered! she said to herself. But it wasno blossom, only a muslin flower!

"Then you didn't go to church!" she said at length. 

"Not often, mother dear, " he answered. "When I do go, I like to goto the church of the country I happen to be in. Going to church andpraying to God are not the same thing. "

"Then you do say your prayers? Oh, do not tell me you never bow downbefore your maker!"

"Shall I tell you where I think I did once pray to God, mother?" hesaid, after a little pause, anxious to soothe her suffering. "Atleast I did think then that I prayed!" he added. 

"It was not this morning, then, before you left your chamber?"

"No, mother, " answered Ian; "I did not pray this morning, and Inever say prayers. "

The mother gave a gasp, but answered nothing. Ian went on again. 

"I should like to tell you, mother, about that time when I am almostsure I prayed!"

"I should like to hear about it, " she answered, with strangestminglings of emotion. At one and the same instant she felt partedfrom her son by a gulf into which she must cast herself to find him, and that he stood on a height of sacred experience which she nevercould hope to climb. "Oh for his father to talk to him!" she said toherself. He was a power on her soul which she almost feared. If hewere to put forth his power, might he not drag her down intounbelief?

It was the first time they had come so close in their talk. Themoment his mother spoke out, Ian had responded. He was anxious to beopen with her so far as he could, and forced his naturaltaciturnity, the prime cause of which was his thoughtfulness: it washard to talk where was so much thinking to be done, so little timeto do it in, and so little progress made by it! But wherever hecould keep his mother company, there he would not leave her! Just ashe opened his mouth, however, to begin his narration, the door ofthe room also opened, flung wide by the small red hand of Nancy, andtwo young ladies entered. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A MORNING CALL. 

Had Valentine known who the brothers were, or where they lived, hewould before now have called to thank them again for their kindnessto him; but he imagined they had some distance to go afterdepositing him, and had not yet discovered his mistake. The visitnow paid had nothing to do with him. 

The two elder girls, curious about the pretty cottage, had comewandering down the spur, or hill-toe, as far as its precincts--ifprecincts they may be called where was no fence, only a little groveand a less garden. Beside the door stood a milk-pail and a churn, set out to be sweetened by the sun and wind. It was very rural, theythought, and very homely, but not so attractive as some cottages inthe south:--it indicated a rusticity honoured by the mostunceremonious visit from its superiors. Thus without hesitationconcluding, Christina, followed by Mercy, walked in at the opendoor, found a barefooted girl in the kitchen, and spoke pleasantlyto her. She, in simple hospitality forgetting herself, made answerin Gaelic; and, never doubting the ladies had come to call upon hermistress, led the way, and the girls, without thinking, followed herto the parlour. 

As they came, they had been talking. Had they been in any degreetruly educated, they would have been quite capable of an opinion oftheir own, for they had good enough faculties; but they had neverbeen really taught to read; therefore, with the utmost confidence, they had been passing judgment upon a book from which they had notgathered the slightest notion as to the idea or intention of thewriter. Christina was of that numerous class of readers, who, if youshow one thing better or worse than another, will without hesitationreport that you love the one and hate the other. If you say, forinstance, that it is a worse and yet more shameful thing for a manto break his wife's heart by systematic neglect, than to strike herand be sorry for it, such readers give out that you approve ofwife-beating, and perhaps write to expostulate with you on yourbrutality. If you express pleasure that a poor maniac should havesucceeded in escaping through the door of death from his hauntingdemon, they accuse you of advocating suicide. But Mercy was not yetafloat on the sea of essential LIE whereon Christina swung to everywave. 

One question they had been discussing was, whether the hero of thestory was worthy the name of lover, seeing he deferred offering hishand to the girl because she told her mother a FIB to account forher being with him in the garden after dark. "It was cowardly andunfair, " said Christina: "was it not for HIS sake she did it?" Mercydid not think to say "WAS IT?" as she well might. "Don't you see, Chrissy, " she said, "he reasoned this way: 'If she tell her mother alie, she may tell me a lie some day too!'?" So indeed the youth didreason; but it occurred to neither of his critics to note the factthat he would not have minded the girl's telling her mother the lie, if he could have been certain she would never tell HIM one! Inregard to her hiding from him certain passages with anothergentleman, occurring between this event and his proposal, Christinajudged he had no right to know them, and if he had, theirconcealment was what he deserved. 

When the girl, who would have thought it rude to ask their names--ifI mistake not, it was a point in highland hospitality to entertainwithout such inquiry--led the way to the parlour, they followedexpecting they did not know what: they had heard of the cowhouse, thestable, and even the pigsty, being under the same roof in these parts!When the opening door disclosed "lady" Macruadh, every inch a chieftain'swidow, their conventional breeding failed them a little; though incapableof recognizing a refinement beyond their own, they were not incapableof feeling its influence; and they had not yet learned how to be rudewith propriety in unproved circumstances--still less how to be graciouswithout a moment's notice. But when a young man sprang from a couch, and the stately lady rose and advanced to receive them, it was toolate to retreat, and for a moment they stood abashed, feeling, I amglad to say, like intruders. The behaviour of the lady and gentleman, however, speedily set them partially at ease. The latter, with movementsmore than graceful, for they were gracious, and altogether free ofscroll-pattern or Polonius-flourish, placed chairs, and invited themto be seated, and the former began to talk as if their entrance werethe least unexpected thing in the world. Leaving them to explaintheir visit or not as they saw fit, she spoke of the weather, theharvest, the shooting; feared the gentlemen would be disappointed:the birds were quite healthy, but not numerous--they had too manyenemies to multiply! asked if they had seen the view from such andsuch a point;--in short, carried herself as one to whom cordialityto strangers was an easy duty. But she was not taken with them. Herorder of civilization was higher than theirs; and the simplicity aswell as old-fashioned finish of her consciousness recoiled a little--though she had not experience enough of a certain kind to be ableat once to say what it was in the manner and expression of the youngladies that did not please her. 

Mammon, gaining more and more of the upper hand in all socialrelations, has done much to lower the PETITE as well as the GRANDEMORALE of the country--the good breeding as well as the honesty. Unmannerliness with the completest self-possession, is a poorsubstitute for stiffness, a poorer for courtesy. Respect andgraciousness from each to each is of the very essence ofChristianity, independently of rank, or possession, or relation. Acertain roughness and rudeness have usurped upon the intercourse ofthe century. It comes of the spread of imagined greatness; truegreatness, unconscious of itself, cannot find expression other thangracious. In the presence of another, a man of true breeding is butfaintly aware of his own self, and keenly aware of the other's self. Before the human--that bush which, however trodden and peeled, yetburns with the divine presence--the man who thinks of the homage dueto him, and not of the homage owing by him, is essentially rude. Mammon is slowly stifling and desiccating Rank; both are miserabledeities, but the one is yet meaner than the other. Unrefinedfamilies with money are received with open arms and honours paid, incircles where a better breeding than theirs has hitherto prevailed:this, working along with the natural law of corruption where is noaspiration, has gradually caused the deterioration of which I speak. Courtesy will never regain her former position, but she will beraised to a much higher; like Duty she will be known as a daughterof the living God, "the first stocke father of gentilnes;" for inhis neighbour every man will see a revelation of the Most High. 

Without being able to recognize the superiority of a woman who livedin a cottage, the young ladies felt and disliked it; and the matronfelt the commonness of the girls, without knowing what exactly itwas. The girls, on the other hand, were interested in the young man:he looked like a gentleman! Ian was interested in the young women:he thought they were shy, when they were only "put out, " and wishedto make them comfortable--in which he quickly succeeded. Hisunconsciously commanding air in the midst of his great courtesy, roused their admiration, and they had not been many minutes in hiscompany ere they were satisfied that, however it was to be accountedfor, the young man was in truth very much of a gentleman. It was anunexpected discovery of northern produce, and "the estate" gatheredinterest in their eyes. Christina did the greater part of thetalking, hut both did their best to be agreeable. 

Ian saw quite as well as his mother what ordinary girls they were, but, accustomed to the newer modes in manner and speech, he was notshocked by movements and phrases that annoyed her. The motherapprehended fascination, and was uneasy, though far from showing it. 

When they rose, Ian attended them to the door, leaving his motheranxious, for she feared he would accompany them home. Till hereturned, she did not resume her seat. 

The girls took their way along the ridge in silence, till the ruinwas between them and the cottage, when they burst into laughter. They were ladies enough not to laugh till out of sight, but notladies enough to see there was nothing to laugh at. 

"A harp, too!" said Christina. "Mercy, I believe we are on the topof mount Ararat, and have this very moment left the real Noah's ark, patched into a cottage! Who CAN they be?"

"Gentlefolk evidently, " said Mercy, "--perhaps old-fashioned peoplefrom Inverness. "

"The young man must have been to college!--In the north, you know, "continued Christina, thinking with pride that her brother was atOxford, "nothing is easier than to get an education, such as it is!It costs in fact next to nothing. Ploughmen send their sons to St. Andrew's and Aberdeen to make gentlemen of them! Fancy!"

"You must allow this case a successful one!"

"I didn't mean HIS father was a ploughman! That is impossible!Besides, I heard him call that very respectable person MOTHER! Sheis not a ploughman's wife, but evidently a lady of the middleclass. "

Christina did not count herself or her people to belong to themiddle class. How it was it is not quite easy to say--perhaps thetone of implied contempt with which the father spoke of the lowerclasses, and the quiet negation with which the mother would alludeto shopkeepers, may have had to do with it--but the young people allimagined themselves to belong to the upper classes! It was a pitythere was no title in the family--but any of the girls might wellmarry a coronet! There were indeed persons higher than they; a dukewas higher; the queen was higher--but that was pleasant! it was niceto have a few to look up to!

On anyone living in a humble house, not to say a poor cottage, theylooked down, as the case might be, with indifference or patronage;they little dreamed how, had she known all about them, therespectable person in the cottage would have looked down upon THEM!At the same time the laugh in which they now indulged was notaltogether one of amusement; it was in part an effort to avengethemselves of a certain uncomfortable feeling of rebuke. 

"I will tell you my theory, Mercy!" Christina went on. "The lady isthe widow of an Indian officer--perhaps a colonel. Some of theirwidows are left very poor, though, their husbands having been in theservice of their country, they think no small beer of themselves!The young man has a military air which he may have got from hisfather; or he may be an officer himself: young officers are alwayspoor; that's what makes them so nice to flirt with. I wonder whetherhe really IS an officer! We've actually called upon the people, andcome away too, without knowing their names!"

"I suppose they're from the New House!" said Ian, returning after hehad bowed the ladies from the threshold, with the reward of abewitching smile from the elder, and a shy glance from the younger. 

"Where else could they be from?" returned his mother; "--come tomake our poor country yet poorer!"

"They're not English!"

"Not they!--vulgar people from Glasgow!"

"I think you are too hard on them, mother! They are not exactlyvulgar. I thought, indeed, there was a sort of gentleness about themyou do not often meet in Scotch girls!"

"In the lowlands, I grant, Ian; but the daughter of the pooresttacksman of the Macruadhs has a manner and a modesty I have seen inno Sasunnach girl yet. Those girls are bold!"

"Self-possessed, perhaps!" said Ian. 

Upon the awkwardness he took for shyness, had followed a reaction. It was with the young ladies a part of good breeding, whatevermistake they made, not to look otherwise than contented withthemselves: having for a moment failed in this principle, they wereeager to make up for it. 

"Girls are different from what they used to be, I fancy, mother!"added Ian thoughtfully. 

"The world changes very fast!" said the mother sadly. She wasthinking, like Rebecca, if her sons took a fancy to these who werenot daughters of the land, what good would her life do her. 

"Ah, mother dear, " said Ian, "I have never"--and as he spoke thecloud deepened on his forehead--"seen more than one woman whose waysand manners reminded me of you!"

"And what was she?" the mother asked, in pleased alarm. 

But she almost repented the question when she saw how low the clouddescended on his countenance. 

"A princess, mother. She is dead, " he answered, and turning walkedso gently from the room that it was impossible for his mother todetain him. 

CHAPTER IX. 

ME. SERCOMBE. 

The next morning, soon after sunrise, the laird began to cut hisbarley. Ian would gladly have helped, but Alister had a notion thatsuch labour was not fit for him. 

"I had a comical interview this morning, " said the chief, enteringthe kitchen at dinner-time. "I was out before my people, and wasstanding by the burn-side near the foot-bridge, when I heardsomebody shouting, and looked up. There was a big English fellowin gray on the top of the ridge, with his gun on his shoulder, hollo-ing. I knew he was English by his hollo-ing. It was plain itwas to me, but not choosing to be at his beck and call, I took noheed. 'Hullo, you there! wake up!' he cried. 'What should I wake upfor?' I returned. 'To carry my bag. You don't seem to have anythingto do! I'll give you five shillings. '"

"You see to what you expose yourself by your unconventlonalities, Alister!" said his brother, with rnock gravity. 

"It was not the fellow we carried home the other night, Ian; it wasone twice his size. It would take all I have to carry HIM as far!"

"The other must have pointed you out to him!"

"It was much too dark for him to know me again!"

"You forget the hall-lamp!" said Ian. 

"Ah, yes, to be sure! I had forgotten!" answered Alister. "To tellthe truth, I thought, when I took his shilling, he would never knowme from Nebuchadnezzar: that is the one thing I am ashamed of in theaffair--I did in the dark what perhaps I should not have done in thedaylight!--I don't mean I would not have carried him and his bagtoo! I refer only to the shilling! Now, of course, I will hold myface to it; but I thought it better to be short with a fellow likethat. "

"Well?"

"'You'll want prepayment, no doubt!' he went on, putting his hand inhis pocket. Those Sasunnach fellows think every highlandman keen asa hawk after their dirty money!"

"They have but too good reason in some parts!" said the mother. "Itis not so bad here yet, but there is a great difference in thatrespect. The old breed is fast disappearing. What with thedifficulty of living by the hardest work, and the occasional chanceof earning a shilling easily, many have turned both idle andgreedy. "

"That's for you and your shilling, Alister!" said Ian. 

"I confess, " returned Alister, "if I had foreseen what an idea ofthe gentlemen of the country I might give, I should have hesitated. But I haven't begun to be ashamed yet!"

"Ashamed, Alister!" cried Ian. "What does it matter what a fellowlike that thinks of you?"

"And mistress Conal has her shilling!" said the mother. 

"If the thing was right, " pursued Ian, "no harm can come of it; ifit was not right, no end of harm may come. Are you sure it was goodfor mistress Conal to have that shilling, Alister? What if it bedrawing away her heart from him who is watching his old child in herturf-hut? What if the devil be grinning at her from, that shilling?"

"Ian! if God had not meant her to have the shilling, he would nothave let Alister earn it. "

"Certainly God can take care of her from a shilling!" said Ian, withone of his strangely sweet smiles. "I was only trying Alister, mother. "

"I confess I did not like the thought of it at first, " resumed Mrs. Macruadh; "but it was mere pride; for when I thought of your father, I knew he would have been pleased with Alister. "

"Then, mother, I am glad; and I don't care what Ian, or anySasunnach under the sun, may think of me. "

"But you haven't told us, " said Ian, "how the thing ended. "

"I said to the fellow, " resumed Alister, "that I had my shearing todo, and hadn't the time to go with him. 'Is this your season forsheep-shearing?' said he. 'We call cutting the corn shearing, ' Ianswered, 'because in these parts we use the reaping hook. ' 'That isa great waste of labour!' he returned. I did not tell him that someof our land would smash his machines like toys. 'How?' I asked. 'Itcosts so much more, ' he said. 'But it feeds so many more!' Ireplied. 'Oh yes, of course, if you don't want the farmer to make aliving!' 'I manage to make a living, ' I said. 'Then you are thefarmer?' 'So it would appear. ' 'I beg your pardon; I thought--''You thought I was an idle fellow, glad of an easy job to keep thelife in me!' 'You were deuced glad of a job the other night, theytell me!' 'So I was. I wanted a shilling for a poor woman, andhadn't one to give her without going home a mile and a half for it!'By this time he had come down, and I had gone a few steps to meethim; I did not want to seem unfriendly. 'Upon my word, it was verygood of you! The old lady ought to be grateful!' he said. 'So oughtwe all, ' I answered, '--I to your friend for the shilling, and he tome for taking his bag. He did me one good turn for my poor woman, and I did him another for his poor leg!' 'So you're quits!' said he. 'Not at all, ' I answered; 'on the contrary, we are under mutualobligation. ' 'I don't see the difference!--Hillo, there's a hare!'And up went his gun to his shoulder. 'None of that!' I cried, andknocked up the barrel. 'What do you mean?' he roared, lookingfurious. 'Get out of the way, or I'll shoot you. ' 'Murder as well aspoaching!' I said. 'Poaching!' he shouted. 'That rabbit is mine, ' Ianswered; 'I will not have it killed. ' 'Cool!--on Mr. Palmer'sland!' said he. 'The land is mine, and I am my own gamekeeper!' Irejoined. 'You look like it!' he said. 'You go after yourbirds!--not in this direction though, ' I answered, and turned andleft him. "

"You were rough with him!" said Ian. 

"I did lose my temper rather. "

"It was a mistake on his part. "

"I expected to hear him fire, " Alister continued, "for there was therabbit he took for a hare lurching slowly away! I'm glad he didn't:I always feel bad after a row!--Can a conscience ever get toofastidious, Ian?"

"The only way to find that out is always to obey it. "

"So long as it agrees with the Bible, Ian!" interposed the mother. 

"The Bible is a big book, mother, and the things in it are of manysorts, " returned Ian. "The Lord did not go with every thing in it. "

"Ian! Ian! I am shocked to hear you!"

"It is the truth, mother. "

"What WOULD your father say!"

"'He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy ofme. '"

Ian rose from the table, knelt by his mother, and laid his head onher shoulder. 

She was silent, pained by his words, and put her arm round him as ifto shelter him from the evil one. Homage to will and word of theMaster, apart from the acceptance of certain doctrines concerninghim, was in her eyes not merely defective but dangerous. To love theLord with the love of truest obedience; to believe him the son ofGod and the saver of men with absolute acceptance of the heart, wasfar from enough! it was but sentimental affection!

A certain young preacher in Scotland some years ago, accused by anold lady of preaching works, took refuge in the Lord's sermon on themount: "Ow ay!" answered the partisan, "but he was a varra yoong monwhan he preacht that sermon!"

Alister rose and went: there was to him something specially sacredin the communion of his mother and brother. Heartily he held withIan, but shrank from any difference with his mother. For her sake hereceived Sunday after Sunday in silence what was to him a bushel ofdust with here and there a bit of mouldy bread in it; but the motherdid not imagine any great coincidence of opinion between her andAlister any more than between her and Ian. She had not the faintestnotion how much genuine faith both of them had, or how it surpassedher own in vitality. 

But while Ian seemed to his brother, who knew him best, hardlytouched with earthly stain, Alister, notwithstanding his large anddominant humanity, was still in the troublous condition of onetrying to do right against a powerful fermentation of pride. He heldnoblest principles; but the sediment of generations was too easilystirred up to cloud them. He was not quite honest in his attitudetowards some of his ancestors, judging them far more leniently thanhe would have judged others. He loved his neighbour, but hisneighbour was mostly of his own family or his own clan. He MIGHThave been unjust for the sake of his own--a small fault in the eyesof the world, but a great fault indeed in a nature like his, capableof being so much beyond it. For, while the faults of a good mancannot be such evil things as the faults of a bad man, they are moreblameworthy, and greater faults than the same would be in a bad man:we must not confuse the guilt of the person with the abstract evilof the thing. 

Ian was one of those blessed few who doubt in virtue of a largerfaith. While its roots were seeking a deeper soil, it could not showso fast a growth above ground, He doubted most about the things heloved best, while he devoted the energies of a mind whose keennessalmost masked its power, to discover possible ways of believingthem. To the wise his doubts would have been his best credentials;they were worth tenfold the faith of most. It was truth, and highertruth, he was always seeking. The sadness which coloured his deepestindividuality, only one thing could ever remove--the consciouspresence of the Eternal. This is true of all sadness, but Ian knewit. 

He overtook Alister on his way to the barley-field. 

"I have been trying to find out wherein lay the falseness of theposition in which you found yourself this morning, " he said. "Therecould be nothing wrong in doing a small thing for its reward anymore than a great one; where I think you went wrong was in ASSUMINGyour social position afterwards: you should have waited for itsbeing accorded you. There was no occasion to be offended with theman. You ought to have seen how you must look to him, and given himtime. I don't perceive why you should be so gracious to old mistressConal, and so hard upon him. Certainly you would not speak as he didto any man, but he has been brought up differently; he is not such agentleman as you cannot help being. In a word, you ought to havetreated him as an inferior, and been more polite to him. "

CHAPTER X. 

THE PLOUGH-BULLS. 

Partly, it may be, from such incidents at the outset of theiracquaintance, there was for some time no further meeting betwixt anyof the chief's family and that of the new laird. There was indeedlittle to draw them together except common isolation. Valentinewould have been pleased to show gratitude to his helpers on thatstormy night, but after his sisters' account of their call, he feltnot only ashamed, which was right, but ashamed to show his shame, which was a fresh shame. The girls on their part made so much ofwhat they counted the ridiculous elements of their "adventure, "that, natural vengeance on their untruthfulness, they camethemselves to see in it almost only what was ridiculous. In the samespirit Mr. Sercombe recounted his adventure with Alister, whichannoyed his host, who had but little acquaintance with theboundaries of his land. From the additional servants they had hiredin the vicinity, the people of the New House gathered correctinformation concerning the people at the cottage, but the honour inwhich they were held only added to the ridicule they associated withthem. On the other side also there was little inclination towards apursuit of intercourse. Mrs. Macruadh, from Nancy's account and thebehaviour of the girls, divined the explanation of their visit; and, as their mother did not follow it up, took no notice of it. In themind of Mercy, however, lurked a little thorn, with the bluntestpossible sting of suspicion, every time she joined in a laugh at thepeople of the cottage, that she was not quite just to them. 

The shooting, such as it was, went on, the sleeping and the eating, the walking and the talking. Long letters were written from the NewHouse to female friends--letters with the flourishes if not thematter of wit, and funny tales concerning the natives, whom, becauseof their poor houses and unintelligibility, they represented assemi-savages. The young men went back to Oxford; and the time forthe return of the family to civilization seemed drawing nigh. 

It happened about this time, however, that a certain speculation inwhich Mr. Peregrine Palmer was very materially interested, failedutterly, depriving him of the consciousness of a good manythousands, and producing in him the feeling of a lady of moderatemeans when she loses her purse: he must save it off something! Forthough he spent freely, he placed a great value on money--as well hemight, seeing it gave him all the distinction which beforeeverything else he prized. He did not know what a poor thing it isto be distinguished among men, therefore did not like losing histhousands. Having by failure sinned against Mammon, he must dosomething to ease the money-conscience that ruled his conduct; andthe first thing that occurred to him was, to leave his wife anddaughters where they were for the winter. None of them were in theleast delicate; his wife professed herself fond of a country life;it would give the girls a good opportunity for practice, drawing, and study generally, and he would find them a suitable governess! Hetalked the matter over with Mrs. Palmer. She did not mind much, andwould not object. He would spend Christmas with them, he said, andbring down Christian, and perhaps Mr. Sercombe. 

The girls did not like the idea. It was so cold in the country inwinter, and the snow would be so deep! they would be starved todeath! But, of course--if the governor had made up his mind to becruel!

The thing was settled. It was only for one winter! It would be a newexperience for them, and they would enjoy their next SEASON all themore! The governor had promised to send them down new furs, and agreat boxful of novels! He did not apprise them that he meant tosell their horses. Their horses were his! He was an indulgent fatherand did not stint them, but he was not going to ask their leave! Atthe same time he had not the courage to tell them. 

He took his wife with him as far as Inverness for a day or two, thatshe might lay in a good stock of everything antagonistic to cold. 

When father and mother were gone from the house, the girls feltLARKY. They had no wish to do anything they would not do if theirparents were at home, but they had some sense of relief in thethought that they could do whatever they liked. A more sympathetichistorian might say, and I am nowise inclined to contradict him, that it was only the reaction from the pain of parting, and theinstinct to make the best of their loneliness. However it was, theelder girls resolved on a walk to the village, to see what might beseen, and in particular the young woman at the shop, of whom theyhad heard their brother and Mr. Sercombe speak with admiration, qualified with the remark that she was so proper they could hardlyget a civil word out of her. She was in fact too scrupulously politefor their taste. 

It was a bright, pleasant, frosty morning, perfectly still, with anair like wine. The harvest had vanished from the fields. The sunshone on millions of tiny dew-suns, threaded on forsakenspider-webs. A few small, white, frozen clouds flecked the sky. Thepurple heather was not yet gone, and not any snow had yet fallen inthe valley. The burn was large, for there had been a good deal ofrain, but it was not much darker than its usual brown ofsmoke-crystal. They tripped gaily along. If they had littlespiritual, they had much innocent animal life, which no greatdisappointments or keen twinges of conscience had yet damped. Theywere hut human kittens--and not of the finest breed. 

As they crossed the root of the spur, and looked down on the autumnfields to the east of it, they spied something going on which theydid not understand. Stopping, and gazing more intently, they beheldwhat seemed a contest between man and beast, but its nature theycould not yet distinguish. Gradually it grew plain that two of thecattle of the country, wild and shaggy, were rebelling againstcontrol. They were in fact two young bulls, of the small blackhighland breed, accustomed to gallop over the rough hills, jumpinglike goats, which Alister had set himself the task of breaking tothe plough--by no means an easy one, or to be accomplishedsingle-handed by any but a man of some strength, and bothpersistence and patience. In the summer he had lost a horse, whichhe could ill afford to replace: if he could make these bulls work, they would save him the price of the horse, would cost less to keep, and require less attention! He bridled them by the nose, not withrings through the gristle, but with nose-bands of iron, bluntlyspiked inside, against which they could not pull hard without pain, and had made some progress, though he could by no means trust themyet: every now and then a fit of mingled wildness and stubbornnesswould seize them, and the contest would appear about to begin againfrom the beginning; but they seldom now held out very long. Thenose-band of one of them had come off, Alister had him by a horn ineach hand, and a fierce struggle was going on between them, whilethe other was pulling away from his companion as if determined totake to the hills. It was a good thing for them that share andcoulter were pretty deep in the ground, to the help of their master;for had they got away, they would have killed, or at least disabledthemselves. Presently, however, he had the nose-band on, and byforce and persuasion together got the better of them; the staggylittle furies gave in; and quickly gathering up his reins, he wentback to the plough-stilts, where each hand held at once a handle anda rein. With energetic obedience the, little animals began topull--so vigorously that it took nearly all the chief's strength tohold at once his plough and his team. 

It was something of a sight to the girls after a long dearth ofevents. Many things indeed upon which they scarce cast an eye whenthey came, they were now capable of regarding with a little feebleinterest. Nor, although ignorant of everything agricultural, werethey quite unused to animals; having horses they called their own, they would not unfrequently go to the stables to give their orders, or see that they were carried out. 

They waited for some time hoping the fight would begin again, anddrew a little nearer; then, as by common consent, left the road, passed the ruin, ran down the steep side of the ridge, and began totoil through the stubble towards the ploughman. A sharp straw wouldevery now and then go through a delicate stocking, and the damp soilgathered in great lumps on their shoes, but they plodded on, laughing merrily as they went. 

The Macruadh was meditating the power of the frost to break up theclods of the field, when he saw the girls close to him. He pulled inhis cattle, and taking off his bonnet with one hand while the otherheld both reins--

"Excuse me, ladies, " he said; "my animals are young, and not quitebroken. "

They were not a little surprised at such a reception, and weredriven to conclude that the man must be the laird himself. They hadheard that he cultivated his own land, but had not thereforeimagined him labouring in his own person. 

In spite of the blindness produced by their conventional training, vulgarly called education, they could not fail to perceive somethingin the man worthy of their regard. Before them, on the alert towardhis cattle, but full of courtesy, stood a dark, handsome, weather-browned man, with an eagle air, not so pronounced as hisbrother's. His hair was long, and almost black, --in thick, softcurls over a small, well-set head. His glance had the flash thatcomes of victorious effort, and his free carriage was that of onewhom labour has nowise subdued, whose every muscle is instinct withready life. True even in trifles, he wore the dark beard that naturehad given him; disordered by the struggle with his bulls, itimparted a certain wild look that contrasted with his speech. Christina forgot that the man was a labourer like any other, butnoted that he did not manifest the least embarrassment in theirpresence, or any consciousness of a superfluity of favour in theirapproach: she did not know that neither would his hired servant, orthe poorest member of his clan. It was said of a certain Sutherlandclan that they were all gentlemen, and of a certain Argyll clan thatthey were all poets; of the Macruadhs it was said they were both. Asto Mercy, the first glance of the chiefs hazel eyes, lookingstraight into hers with genial respect, went deeper than any lookhad yet penetrated. 

Ladies in Alister's fields were not an everyday sight. Hardly beforehad his work been enlivened by such a presence; and the joy of itwas in his eyes, though his behaviour was calm. Christina thoughthow pleasant it would be to have him for a worshipping slave--sointerpenetrated with her charms that, like Una's lion, he wouldcrouch at her feet, come and go at her pleasure, live on her smiles, and be sad when she gave him none. She would make a gentleman ofhim, then leave him to dream of her! It would be a pleasant andinteresting task in the dullness of their winter's banishment, withthe days so short and the nights so unendurably long! The man washandsome!--she would do it!--and would proceed at once to initiatethe conquest of him!

The temptation to patronize not unfrequently presents an object forthe patronage superior to the would-be patron; for the temptation isone to which slight persons chiefly are exposed; it affords anoutlet for the vague activity of self-importance. Few have learnedthat one is of no value except to God and other men. Miss Palmerworshipped herself, and therefore would fain be worshipped--sodreamed of a friendship de haut en bas with the country fellow. 

She put on a smile--no difficult thing, for she was a good-naturedgirl. It looked to Alister quite natural. It was nevertheless, likeHamlet's false friends, "sent for. "

"Do you like ploughing?" she asked. 

Had she known the manners of the country, she would have added"laird, " or "Macruadh. "

"Yes I do, " Alister answered; "but I should plough all the same if Idid not. It has to be done. "

"But why should YOU do it?"

"Because I must, " laughed the laird. 

What ought she to answer? Should she condole with the man because hehad to work? It did not seem prudent! She would try another tack!

"You had some trouble with your oxen! We saw it from the road, andwere quite frightened. I hope you are not hurt. "

"There was no danger of that, " answered Alister with a smile. 

"What wild creatures they are! Ain't it rather hard work for them?They are so small!"

"They are as strong as horses, " answered the laird. "I have had mywork to break them! Indeed, I can hardly say I have done it yet!they would very much like to run their horns into me!"

"Then it MUST be dangerous! It shows that they were not meant towork!"

"They were meant to work if I can make them work. "

"Then you approve of slavery!" said Mercy

She hardly knew what made her oppose him. As yet she bad no opinionsof her own, though she did catch a thought sometimes, when ithappened to come within her reach. Alister smiled a curious smile. 

"I should, " he said, "if the right people were made slaves of. Iwould take shares in a company of Algerine pirates to rid the socialworld of certain types of the human!"

The girls looked at each other. "Sharp!" said Christina to herself. 

"What sorts would you have them take?" she asked. 

"Idle men in particular, " answered Alister. 

"Would you not have them take idle ladies as well?"

"I would see first how they behaved when the men were gone. "

"You believe, then, " said Mercy, "we have a right to make the loweranimals work?"

"I think it is our duty, " answered Alister. "At all events, if we donot, we must either kill them off by degrees, or cede them thisworld, and emigrate. But even that would be a bad thing for mylittle bulls there! It is not so many years since the last wolf waskilled--here, close by! and if the dogs turned to wolves again, where would they be? The domestic animals would then have wildbeasts instead of men for their masters! To have the world ahabitable one, man must rule. "

"Men are nothing but tyrants to them!" said Christina. 

"Most are, I admit. "

Ere he could prevent her, she had walked up to the near bull, andbegun to pat him. He poked a sharp wicked horn sideways at her, catching her cloak on it, and grazing her arm. She started back verywhite. Alister gave him a terrible tug. The beast shook his head, and began to paw the earth. 

"It wont do to go near him, " he said. "--But you needn't be afraid;he can't touch you. That iron band round his nose has spikes in it. "

"Poor fellow!" said Christina; "it is no wonder he should be out oftemper! It must hurt him dreadfully!"

"It does hurt him when he pulls against it, but not when he isquiet. "

"I call it cruel!"

"I do not. The fellow knows what is wanted of him--just as well asany naughty child. "

"How can he when he has no reason!"

"Oh, hasn't he!"

"Animals have no reason; they have only instinct!"

"They have plenty of reason--more than many men and women. They arenot so far off us as pride makes most people think! It is only thosethat don't know them that talk about the instinct of animals!"

"Do you know them?"

"Pretty well for a man; but they're often too much for me. "

"Anyhow that poor thing does not know better. "

"He knows enough; and if he did not, would you allow him to do as hepleased because he didn't know better? He wanted to put his horninto you a moment ago!"

"Still it must be hard to want very much to do a thing, and not beable to do it!" said Mercy. 

"I used to feel as if I could tear my old nurse to pieces when shewouldn't let me do as I wanted!" said Christina. 

"I suppose you do whatever you please now, ladies?"

"No, indeed. We wanted to go to London, and here we are for thewinter!"

"And you think it hard?"

"Yes, we do. "

"And so, from sympathy, you side with my cattle?"

"Well--yes!"

"You think I have no right to keep them captive, and make themwork?"

"None at all, " said Christina. 

"Then it is time I let them go!"

Alister made for the animals' heads. 

"No, no! please don't!" cried both the girls, turning, the onewhite, the other red. 

"Certainly not if you do not wish it!" answered Alister, staying hisstep. "If I did, however, you would be quite safe, for they wouldnot come near me. They would be off up that hill as hard as theycould tear, jumping everything that came in their way. "

"Is it not very dull here in the winter?" asked Christina, panting alittle, but trying to look as if she had known quite well he wasonly joking. 

"I do not find it dull. "

"Ah, but you are a man, and can do as you please!"

"I never could do as I pleased, and so I please as I do, " answeredAlister. 

"I do not quite understand you. "

"When you cannot do as you like, the best thing is to like what youhave to do. One's own way is not to be had in this world. There's abetter, though, which is to be had!"

"I have heard a parson talk like that, " said Mercy, "but never alayman!"

"My father was a parson as good as any layman. He would have laid meon my back in a moment--here as I stand!" said Alister, drawinghimself to his height. 

He broke suddenly into Gaelic, addressing the more troublesome ofthe bulls. No better pleased to stand still than to go on, he hadfallen to digging at his neighbour, who retorted with the hornconvenient, and presently there was a great mixing of bull andharness and cloddy earth. Turning quickly towards them, Alisterdropped a rein. In a moment the plough was out of the furrow, andthe bulls were straining every muscle, each to send the other intothe wilds of the unseen creation. Alister sprang to their heads, andtaking them by their noses forced them back into the line of thefurrow. Christina, thinking they had broken loose, fled; but therewas Mercy with the reins, hauling with all her might!

"Thank you, thank you!" said the laird, laughing with pleasure. "Youare a friend indeed!"

"Mercy! Mercy! come away directly, " cried Christina. 

But Mercy did not heed her. The laird took the reins, andadministering a blow each to the animals, made them stand still. 

There are tender-hearted people who virtually ohject to the wholescheme of creation; they would neither have force used nor painsuffered; they talk as if kindness could do everything, even whereit is not felt. Millions of human beings but for suffering wouldnever develop an atom of affection. The man who would spare DUEsuffering is not wise. It is folly to conclude a thing ought not tobe done because it hurts. There are powers to be born, creations tobe perfected, sinners to be redeemed, through the ministry of pain, that could be born, perfected, redeemed, in no other way. ButChristina was neither wise nor unwise after such fashion. She wasannoyed at finding the laird not easily to be brought to her feet, and Mercy already advanced to his good graces. She was not jealousof Mercy, for was she not beautiful and Mercy plain? but Mercy hadby her PLUCK secured an advantage, and the handsome ploughman lookedat her admiringly! Partly therefore because she was not pleased withhim, partly that she thought a little outcry would be telling, --

"Oh, you wicked man!" she cried, "you are hurting the poor brutes!"

"No more than is necessary, " he answered. 

"You are cruel!"

"Good morning, ladies. "

He just managed to take off his bonnet, for the four-leggedexplosions at the end of his plough were pulling madly. He slackenedhis reins, and away it went, like a sharp knife through a Dutchcheese. 

"You've made him quite cross!" said Mercy. 

"What a brute of a man!" said Christina. 

She never restrained herself from teasing cat or puppy for heramusement--did not even mind hurting it a little. Those capable ofdistinguishing between the qualities of resembling actions are few. There are some who will regard Alister as capable of vivisection. 

On one occasion when the brothers were boys, Alister having lost histemper in the pursuit of a runaway pony, fell upon it with his fiststhe moment he caught it. Ian put himself between, and received, without word or motion, more than one blow meant for the pony. 

"Donal was only in fun!" he said, as soon as Alister's anger hadspent itself. "Father would never have punished him like that!"

Alister was ashamed, and never again was guilty of such an outbreak. From that moment he began the serious endeavour to subjugate thepig, tiger, mule, or whatever animal he found in himself. Thereremained, however, this difference between them--that Alisterpunished without compunction, while Ian was sorely troubled athaving to cause any suffering. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE FIR-GROVE. 

As the ladies went up the ridge, regarded in the neighbourhood asthe chief's pleasure-ground where nobody went except to call uponthe chief, they must, having mounted it lower down than where theydescended, pass the cottage. The grove of birch, mountain-ash, andfir which surrounded it, was planted quite irregularly, and a narrowfoot-path went winding through it to the door. Against one of thefirs was a rough bench turned to the west, and seated upon it theysaw Ian, smoking a formless mass of much defiled sea-foam, otherwisemeer-schaum. He rose, uncovered, and sat down again. But Christina, who regarded it as a praiseworthy kindness to address any onebeneath her, not only returned his salutation, but stopped, andsaid, "Good morning! We have been learning how they plough in Scotland, but I fear we annoyed the ploughman. "

"Fergus does sometimes LOOK surly, " said Ian, rising again, andgoing to her; "he has bad rheumatism, poor fellow! And then he can'tspeak a word of English, and is ashamed of it!"

"The man we saw spoke English very well. Is Fergus your brother'sname?"

"No; my brother's name is Alister--that is Gaelic for Alexander. "

"He was ploughing with two wild little oxen, and could hardly managethem. "

"Then it must have been Alister--only, excuse me, he could managethem perfectly. Alister could break a pair of buffaloes. "

"He seemed rather vexed, and I thought it might be that we made thecreatures troublesome. --I do not mean he was rude--only a littlerough to us. "

Ian smiled, and waited for more. 

"He did not like to be told he was hard on the animals. I only saidthe poor things did not know better!"

"Ah--I see!--He understands animals so well, he doesn't like to bemeddled with in his management of them. I daresay he told you that, if they didn't know better, he had to teach them better! They aretroublesome little wretches. --Yes, I confess he is a little touchyabout animals!"

Somehow Christina felt herself rebuked, and did not like it. He hadalmost told her that, if she had quarrelled with his ploughman-brother, the fault must be hers!

"But indeed, Captain Macruadh, " she said--for the people called himcaptain, "I am not ignorant about animals! We have horses of ourown, and know all about them. --Don't we, Mercy?"

"Yes, " said Mercy; "they take apples and sugar from our hands. "

"And you would have the chief's bulls tamed with apples and sugar!"returned Ian, laughing. "But the horses were tamed before ever yousaw them! If you had taken them wild, or even when they were foals, and taught them everything, then you would know a little about them. An acquaintance is not a friendship! My brother loves animals andunderstands them almost like human beings; he understands thembetter than some human beings, for the most cunning of the animalsare yet simple. He knows what they are thinking when I cannot read aword of their faces. I remember one terrible night, wintersago--there had been a blinding drift on and off during the day, andmy father and mother were getting anxious about him--how he camestaggering in, and fell on the floor, and a great lump in his plaidon his back began to wallow about, and forth crept his big colley!They had been to the hills to look after a few sheep, and the poordog was exhausted, and Alister carried him home at the risk of hislife. "

"A valuable animal, I don't doubt, " said Christina. 

"He had been, but was no more what the world calls valuable. He wasan old dog almost past work--but the wisest creature! Poor fellow, he never recovered that day on the hills! A week or so after, weburied him--in the hope of a blessed resurrection, " added Ian, witha smile. 

The girls looked at each other as much as to say, "Good heavens!" Hecaught the look, but said nothing, for he saw they had "nounderstanding. "

The brothers believed most devoutly that the God who is present atthe death-bed of the sparrow does not forget the sparrow when he isdead; for they had been taught that he is an unchanging God; "and, "argued Ian, "what God remembers, he thinks of, and what he thinksof, IS. " But Ian knew that what misses the heart falls under thefeet! A man is bound to SHARE his best, not to tumble hisSEED-PEARLS into the feeding-trough, to break the teeth of them thatare there at meat. He had but lifted a corner to give them a glimpseof the Life eternal, and the girls thought him ridiculous! The humancaterpillar that has not yet even begun to sicken with the growth ofher psyche-wings, is among the poorest of the human animals!

But Christina was not going to give in! Her one idea of the glory oflife was the subjugation of men. As if moved by a sudden impulse, she went close up to him. 

"Do not be angry with me, " she said, almost coaxingly, but with avisible mingling of boldness and shyness, neither of them quiteassumed; for, though conscious of her boldness, she was notfrightened; and there was something in the eagle-face that made iteasy to look shy. "I did not mean to be rude. I am sorry. "

"You mistake me, " he said gently. "I only wanted you to know youmisjudged my brother. "

"Then, if you have forgiven me, you will let me sit for a fewminutes! I am SO tired with walking in the sticky earth!"

"Do, pray, sit down, " responded Ian heartily, and led the way. 

But she sank gracefully at the foot of the next fir, while Mercy satdown on the bench. 

"Do go on with your pipe, " she said, looking up as she arranged herdress; "I am quite used to smoke. Papa would smoke in church if hedared!"

"Chrissy! You KNOW he NEVER smokes in the drawing-room!" criedMercy, scandalized. 

"I have seen him--when mamma was away. "

Ian began to be a little more interested in the plain one. But whatmust his mother think to see them sitting there together! He couldnot help it! if ladies chose to sit down, it was not for him toforbid them! And there WAS a glimmer of conscience in the younger!

Most men believe only what they find or imagine possible tothemselves. They may be sure of this, that there are men sodifferent from them that no judgment they pass upon them is worth astraw, simply because it does not apply to them. I assert of Ianthat neither beauty nor intellect attracted him. Imagination wouldentice him, but the least lack of principle would arrest itsinfluence. The simplest manifestation of a live conscience woulddraw him more than anything else. I do not mean the conscience thatproposes questions, but the conscience that loves right and turnsfrom wrong. 

Notwithstanding the damsel's invitation, he did not resume his pipe. He was simple, but not free and easy--too sensitive to the relationsof life to be familiar upon invitation with any girl. If she was notone with whom to hold real converse, it was impossible to blowdandelions with her, and talk must confine itself to thecommonplace. After gentlest assays to know what was possible, theresult might be that he grew courteously playful, or drew back, andconfined himself to the formal. 

In the conversation that followed, he soon found the younger capableof being interested, and, having seen much in many parts of theworld, had plenty to tell her. Christina smiled sweetly, takingeverything with over-gentle politeness, but looking as if all thatinterested her was, that there they were, talking about it. Provokedat last by her persistent lack of GENUINE reception, Ian was temptedto try her with something different: perhaps she might be moved tohorror! Any feeling would be a FIND! He thought he would tell theman adventure he had read in a book of travels. 

In Persia, alone in a fine moonlit night, the traveller had fallenasleep on his horse, but woke suddenly, roused by somethingfrightful, he did not know what. The evil odour all about himexplained, however, his bewilderment and terror. Presently he wasbumped on this side, then bumped on that; first one knee, then theother, would be struck; now the calf of one leg was caught, now thecalf of the other; then both would be caught at once, and he shovednearly over his pommel. His horse was very uneasy, but could illhelp himself in the midst of a moving mass of uncertain objects. Thetraveller for a moment imagined himself in a boat on the sea, with ahuge quantity of wrecked cargo floating around him, whence came thefrequent collisions he was undergoing; but he soon perceived thatthe vague shapes were boxes, pannierwise on the backs of mules, moving in caravan along the desert. Of not a few the lids werebroken, of some gone altogether, revealing their contents--thebodies of good Mussulmans, on their way to the consecrated soil ofMecca for burial. Carelessly shambled the mules along, stumbling asthey jogged over the uneven ground, their boxes tilting from side toside, sorely shaken, some of them, in frustration of dying hopes, scattering their contents over the track--for here and there a mulecarried but a wreck of coffins. On and on over the rough gravellywaste, under the dead cold moon, weltered the slow stream of death!

"You may be sure, " concluded Ian, "he made haste out of the ruck!But it was with difficulty he got clear, happily to windward--thenfor an hour sat motionless on his horse, watching through themoonlight the long dark shadow flitting toward its far-off goal. When at length he could no longer descry it, he put his horse to hisspeed--but not to overtake it. "

As he spoke, Mercy's eyes grew larger and larger, never leaving hisface. She had at least imagination enough for that! Christina curledher pretty lip, and looked disgusted. The one at a horrible tale washorrified, the other merely disgusted! The one showed herselfcapable of some reception; the other did not. 

"Something might be done with that girl!" thought Ian. 

"Did he see their faces?" drawled Christina. 

Mercy was silent, but her eyes remained fixed on him. It was Ian'stelling, more than the story, that impressed her. 

"I don't think he mentions them, " answered Ian. "But shall I tellyou, " he went on, "what seems to me the most unpleasant thing aboutthe business?"

"Do, " said Christina. 

"It is that the poor ghosts should see such a disagreeable fuss madewith their old clothes. "

Christina smiled. 

"Do you think ghosts see what goes on after they are dead?" askedMercy. 

"The ghosts are not dead, " said Ian, "and I can't tell. But I aminclined to think some ghosts have to stay a while and look on. "

"What would be the good of that?" returned Mercy. 

"Perhaps to teach them the little good they were in, or got out ofthe world, " he answered. "To have to stick to a thing after it isdead, is terrible, but may teach much. "

"I don't understand you, " said Mercy. "The world is not dead!"

"Better and better!" thought Ian with himself. "The girl CANunderstand!--A thing is always dead to you when you have done withit, " he answered her. "Suppose you had a ball-dress crumpled andunsightly--the roses on it withered, and the tinsel shininghideously through them--would it not be a dead dress?"

"Yes, indeed. "

"Then suppose, for something you had done, or for something youwould not stop being, you had to wear that ball-dress till somethingcame about--you would be like the ghosts that cannot getaway. --Suppose, when you were old and wrinkled, --"

"You are very amusing, Captain Macruadh!" said Christina, with abell-like laugh. But Ian went on. 

"Some stories tell us of ghosts with the same old wrinkled faces inwhich they died. The world and its uses over, they are compelled tohaunt it still, seeing how things go but taking no share in thembeholding the relief their death is to all, feeling they have losttheir chance of beauty, and are fixed in ugliness, having wastedbeing itself! They are like a man in a miserable dream, in which hecan do nothing, but in which he must stay, and go dreaming, dreamingon without hope of release. To be in a world and have nothing to dowith it, must be awful! A little more imagination would do somepeople good!"

"No, please!--no more for me!" said Christina, laughing as she rose. 

Mercy was silent. Though she had never really thought about anythingherself, she did not doubt that certain people were in earnest aboutsomething. She knew that she ought to be good, and she knew she wasnot good; how to be good she did not know, for she had never setherself, to be good. She sometimes wished she were good; but thereare thousands of wandering ghosts who would be good if they mightwithout taking trouble: the kind of goodness they desire wouldnot be worth a life to hold it. 

Fear is a wholesome element in the human economy; they are merelysilly who would banish it from all association with religion. True, there is no religion in fear; religion is love, and love casts outfear; but until a man has love, it is well he should have fear. Solong as there are wild beasts about, it is better to be afraid thansecure. 

The vague awe ready to assail every soul that has not found rest inits source, readier the more honest the soul, had for the first timelaid hold of Mercy. The earnest face of the speaker had most to dowith it. She had never heard anybody talk like that!

The lady of the house appeared, asking, with kind dignity, if theywould not take some refreshment: to a highlander hospitality is alaw where not a passion. Christina declined the offer. 

"Thanks! we were only a little tired, and are quite rested now, " shesaid. "How beautifully sheltered your house is!"

"On the side of the sea, yes, " answered Mrs. Macruadh; "but not muchon the east where we want it most. The trees are growing, however!"

When the sisters were out of sight of the cottage--

"Well!" remarked Christina, "he's a nice young man too, is he not?Exceedingly well bred! And what taste he has! He knows how to amuseladies!"

Mercy did not answer. 

"I never heard anything so disgusting!" pursued Christina. 

"But, " suggested Mercy, "you like to READ horrid stories, Chrissy!You said so only yesterday! And there was nothing in what he told usthat oughtn't to be spoken about. "

"What!--not those hideous coffins--and the bodies dropping out ofthem--all crawling, no doubt?"

"That is your own, Chrissy! You KNOW he did not go so far as that!If Colonel Webberly had told you the story, you would have called itcharming--in fun, of course, I mean!"

But Christina never liked the argumentum ad feminam. 

"I would not! You know I would not!" she exclaimed. "I do believethe girl has fallen in love with the horrid man! Of the two, Ideclare, I like the ploughman better. I am sorry I happened to vexhim; he is a good stupid sort of fellow! I can't bear this man! Howhorribly he fixed his eyes on you when he was talking that rubbishabout the ball-dress!"

"He was anxious to make himself understood. I know he made me thinkI must mind what I was about!"

"Oh, nonsense! We didn't come into this wilderness to be preached toby a lay John the Baptist! He is an ill-bred fellow!"

She would not have said so much against him, had not Mercy taken hispart. 

Mercy rarely contradicted her sister, but even this brief passagewith a real man had roused the justice in her. 

"I don't agree with you, Chrissy, " she said. "He seems to me VERYMUCH of a gentleman!"

She did not venture to say all she felt, not choosing to be atabsolute variance, and the threatened quarrel blew over like ashower in spring. 

But some sort of impression remained from the words of Ian on themind of Mercy, for the next morning she read a chapter in the bookof Genesis, and said a prayer her mother had taught her. 

CHAPTER XII. 

AMONG THE HILLS. 

When Mr. And Mrs. Palmer reached Inverness, they found they couldspend a few days there, one way and another, to good purpose, forthey had friends to visit as well as shopping to do. Mr. Palmer'saffairs calling him to the south were not immediately pressing, andtheir sojourn extended itself to a full week of eight days, duringwhich the girls were under no rule but their own. Their parentsregarded them as perfectly to be trusted, nor were the girlsthemselves aware of any reason why they should not be so regarded. 

The window of Christina's bedroom overlooked a part of the roadbetween the New House and the old castle; and she could see from itall the ridge as far as the grove that concealed the cottage: if nowthey saw more of the young men their neighbours, and were ledfarther into the wilds, thickets, or pasturage of theiracquaintance, I cannot say she had no hand in it. 

She was depressed by a sense of failure; the boor, as she calledhim, was much too thick-skinned for any society but that of hisbulls! and she had made no progress with the Valentine any more thanwith the Orson; he was better pleased with her ugly sister than withher beautiful self!

She would have given neither of tie men another thought, but thatthere was no one else with whom to do any of that huckster businesscalled flirting, which to her had just harm enough in it to make itinteresting to her. She was one of those who can imagine beauty norenjoyment in a thing altogether right. She took it for granted thatbad and beautiful were often one; that the pleasures of the worldowed their delight to a touch, a wash, a tincture of the wicked inthem. Such have so many crooked lines in themselves that they fancynature laid down on lines of crookedness. They think the obliquitythe beauty of the campanile, the blurring the charm of the sketch. 

I tread on delicate ground--ground which, alas! many girls treadboldly, scattering much feather-bloom from the wings of poor Psyche, gathering for her hoards of unlovely memories, and sowing the seedof many a wish that they had done differently. They cannot pass oversuch ground and escape having their nature more or less vulgarized. I do not speak of anything counted wicked; it is only gambling withthe precious and lovely things of the deepest human relation! If agirl with such an experience marry a man she loves--with what powerof loving may be left such a one--will she not now and then remembersomething it would be joy to discover she had but dreamed? will shebe able always to forget certain cabinets in her brain which "itwould not do" to throw open to the husband who thinks her simple aswell as innocent? Honesty and truth, God's essentials, are perhapsmore lacking in ordinary intercourse between young men and womenthan anywhere else. Greed and selfishness are as busy there as inmoney-making and ambition. Thousands on both sides are constantlyseeking more than their share--more also than they even intend toreturn value for. Thousands of girls have been made sad for life bythe speeches of a man careful all the time to SAY nothing thatamounted to a pledge! I do not forget that many a woman who wouldotherwise have been worth little, has for her sorrow found suchconsolation that she has become rich before God; these words holdnevertheless: "It must needs be that offences come, but woe to thatman by whom the offence cometh!"

On a morning two days later, Christina called Mercy, ratherimperiously, to get ready at once for their usual walk. She obeyed, and they set out. Christina declared she was perishing with cold, and they walked fast. By and by they saw on the road before them thetwo brothers walking slow; one was reading, the other listening. When they came nearer they descried in Alister's hand a manuscriptvolume; Ian carried an old-fashioned fowling-piece. It was a hardfrost, which was perhaps the cause of Alister's leisure so early inthe day. 

Hearing the light steps of the girls behind them, the men turned. The laird was the first to speak. The plough and the fierce bullsnot there to bewilder their judgment, the young women immediatelydiscovered their perception in the matter of breeding to be lessinfallible than they had imagined it: no well bred woman could for amoment doubt the man before them a gentleman--though his carriagewas more courteous and more natural than is often seen in a Mayfairdrawing-room, and his English, a little old-fashioned. Ian was atonce more like and more unlike other people. His manner was equallycourteous, but notably stiffer: he was as much at his ease, but morereserved. To use a figure, he did not step out so far to meet them. 

They walked on together. 

"You are a little earlier than usual this morning, ladies!" remarkedthe chief. 

"How do you know that, Mr. Macruadh?" rejoined Christina. 

"I often see you pass--and till now always at the same hour. "

"And yet we have never met before!"

"The busy and the"--he hesitated a moment--"unbusy seldom meet, "said the chief. 

"Why don't you say the IDLE?" suggested Christina. 

"Because that would be rude. "

"Why would it be rude? Most people, suppose, are more idle thanbusy!"

"IDLE is a word of blame; I had no right to use it. "

"I should have taken you for one of those who always speak theirminds!"

"I hope I do when it is required, and I have any to speak. "

"You prefer judging with closed doors!"

The chief was silent: he did not understand her. Did she want him tosay he did not think them idle? or, if they were, that they werequite right?

"I think it hard, " resumed Christina, with a tone of injury, almostof suffering, in her voice, "that we should be friendly and openwith people, and they all the time thinking of us in a way it wouldbe rude to tell us! It is enough to make one vow never to speakto--to anybody again!"

Alister turned and looked at her. What could she mean?

"You can't think it hard, " he said, "that people should not tell youwhat they think of you the moment they first see you!"

"They might at least tell us what they mean by calling us idle!"

"I said NOT BUSY. "

"Is EVERYBODY to blame that is idle?" persisted Christina. 

"Perhaps my brother will answer you that question, " said Alister. 

"If my brother and I tell you honestly what we thought of you whenfirst we saw you, " said Ian, "will you tell us honestly what youthought of us?"

The girls cast an involuntary glance at each other, and when theireyes met, could not keep them from looking conscious. A twitchingalso at the corners of Mercy's mouth showed they had been sayingmore than they would care to be cross-questioned upon. 

"Ah, you betray yourselves, ladies!" Ian said. "It is all very wellto challenge us, but you are not prepared to lead the way!"

"Girls are never allowed to lead!" said Christina. "The men are downon them the moment they dare!"

"I am not that way inclined, " answered Ian. "If man or woman lead TOanything, success will justify the leader. I will propose anotherthing!"

"What is it?" asked Christina. 

"To agree that, when we are about to part, with no probability ofmeeting again in this world, we shall speak out plainly what wethink of each other!"

"But that will be such a time!" said Christina. 

"In a world that turns quite round every twenty-four hours, it maybe a very short time!"

"We shall be coming every summer, though I hope not to stay throughanother winter!"

"Changes come when they are least expected!"

"We cannot know, " said Alister, "that we shall never meet again!"

"There the probability will be enough. "

"But how can we come to a better--I mean a FAIRER opinion of eachother, when we meet so seldom?" asked Mercy innocently. 

"This is only the second time we have met, and already we are notquite strangers!" said Christina. 

"On the other hand, " said Alister, "we have been within call formore than two months, and this is our second meeting!"

"Well, who has not called?" said Christina. 

The young men were silent. They did not care to discuss the questionas to which mother was to blame in the matter. 

They were now in the bottom of the valley, had left the road, andwere going up the side of the burn, often in single file, Alisterleading, and Ian bringing up the rear, for the valley was thicklystrewn with lumps of gray rock, of all shapes and sizes. They seemedto have rolled down the hill on the other side of the burn, butthere was no sign of their origin: the hill was covered with grassbelow, and with heather above. Such was the winding of the way amongthe stones--for path there was none--that again and again no one ofthem could see another. The girls felt the strangeness of it, andbegan to experience, without knowing it, a little of the power ofsolitary places. 

After walking thus for some distance, they found their leaderhalted. 

"Here we have to cross the burn, " he said, "and go a long way up theother side. "

"You want to be rid of us!" said Christina. 

"By no means, " replied Alister. "We are delighted to have you withus. But we must not let you get tired before turning to go back. "

"If you really do not mind, we should like to go a good dealfarther. I want to see round the turn there, where another hillcomes from behind and closes up the view. We haven't anybody to gowith us, and have seen nothing of the country. The men won't take usshooting; and mamma is always so afraid we lose ourselves, or falldown a few precipices, or get into a bog, or be eaten by wildbeasts!"

"If this frost last, we shall have time to show you something of thecountry. I see you can walk!"

"We can walk well enough, and should so like to get to the top of amountain!"

"For the crossing then!" said Alister, and turning to the burn, jumped and re-jumped it, as if to let them see how to do it. 

The bed of the stream was at the spot narrowed by two rocks, sothat, though there was little of it, the water went through with aroar, and a force to take a man off his legs. It was too wide forthe ladies, and they stood eyeing it with dismay, fearing an end totheir walk and the pleasant companionship. 

"Do not be frightened, ladies, " said Alister: "it is not too widefor you. "

"You have the advantage of us in your dress!" said Christina. 

"I will get you over quite safe, " returned the chief. 

Christina looked as if she could not trust herself to him. 

"I will try, " said Mercy. 

"Jump high, " answered Alister, as he sprang again to the other side, and held out his hand across the chasm. 

"I can neither jump high nor far!" said Mercy. 

"Don't be in a hurry. I will take you--no, not by the hand; thatmight slip--but by the wrist. Do not think how far you can jump; allyou have to do is to jump. Only jump as high as you can. "

Mercy could not help feeling frightened--the water rushed so fastand loud below. 

"Are you sure you can get me over?" she asked. 

"Yes. "

"Then I will jump. "

She sprang, and Alister, with a strong pull on her arm, landed hereasily. 

"It is your turn now, " he said, addressing Christina. 

She was rather white, but tried to laugh. 

"I--I--I don't think I can!" she said. 

"It is really nothing, " persuaded the chief. 

"I am sorry to be a coward, but I fear I was born one. "

"Some feelings nobody can help, " said Ian, "but nobody need give wayto them. One of the bravest men I ever knew would always start asideif the meanest little cur in the street came barking at him; and yeton one occasion, when the people were running in all directions, hetook a mad dog by the throat, and held him. Come, Alister! you takeher by one arm and I will take her by the other. "

The chief sprang to her side, and the moment she felt the grasp ofthe two men, she had the needful courage. The three jumped together, and all were presently walking merrily along the other bank, overthe same kind of ground, in single file--Ian bringing up the rear. 

The ladies were startled by a gun going off close behind them. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Ian, "but I could not let the rascal go. "

"What have you killed?" his brother asked. 

"Only one of my own family--a red-haired fellow!" answered Ian, whohad left the path, and was going up the hill. 

The girls looked, but saw nothing, and following him a few yards, came to him behind a stone. 

"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Christina, with horror in her tone, "it's a fox!--Is it possible you have shot a fox?"

The men laughed. 

"And why not?" asked Alister, as if he had no idea what she couldmean. "Is the fox a sacred animal in the south?"

"It's worse than poaching!" she cried. 

"Hardly!" returned Alister. "No doubt you may get a good deal of funout of Reynard, but you can't make game of him! Why--you look as ifyou had lost a friend! I admire his intellect, but we can't affordto feed it on chickens and lambs. "

"But to SHOOT him!"

"Why not? We do not respect him here. He is a rascal, to be sure, but then he has no money, and consequently no friends!"

"He has many friends! What WOULD Christian or Mr. Sercombe say toshooting, actually shooting a fox!"

"You treat him as if he were red gold!" said the chief. "We buildtemples neither to Reynard nor Mammon here. We leave the men of thesouth to worship them!"

"They don't worship them!" said Mercy. 

"Do they not respect the rich man because he is rich, and look downon the poor man because he is poor?" said Ian. "Though the rich be awretch, they think him grand; though the poor man be like JesusChrist, they pity him!"

"And shouldn't the poor be pitied?" said Christina. 

"Not except they need pity. "

"Is it not pitiable to be poor?"

"By no means. It is pitiable to be wretched--and that, I venture tosuspect, the rich are oftener than the poor. --But as to masterReynard there--instead of shooting him, what would you have had usdo with him?"

"Hunt him, to be sure. "

"Would he like that better?"

"What he would like is not the question. The sport is the thing. "

"That will show you why he is not sacred here: we do not hunt him. It would be impossible to hunt this country; you could not ride theground. Besides, there are such multitudes of holes, the houndswould scarcely have a chance. No; the only dog to send after thefellow is a leaden one. "

"There's another!" exclaimed the chief; "--there, sneakingaway!--and your gun not loaded, Ian!"

"I am so glad!" said Christina. "He at least will escape you!"

"And some poor lamb in the spring won't escape him!" returnedAlister. 

"Lambs are meant to be eaten!" said Christina. 

"Yes; but a lamb might think it hard to feed such a creature!"

"If the fox is of no good in the world, " said Mercy, "why was hemade?"

"He can't be of no good, " answered the chief. "What if some thingsare, just that we may get rid of them?"

"COULD they be made just to be got rid of?"

"I said--that WE might get rid of them: there is all the differencein that. The very first thing men had to do in the world was tofight beasts. "

"I think I see what you mean, " said Mercy: "if there had been nowild beasts to fight with, men would never have grown able formuch!"

"That is it, " said Alister. "They were awful beasts! and they hadpoor weapons to fight them with--neither guns nor knives!"

"And who knows, " suggested Ian, "what good it may be to the foxhimself to make the best of a greedy life?"

"But what is the good to us of talking about such things?" saidChristina. "They're not interesting!"

The remark silenced the brothers: where indeed could be use withoutinterest?

But Mercy, though she could hardly have said she found theconversation VERY interesting, felt there was something in the menthat cared to talk about such things, that must be interesting ifshe could only get at it. They were not like any other men she hadmet!

Christina's whole interest in men was the admiration she looked forand was sure of receiving from them; Mercy had hitherto found theircompany stupid. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE LAKE. 

Silence lasted until they reached the shoulder of the hill thatclosed the view up the valley. As they rounded it, the sun wentbehind a cloud, and a chill wind, as if from a land where dwelt nolife, met them. The hills stood back, and they were on the shore ofa small lake, out of which ran the burn. They were verydesolate-looking hills, with little heather, and that bloomless, tohide their hard gray bones. Their heads were mostly white with frostand snow; their shapes had little beauty; they looked worn andhopeless, ugly and sad--and so cold! The water below was slatygray, in response to the gray sky above: there seemed no life ineither. The hearts of the girls sank within them, and all at oncethey felt tired. In the air was just one sign of life: high abovethe lake wheeled a large fish-hawk. 

"Look!" said Alister pointing; "there is the osprey that lives herewith his wife! He is just going to catch a fish!"

He had hardly spoken when the bird, with headlong descent, shot intothe water, making it foam up all about. He reappeared with a fish inhis claws, and flew off to find his mate. 

"Do you know the very bird?" asked Mercy. 

"I know him well. He and his wife have built on that conical rockyou see there in the middle of the water many years. "

"Why have you never shot him? He would look well stuffed!" saidChristina. 

She little knew the effect of her words; the chief HATED causelesskilling; and to hear a lady talk of shooting a high-soaring creatureof the air as coolly as of putting on her gloves, was nauseous tohim. Ian gave him praise afterwards for his unusual self-restraint. But it was a moment or two ere he had himself in hand. 

"Do you not think he looks much better going about God's business?"he said. 

"Perhaps; but he is not yours; you have not got him!"

"Why should I have him? He seems, indeed, the more mine the higherhe goes. A dead stuffed thing--how could that be mine at all? Alive, he seems to soar in the very heaven of my soul!"

"You showed the fox no such pity!" remarked Mercy. 

"I never killed a fox to HAVE him!" answered Alister. "The ospreydoes no harm. He eats only fish, and they are very plentiful; henever kills birds or hares, or any creature on the land. I do notsee how any one could wish to kill the bird, except from mere loveof destruction! Why should I make a life less in the world?"

"There would be more lives of fish--would there not?" said Mercy. "I don't want you to shoot the poor bird; I only want to hear yourargument!"

The chief could not immediately reply, Ian came to his rescue. 

"There are qualities in life, " he said. "One cannot think thefish-life so fine, so full of delight as the bird-life!"

"No. But, " said Mercy, "have the fishes not as good a right to theirlife as the birds?"

"Both have the right given them by the maker of them. The osprey wasmade to eat the fish, and the fish, I hope, get some good of beingeaten by the osprey. "

"Excuse me, Captain Macruadh, but that seems to me simple nonsense!"said Christina. 

"I hope it is true. "

"I don't know about being true, but it must be nonsense. "

"It must seem so to most people. "

"Then why do you say it?"

"Because I hope it is true. "

"Why should you wish nonsense to be true?"

"What is true cannot be nonsense. It looks nonsense only to thosethat take no interest in the matter. Would it be nonsense to thefishes?"

"It does seem hard, " said Mercy, "that the poor harmless thingsshould be gobbled up by a creature pouncing down upon them fromanother element!"

"As the poor are gobbled up everywhere by the rich!"

"I don't believe that. The rich are very kind to the poor. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Ian, "but if you know no more about therich than you do about the fish, I can hardly take your testimony. The fish are the most carnivorous creatures in the world. "

"Do they eat each other?"

"Hardly that. Only the cats of Kilkenny can do that. "

"I used a common phrase!"

"You did, and I am rude: the phrase must bear the blame for both ofus. But the fish are even cannibals--eating the young of their ownspecies! They are the most destructive of creatures to other lives. "

"I suppose, " said Mercy, "to make one kind of creature live onanother kind, is the way to get the greatest good for the greatestnumber!"

"That doctrine, which seems to content most people, appears to me apoverty-stricken and selfish one. I can admit nothing but thegreatest good to every individual creature. "

"Don't you think we had better be going, Mercy? It has got quitecold; I am afraid it will rain, " said Christina, drawing her cloakround her with a little shiver. 

"I am ready, " answered Mercy. 

The brothers looked at each other. They had come out to spend theday together, but they could not leave the ladies to go home alone;having brought them across the burn, they were bound to see themover it again! An imperceptible sign passed between them, andAlister turned to the girls. 

"Come then, " he said, "we will go back!"

"But you were not going home yet!" said Mercy. 

"Would you have us leave you in this wild place?"

"We shall find our way well enough. The burn will guide us. "

"Yes; but it will not jump over you; it will leave you to jump overit!"

"I forgot the burn!" said Christina. 

"Which way were you going?" asked Mercy, looking all around for roador pathway over the encircling upheaved wildernesses. 

"This way, " answered Ian. "Good-bye. "

"Then you are not coming?"

"No. My brother will take care of you. "

He went straight as an arrow up the hill. They stood and watched himgo. At what seemed the top, he turned and waved his cap, thenvanished. 

Christina felt disappointed. She did not much care for either of thevery peculiar young men, but any company was better than none; a manwas better than a woman; and two men were better than one! If thesewere not equal to admiring her as she deserved, what moreremunerative labour than teaching them to do so?

The thing that chiefly disappointed her in them was, that they hadso little small talk. It was so stupid to be always speaking sense!always polite! always courteous!--"Two sir Charles Grandisons, " shesaid, "are two too many!" And indeed the History of Sir CharlesGrandison had its place in the small library free to them fromchildhood; but Christina knew nothing of him except by hearsay. 

The young men had been brought up in a solemn school--had learned totake life as a serious and lovely and imperative thing. Not theless, upon occasions of merry-making, would they frolic like youngcolts even yet, and that without the least reaction or sense offolly afterwards. At the same time, although Ian had in the villagefrom childhood the character, especially in the workshops of thecarpenter, weaver, and shoemaker, of being 'full of humour, he wasin himself always rather sad, being perplexed with many things: hishumour was but the foam of his troubled sea. 

Christina was annoyed besides that Mercy seemed not indifferent tothe opinion of the men. It was from pure inexperience of theman-world, she said to herself, that the silly child could seeanything interesting in them! GENTLEMEN she must allow them--but ofsuch an old-fashioned type as to be gentlemen but by courtesy--notgentlemen in the world's count! She was of the world; they of thenorth of Scotland! All day Mercy had been on their side and againsther! It might be from sheer perversity, but she had never been likethat before! She must take care she did not make a fool of herself!It might end in some unhappiness to the young goose! Assuredlyneither her father nor mother would countenance the thing! She mustthrow herself into the breach! But which of them was she taking afancy to?

She was not so anxious about her sister, however, as piqued that shehad not herself gathered one expression of homage, surprised onelook of admiration, seen one sign of incipient worship in either. Ofthe two she liked better the ploughman! The other was more a man ofthe world--but he was not of her world! With him she was a strangerin a very strange land!

Christina's world was a very small one, and in its temple stood herown image. Ian belonged to the universe. He was a gentleman of thehigh court. Wherever he might go throughout God's worlds, he wouldbe at home. How could there be much attraction between Christina andhim?

Alister was more talkative on the way back than he had been all day. Christina thought the change caused by having them, or rather her, to himself alone; but in reality it sprang from the prospect of soonrejoining his brother without them. Some of the things he said, Mercy found well worth hearing; and an old Scotch ballad which herepeated, having learned it of a lowland nurse, appeared to her asbeautiful as it was wild and strange. For Christina, she despisedthe Scotch language: it was vulgar! Had Alister informed her thatBeowulf, "the most important of all the relics of the PaganAnglo-Saxon, is written in undeniable Scotch, the English of theperiod, " it would have made no difference to Christina! Why shouldit? She had never yet cared for any book beyond the novels of acertain lady which, to speak with due restraint, do not tend toprofitable thought. At the same time, it was not for the worst inthem that she liked them; she did not understand them well enough tosee it. But there was ground to fear that, when she came tounderstand, shocked at first, she would speedily get accustomed toit, and at length like them all the better for it. 

In Mercy's unawakened soul, echoed now and then a faint thrill ofresponse to some of the things Alister said, and, oftener, to someof the verses he repeated; and she would look up at him when he wassilent, with an unconscious seeking glance, as if dimly aware of abeneficent presence. Alister was drawn by the honest gaze of her yetundeveloped and homely countenance, with its child-look in processof sublimation, whence the woman would glance out and vanish again, leaving the child to give disappointing answers. There was somethingin it of the look a dog casts up out of his beautiful brown eyesinto the mystery of his master's countenance. She was on the edge ofcoming awake; all was darkness about her, but something was pullingat her! She had never known before that a lady might be lovely in aballad as well as in a beautiful gown!

Finding himself so listened to, though the listener was little morethan a child, the heart of the chief began to swell in his greatbosom. Like a child he was pleased. The gray day about him grewsweet; its very grayness was sweet, and of a silvery sheen. Whenthey arrived at the burn, and, easily enough from that side, he hadhanded them across, he was not quite so glad to turn from them as hehad expected to be. 

"Are you going?" said Christina with genuine surprise, for she hadnot understood his intention. 

"The way is easy now, " he answered. "I am sorry to leave you, but Ihave to join Ian, and the twilight will be flickering down before Ireach the place. "

"And there will be no moon!" said Mercy: "how will you get homethrough the darkness?"

"We do not mean to come home to-night. "

"Oh, then, you are going to friends!"

"No; we shall be with each other--not a soul besides. "

"There can't surely be a hotel up there?"

Alister laughed as he answered, "There are more ways than one of spending a night on the hills. Ifyou look from a window--in that direction, " he said, pointing, "thelast thing before you go to bed, you will see that at least we shallnot perish with cold. "

He sprang again over the burn, and with a wave of his bonnet, went, like Ian, straight up the hill. 

The girls stood for some time watching him climb as if he had beengoing up a flight of stairs, until he stood clear against the sky, when, with another wave of his bonnet, he too disappeared. 

Mercy did not forget to look from her window in the directionAlister had indicated. There was no room to mistake what he meant, for through the dark ran a great opening to the side of a hill, somewhere in the night, where glowed and flamed, reddening the air, a huge crescent of fire, slowly climbing, like a column of attack, up toward the invisible crest. 

"What does it mean?" she said to herself. "Why do they make such abonfire--with nobody but themselves to enjoy it? What strangemen--out by themselves in the dark night, on the cold hill! What canthey be doing it for? I hope they have something to eat! I SHOULDlike to hear them talk! I wonder what they are saying about US! I amcertain we bored them!"

The brothers did speak of them, and readily agreed in some notion oftheir characters; but they soon turned to other things, and therepassed a good deal that Mercy could not have followed. What wouldshe, for instance, have made of Alister's challenge to his brotherto explain the metaphysical necessity for the sine, tangent, andsecant of an angle belonging to its supplement as well?

When the ladies overtook them in the morning, Alister was reading, from an old manuscript volume of his brother's which he had found ina chest, a certain very early attempt at humour, and now theydisputed concerning it as they watched the fire. It had abundance offaults, and in especial lacked suture, but will serve to showsomething of lan's youthful ingenium. 

 TO A VAGRANT. 

 Gentle vagrant, stumping over Several verdant fields of clover! Subject of unnumbered knockings! Tattered' coat and ragged stockings, Slouching hat and roving eye, Tell of SETTLED vagrancy! Wretched wanderer, can it be The poor laws have leaguered thee? Hear'st thou, in thy thorny den, Tramp of rural policemen, Inly fancying, in thy rear Coats of blue and buttons clear, While to meet thee, in the van Stalks some vengeful alderman?-- Each separate sense bringing a notion Of forms that teach thee locomotion! Beat and battered altogether, By fellow-men, by wind and weather; Hounded on through fens and bogs, Chased by men and bit by dogs: And, in thy weakly way of judging, So kindly taught the art of trudging; Or, with a moment's happier lot, Pitied, pensioned, and forgot-- Cutty-pipe thy regium donum; Poverty thy summum bonum; Thy frigid couch a sandstone stratum; A colder grave thy ultimatum; Circumventing, circumvented; In short, excessively tormented, Everything combines to scare Charity's dear pensioner! --Say, vagrant, can'st thou grant to me A slice of thy philosophy? Haply, in thy many trudgings, Having found unchallenged lodgings, Thy thoughts, unused to saddle-crupper, Ambling no farther than thy supper-- Thou, by the light of heaven-lit taper, Mendest thy prospective paper! Then, jolly pauper, stitch till day; Let not thy roses drop away, Lest, begrimed with muddy matter, Thy body peep from every tatter, And men--a charitable dose-- Should physic thee with food and clothes! Nursling of adversity! 'Tis thy glory thus to be Sinking fund of raggery! Thus to scrape a nation's dishes, And fatten on a few good wishes! Or, on some venial treason bent, Frame thyself a government, For thy crest a brirnless hat, Poverty's aristocrat! Nonne habeam te tristem, Planet of the human system? Comet lank and melancholic --Orbit shocking parabolic-- Seen for a little in the sky Of the world of sympathy-- Seldom failing when predicted, Coming most when most restricted, Dragging a nebulous tail with thee Of hypothetic vagrancy-- Of vagrants large, and vagrants small, Vagrants scarce visible at all! Matchless oracle of woe! Anarchy in embryo! Strange antipodes of bliss! Parody on happiness! Baghouse of the great creation! Subject meet for strangulation, By practice tutored to condense The cautious inquiry for pence, And skilful, with averted eye, To hide thy latent roguery-- Lo, on thy hopes I clap a stopper! Vagrant, thou shalt have no copper! Gather thy stumps, and get thee hence, Unwise solicitor of pence!

Alister, who all but worshipped Ian, and cherished every scrap fromhis pen, had not until quite lately seen this foolish production, asIan counted it, and was delighted with it, as he would have been hadit been much worse. Ian was vexed that he should like it, and nowspent the greater part of an hour trying to show him how very bad inparts, even senseless it was. Profusion of epithets withoutapplicability, want of continuity, purposelessness, silliness, heartlessness--were but a few of his denunciations. Alister arguedit was but a bit of fun, and that anybody that knew Ian, knewperfectly he would never amuse himself with a fellow without givinghim something, but it was in vain; Ian was bent on showing italtogether unworthy. So, not to waste the night, they dropped thedispute, and by the light of the blazing heather, turned to achapter of Boethius. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE WOLVES. 

My readers may remember that Ian was on the point of acquainting hismother with an important event in his spiritual history, when theywere interrupted by the involuntary call of the girls from the NewHouse. The mother, as will readily be believed, remained desirous oflistening to her son's story, though dreading it would not be of a kindto give her much satisfaction; but partly from preventions--favoured, it must be confessed by Ian, and yet more from direct avoidance on hispart, the days passed without her hearing anything more of it. Ian hadin truth almost repented his offer of the narrative: a certain vagueassurance that it would not be satisfactory to her, had grown uponhim until he felt it unkind to lay before her an experience whosenarration would seem to ask a sympathy she could not give. But themother was unable to let the thing rest. More than by interest shewas urged by anxiety. In spite of her ungodlike theories of God, itwas impossible she could be in despair about her noble Ian; still, her hope was at best founded on the uncovenanted mercies of God, noton the security of his bond! She did not believe that God was doingand would do his best for every man; therefore she had no assurancethat he would bring down the pride of Ian, and compel his acceptanceof terms worthy of an old Roman father, half law-circumventing lawyer, half heartless tyrant. But her longing to hear what her son hadproposed telling her, was chiefly inspired by the hope of gettingnearer to him, of closer sympathy becoming possible between themthrough her learning more clearly what his views were. She constantlyfelt as if walking along the side of a thick hedge, with occasionalthinnesses through which now and then she gained a ghostly glimpseof her heart's treasure gliding along the other side--close to her, yet so far that, when they spoke, they seemed calling across a gulfof dividing darkness. Therefore, the night after that spent by hersons on the hill, all having retired some two hours before, the mother, finding herself unable to sleep, rose as she had often done ere now, and stole to the door of the little room under the thatch where Ianlay. Listening, and judging him awake, she went softly in, and sat downby his bedside. 

There had been such occasions on which, though son as well as motherwas wide awake, neither spoke a word; but this time the mother couldnot be silent. 

"You never told me, Ian, the story you began about something thatmade you pray!"

Ian saw he could not now draw back without causing, her more troublethan would the narration. 

"Are you sure you will not take cold mother dear?" he said. 

"I am warmly clad, my son; and my heart, more than I can tell you, is longing to hear all about it. "

"I am afraid you will not find my story so interesting as youexpect, mother!"

"What concerns you is more interesting to me than anything else inthe whole world, Ian. "

"Not more than God, mother?" said Ian. 

The mother was silent. She was as honest as her sons. The question, dim-lucent, showed her, if but in shadow, something of the truthconcerning herself--not so that she could grasp it, for she saw itas in a glimmer, a fluctuating, vanishing flash--namely, that shecared more about salvation than about God--that, if she could butkeep her boy out of hell, she would be content to live on withoutany nearer approach to him in whom she had her being! God was to heran awe, not a ceaseless, growing delight!

There are centuries of paganism yet in many lovely Christiansouls--paganism so deep, therefore so little recognized, that theirearnest endeavour is to plant that paganism ineradicably in thehearts of those dearest to them. 

As she did not answer, Ian was afraid she was hurt, and thought itbetter to begin his story at once. 

"It was one night in the middle of winter--last winter, nearMoscow, " he began, "and the frost was very bitter--the worst nightfor cold I have ever known. I had gone with a companion into thedepth of a great pine forest. On our way, the cold grew so intense, that we took refuge at a little public-house, frequented by peasantsand persons of the lowest ranks. On entering I saw a scene whichsurpassed all for interest I had ever before witnessed. The littlelonely house was crammed with Russian soldiers, fierce-lookingfellows, and I daresay their number formed our protection fromviolence. Many of them were among the finest looking fellows I haveever seen. They were half drunk, and were dancing and singing withthe wildest gesticulations and grimaces; but such singing forstrange wildness and harmony combined I had never before listenedto. One would keep up a solo for some minutes, when the wholecompany would join in a sort of chorus, dancing frantically about, but with the most perfect regularity of movement. One of them cameup to me and with a low bow begged me in the name of the rest togive them some money. I accordingly gave them a silver ruble, uponwhich the whole party set up a shout, surrounded me, and in a momenta score of brawny fellows had lifted me in the air, where I wasborne along in triumph. I took off my cap and gave threehip-hip-hurrahs as loud as my lungs could bawl, whereupon, with theprofoundest expressions of gratitude, I was lowered from myelevation. One of them then who seemed to be the spokesman of therest, seized me in his arms and gave me a hearty kiss on the cheek, on which I took my departure amid universal acclamation. --But allthat's not worth telling you about; it was not for that Ibegan--only the scene came up so clear before me that it drew measide. "

"I don't need to tell you, Ian, " said his mother, with shining eyes, "that if it were only what you had to eat on the most ordinary dayof your life, it would be interesting to me!"

"Thank you, mother dear; I seem to know that without being told; butI could never talk to you about anything that was not interesting tomyself. "

Here he paused. He would rather have stopped. 

"Go on, go on, Ian. I am longing to hear. "

"Well--where was I?--We left at the inn our carriage and horses, andwent with our guns far into the forest--all of straight, tall pines, up and up; and the Little island-like tops of them, which, if therebe a breath of wind, are sure to be swaying about like the motion ofa dream, were as still as the big frosty stars in the deep blueoverhead. "

"What did you want in such a lonely place at that time of thenight?" asked the mother. 

She sat with firm-closed lips, and wide, night-filled eyes lookingat her son, the fear of love in her beautiful face--a face morebeautiful than any other that son had yet seen, fit window for aheart so full of refuge to look out of; and he knew how she lookedthough the darkness was between them. 

"Wolves, mother, " he answered. 

She shuddered. She was a great reader in the long winter nights, andhad read terrible stories of wolves--the last of which in Scotlandhad been killed not far from where they sat. 

"What did you want with the wolves, Ian?" she faltered. 

"To kill them, mother. I never liked killing animals any more thanAlister; but even he destroys the hooded crow; and wolves are yetfairer game. They are the out-of-door devils of that country, and Ifancy devils do go into them sometimes, as they did once into thepoor swine: they are the terror of all who live near the forests. 

"There was no moon--only star-light; but whenever we came to anyopener space, there was light enough from the snow to see all about;there was light indeed from the snow all through the forest, but thetrees were thick and dark. Far away, somewhere in the mystery of theblack wood, we could now and then hear a faint howling: it came fromthe red throats of the wolves. "

"You are frightening me, Ian!" said the mother, as if they had beentwo children telling each other tales. 

"Indeed, mother, they are very horrible when they hunt in droves, ravenous with hunger. To kill one of them, if it be but one, is todo something for your kind. And just at that time I was oppressedwith the feeling that I had done and was doing nothing for mypeople--my own humans; and not knowing anything else I could at themoment attempt, I resolved to go and kill a wolf or two: they hadkilled a poor woman only two nights before. 

"As soon as we could after hearing the noise of them, we got up intotwo trees. It took us some time to discover two that were fit forour purpose, and we did not get them so near each other as we shouldhave liked. It was rather anxious work too until we found them, forif we encountered on foot a pack of those demons, we could be but amoment or two alive: killing one, ten would be upon us, and ahundred more on the backs of those. But we hoped they would smell usup in the trees, and search for us, when we should be able to giveaccount of a few of them at least: we had double-barrelled guns, andplenty of powder and ball. "

"But how could you endure the cold--at night--and without food?"

"No, mother; we did not try that! We had plenty to eat in ourpockets. My companion had a bottle of vodki, and--"

"What is that?" asked the mother with suspicion. 

"A sort of raw spirit--horrible stuff--more like spirits of wine. They say it does not hurt in such cold. "

"But, Ian!" cried the mother, and seemed unable to say more. 

"Don't be frightened, mother!" said Ian, with a merry laugh. "Surelyyou do not imagine _I_ would drink such stuff! True, I had mybottle, but it was full of tea. The Russians drink enormousquantities of tea--though not so strong as you make it. "

"Go on, then, Ian; go on. "

"We sat a long time, and there was no sign of the wolves coming nearus. It was very cold, but our furs kept in our warmth. By and by Ifell asleep--which was not dangerous so long as I kept warm, and Ithought the cold must wake me before it began to numb me. And as 'Islept I dreamed; but my dream did not change the place; the forest, the tree I was in, all my surroundings were the same. I even dreamedthat I came awake, and saw everything about me just as it was. Iseemed to open my eyes, and look about me on the dazzling snow frommy perch: I was in a small tree on the border of a little clearing. 

"Suddenly, out of the wood to my left, issued something, runningfast, but with soundless feet, over the snow. I doubted in my dreamwhether the object were a live thing or only a shadow. It camenearer, and I saw it was a child, a little girl, running as if forher life. She came straight to the tree I sat in, and when close toit, but without a moment's halt, looked up, and I saw a sweet littleface, white with terror--which somehow seemed, however, not forherself, but for me. I called out after her to stop, and I wouldtake her into the tree beside me, where the wolves could not reachher; but she only shook her head, and ran on over the clearing intothe forest. Among the holes I watched the fleeting shape appear anddisappear and appear again, until I saw it no more. Then first Iheard another kind of howl from the wolves--that of pursuit. Itstrengthened and swelled, growing nearer and nearer, till at last, through the stillness of the night and the moveless forest and thedead snow, came to my ear a kind of soft rushing sound. I don't knowhow to describe it. The rustle of dry leaves is too sharp; it waslike a very soft heavy rain on a window--a small dull paddingpadding: it was the feet of the wolves. They came nearer and grewlouder and louder, but the noise was still muffled and soft. Theirhowling, however, was now loud and horrid. I suppose they cannothelp howling; if they could, they would have too much power overpoor creatures, coming upon them altogether at unawares; but as itis, they tell, whether they will or no, that they are upon the way. At length, dark as a torrent of pitch, out of the forest flowed amultitude of obscure things, and streamed away, black over the snow, in the direction the child had taken. They passed close to the footof my tree, but did not even look up, flitting by like a shadowwhose substance was unseen. Where the child had vanished they alsodisappeared: plainly they were after her!

"It was only a dream, mother! don't be so frightened, " interruptedlan, for here his mother gave a little cry, almost forgetting whatthe narration was. 

"Then first, " he went on, "I seemed to recover my self-possession. Isaw that, though I must certainly be devoured by the wolves, and thechild could not escape, I had no choice but go down and follow, dowhat I could, and die with her. Down I was the same instant, runningas I had never run before even in a dream, along the track of thewolves. As I ran, I heard their howling, but it seemed so far offthat I could not hope to be in time to kill one of them ere theywere upon her. Still, by their howling, it did not appear they hadreached her, and I ran on. Their noise grew louder and louder, but Iseemed to run miles and miles, wondering what spell was upon me thatI could not come up with them. All at once the clamour grew hideous, and I saw them. They were gathered round a tree, in a clearing justlike that I had left, and were madly leaping against it, but everfalling back baffled. I looked up: in the top of the tree sat thelittle girl, her white face looking down upon them with a smile. Allthe terror had vanished from it. It was still white as the snow, butlike the snow was radiating a white light through the dark foliageof the fir. I see it often, mother, so clear that I could paint it. I was enchanted at the sight. But she was not in safety yet, and Irushed into the heap of wolves, striking and stabbing with myhunting-knife. I got to the tree, and was by her in a moment. Butas I took the child in my arms I woke, and knew that it was a dream. I sat in my own tree, and up against the stem of it broke a howling, surging black wave of wolves. They leaped at the tree-bole as arock-checked billow would leap. My gun was to my shoulder in amoment, and blazed among them. Howls of death arose. Theircompanions fell upon the wounded, and ate them up. The tearing andyelling at the foot of the tree was like the tumult of devils fullof hate and malice and greed. Then for the first time I thoughtwhether such creatures might not be the open haunts of demons. I donot imagine that, when those our Lord drove out of the man askedpermission to go into the swine, they desired anything unheard ofbefore in the demon-world. I think they were not in the way of goinginto tame animals; but, as they must go out of the man, as theygreatly dreaded the abyss of the disembodied, and as no ferociousanimals fit to harbour them were near, they begged leave to go intosuch as were accessible, though unsuitable; whereupon the naturalconsequence followed: their presence made the poor swine miserableeven to madness, and with the instinct of so many maniacs that indeath alone lies their deliverance, they rushed straight into theloch. "

"It may be so, Ian! But I want to hear how you got away from thewolves. "

"I fired and fired; and still they kept rushing on the tree-hole, heaping themselves against it, those behind struggling up on thebacks of those next it, in a storm of rage and hunger and jealousy. Not a few who had just helped to eat some of their fellows, werethemselves eaten in turn, and not a scrap of them left; but it was alarge pack, and it would have taken a long time to kill enough tosatisfy those that remained. I killed and killed until my ammunitionwas gone, and then there was nothing for it but await the light. When the morning began to dawn, they answered its light withsilence, and turning away swept like a shadow back into the wood. Strange to tell, I heard afterwards that a child had been killed bythem in the earlier part of that same night. But even now sometimes, as I lie awake, I grow almost doubtful whether the whole was not ahideous dream. 

"Not the less for that was what I went through between the time mypowder came to an end and the dawn of the morning, a real spiritualfact. 

"In the midst of the howling I grew so sleepy that the horriblenoise itself seemed to lull me while it kept me awake, and I fellinto a kind of reverie with which my dream came back and mingled. Iseemed to be sitting in the tree with the little shining girl, andshe was my own soul; and all the wrong things I had in me, and allthe wrong things I had done, with all the weaknesses and eviltendencies of my nature, whether mine by fault or by inheritance, had taken shape, and, in the persons of the howling wolves below, were besieging me, to get at me, and devour me. Suddenly my soul wasgone. Above were the still, bright stars, shining unmoved; beneathwas the white, betraying snow, and the howling wolves; away throughthe forest was fleeting, ever fleeting, my poor soul, in thelikeness of a white-faced child! All at once came a great stillness, as of a desert place, where breathed nor life of man nor life ofbeast. I was alone, frightfully alone--alone as I had never beenbefore. The creatures at the foot of the tree were still howling, but their cry sounded far away and small; they were in some story Ihad been reading, not anywhere in my life! I was left and lost--leftby whom?--lost by whom?--in the waste of my own being, without stayor comfort. I looked up to the sky; it was infinite--yet only a partof myself, and much too near to afford me any refuge from the desertof my lost self. It came down nearer; the limitless space came down, and clasped me, and held me. It came close to me--as if I had been ashape off which all nature was taking a mould. I was at onceeverything and nothing. I cannot tell you how frightful it was! Inagony I cried to God, with a cry of utter despair. I cannot saywhether I may believe that he answered me; I know this, that a greatquiet fell upon me--but a quiet as of utter defeat and helplessness. Then again, I cannot tell how, the quiet and the helplessness meltedaway into a sense of God--a feeling as if great space all about mewas God and not emptiness. Wolf nor sin could touch me! I was a widepeace--my very being peace! And in my mind--whether an echo fromthe Bible, I do not know--were the words:--'I, even I, am he thatcomforteth thee. I am God, thy saviour!' Whereas I had seemed allalone, I was with God, the only withness man can really share! Ilifted my eyes; morning was in the east, and the wolves wereslinking away over the snow. "

How to receive the strange experience the mother did not know. Sheought to say something, for she sorely questioned it! Not a word hadhe spoken belonging to the religion in which she had brought him up, except two--SIN and GOD! There was nothing in it about theatonement! She did not see that it was a dream, say rather a vision, of the atonement itself. To Ian her interpretation of the atonementseemed an everlasting and hopeless severance. The patience of Godmust surely be far more tried by those who would interpret him, thanby those who deny him: the latter speak lies against him, the formerspeak lies for him! Yet all the time the mother felt as in thepresence of some creature of a higher world--one above the ordinaryrace of men--whom the powers of evil had indeed misled, but perhapsnot finally snared. She little thought how near she was to imaginingthat good may come out of evil--that there is good which is not ofGod! She did not yet understand that salvation lies in being onewith Christ, even as the branch is one with the vine;--that anysalvation short of knowing God is no salvation at all. What moment aman feels that he belongs to God utterly, the atonement is there, the son of God is reaping his harvest. 

The good mother was not, however, one of those conceited, stiff-necked, power-loving souls who have been the curse and ruinof the church in all ages; she was but one of those in whomreverence for its passing form dulls the perception of unchangeabletruth. They shut up God's precious light in the horn lantern ofhuman theory, and the lantern casts such shadows on the path to thekingdom as seem to dim eyes insurmountable obstructions. For thesake of what they count revealed, they refuse all furtherrevelation, and what satisfies them is merest famine to the nextgeneration of the children of the kingdom. Instead of God's truththey offer man's theory, and accuse of rebellion against God such ascannot live on the husks they call food. But ah, home-hungry soul!thy God is not the elder brother of the parable, but the father withthe best robe and the ring--a God high above all thy longing, evenas the heavens are high above the earth. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE GULF THAT DIVIDED. 

When Ian ceased, a silence deep as the darkness around, fell uponthem. To Ian, the silence seemed the very voice of God, clear in thedarkness; to the mother it was a darkness interpenetrating thedarkness; it was a great gulf between her and her boy. She must cryto him aloud, but what should she cry? If she did not, anopportunity, perhaps the last, on which hung eternal issues, wouldbe gone for ever! Each moment's delay was a disobedience to herconscience, a yielding to love's sinful reluctance! With "sickassay" she heaved at the weight on her heart, but not a word wouldcome. If Ian would but speak again, and break the spell of theterrible stillness! She must die in eternal wrong if she did notspeak! But no word would come. Something in her would not move. Itwas not in her brain or her lips or her tongue, for she knew all thetime she could speak if she would. The caitiff will was not all onthe side of duty! She was not FOR the truth!--could she then be OFthe truth? She did not suspect a divine reluctance to urge thatwhich was not good. 

Not always when the will works may we lay hold of it in the act:somehow, she knew not how, she heard herself speaking. 

"Are you sure it was God, Ian?" she said. 

The voice she heard was weak and broken, reedy and strained, likethe voice of one all but dead. 

"No, mother, " answered Ian, "but I hope it was. "

"Hopes, my dear hoy, are not to be trusted. "

"That is true, mother; and yet we are saved by hope. "

"We are saved by faith. "

"I do not doubt it. "

"You rejoice my heart. But faith in what?"

"Faith in God, mother. "

"That will not save you. "

"No, but God will. "

"The devils believe in God, and tremble. "

"I believe in the father of Jesus Christ, and do not tremble. "

"You ought to tremble before an unreconciled God. "

"Like the devils, mother?"

"Like a sinful child of Adam. Whatever your fancies, Ian, God willnot hear you, except you pray to him in the name of his Son. "

"Mother, would you take my God from me? Would you blot him out ofthe deeps of the universe?"

"Ian! are you mad? What frightful things you would lay to mycharge!"

"Mother, I would gladly--oh how gladly! perish for ever, to save Godfrom being the kind of God you would have me believe him. I loveGod, and will not think him other than good. Rather than believe hedoes not hear every creature that cries to him, whether he knowsJesus Christ or not, I would believe there was no God, and gomourning to my grave. "

"That is not the doctrine of the gospel. "

"It is, mother: Jesus himself says, 'Every one that hath heard andlearned of the Father, cometh unto me. '"

"Why then do you not come to him, Ian?"

"I do come to him; I come to him every day. I believe in nobody buthim. He only makes the universe worth being, or any life worthliving!"

"Ian, I can NOT understand you! If you believe like that abouthim, --"

"I don't believe ABOUT him, mother! I believe in him. He is mylife. "

"We will not dispute about words! The question is, do you place yourfaith for salvation in the sufferings of Christ for you?"

"I do not, mother. My faith is in Jesus himself, not in hissufferings. "

"Then the anger of God is not turned away from you. "

"Mother, I say again--I love God, and will not believe such thingsof him as you say. I love him so that I would rather lose him thanbelieve so of him. "

"Then you do not accept the Bible as your guide?"

"I do, mother, for it tells me of Jesus Christ. There is no suchteaching as you say in the Bible. "

"How little you know your New Testament!"

"I don't know my New Testament! It is the only book I do know! Iread it constantly! It is the only thing I could not livewithout!--No, I do not mean that! I COULD do without my Testament!Christ would BE all the same!"

"Oh, Ian! Ian! and yet you will not give Christ the glory ofsatisfying divine justice by his suffering for your sins!"

"Mother, to say that the justice of God is satisfied with suffering, is a piece of the darkness of hell. God is willing to suffer, andready to inflict suffering to save from sin, but no suffering issatisfaction to him or his justice. "

"What do you mean by his justice then?"

"That he gives you and me and everybody fair play. "

The homeliness of the phrase offended the moral ear of the mother. 

"How dare you speak lightly of HIM in my hearing!" she cried. 

"Because I will speak for God even to the face of my mother!"answered Ian. "He is more to me than you, mother--ten times more. "

"You speak against God, Ian, " she rejoined, calmed by the feelingshe had roused. 

"No, mother. He speaks against God who says he does things that arenot good. It does not make a thing good to call it good. I speak FORhim when I say lie cannot but give fair play. He knows he put ruewhere I was sure to sin; he will not condemn me because I havesinned; he leaves me to do that myself. He will condemn me only if Ido not turn away from sin, for he has made me able to turn from it, and I do. "

"He will forgive sin only for Christ's sake. "

"He forgives it for his own name's sake, his own love's sake. Thereis no such word as FOR CHRIST'S SAKE in the New Testament--exceptwhere Paul prays us for Christ's sake to be reconciled to God. It isin the English New Testament, but not in the Greek. "

"Then you do not believe that the justice of God demands thesatisfaction of the sinner's endless punishment?"

"I do not. Nothing can satisfy the justice of God but justice in hiscreature. The justice of God is the love of what is right, and thedoing of what is right. Eternal misery in the name of justice couldsatisfy none but a demon whose bad laws had been broken. "

"I grant you that no amount of suffering on the part of the wickedcould SATISFY justice; but it is the Holy One who suffers for oursins!"

"Oh, mother! JUSTICE do wrong for its own satisfaction! Did JesusDESERVE punishment? If not, then to punish him was to wrong him!"

"But he was willing; he consented;"

"He yielded to injustice--but the injustice was man's, not God's. IfJustice, insisted on punishent, it would at least insist on theguilty, not the innocent, being punished! it would revolt from theidea of the innocent being punished for the guilty! Mind, I sayBEING PUNISHED, not SUFFERING: that is another thing altogether. Itis an eternal satisfaction to love to suffer for the guilty, but notto justice that innocence should be punished for the guilty. Thewhole idea of such atonement is the merest subterfuge, a figment ofthe paltry human intellect to reconcile difficulties of its owninvention. Once, when Alister had done something wrong, my fathersaid, 'He must be punished--except some one will be punished forhim!' I offered to take his place, partly that it seemed expected ofme, partly that I was moved by vanity, and partly that I foresawwhat would follow. "

"And what did follow?" asked the mother, to whom the least word outof the past concerning her husband, was like news from the worldbeyond. At the same time it seemed almost an offence that one of hissons should know anything about him she did not know. 

"He scarcely touched me, mother, " answered Ian. "The thing taught mesomething very different from what he had meant to teach by it. Thathe failed to carry out his idea of justice helped me afterwards tosee that God could not have done it either, for that it was notjustice. Some perception of this must have lain at the root of theheresy that Jesus did not suffer, but a cloud-phantom took his placeon the cross. Wherever people speculate instead of obeying, theyfall into endless error. "

"You graceless boy! Do you dare to say your father speculatedinstead of obeying?" cried the mother, hot with indignation. 

"No, mother. It was not my father who invented that way ofaccounting for the death of our Lord. "

"He believed it!"

"He accepted it, saturated with the tradition of the elders beforehe could think for himself. He does not believe it now. "

"But why then should Christ have suffered?"

"It is the one fact that explains to me everything, " said Ian. "--But I am not going to talk about it. So long as your theorysatisfies you, mother, why should I show you mine? When it no longersatisfies you, when it troubles you as it has troubled me, and as Ipray God it may trouble you, when you feel it stand between you andthe best love you could give God, then I will share my very soulwith you--tell you thoughts which seem to sublimate my very being inadoration. "

"I do not see what other meaning you can put upon the statement thathe was a sacrifice for our sins. "

"Had we not sinned he would never have died; and he died to deliverus from our sins. He against whom was the sin, became the sacrificefor it; the Father suffered in the Son, for they are one. But if Icould see no other explanation than yours, I would not, could notaccept it--for God's sake I would not. "

"How can you say you believe in Christ, when you do not believe inthe atonement!"

"It is not so, mother. I do not believe what you mean by theatonement; what God means by it, I desire to accept. But we arenever told to believe in the atonement; we are told to believe inChrist--and, mother, in the name of the great Father who hears mespeak, I do believe in him. "

"How can you, when you do not believe what God says about him?"

"I do. God does not say those things about him you think he says. They are mere traditions, not the teaching of those who understoodhim. But I might believe all about him quite correctly, and yet notbelieve in him. "

"What do you call believing in him, then?"

"Obeying him, mother--to say it as shortly as I can. I try to obeyhim in the smallest things he says--only there are no small thingshe says--and so does Alister. I strive to be what he would have me, nor do I hold anything else worth my care. Let a man trust in hisatonement to absolute assurance, if he does not do the things hetells him--the very things he said--he does not believe in him. Hemay be a good man, but he has not yet heard enough and learnedenough of the Father to be sent to Jesus to learn more. "

"Then I do not believe in him, " said the mother, with a strange, sadgentleness--for his words awoke an old anxiety never quite at rest. 

Ian was silent. The darkness seemed to deepen around them, and thesilence grew keen. The mother began to tremble. 

"GOD KNOWS, " said Ian at length, and again the broken silence closedaround them. 

It was between God and his mother now! Unwise counsellors willpersuade the half crazy doubter in his own faith, to believe that hedoes believe!--how much better to convince him that his faith is apoor thing, that he must rise and go and do the thing that Jesustells him, and so believe indeed! When will men understand that itis neither thought nor talk, neither sorrow for sin nor love ofholiness that is required of them, but obedience! To BE and to OBEYare one. 

A cold hand grasping her heart, the mother rose, and went from theroom. The gulf seemed now at last utterly, hopelessly impassable!She had only feared it before; she knew it now! She did not seethat, while she believed evil things of God, and none the less thatshe called them good, oneness was impossible between her and anybeing in God's creation. 

The poor mother thought herself broken-hearted, and lay down toosick to know that she was trembling from head to foot. Such was thehold, such the authority of traditional human dogma on her soul--asoul that scorned the notion of priestly interposition between Godand his creature--that, instead of glorifying God that she hadgiven birth to such a man, she wept bitterly because he was on thebroad road to eternal condemnation. 

But as she lay, now weeping, now still and cold with despair, shefound that for some time she had not been thinking. But she had notbeen asleep! Whence then was this quiet that was upon her? Somethinghad happened, though she knew of nothing! There was in her as itwere a moonlight of peace!

"Can it be God?" she said to herself. 

No more than Ian could she tell whether it was God or not; but fromthat night she had an idea in her soul by which to reach after "thepeace of God. " She lifted up her heart in such prayer as she hadnever prayed before; and slowly, imperceptibly awoke in her thefeeling that, if she was not believing aright, God would nottherefore cast her off, but would help her to believe as she oughtto believe: was she not willing? Therewith she began to feel as ifthe gulf betwixt her and Ian were not so wide as she had supposed;and that if it were, she would yet hope in the Son of Man. Doubtlesshe was in rebellion against God, seeing he would question his ways, and refuse to believe the word he had spoken, but surely somethingmight be done for him! The possibility had not yet dawned upon herthat there could be anything in the New Testament but thosedoctrines against which the best in him revolted. She littlesuspected the glory of sky and earth and sea eternal that would oneday burst upon her! that she would one day see God not only good butinfinitely good--infinitely better than she had dared to think him, fearing to image him better than he was! Mortal, she dreaded beingmore just than God, more pure than her maker!

"I will go away to-morrow!" said Ian to himself. "I am only a painto her. She will come to see things better without me! I cannotlive in her sight any longer now! I will go, and come again. "

His heart broke forth in prayer. 

"O God, let my mother see that thou art indeed true-hearted; thatthou dost not give us life by parings and subterfuges, butabundantly; that thou dost not make men in order to assert thydominion over them, but that they may partake of thy life. O God, have pity when I cannot understand, and teach me as thou wouldst thelittle one whom, if thou wert an earthly father amongst us as thyson was an earthly son, thou wouldst carry about in thy arms. Whenpride rises in me, and I feel as if I ought to be free and walkwithout thy hand; when it looks as if a man should be great inhimself, nor need help from God; then think thou of me, and I shallknow that I cannot live or think without the self-willing life; thatthou art because thou art, I am because thou art; that I am deeperin thee than my life, thou more to my being than that being toitself. Was not that Satan's temptation, Father? Did he not takeself for the root of self in him, when God only is the root of allself? And he has not repented yet! Is it his thought coming up inme, flung from the hollow darkness of his soul into mine? Thouknowest, when it comes I am wretched. I love it not. I would havethee lord and love over all. But I cannot understand: how comes itto look sometimes as if indeinpendence must be the greater? A liecannot be greater than the truth! I do not understand, but thoudost. I cannot see my foundations; I cannot dig up the roots of mybeing: that would be to understand creation! Will the Adversary evercome to see that thou only art grand and beautiful? How came he tothink to be greater by setting up for himself? How was it that itlooked so to him? How is it that, not being true, it should everlook so? There must be an independence that thou lovest, of whichthis temptation is the shadow! That must be how 'Satan fell!--forthe sake of not being a slave!--that he might be a free being! Ah, Lord, I see how it all comes! It is because we are not near enoughto thee to partake of thy liberty that we want a liberty of our owndifferent from thine! We do not see that we are one with thee, thatthy glory is our glory, that we can have none but in thee! that weare of thy family, thy home, thy heart, and what is great for theeis great for us! that man's meanness is to want to be great out ofhis Father! Without thy eternity in us we are so small that we thinkourselves great, and are thus miserably abject and contemptible. Thou only art true! thou only art noble! thou wantest no glory forselfishness! thou doest, thou art, what thou requirest of thychildren! I know it, for I see it in Jesus, who casts the contemptof obedience upon the baseness of pride, who cares only for thee andfor us, never thinking of himself save as a gift to give us! Olovely, perfect Christ! with my very life I worship thee! Oh, pray, Christ! make me and my brother strong to be the very thing thouwouldst have us, as thy brothers, the children of thy Father. Thouart our perfect brother--perfect in love, in courage, intenderness! Amen, Lord! Good-night! I am thine. "

He was silent for a few moments, then resumed:

"Lord, thou knowest whither my thoughts turn the moment I ceasepraying to thee. I dared not think of her, but that I know thee. Butfor thee, my heart would be as water within me! Oh, take care ofher, come near to her! Thou didst send her where she could not learnfast--but she did learn. And now, God, I do not know where she is!Thou only of all in this world knowest, for to thee she lives thoughgone from my sight and knowledge--in the dark to me. Pray, Father, let her know that thou art near her, and that I love her. Thou hastmade me love her by taking her from me: thou wilt give her to meagain! In this hope I will live all my days, until thou takest mealso; for to hope mightily is to believe well in thee. I will hopein thee infinitely. Amen, Father!"

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE CLAN CHRISTMAS. 

By slow degrees, with infinite subdivisions and apparent reversalsof change, the autumn had passed into winter indeed. Cloud above, mire below, mist and rain all between, made up many days; only, likethe dreariest life, they were broken through and parted, lest theyshould seem the universe itself, by such heavenly manifestations, such gleams and glimpses of better, as come into all lives, allwinters, all evil weathers. What is loosed on earth is loosed firstin heaven: we have often shared of heaven, when we thought it but asoftening of earth's hardness. Every relief is a promise, a pledgeas well as a passing meal. The frost at length had brought with itbrightness and persuasion and rousing. In the fields it was swellingand breaking the clods; and for the heart of man, it did somethingto break up that clod too. A sense of friendly pleasure filled allthe human creatures. The children ran about like wild things; theair seemed to intoxicate them. The mother went out walking with thegirls, and they talked of their father and Christian and Mr. Sercombe, who were all coming together. For some time they sawnothing of their next neighbours. 

They had made some attempts at acquaintance with the people of theglen, but unhappily were nowise courteous enough for their ideas ofgood breeding, and offended both their pride and their sense ofpropriety. The manners and address of these northern peasants wereblameless--nearly perfect indeed, like those of the Irish, and intheir own houses beyond criticism; those of the ladies conventionalwhere not rudely condescending. If Mistress Conal was an exceptionto the rest of the clan, even she would be more civil to a strangerthan to her chief whom she loved--until the stranger gave heroffence. And if then she passed to imprecation, she would not curselike an ordinary woman, but like a poetess, gaining rather thanlosing dignity. She would rise to the evil occasion, no hag, but alargely-offended sibyl, whom nothing thereafter should everappease. To forgive was a virtue unknown to Mistress Conal. Its morethan ordinary difficulty in forgiving is indeed a special fault ofthe Celtic character. --This must not however be confounded with adesire for revenge. The latter is by no means a specially Celticcharacteristic. Resentment and vengeance are far from inseparable. The heart that surpasses in courtesy, except indeed that courtesy, be rooted in love divine, must, when treated with discourtesy, experience the worse revulsion, feel the bitterer indignation. Butmany a Celt would forgive, and forgive thoroughly and heartily, withhis enemy in his power, who, so long as he remained beyond hisreach, could not even imagine circumstances in which they might bereconciled. To a Celt the summit of wrong is a slight, but apologyis correspondingly potent with him. Mistress Conal, however, had notthe excuse of a specially courteous nature. 

Christina and Mercy, calling upon her one morning, were notungraciously received, but had the misfortune to remark, trusting toher supposed ignorance of English, upon the dirtiness of her floor, they themselves having imported not a little of the moisture thathad turned its surface into a muddy paste. She said nothing, but, tothe general grudge she bore the possessors of property oncebelonging to her clan, she now added a personal one; the offence laycherished and smouldering. Had the chief offended her, she wouldhave found a score of ways to prove to herself that he meantnothing; but she desired no mitigation of the trespass of strangers. 

The people at the New House did not get on very well with any of theclan. In the first place, they were regarded not merely asinterlopers, but almost as thieves of the property--though in truthit had passed to them through other hands. In the second place, arumour had got about that they did not behave with sufficientrespect to the chief's family, in the point of whose honour the clanwas the more exacting because of their common poverty. Hence theinhabitants of the glen, though they were of course polite, showedbut little friendliness. 

But the main obstacle to their reception was in themselves: thehuman was not much developed in them; they understood nothing oftheir own beings; they had never had any difficulty withthemselves:--how could they understand others, especially incircumstances and with histories so different from their own! Theyhad not a notion how poor people feel, still less poor people poorerthan before--or how they regard the rich who have what they havelost. They did not understand any huftian feeling--not even thesilliness they called LOVE--a godless, mindless affair, fit onlyfor the doll-histories invented by children: they had a feeling, ora feeling had them, till another feeling came and took its place. When a feeling was there, they felt as if it would never go; when itwas gone, they felt as if it had never been; when it returned, theyfelt as if it had never gone. They seldom came so near anything asto think about it, never put a question to themselves as to how athing affected them, or concerning the phenomena of its passagethrough their consciousness! There is a child-eternity of soul thatneeds to ask nothing, because it understands everything: the ways ofthe spirit are open to it; but where a soul does not understand, andhas to learn, how is it to do so without thinking? They knew nothingof labour, nothing of danger, nothing of hunger, nothing of cold, nothing of sickness, nothing of loneliness. The realities of life, in their lowest forms as in their highest, were far from them. Ifthey had nearly gone through life instead of having but entered uponit, they would have had some ground for thinking themselves unfairlydealt with; for to be made, and then left to be worthless, unfiteven for damnation, might be suspected for hard lines; but there isOne who takes a perfect interest in his lowliest creature, and willnot so spare it. They were girls notwithstanding who could makethemselves agreeable, and passed for clever--Christina because shecould give a sharp answer, and sing a drawingroom-song, Mercybecause as yet she mostly held her tongue. That there was at thesame time in each of them the possibility of being developed intosomething of inestimable value, is merely to say that they werehuman. 

The days passed, and Christmas drew near. The gentlemen arrived. There was family delight and a bustling reception. It is amazing--itshows indeed how deep and divine, how much beyond the individualself are the family affections--that such gladness breaks forth inthe meeting of persons who, within an hour or so of the joyouswelcome, self getting the better of the divine, will begin to feelbored, and will each lay the blame of the disappointment on theother. 

Coats were pulled off; mufflers were unwound; pretty hands werehelping; strong hands were lifting and carrying; every room wasbright with a great fire; tea was refused, and dinner welcomed. After dinner came the unpacking of great boxes; and in the midst ofthe resultant pleasure, the proposal came to be made--none butChristina knew how--that the inhabitants of the cottage should beinvited to dinner on Christmas-eve. It was carried at once, and thenext afternoon a formal invitation was sent. 

At the cottage it caused conference, no discussion. The lady of theNew House had not called with her girls, it was true; but thenneither had the lady of the castle--for that was the clanspeople'sname for the whole ridge on which the cottage stood--called on thenew-comers! If there was offence, it was mutual! The unceremoniousinvitation MIGHT indicate that it was not thought necessary totreat them as persons who knew the ways of society; on the otherhand, if it meant that they were ready to throw aside formalitiesand behave heartily, it would be wrong not to meet them half-way!They resolved therefore to make a counter-proposal; and if theinvitation came of neighbourliness, and not of imagined patronage, they would certainly meet it in a friendly spirit! Answer wasreturned, sealed with no mere crest but with a coat of arms, to theeffect that it had been the custom since time forgotten for thechief to welcome his people and friends without distinction onChristmas-eve, and the custom could not be broken; but if the ladiesand gentlemen of the New House would favour them with their com-company on the occasion, to dine and dance, the chief and his familywould gratefully accept any later offer of hospitality Mr. And Mrs. Peregrine Palmer might do them, the honour to send. 

This reply gave occasion to a good deal of talk at the New House, not entirely of a sort which the friends of the chief would haveenjoyed hearing. Frequent were the bursts of laughter from the menat the assumption of the title of CHIEF by a man with no more landthan he could just manage to live upon. The village they said, andsaid truly, in which the greater number of HIS PEOPLE lived, wasnot his at all--not a foot of the ground on which it stood, not astone or sod of which it was built--but belonged to a certainCanadian, who was about to turn all his territory around andadjacent into a deer forest! They could not see that, if there hadever been anything genuine in the patriarchal relation, the mereloss of the clan-property could no more cause the chieftainship tocease, than could the loss of the silver-hilted Andrew Ferrara, handed down from father to son for so many generations. 

There are dull people, and just as many clever people, who look uponcustoms of society as on laws of nature, and judge the worth ofothers by their knowledge or ignorance of the same. So doing theydisable themselves from understanding the essential, which is, likelove, the fulfilling of the law. A certain Englishman gave greatoffence in an Arab tent by striding across the food placed for thecompany on the ground: would any Celt, Irish or Welsh, have beenguilty of such a blunder? But there was not any overt offence on thepresent occasion. They called it indeed a cool proposal that THEYshould put off their Christmas party for that of a ploughman inshabby kilt and hob-nailed shoes; but on their amused indignationsupervened the thought that they were in a wild part of the country, where it would be absurd to expect the SAVOIR VIVRE of the south, and it would be amusing to see the customs of the land. Bysuggestion and seeming response, the clever Christina, unsuspectedeven of Mercy, was the motive power to bring about the acceptance ofthe chief's invitation. 

A friendly answer was returned: they would not go to dinner, theysaid, as it was their custom also to dine at home on Christmas-eve;but they would dine early, and spend the evening with them. 

To the laird the presence of the lowland girls promised a greataddition to the merry-making. During the last thirty years, all thegentlemen-farmers of the clan, and most of the humbler tacksmen aswell, had vanished, and there was a wide intellectual space betweenall those left and the family of the chief. Often when Ian was away, would Alister, notwithstanding his love to his people and theirentire response, have felt lonely but for labour. 

There being in the cottage no room equal to the reception of a largecompany, and the laird receiving all the members of theclan--"poor, " I was going to say, "and rich, " but there were norich--as well as any neighbour or traveller who chose to appear, thefather of the present chief had had good regard to the necessitiesof entertainment in the construction of a new barn: companionship, large feasting, and dancing, had been even more considered than thestoring and threshing of his corn. 

There are in these days many who will mock; but for my part I amproud of a race whose social relations are the last upon which theywill retrench, whose latest yielded pleasure is their hospitality. It is a common feeling that only the WELL-TO-DO have a right to behospitable: the ideal flower of hospitality is almost unknown to therich; it can hardly be grown save in the gardens of the poor; it isone of their beatitudes. 

Means in Glenruadh had been shrinking for many years, but the heartof the chief never shrank. His dwelling dwindled from a castle to ahouse, from a house to a cottage; but the hospitality did notdwindle. As the money vanished, the show diminished; the place ofentertainment from a hall became a kitchen, from a kitchen changedto a barn; but the heart of the chief was the same; theentertainment was but little altered, the hospitality not in theleast. When things grow hard, the first saving is generally offothers; the Macruadh's was off himself. The land was not his, saveas steward of the grace of God! Let it not be supposed he ran indebt: with his mother at the head, or rather the heart of affairs, that could not be. She was not one to regard as hospitality areadiness to share what you have not!

Little did good Doctor Johnson suspect the shifts to which some ofthe highland families he visited were driven--not to feed, but tohouse him: and housing in certain conditions of society is the largehalf of hospitality. Where he did not find his quarters comfortable, he did not know what crowding had to be devised, what inconveniencesendured by the family, that he might have what ease and freedom werepossible. Be it in stone hall or thatched cottage, the chief mustentertain the stranger as well as befriend his own! This was thefulfilling of his office--none the less that it had descended uponhim in evil times. That seldom if ever had a chief been Christianenough or strong enough to fill to the full the relation of fatherof his people, was nothing against the ideal fact in the existentrelation; it was rather for it: now that the chieftainship had cometo a man with a large notion of what it required of him, he was themore, not the less ready to aim at the mark of the idea; he was notthe more easily to be turned aside from a true attempt to live up tohis calling, that many had yielded and were swept along bound slavesin the triumph of Mammon! He looked on his calling as entirelyenough to fill full the life that would fulfil the calling. It wasambition enough for him to be the head of his family, with thehighest of earthly relations to realize toward its members. As tothe vulgar notion of a man's obligation to himself, he had learnedto despise it. 

"Eubbish!" Ian would say. "I owe my self nothing. What has my selfever done for me, but lead me wrong? What but it has come between meand my duty--between me and my very Father in heaven--between meand my fellow man! The fools of greed would persuade that a man hasno right to waste himself in the low content of making and sharing ahumble living; he ought to make money! make a figure in the world, forsooth! be somebody! 'Dwell among the people!' such would say:'Bah! Let them look after themselves! If they cannot pay theirrents, others will; what is it to you if the rents are paid? Sendthem about their business; turn the land into a deer-forest or asheep-farm, and clear them out! They have no rights! A man is boundto the children of his body begotten; the people are nothing to him!A man is not his brother's keeper--except when he has got him inprison! And so on, in the name of the great devil!"

Whether there was enough in Alister to have met and overcome thespirit of the world, had he been brought up at Oxford or Cambridge, I have not to determine; there was that in him at least which wouldhave come to, repent bitterly had he yielded; but brought up as hewas, he was not only able to entertain the exalted idea presented tohim, but to receive and make it his. With joy he recognized thehigher dignity of the shepherd of a few poor, lean, wool-torn humansheep, than of the man who stands for himself, however "spacious inthe possession of dirt. " He who holds dead land a possession, andliving souls none of his, needs wake no curse, for he is in the verypit of creation, a live outrage on the human family. 

If Alister Macruadh was not in the highest grade of Christianity, hewas on his way thither, for he was doing the work that was given himto do, which is the first condition of all advancement. He had muchto learn yet, but he was one who, from every point his feet touched, was on the start to go further. 

The day of the holy eve rose clear and bright. Snow was on thehills, and frost in the valley. There had been a time when at thisseason great games were played between neighbour districts or clans, but here there were no games now, because there were so few men; themore active part fell to the women. Mistress Macruadh was busy allday with her helpers, preparing a dinner of mutton, and beef, andfowls, and red-deer ham; and the men soon gave the barn something ofthe aspect of the old patriarchal hall for which it was no very poorsubstitute. A long table, covered with the finest linen, was laidfor all comers; and when the guests took their places, they neededno arranging; all knew their standing, and seated themselvesaccording to knowledge. Two or three small farmers took modestly theupper places once occupied by immediate relatives of the chief, forof the old gentry of the clan there were none. But all were happy, for their chief was with them still. Their reverence was none theless that they were at home with him. They knew his worth, and theroughest among them would mind what the Macruadh said. They knewthat he feared nothing; that he was strong as the red stag afterwhich the clan was named; that, with genuine respect for every man, he would at the least insolence knock the fellow down; that he wasthe best shot, the best sailor, the best ploughman in the clan: Iwould have said THE BEST SWORDSMAN, but that, except Ian, there wasnot another left to it. 

Not many of them, however, understood how much he believed that hehad to give an account of his people. He was far from consideringsuch responsibility the clergyman's only. Again and again had heexpostulated with some, to save them from the slow gaping hell ofdrink, and in one case, he had reason to hope, with success. 

As they sat at dinner, it seemed to the young fellow who, with hishelp, had so far been victorious, that the chief scarcely took hiseyes off him. One might think there was small danger where thehostess allowed nothing beyond water and milk but small ale; thechief, however, was in dread lest he should taste even that, andcaught one moment the longing look he threw at the jug as it passed. He rose and went down the table, speaking to this one and that, butstopped behind the lad, and putting his arm round his shoulders, whispered in his ear. The youth looked up in his face with a solemnsmile: had not the chief embraced him before them all! He was only ashepherd-lad, but his chief cared for him!

In the afternoon the extemporized tables were cleared away, candleswere fixed in rough sconces along the walls, not without precautionagainst fire, and the floor was rubbed clean--for the barn wasfloored throughout with pine, in parts polished with use. The wallswere already covered with the plaids of the men and women, each keptin place by a stone or two on the top of the wall where the raftersrested. In one end was a great heap of yellow oat-straw, which, partly levelled, made a most delightful divan. What with the straw, the plaids, the dresses, the shining of silver ornaments, and theflash of here and there a cairngorm or an amethyst, there was not alittle colour in the barn. Some of the guests were poorly but allwere decently attired, and the shabbiest behaved as ladies andgentlemen. 

The party from the New House walked through the still, star-watchedair, with the motionless mountains looking down on them, and asilence around, which they never suspected as a presence. The littlegirls were of the company, and there was much merriment. Foolishcompliments were not wanting, offered chiefly on the part of Mr. Sercombe, and accepted on that of Christina. The ladies, under theirfurs and hoods, were in their best, with all the jewels they couldwear at once, for they had heard that highlanders have a passion forcolour, and that poor people are always best pleased when you go tothem in your finery. The souls of these Sasunnachs were full ofTHINGS. They made a fine show as they emerged from the darkness oftheir wraps into the light of the numerous candles; nor did theapproach of the widowed chieftainess to receive them, on the arm ofAlister, with Ian on her other side, fail in dignity. The mother wasdressed in a rich, matronly black silk; the chief was in the fulldress of his clan--the old-fashioned coat of the French court, withits silver buttons and ruffles of fine lace, the kilt of Macruadhtartan in which red predominated, the silver-mounted sporan--of theskin and adorned with the head of an otter caught with, the barehands of one of his people, and a silver-mounted dirk of lengthunusual, famed for the beauty of both hilt and blade; Ian wassimilarly though less showily clad. When she saw the stately dameadvancing between her sons, one at least of her visitors felt adoubt whether their condescension would be fully appreciated. 

As soon as their reception was over, the piper--to the discomfort ofMr. Sercombe's English ears--began his invitation to the dance, andin a few moments the floor was, in a tumult of reels. The girls, unacquainted with their own country's dances, preferred looking on, and after watching reel and strathspey for some time, altogetherdeclined attempting either. But by and by it was the turn of theclanspeople to look on while the lady of the house and her sonsdanced a quadrille or two with their visitors; after which the chiefand his brother pairing with the two elder girls, the ladies wereastonished to find them the best they had ever waltzed with, although they did not dance quite in the London way. Ian's dancing, Christina said, was French; Mercy said all she knew was that thechief took the work and left her only the motion: she felt as in adream of flying. Before the evening was over, the young men had sofar gained on Christina that Mr. Sercombe looked a littlecommonplace. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

BETWEEN DANCING AND SUPPER. 

The dancing began about six o'clock, and at ten it was time forsupper. It was readjr, but there was no room for it except the barn;the dancing therefore had to cease for a while, that the table mightagain be covered. The ladies put on their furs and furry boots andgloves, and went out into the night with the rest. 

The laird and Christina started together, but, far from keeping ather side, Alister went and came, now talking to this couple, now tothat, and adding to the general pleasure with every word he spoke. Ian and Mercy walked together, and as often as the chief left herside, Christina joined them. Mrs. Palmer stayed with their hostess;her husband took the younger children by the hand; Mr. Sercombe andChristian sauntered along in the company, talking now to one, now toanother of the village girls. 

All through the evening Christina and Mercy noted how instantly theword of the chief was followed in the smallest matter, and the factmade its impression on them; for undeveloped natures in the presenceof a force, revere it as POWER--understanding by POWER, not thestrength to create, to harmonize, to redeem, to discover the true, to suffer with patience; but the faculty of having things one's ownvulgar, self-adoring way. 

Ian had not proposed to Mercy that they should walk together; butwhen the issuing crowd had broken into twos and threes, they foundthemselves side by side. The company took its way along the ridge, and the road eastward. The night was clear, and like a greatsapphire frosted with topazes--reminding Ian that, solid as is theworld under our feet, it hangs in the will of God. Mercy and hewalked for some time in silence. It was a sudden change from the lowbarn, the dull candles, and the excitement of the dance, to theawful space, the clear pure far-off lights, and the great stillness. Both felt it, though differently. There was in both of them thequest after peace. It is not the banished demon only that wandersseeking rest, but souls upon souls, and in ever growing numbers. Theworld and Hades swarm with them. They long after a repose that isnot mere cessation of labour: there is a positive, an active rest. Mercy was only beginning to seek it, and that without knowing whatit was she needed. Ian sought it in silence with God; she increpitant intercourse with her kind. Naturally ready to fall intogloom, but healthy enough to avoid it, she would rush at anything todo--not to keep herself from thinking, for she had hardly begun tothink, but to escape that heavy sense of non-existence, that wearyand restless want which is the only form life can take to the yetunliving, those who have not yet awakened and arisen from the dead. She was a human chicken that had begun to be aware of herself, buthad not yet attacked the shell that enclosed her: because it wastransparent, and she could see life about her, she did not know thatshe was in a shell, or that, if she did not put forth the might ofher own life, she was sealing herself up, a life in death, in herantenatal coffin. Many who think themselves free have never yet evenseen the shell that imprisons them--know nothing of the libertywherewith the Lord of our life would set them free. Men fight many aphantom when they ought to be chipping at their shells. "Thou artthe dreamer!" they cry to him who would wake them. "See how diligentwe are to get on in the world! We labour as if we should never goout of it!" What they call the world is but their shell, which isall the time killing the infant Christ that houses with them. 

Ian looked up to the sky, and breathed a deep breath. Mercy lookedup in his face, and saw his strangely beautiful smile. 

"What are you thinking of, Captain Macruadh?" she said. 

"I was thinking, " he answered, "that perhaps up THERE"--he waved hisarm wide over his head--"might he something like room; hut I doubtit, I doubt it!"

Naturally, Mercy was puzzled. The speech sounded quite mad, and yethe could not be mad, he had danced so well! She took comfort thather father was close behind. 

"Did you never feel, " he resumed, "as if you could not anyhow getroom enough?"

"No, " answered Mercy, "never. "

Ian fell a thinking how to wake in her a feeling of what he meant. He had perceived that one of the first elements in human educationis the sense of space--of which sense, probably, the star-dweltheaven is the first awakener. He believed that without the heavenswe could not have learned the largeness in things below them, couldnot, for instance, have felt the mystery of the high-ascendinggothic roof--for without the greater we cannot interpret the less;and he thought that to have the sense of largeness developed mightbe to come a little nearer to the truth of things, to therecognition of spiritual relations. 

"Did you ever see anything very big?" he asked. 

"I suppose London is as big as most things!" she answered, after amoment. 

"Did you ever see London?" he asked. 

"We generally live there half the year. "

"Pardon me; I did not ask if you had ever been to London, " said Ian;"I asked if you had ever seen London. "

"I know the west end pretty well. "

"Did it ever strike you as very large?"

"Perhaps not; but the west end is only a part of London. "

"Did you ever see London from the top of St. Paul's?"

"No. "

"Did you ever see it from the top of Hampstead heath?"

"I have been there several times, but I don't remember seeing Londonfrom it. We don't go to London for the sights. "

"Then you have not seen London!"

Mercy was annoyed. Ian did not notice that she was, else perhaps hewould not have gone on--which would have been a pity, for a littleannoyance would do her no harm. At the same time the mood was notfavourable to receiving any impression from the region of the thingsthat are not seen. A pause followed. 

"It is so delightful, " said Ian at length, "to come out of themotion and the heat and the narrowness into the still, coldgreatness!"

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself pretty well notwithstanding, Captain Macruadh!"

"What made you think so?" he asked, turning to her with a smile. 

"You were so merry--not with me--you think me only a stupid lowlandgirl; but the other young persons you danced with, laughed very muchat things you said to them. "

"You are right; I did enjoy myself. As often as one comes near asimple human heart, one's own heart finds a little room. "

Ere she knew, Mercy had said--

"And you didn't find any room with me?"

With the sound of her words her face grew hot, as with afurnace-blast, even in the frosty night-air. She would have coveredwhat she had said, but only stammered. Ian turned, and looking ather, said with a gentle gravity--

"You must not be offended with me! I must answer you truly. --You donot give me room: have you not just told me you never longed for anyyourself?"

"One ought to be independent!" said Mercy, a little nettled. 

"Are you sure of that? What is called independence may really bewant of sympathy. That would indicate a kind of lonelinessanything but good. "

"I wish you would find a less disagreeable companion then!--one thatwould at least be as good as nobody! I am sorry I don't know how togive you room. I would if I could. Tell me how. "

Again Ian turned to her: was it possible there were tears in hervoice? But her black eyes were flashing in the starlight!

"Did you ever read Zanoni?" he asked. 

"I never heard of it. What is it?"

"A romance of Bulwer's. "

"My father won't let us read anything of Bulwer's. Does he writevery wicked books?"

"The one I speak of, " said Ian, "is not wicked, though it is full ofrubbish, and its religion is very false. "

Whether Mercy meant to take her revenge on him with consciously badlogic, I am in doubt. 

"Captain Macruadh! you astonish me! A Scotchman speak so ofreligion!"

"I spoke of the religion in that book. I said it was false--which isthe same as saying it was not religion. "

"Then religion is not all true!"

"All true religion is true, " said Ian, inclined to laugh like onethat thought to catch an angel, and had clutched a bat! "I was goingon to say that, though the religion and philosophy of the book wererubbish, the story was fundamentally a grand conception. It puzzlesme to think how a man could start with such an idea, and work it outso well, and yet be so lacking both in insight and logic. It iswonderful how much of one portion of our nature may be developedalong with so little of another!"

"What is the story about?" asked Mercy. 

"What I may call the canvas of it, speaking as if it were a picture, is the idea that the whole of space is full of life; that, as thesmallest drop of water is crowded with monsters of hideous forms anddispositions, so is what we call space full of living creatures, --"

"How horrible!"

"--not all monsters, however. There are among them creatures notaltogether differing from us, but differing much from each other, --"

"As much as you and I?"

"--some of them lovely and friendly, others frightful in theirbeauty and malignity, --"

"What nonsense!"

"Why do you call it nonsense?"

"How could anything beautiful be frightful?"

"I ought not to have said BEAUTIFUL. But the frightfullest face Iever saw ought to have been the finest. When the lady that owned itspoke to me, I shivered. "

"But anyhow the whole thing is nonsense!"

"How is it nonsense?"

"Because there are no such creatures. "

"How do you know that? Another may have seen them though you and Inever did!"

"You are making game of me! You think to make me believe anythingyou choose!"

"Will you tell me something you do believe?"

"That you may prove immediately that I do not believe it!" sheretorted, with more insight than he had expected. "--You are notvery entertaining!"

"Would you like me to tell you a story then?"

"Will it be nonsense?"

"No. "

"I should like a little nonsense. "

"You are an angel of goodness, and as wise as you are lovely!" saidIan. 

She turned upon him, and opened wide at him her great black eyes, inwhich were mingled defiance and question. 

"Your reasoning is worthy of your intellect. When you dance, " hewent on, looking very solemn, "your foot would not bend the neck ofa daisy asleep in its rosy crown. The west wind of May haunts youwith its twilight-odours; and when you waltz, so have I seen thewaterspout gyrate on the blue floor of the Mediterranean. Your voiceis as the harp of Selma; and when you look out of your welkin eyes--no! there I am wrong! Allow me!--ah, I thought so!--dark asErebus!--But what!"

For Mercy, perceiving at last that he was treating her like thesilliest of small girls, lost her patience, and burst into tears. 

"You are dreadfully rude!" she sobbed. 

Ian was vexed with himself. 

"You asked me to talk nonsense to you, Miss Mercy! I attempted toobey you, and have done it stupidly. But at least it was absolutenonsense! Shall I make up for it by telling you a pretty story?"

"Anything to put away that!" answered Mercy, trying to smile. 

He began at once, and told her a wonderful tale--told first afterthis fashion by Bob of the Angels, at a winter-night gathering ofthe women, as they carded and spun their wool, and reeled their yarntogether. It was one well-known in the country, but Rob had filledit after his fancy with imaginative turns and spiritual hints, unappreciable by the tall child of seventeen walking by Ian's side. There was not among the maidens of the poor village one who wouldnot have understood it better than she. It took her fancynotwithstanding, partly, perhaps, from its unlikeness to any storyshe had ever heard before. Her childhood had been starved on thehusks of new fairy-tales, all invention and no imagination, thanwhich more unnourishing food was never offered to God's children. 

The story Ian told her under that skyful of stars, was as Rob of theAngels had dressed it for the clan matrons and maidens, only altereda very little for the ears of the lowland girl. 

END OF VOL. I. 

VOL. II. 

CONTENTS OF VOL. II. 

CHAPTER

 I. THE STORY TOLD BY IAN II. ROB OF THE ANGELS III. AT THE NEW HOUSE IV. THE BROTHERS V. THE PRINCESS VI. THE TWO PAIRS VII. AN CABRACH MORVIII. THE STAG'S HEAD IX. ANNIE OF THE SHOP X. THE ENCOUNTER XI. A LESSON XII. NATUREXIII. GRANNY ANGRY XIV. CHANGE XV. LOVE ALLODIAL XVI. MERCY CALLS ON GRANNIEXVII. IN THE TOMB

WHATS'S MINE'S MINE. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE STORY TOLD BY IAN. 

"There was once a woman whose husband was well to do, but he diedand left her, and then she sank into poverty. She did her best; butshe had a large family, and work was hard to find, and hard to dowhen it was found, and hardly paid when it was done. Only hearts ofgrace can understand the struggles of the poor--with everything butGod against them! But she trusted in God, and said whatever hepleased must be right, whether he sent it with his own hand or not. 

"Now, whether it was that she could not find them enough to eat, orthat she could not keep them warm enough, I do not know; I do notthink it was that they had not gladness enough, which is asnecessary for young things as food and air and sun, for it iswonderful on how little a child can be happy; but whatever was thecause, they began to die. One after the other sickened and lay down, and did not rise again; and for a time her life was just a waitingupon death. She would have wanted to die herself, but that there wasalways another to die first; she had to see them all safe homebefore she dared wish to go herself. But at length the last of themwas gone, and then when she had no more to provide for, the heart ofwork went out of her: where was the good of working for herself!there was no interest in it! But she knew it was the will of God sheshould work and eat until he chose to take her back to himself; soshe worked on for her living while she would much rather have workedfor her dying; and comforted herself that every day brought death aday nearer. Then she fell ill herself, and could work no more, andthought God was going to let her die; for, able to win her bread nolonger, surely she was free to lie down and wait for death! But justas she was going to her bed for the last time, she bethought herselfthat she was bound to give her neighbour the chance of doing a gooddeed: and felt that any creature dying at her door without lettingher know he was in want, would do her a great wrong. She saw it wasthe will of God that she should beg, so put on her clothes again, and went out to beg. It was sore work, and she said so to thepriest. But the priest told her she need not mind, for our Lordhimself lived by the kindness of the women who went about with him. They knew he could not make a living for his own body and a livingfor the souls of so many as well, and the least they could do was tokeep him alive who was making them alive. She said that was verytrue; but he was all the time doing everything for everybody, andshe was doing nothing for anybody. The priest was a wise man, anddid not tell her how she had, since ever he knew her, been doing thework of God in his heart, helping him to believe and trust in God;so that in fact, when he was preaching, she was preaching. He didnot tell her that, I say, for he was jealous over her beauty, andwould have Christ's beloved sheep enter his holy kingdom with herwool white, however torn it might be. So he left her to think shewas nobody at all; and told her that, whether she was worth keepingalive or not, whether she was worth begging for or not, whether itwas a disgrace or an honour to beg, all was one, for it was the willof God that she should beg, and there was no word more to be said, and no thought more to be thought about it. To this she heartilyagreed, and did beg--enough to keep her alive, and no more. 

"But at last she saw she must leave that part of the country, and goback to the place her husband took her from. For the people abouther were very poor, and she thought it hard on them to have to helpa stranger like her; also her own people would want her to bury. Foryou must know that in the clans, marriage was thought to bedissolved by death, so far at least as the body was concerned;therefore the body of a dead wife was generally carried back to theburial place of her own people, there to be gathered to her fathers. So the woman set out for her own country, begging her way thither. Nor had she any difficulty, for there were not a few poor people onher way, and the poor are the readiest to help the poor, also toknow whether a person is one that ought to be helped or not. 

"One night she came to a farm house where a rich miserly farmerdwelt. She knew about him, and had not meant to stop there, but shewas weary, and the sun went down as she reached his gate, and shefelt as if she could go no farther. So she went up to the door andknocked, and asked if she could have a nights lodging. The womanwho opened to her went and asked the farmer. Now the old man did notlike hospitality, and in particular to such as stood most in need ofit; he did not enjoy throwing away money! At the same time, however, he was very fond of hearing all the country rumours; and he thoughtwith himself he would buy her news with a scrap of what was going, and a shake-down at the foot of the wall. So he told his servant tobring her in. 

"He received her not unkindly, for he wanted her to talk; and he lether have a share of the supper, such as it was. But not until he hadasked every question about everybody he could think of, and drawnher own history from her as well, would he allow her to have therest she so much needed. 

"Now it was a poor house, like most in the country, and nearlywithout partitions. The old man had his warm box-bed, and slept onfeathers where no draught could reach him, and the poor woman hadher bed of short rumpled straw on the earthen floor at the foot ofthe wall in the coldest corner. Yet the heart of the man had beenmoved by her story, for, without dwelling on her sufferings, she hadbeen honest in telling it. He had indeed, ere he went to sleep, thanked God that he was so much better off than she. For if he didnot think it the duty of the rich man to share with his neighbours, he at least thought it his duty to thank God for his being richerthan they. 

"Now it may well seem strange that such a man should be privilegedto see a vision; but we do read in the Bible of a prophet who didnot even know his duty to an ass, so that the ass had to teach ithim. And the man alone saw the vision; the woman saw nothing of it. But she did not require to see any vision, for she had truth in theinward parts, which is better than all visions. The vision was onthis wise:--In the middle of the night the man came wide awake, andlooking out of his bed, saw the door open, and a light come in, burning like a star, of a faint rosy colour, unlike any light he hadever before seen. Another and another came in, and more yet, untilhe counted six of them. They moved near the floor, but he could notsee clearly what sort of little creatures they were that werecarrying them. They went up to the woman's bed, and walked slowlyround it in a hovering kind of a way, stopping, and moving up anddown, and going on again; and when they had done this three times, they went slowly out of the door again, stopping for a momentseveral times as they went. 

"He fell asleep, and waking not very early, was surprised to see hisguest still on her hard couch--as quiet as any rich woman, he saidto himself, on her feather bed. He woke her, told her he wonderedshe should sleep so far into the morning, and narrated the curiousvision he had had. 'Does not that explain to you, ' she said, 'how itis that I have slept so long? Those were my dead children you sawcome to me. They died young, without any sin, and God lets them comeand comfort their poor sinful mother. I often see them in my dreams. If, when I am gone, you will look at my bed, you will find everystraw laid straight and smooth. That is what they were doing lastnight. ' Then she gave him thanks for good fare and good rest, andtook her way to her own, leaving the farmer better pleased withhimself than he had been for a long time, partly because there hadbeen granted him a vision from heaven. 

"At last the woman died, and was carried by angels into Abraham'sbosom. She was now with her own people indeed, that is, with God andall the good. The old farmer did not know of her death till a longtime after; but it was upon the night she died, as near as he couldthen make out, that he dreamed a wonderful dream. He never told itto any but the priest from whom he sought comfort when he lay dying;and the priest did not tell it till after everybody belonging to theold man was gone. This was the dream:--

"He was lying awake in his own bed, as he thought, in the darknight, when the poor woman came in at the door, having in her hand awax candle, but not alight. He said to her, 'You extravagant woman!where did you get that candle?' She answered, 'It was put into myhand when I died, with the word that I was to wander till I found afire at which to light it. ' 'There!' said he, 'there's the restedfire! Blow and get a light, poor thing! It shall never be said Irefused a body a light!' She went to the hearth, and began to blowat the smouldering peat; but, for all she kept trying, she could notlight her candle. The old man thought it was because she was dead, not because he was dead in sin, and losing his patience, cried, 'Youfoolish woman! haven't you wit enough left to light a candle? It'ssmall wonder you came to beggary!' Still she went on trying, but themore she tried, the blacker grew the peat she was blowing at. Itwould indeed blaze up at her breath, but the moment she brought thecandle near it to catch the flame, it grew black, and each timeblacker than before. 'Tut! give me the candle, ' cried the farmer, springing out of bed; 'I will light it for you!' But as he stretchedout his hand to take it, the woman disappeared, and he saw that thefire was dead out. 'Here's a fine business!' he said. 'How am I toget a light?' For he was miles from the next house. And with that heturned to go back to his bed. When he came near it, he saw somebodylying in it. 'What! has the carline got into my very bed?' he cried, and went to drive her out of the bed and out of the house. But whenhe came close, he saw it was himself lying there, and knew that atleast he was out of the body, if not downright dead. The next momenthe found himself on the moor, following the woman, some distancebefore him, with her unlighted candle still in her hand. He walkedas fast as he could to get up with her, hut could not; he calledafter her, but she did not seem to hear. 

"When first he set out, he knew every step of the ground, but by andby he ceased to know it. The moor stretched out endlessly, and thewoman walked on and on. Without a thought of turning back, hefollowed. At length he saw a gate, seemingly in the side of a hill. The woman knocked, and by the time it opened, he was near enough tohear what passed. It was a grave and stately, but very happy-lookingman that opened it, and he knew at once it was St. Peter. When hesaw the woman, he stooped and kissed her. The same moment a lightshone from her, and the old man thought her candle was lighted atlast; but presently he saw it was her head that gave out theshining. And he heard her say, 'I pray you, St. Peter, remember therich tenant of Balmacoy; he gave me shelter one whole night, andwould have let me light my candle but I could not. ' St. Peteranswered, 'His fire was not fire enough to light your candle, andthe bed he gave you was of short straw!' 'True, St. Peter, ' said thewoman, 'but he gave me some supper, and it is hard for a rich man tobe generous! You may say the supper was not very good, but at leastit was more than a cup of cold water!' 'Yes, verily!' answered thesaint, 'but he did not give it you because you loved God, or becauseyou were in need of it, but because he wanted to hear your news. 'Then the woman was sad, for she could not think of anything more tosay for the poor old rich man. And St. Peter saw that she was sad, and said, 'But if he die to-night, he shall have a place inside thegate, because you pray for him. He shall lie there!' And he pointedto just such a bed of short crumpled straw as she had lain upon inhis house. But she said, 'St. Peter, you ought to be ashamed ofyourself! Is that the kind of welcome to give a poor new-dead man?Where then would he have lain if I had not prayed for him?' 'In thedog-kennel outside there, ' answered St. Peter. 'Oh, then, please, let me go back and warn him what comes of loving money!' shepleaded. 'That is not necessary, ' he replied; 'the man is hearingevery word you and I are this moment saying to each other. ' 'I am soglad!' rejoined the woman; 'it will make him repent. ' 'He will notbe a straw the better for it!' answered the saint. 'He thinks nowthat he will do differently, and perhaps when he wakes will think sostill; but in a day or two he will mock at it as a foolish dream. Togather money will seem to him common sense, and to lay up treasurein heaven nonsense. A bird in the hand will be to him worth ten inthe heavenly bush. And the end will be that he will not get thestraw inside the gate, and there will be many worse places than thedog-kennel too good for him!' With that he woke. 

"'What an odd dream!' he said to himself. 'I had better mind what Iam about!' So he was better that day, eating and drinking morefreely, and giving more to his people. But the rest of the week hewas worse than ever, trying to save what he had that day spent, andso he went on growing worse. When he found himself dying, the terrorof his dream came upon him, and he told all to the priest. But thepriest could not comfort him. "

By the time the story was over, to which Mercy had listened withouta word, they were alone in the great starry night, on the side of ahill, with the snow high above them, and the heavens above the snow, and the stars above the heavens, and God above and below everything. Only Ian felt his presence. Mercy had not missed him yet. 

She did not see much in the tale: how could she? It was very odd, she thought, but not very interesting. She had expected a tale ofclan-feud, or a love-story! Yet the seriousness of her companion inits narration had made some impression upon her. 

"They told me you were an officer, " she said, "but I see you are aclergyman! Do you tell stories like that from the pulpit?"

"I am a soldier, " answered Ian, "not a clergyman. But I have heardmy father tell such a story from the pulpit. "

Ian imagined himself foiled in his attempt to interest the maiden. If he was, it would not be surprising. He had not the least desireto commend HIMSELF to the girl; and he would not talk rubbish evento a child. There is sensible and senseless nonsense, good absurdityand bad. 

As Mercy recounted to her sister the story Ian had told her, itcertainly was silly enough. She had retained but the withered stalkand leaves; the strange flower was gone. Christina judged it hardlya story for a gentleman to tell a lady. 

They returned almost in silence to find the table laid, a plentifulsupper spread, and the company seated. After supper came singing ofsongs, saying of ballads, and telling of tales. I know with what in-credulity many highlanders will read of a merry-making in their owncountry at which no horn went round, no punch-bowl was filled andemptied without stint! But the clearer the brain, the better justiceis done to the more etherial wine of fthe soul. Of several of theold songs Christina begged the tunes, but was disappointed to findthat, as she could not take them down, so the singers of them couldnot set them down. In the tales she found no interest. The hostesssang to her harp, and made to revering listeners eloquent music, forher high clear tones had not yet lost their sweetness, and she hadsome art to come in aid of her much feeling: loud murmurs ofdelight, in the soft strange tongue of the songs themselves, followed the profound silence with which they were heard, butChristina wondered what there was to applaud. She could not herselfsing without accompaniment, and when she left, it was with aregretful feeling that she had not distinguished herself. Naturally, as they went home, the guests from the New House had much fun overthe queer fashions and poverty--stricken company, the harp and thebagpipes, the horrible haggis, the wild minor songs, and theunintelligible stories and jokes; but the ladies agreed that theMacruadh was a splendid fellow. 

CHAPTER II

ROB OF THE ANGELS. 

Among the peasantry assembled at the feast, were two that hadneither danced, nor seated themselves at the long table where allwere welcome. Mercy wondered what might be the reason of theirseparation. Her first thought was that they must be somehow, shecould not well imagine how, in lower position than any of the rest--had perhaps offended against the law, perhaps been in prison, andso the rest would not keep company with them; or perhaps they werebeggars who did not belong to the clan, and therefore, although fed, were not allowed to eat with it! But she soon saw she must be wrongin each conjecture; for if there was any avoiding, it was on thepart of the two: every one, it was clear, was almost on the alert towait upon them. They seemed indeed rather persons of distinctionthan outcasts; for it was with something like homage, except for acertain coaxing tone in the speech of the ministrants, that theywere attended. They had to help themselves to nothing; everythingwas carried to them. Now one, now another, where all were guests andall were servants, would rise from the table to offer themsomething, or see what they would choose or might be in want of, while they partook with the same dignity and self-restraint that wasto be noted in all. 

The elder was a man about five-and-fifty, tall and lean, with a wiryframe, dark grizzled hair, and a shaven face. His dress, which wasin the style of the country, was very poor, but decent; only hisplaid was large and thick, and bright compared with the rest of hisapparel: it was a present he had had from his clan-some giving thewool, and others the labour in carding, dyeing, and weaving it. Hecarried himself like a soldier-which he had never been, though hisfather had. His eyes were remarkably clear and keen, and the way heused them could hardly fail to attract attention. Every now and thenthey would suddenly fix themselves with a gaze of earnest inquiry, which would either grow to perception, or presently melt away andlet his glance go gently roving, ready to receive, but looking fornothing. His face was very brown and healthy, with marked andhandsome features. Its expression seemed at first a little severe, but soon, to reading eyes, disclosed patience and tenderness. At thesame time there was in it a something indescribably unlike the otherfaces present-and indeed his whole person and carriage weresimilarly peculiar. Had Mercy, however, spent on him a little moreattention, the peculiarity would have explained itself. She wouldhave seen that, although everybody spoke to him, he never spoke inreply--only made signs, sometimes with his lips, oftener with handor head: the man was deaf and dumb. But such was the keenness of hisobservation that he understood everything said to him by one heknew, and much from the lips of a stranger. 

His companion was a youth whose age it would have been difficult toguess. He looked a lad, and was not far from thirty. His clothingwas much like his father's--poor enough, yet with the air of beinga better suit than that worn every day. He was very pale andcuriously freckled, with great gray eyes like his father's, whichhad however an altogether different expression. They looked dreamy, and seemed almost careless of what passed before them, though nowand then a certain quick, sharp turn of the head showed him notdevoid of attention. 

The relation between the two was strangely interesting. Day andnight they were inseparable. Because the father was deaf, the songave all his attention to the sounds of the world; his soul sat inhis ears, ever awake, ever listening; while such was his confidencein his father's sight, that he scarcely troubled himself to lookwhere he set his feet. His expression also was peculiar, partly fromthis cause, mainly from a deeper. It was a far-away look, which acommon glance would have taken to indicate that he was "not allthere. " In a lowland parish he would have been regarded as littlebetter than a gifted idiot; in the mountains he was looked upon as aseer, one in communion with higher powers. Whether his people wereof this opinion from being all fools together, and therefore unableto know a fool, or the lowland authorities would have been right intaking charge of him, let him who pleases judge or misjudge forhimself. What his own thought of him came out in the name they gavehim: "Rob of the Angels, " they called him. He was nearly a footshorter than his father, and very thin. Some said he looked alwayscold; but I think that came of the wonderful peace on his face, likethe quiet of a lake over which lies a thin mist. Never was strongeror fuller devotion manifested by son to father than by Rob of theAngels to Hector of the Stags. His filial love and faith wereperfect. While they were together, he was in his own calm elysium;when they were apart, which was seldom for more than a few minutes, his spirit seemed always waiting. I believe his notions of God hisfather, and Hector his father, were strangely mingled--the moreperhaps that the two fathers were equally silent. It would have beena valuable revelation to some theologians to see in those two what&lti>love might mean. 

So gentle was Rob of the Angels, that all the women, down to theyoungest maid-child, gave him a compassionate, mother-like love. He had lost his mother when he was an infant; the father had broughthim up with his own hand, and from the moment of his mother'sdeparture had scarce let him out of his sight; but the wholewoman-remnant of the clan was as a mother to the boy. And from thefirst they had so talked to him of his mother, greatly no doubtthrough the feeling that from his father he could learn nothing ofher, that now his mother seemed to him everywhere: he could not seeGod; why should not his mother be there though he could not see her!No wonder the man was peaceful!

Many would be inclined to call the two but poachers andvagabonds--vagabonds because they lived in houses not quite madewith hands, for they had several dwellings that were mostlycaves--which yet they contrived to make warm and comfortable; andpoachers because they lived by the creatures which God scatters onhis hills for his humans. Let those who inherit or purchase, avengethe breach of law; but let them not wonder when those who aredisinherited and sold, cry out against the breach of higher law!

The land here had never, partly from the troubles besetting itsowners, but more from their regard for the poor, of the clan, beenwith any care preserved; little notice was ever taken of what gamewas killed, or who killed it. At the same time any wish of the chiefwith regard to the deer, of which Rob's father for one knew everyantlered head, was rigidly respected. As to the parts which becamethe property of others-the boundaries between were not verydefinite, and sale could ill change habits, especially where ownerswere but beginning to bestir themselves about the deer, or any ofthe wild animals called game. Hector and Rob led their life withuntroubled conscience and easy mind. 

In a world of the devil, where the justification of existence layin money on the one side, and work for money on the other, therecould be no justification of the existence of these men; but thisworld does not belong to the devil, though it may often seem as ifit did, and father and son lived and enjoyed life, as in a manner soto a decree unintelligible to him who, without his money and itsconsolations, would know himself in the hell he has not yet recog-nized. Neither of them could read or write; neither of them had apenny laid by for wet weather; neither of them would leave anymemory beyond their generation; the will of neither would be laid upin Doctors' Commons; neither of the two would leave on record asingle fact concerning one of the animals whose ways and habitsthey knew better than any other man in the highlands; that they werenothing, and worth nothing to anybody--even to themselves, wouldhave been the judgment of most strangers concerning them; but Godknew what a life of unspeakable pleasures it was that he had giventhem-a life the change from which to the life beyond, would scarcebe distracting: neither would find himself much out of doors when hedied. To Bob of the Angels tow could Abraham's bosom feel strange, accustomed to lie night after night, star-melted and soft-breathing, or snow-ghastly and howling, with his head on--the bosom of Hectorof the Stags-an Abraham who could as ill do without his Isaac, ashis Isaac without him!

The father trusted his son's hearing as implicitly as his own sight. When he saw a certain look come on his face, he would drop on theinstant, and crouch as still as if he had ears and knew what noisewas, watching Kob's face for news of some sound wandering throughthe vast of the night. 

It seemed at times, however, as if either he was not quite deaf, orhe had some gift that went toward compensation. To all motion abouthim he was sensitive as no other man. I am afraid to say from howfar off the solid earth would convey to him the vibration of astag's footstep. Bob sometimes thought his cheek must feel the windof a sound to which his ear was irresponsive. Beyond a doubt hewas occasionally aware of the proximity of an animal, and knewwhat animal it was, of which Rob had no intimation. His being, corporeal and spiritual, seemed, to the ceaseless vibrations of thegreat globe, a very seismograph. Often would he make his sign toKob to lay his ear on the ground and listen, when no indication hadreached the latter. I suspect the exceptional development in him ofsome sense rudimentary in us all. 

He had the keenest eyes in Glenruadh, and was a dead shot. Even thechief was not his equal. Yet he never stalked a deer, never killedanything, for mere sport. I am not certain he never had, but for Robof the Angels, he had the deep-rooted feeling of his chief in regardto the animals. What they wanted for food, they would kill; but itwas not much they needed, for seldom can two men have lived on less, and they had positively not a greed of any kind between them. Iftheir necessity was meal or potatoes, they would carry grouse orhares down the glen, or arrange with some farmer's wife, perhapsMrs. Macruadh herself, for the haunches of a doe; but they neverkilled from pleasure in killing. Of creatures destructive to gamethey killed enough to do far more than make up for all the game theytook; and for the skins of ermine and stoat and fox and otter theycould always get money's worth; money itself they never sought orhad. If the little birds be regarded as earning the fruit and seedthey devour by the grubs and slugs they destroy, then Hector of theStags and Rob of the Angels also thoroughly earned their food. 

When a trustworthy messenger was wanted, and Rob was within reach, he was sure to be employed. But not even then were his father and hequite parted. Hector would shoulder his gun, and follow in the trackof his fleet-footed son till he met him returning. 

For what was life to Hector but to be with Rob! Was his Mary's sonto go about the world unattended! He had a yet stronger feeling thanany of the clan that his son was not of the common race of mortals. To Hector also, after their own fashion, would Rob of the Angelstell the tales that suggested the name his clanspeople gavehim--wonderful tales of the high mountain-nights, the actors in themfor the most part angels. Whether Rob believed he had intercoursewith such beings, heard them speak, and saw them, do the things hereported, I cannot tell: it may be that, like any other poet of goodthings, he but saw and believed the things his tales meant, thethings with which he represented the angels as dealing, andconcerning which he told their sayings. To the eyes of those whoknew him, Rob seemed just the sort of person with whom the angelsmight be well pleased to hold converse: was he not simplicityitself, truth, generosity, helpfulness? Did he not, when a child, all but lose his life in the rescue of an idiot from the swollenburn? Did he not, when a boy, fight a great golden eagle on itsnest, thinking to deliver the lamb it had carried away? Knowing hisfather in want of a new bonnet, did not Rob with his bare handsseize an otter at the mouth of its hole, and carry it home, laughingmerrily over the wounds it had given him?

His voice had in it a strangely peculiar tone, making it seem not ofthis world. Especially after he had been talking for some time, itwould appear to come from far away, not from the lips of the manlooking you in the face. 

It was wonderful with what solemnity of speech, and purity of formhe would tell his tales. So much in solitude with his dumb father, his speech might well be unlike the speech of other men; but whencethe impression of cultivation it produced?

When the Christmas party broke up, most of the guests took the roadtoward the village, the chief and his brother accompanying them partof the way. Of these were Rob and his father, walking hand in hand, Hector looking straight before him, Rob gazing up into the heavens, as if holding counsel with the stars. 

"Are you seeing any angels, Rob?" asked a gentle girl of ten. 

"Well, and I'm not sure, " answered Rob of the Angels. 

"Sure you can tell whether you see anything!"

"Oh, yes, I see! but it is not easy to tell what will be an angeland what will not. There's so much all blue up there, it might befull of angels and none of us see one of them!"

"Do tell us what you see, Rob, dear Rob, " said the girl. 

"Well, and I will tell you. I think I see many heads close together, talking. "

"And can you hear what they will be saying?"

"Some of it. "

"Tell me, do tell me-some-just a little. "

"Well then, they are saying, one to the other--not very plain, but Ican hear--they are saying, 'I wonder when people will be good! Itwould be so easy, if only they would mean it, and begin when theyare little!' That's what they are saying as they look down on uswalking along. "

"That will be good advice, Rob!" said one of the women. 

"And, " he resumed, "they are saying now--at least that is what itsounds to me--'I wish women were as good as they were when theywere little girls!'"

"Now I know they are not saying that!" remarked the woman. "Howshould the angels trouble themselves about us! Rob, dear, confessyou are making it up, because the child would be asking you. "

Rob made no answer, but some saw him smile a curious smile. Robwould never defend anything he had said, or dispute anything anothersaid. After a moment or two, he spoke again. 

"Shall I be telling you what I heard them saying to each other thislast night of all?" he asked. 

"Yes, do, do!"

"It was upon Dorrachbeg; and there were two of them. They weresitting together in the moon--in the correi on the side of the hillover the village. I was lying in a bush near them, for I could notsleep, and came out, and the night was not cold. Now I would neverbe so bad-mannered as to listen where persons did not want me tohear. "

"What were they like, Rob, dear?" interrupted the girl. 

"That does not matter much, " answered Rob; "but they were white, andtheir eyes not so white, but brighter; for so many sad things go inat their eyes when they come down to the earth, that it makes themdark. "

"How could they be brighter and darker both at once?" asked thegirl, very pertinently. 

"I will tell you, " answered Rob. "The dark things that go in attheir eyes, they have to burn them in the fire of faith; and it isthe fire of that burning that makes their eyes bright; it is thefire of their faith burning up the sad things they see. "

"Oh, yes! I understand now!" said the girl. "And what were theirclothes like, Rob?"

"When you see the angels, you don't think much about their clothes. "

"And what were they saying?"

"I spoke first--the moment I saw them, for I was not sure they knewthat I was there. I said, 'I am here, gentlemen. ' 'Yes, we knowthat, ' they answered. 'Are you far from home, gentlemen?' I asked. 'It is all one for that, ' they answered. 'Well, ' said I, 'it istrue, gentlemen, for you seem as much at home here on the side ofDorrachbeg, as if it was a hill in paradise!' 'And how do you knowit is not?' said they. 'Because I see people do upon it as theywould not in paradise, ' I answered. 'Ah!' said one of them, 'thehill may be in paradise, and the people not! But you cannotunderstand these things. ' 'I think I do, ' I said; 'but surely, ifyou did let them know they were on a hill in paradise, they wouldnot do as they do!' 'It would be no use telling them, ' said he;'but, oh, how they spoil the house!' 'Are the red deer, and thehares, and the birds in paradise?' I asked. 'Certain sure!' heanswered. 'Do they know it?' said I. 'No, it is not necessary forthem; but they will know it one day. ' 'You do not mind your littlebrother asking you questions?' I said. 'Ask a hundred, if you will, little brother, ' he replied. 'Then tell me why you are down hereto-night. ' 'My friend and I came out for a walk, and we thought wewould look to see when the village down there will have to bereaped. ' 'What do you mean?' I said. 'You cannot see what we see, 'they answered; 'but a human place is like a flower, or a field ofcorn, and grows ripe, or won't grow ripe, and then some of us upthere have to sharpen our sickles. ' 'What!' said I, for a great fearcame upon me, 'they are not wicked people down there!' 'No, not verywicked, but slow and dull. ' Then I could say nothing more for awhile, and they did not speak either, but sat looking before them. 'Can you go and come as you please?' I asked at length. 'Yes, justas we are sent, ' they answered. 'Would you not like better to go andcome of yourselves, as my father and I do?' I said. 'No, ' answeredboth of them, and something in their one voice almost frightened me;'it is better than everything to go where we are sent. If we had togo and come at our own will, we should be miserable, for we do notlove our own will. ' 'Not love your own will?' 'No, not at all!''Why?' 'Because there is one--oh, ever so much better! When you andyour father are quite good, you will not be left to go and come atyour own will any more than we are. ' And I cried out, and said, 'Oh, dear angel! you frighten me!' And he said, 'That is because you areonly a man, and not a--' Now I am not sure of the word he said next;bat I think it was CHRISTIAN; and I do not quite know what the wordmeant. "

"Oh, Rob, dear! everybody knows that!" exclaimed the girl. 

But Rob said no more. 

While he was talking, Alister had come up behind him, with Annie ofthe shop, and he said--

"Rob, my friend, I know what you mean, and I want to hear the restof it: what did the angels say next?"

"They said, " answered Rob, "--'Was it your will set you on thisbeautiful hill, with all these things to love, with such air tobreathe, such a father as you've got, and such grand deer aboutyou?' 'No, ' I answered. 'Then, ' said the angel, 'there must be abetter will than yours, for you would never have even thought ofsuch things!' 'How could I, when I wasn't made?' said I. 'There itis!' he returned, and said no more. I looked up, and the moon wasshining, and there were no angels on the stone. But a little way offwas my father, come out to see what had become of me. "

"Now did you really see and hear all that, Rob?" said Alister. 

Rob smiled a beautiful smile--with something in it common peoplewould call idiotic--stopped and turned, took the chief's hand, andcarried it to his lips; but not a word more would he speak, and soonthey came where the path of the two turned away over the hill. 

"Will you not come and sleep at our house?" said one of the company. 

But they made kindly excuse. 

"The hill-side would miss us; we are expected home!" said Rob--andaway they climbed to their hut, a hollow in a limestone rock, with afront wall of turf, there to sleep side by side till the morningcame, or, as Rob would have said, "till the wind of the sun wokethem. "

Rob of the Angels made songs, and would sing one sometimes; but theywere in Gaelic, and the more poetic a thing, the more inadequate atleast, if not stupid is its translation. 

He had all the old legends of the country in his head, and manystories of ghosts and of the second sight. These stories he wouldtell exactly as he had heard them, showing he believed every word ofthem; but with such of the legends as were plainly no other thanpoetic inventions, he would take what liberties he pleased--and theylost nothing by it; for he not only gave them touches of freshinterest, but sent glimmering through them hints of somethinghigher, of which ordinary natures perceived nothing, while otherswere dimly aware of a loftier intent: according to his listeners wastheir hearing. In Rob's stories, as in all the finer work of genius, a man would find as much as, and no more than, he was capable of. Ian's opinion of Rob was even higher than Alister's. 

"What do you think, Ian, of the stories Rob of the Angels tells?"asked Alister, as they walked home. 

"That the Lord has chosen the weak things of the world to confoundthe mighty, " answered Ian. 

"Tut! Rob confounds nobody. "

"He confounds me, " returned Ian. 

"Does he believe what he tells?"

"He believes all of it that is to be believed, " replied Ian. 

"You are as bad as he!" rejoined Alister. "There is no telling, sometimes, what you mean!"

"Tell me this, Alister: can a thing be believed that is not true?"

"Yes, certainly!"

"I say, NO. Can you eat that which is not bread?"

"I have seen a poor fellow gnawing a stick for hunger!" answeredAlister. 

"Yes, gnawing! but gnawing is not eating. Did the poor fellow eatthe stick? That is just it! Many a man will gnaw at a lie all hislife, and perish of want. I mean LIE, of course, the real lie--athing which is in its nature false. He may gnaw at it, he may evenswallow it, but I deny that he can believe it. There is not that init which can be believed; at most it can but be supposed to be true. Belief is another thing. Truth is alone the correlate of belief, just as air is for the lungs, just as form and colour are for thesight. A lie can no more be believed than carbonic acid can bebreathed. It goes into the lungs, true, and a lie goes into themind, but both kill; the one is not BREATHED, the other is notBELIEVED. The thing that is not true cannot find its way to the homeof faith; if it could, it would be at once rejected with a loathingbeyond utterance; to a pure soul, which alone can believe, nothingis so loathsome as a pretence of truth. A lie is a pretended truth. If there were no truth there could be no lie. As the devil upon God, the very being of a lie depends on that whose opposite and enemy itis. But tell me, Alister, do you believe the parables of our Lord?"

"With all my heart. "

"Was there any real person in our Lord's mind when he told that oneabout the unjust judge?"

"I do not suppose there was; but there were doubtless many such. "

"Many who would listen to a poor woman because she plagued them?"

"Well, it does not matter; what the story teaches is true, and thatwas what he wanted believed. "

"Just so. The truth in the parables is what they mean, not what theysay; and so it is, I think, with Rob of the Angels' stories. Hebelieves all that can be believed of them. At the same time, to amind so simple, the spirit of God must have freer entrance than toours--perhaps even teaches the man by what we call THE MAN'S OWNWORDS. His words may go before his ideas--his higher ideas atleast--his ideas follow after his words. As the half-thoughts passthrough his mind--who can say how much generated by himself, howmuch directly suggested by the eternal thought in which his spiritlives and breathes!--he drinks and is refreshed. I am convinced thatnowhere so much as in the highest knowledge of all--what the peopleabove count knowledge--will the fulfilment of the saying of ourLord, "Many first shall be last, and the last first, " causeastonishment; that a man who has been leader of the age's opinion, may be immeasurably behind another whom he would have shut up in amad-house. Depend upon it, things go on in the soul of that Rob ofthe Angels which the angels, whether they come to talk with him ornot, would gladly look into. Of such as he the angels may one day bethe pupils. "

A silence followed. 

"Do you think the young ladies of the New House could understand Robof the Angels, Ian?" at length asked Alister. 

"Not a bit. I tried the younger, and she is the best. --They could ifthey would wake up. "

"You might say that of anybody!"

"Yes; but there is this among other differences--that some people donot wake up, because they want a new brain first, such as they willget when they die, perhaps; while others do not wake up, becausetheir whole education has been a rocking of them to sleep. And thereis this difference between the girls, that the one is full ofherself, and the other is not. The one has a close, the other anopen mind. "

"And yet, " said Alister, "if they heard you say so, the open mindwould imagine itself the close, and the close never doubt it was theopen!"

CHAPTER III

AT THE NEW HOUSE. 

The ladies of the New House were not a little surprised the next daywhen, as they sat waiting their guests, the door of the drawing-roomopened, and they saw the young highlanders enter in ordinary eveningdress. The plough-driving laird himself looked to Christina verymuch like her patterns of Grosvenor-square. It was long since he hadworn his dress-coat, and it was certainly a little small for hismore fully developed frame, but he carried himself as straight as arush, and was nowise embarrassed with hands or feet. His hands werebrown and large, but they were well shaped, and not ashamed ofthemselves, being as clean as his heart. Out of his hazel eyes, looking in the candle-light nearly as dark as Mercy's, went anoccasional glance which an emergency might at once develop into alook of command. 

For Ian, he would have attracted attention anywhere, if only fromhis look of quiet UNSELFNESS, and the invariable grace of themovement that broke his marked repose; but his entertainers woulddoubtless have honoured him more had they understood that his mannerwas just the same and himself as much at home in the grandest courtof Europe. 

The elder ladies got on together pretty well. The widow of the chieftried to explain to her hostess the condition of the country and itspeople; the latter, though knowing little and caring less aboutrelations beyond those of the family and social circle, nor feelingany purely human responsibility, was yet interested enough to beable to seem more interested than she was; while her sweet smile andsweet manners were very pleasing to one who seldom now had theopportunity of meeting a woman so much on her own level. 

The gentlemen, too, were tolerably comfortable together. BothAlister and Ian had plenty of talk and anecdote. The latter pleasedthe ladies with descriptions of northern ways and dresses andmanners--perhaps yet more with what pleased the men also, tales ofwolf-and bear-shooting. But it seemed odd that, when the talkturned upon the home-shooting called sport, both Alister and Ianshould sit in unsmiling silence. 

There was in Ian a certain playfulness, a subdued merriment, whichmade Mercy doubt her ears after his seriousness of the night before. Life seemed to flash from him on all sides, occasionally in a keenstroke of wit, oftener in a humorous presentation of things. Hisbrother alone could see how he would check the witticism on his verylips lest it should hurt. It was in virtue of his tenderness towardeverything that had life that he was able to give such narrativesof what he had seen, such descriptions of persons he had met. Whenhe told a story, it was with such quiet participation, manifest inthe gleam of his gray eyes, in the smile that hovered like the verysoul of Psyche about his lips, that his hearers enjoyed the tellingmore than the tale. Even the chief listened with eagerness to everyword that fell from his brother. 

The ladies took note that, while the manners of the laird and hismother were in a measure old-fashioned, those of Ian were of thelatest: with social custom, in its flow of change, he seemed athome. But his ease never for a moment degenerated into thefree-and-easy, the dry rot of manners; there was a stateliness inhim that dominated the ease, and a courtesy that would not permitfrendliness to fall into premature familiarity. He was at ease withhis fellows because he respected them, and courteous because heloved them. 

The ladies withdrew, and with their departure came the time thattests the man whether he be in truth a gentleman. In the presence ofwomen the polish that is not revelation but concealment preservesitself only to vanish with them. How would not some women standaghast to hear but a specimen of the talk of their heroes at such atime!

It had been remarked throughout the dinner that the highlanders tookno wine; but it was supposed they were reserving their powers. Whenthey now passed decanter and bottle and jug without filling theirglasses, it gave offence to the very soul of Mr. Peregrine Palmer. The bettered custom of the present day had not then made progressenough to affect his table; he was not only fond of a glass of goodwine, but had the ambition of the cellar largely developed; he wouldfain be held a connaisseur in wines, and kept up a good stock ofdistinguished vintages, from which he had brought of such toGlenruadh as would best bear the carriage. Having no aspiration, there was room in him for any number of petty ambitions; and itvexed him not to reap the harvest of recognition. "But of course, "he said to himself, "no highlander understands anything but whisky!"

"You don't mean you're a teetotaler, Macruadh!" he said. 

"No, " answered the chief; "I do not call myself one; but I neverdrink anything strong. "

"Not on Christmas-day? Of course you make an exception at times; andif at any time, why not on the merriest day of the year? You areunder no pledge!"

"If that were a reason, " returned Alister, laughing, "it wouldrather be one for becoming pledged immediately. "

"Well, you surprise me! And highlanders too! I thought better of allhighlanders; they have the reputation of good men at the bottle! Youmake me sorry to have brought my wine where it meets with noconsideration. --Mr. Ian, you are a man of the world: you will notrefuse to pledge me?"

"I must, Mr. Palmer! The fact is, my brother and I have seen so muchevil come of the drinking habits of the country, which always getworse in a time of depression, that we dare not give in to them. Myfather, who was clergyman of the parish before he became head of theclan, was of the same mind before us, and brought us up not todrink. Throughout a whole Siberian winter I kept the rule. "

"And got frost-bitten for your pains?"

"And found myself nothing the worse. "

"It's mighty good of you, no doubt!" said the host, with a curl ofhis shaven lip. 

"You can hardly call that good which does not involve anyself-denial!" remarked Alister. 

"Well, " said Mr. Peregrine Palmer, "what IS the world coming to? Allthe pith is leaking out of our young men. In another generation weshall have neither soldiers nor sailors nor statesmen!"

"On what do you found such a sad conclusion?" inquired Ian. 

"On the growth of asceticism in the young men. Believe me, it isnecessary to manhood that men when they are young should drink alittle, gamble a little, and sow a few wild oats--as necessary asthat a nation should found itself by the law of the strongest. Howelse can we look for the moderation to follow with responsibilities?The vices that are more than excusable in the young, are veryproperly denied to the married man; the law for him is not the sameas for the young man. I do not plead for license, you see; but itwill never do for young men to turn ascetics! Let the clergy do asthey please; they are hardly to be counted men; at least theircalling is not a manly one! Depend upon it, young men who do notfollow the dictates of nature--while they are young, I mean--willnever make any mark in the world! They dry up like a nut, brain andall, and have neither spirit, nor wit, nor force of any kind. Natureknows best! When I was a young man, --"

"Pray spare us confession, Mr. Palmer, " said Ian. "In our case yourdoctrine does not enter willing ears, and I should be sorry anythingwe might feel compelled to say, should have the appearance ofpersonality. "

"Do you suppose I should heed anything you said?" cried the host, betraying the bad blood in his breeding. "Is it manners here toprevent a man from speaking his mind at his own table? I say a saintis not a man! A fellow that will neither look at a woman nor drinkhis glass, is not cut out for man's work in the world!"

Like a sledge-hammer came the fist of the laird on the table, thatthe crystal danced and rang. 

"My God!" he exclaimed, and rose in hugest indignation. 

Ian laid his hand on his arm, and he sat down again. 

"There may be some misunderstanding, Alister, " said Ian, "between usand our host!--Pray, Mr. Palmer, let us understand each other: doyou believe God made woman to be the slave of man? Can you believehe ever made a woman that she might be dishonoured?--that a manmight caress and despise her?"

"I know nothing about God's intentions; all I say is, we must obeythe laws of our nature. "

"Is conscience then not a law of our nature? Or is it below thelevel of our instincts? Must not the lower laws be subject to thehigher? It is a law--for ever broken, yet eternal--that a man is hisbrother's keeper: still more must he be his sister's keeper. Thereinis involved all civilization, all national as well as individualgrowth. "

Mr. Peregrine Palmer smiled a contemptuous smile. The other youngmen exchanged glances that seemed to say, "The governor knows what'swhat!"

"Such may be the popular feeling in this out-of-the-way spot, " saidMr. Peregrine Palmer, "and no doubt it is very praiseworthy, but theworld is not of your opinion, gentlemen. "

"The world has got to come to our opinion, " said the laird--at whichthe young men of the house broke into a laugh. 

"May we join the ladies?" said Ian, rising. 

"By all means, " answered the host, with a laugh meant to begood-humoured; "they are the fittest company for you. "

As the brothers went up the stair, they heard their host againholding forth; but they would not have been much edified by theslight change of front he had made--to impress on the young men thenecessity of moderation in their pleasures. 

There are two opposite classes related by a like unbelief--those whowill not believe in the existence of the good of which they haveapprehended no approximate instance, and those who will not believein the existence of similar evil. I tell the one class, there aremen who would cast their very being from them rather than be such asthey; and the other, that their shutting of their eyes is no potentreason for the shutting of my mouth. There are multitudes delicateas they, who are compelled to meet evil face to face, and fight withit the sternest of battles: on their side may I be found! What theLord knew and recognized, I will know and recognize too, be shockedwho may. I spare them, however, any more of the talk at thatdinner-table. Only let them take heed lest their refinement involvea very bad selfishness. Cursed be the evil thing, not ignored! Mrs. Palmer, sweet-smiled and clear-eyed, never showed the leastindignation at her husband's doctrines. I fear she was devoid ofindignation on behalf of others. Very far are such fromunderstanding the ways of the all-pardoning, all-punishing Father!

The three from the cottage were half-way home ere the gentlemen ofthe New House rose from their wine. Then first the mother sought anexplanation of the early departure they had suggested. 

"Something went wrong, sons: what was it she said?"

"I don't like the men, mother; nor does Ian, " answered Alistergloomily. 

"Take care you are not unjust!" she replied. 

"You would not have liked Mr. Palmer's doctrine any better than wedid, mother. "

"What was it?"

"We would rather not tell you. "

"It was not fit for a woman to hear. "

"Then do not tell me. I trust you to defend women. "

"In God's name we will!" said Alister. 

"There is no occasion for an oath, Alister!" said his mother. 

"Alister meant it very solemnly!" said Ian. 

"Yes; but it was not necessary--least of all to me. The name of ourLord God should lie a precious jewel in the cabinet of our hearts, to be taken out only at great times, and with loving awe. "

"I shall be careful, mother, " answered Alister; "but when thingsmake me sorry, or glad, or angry, I always think of God first!"

"I understand you; but I fear taking the name of God in vain. "

"It shall not be in vain, mother!" said the laird. 

"Must it be a breach with our new neighbours?" asked the mother. 

"It will depend on them. The thing began because we would not drinkwith them. "

"You did not make any remark?"

"Not until our host's remarks called for our reasons. By the way, Ishould like to know how the man made his money. "

CHAPTER IV. 

THE BROTHERS. 

Events, then, because of the deeper things whence they came, seemedsorely against any cordial approach of the old and the new houses ofGlenruadh. But there was a sacred enemy within the stronghold of Mr. Peregrine Palmer, and that enemy forbade him to break with the younghighlanders notwithstanding the downright mode in which they hadexpressed their difference with him: he felt, without knowing it, ashamed of the things he had uttered; they were not such as he wouldwish proclaimed from the house-tops out of the midst of which roseheavenward the spire of the church he had built; neither did thefact that he would have no man be wicked on Sundays, make him feelquite right in urging young men to their swing on other days. 

Christian and Sercombe could not but admire the straightforwardnessof the brothers; their conventionality could not prevent them fromfeeling the dignity with which they acted on their convictions. Thequixotic young fellows ought not to be cut for their behaviour! Theycould not court their society, but would treat them withconsideration! Things could not well happen to bring them into muchproximity!

What had taken place could not definitely influence the ideas, feelings, or opinions of the young ladies. Their father would soonerhave had his hand cut off than any word said over that fuliginousdessert reach the ears of his daughters. Is it not an absolutedamnation of certain evil principles, that many men would be flayedalive rather than let those they love know that they hold them? Butsee the selfishness of such men: each looks with scorn on the womanhe has done his part to degrade, but not an impure breath must reachthe ears of HIS children! Another man's he will send to the devil!

Mr. Palmer did, however, communicate something of the conversationto his wife; and although she had neither the spirit, nor theinsight, nor the active purity, to tell him he was in the wrong, shedid not like the young highlanders the worse. She even thought it apity the world should have been so made that they could not be inthe right. 

It is wonderful how a bird of the air will carry a matter, and somevaguest impression of what had occurred alighted on the minds of theelder girls--possibly from hints supposed unintelligible, passingbetween Mr. Sercombe and Christian: something in the social opinionsof the two highlanders made those opinions differ much from theopinions prevailing in society! Now even Mercy had not escaped somenotion of things of which the air about her was full; and she feltthe glow of a conscious attraction towards men--somehow, she did notknow how--like old-fashioned knights errant in their relations towomen. 

The attachment between the brothers was unusual both in kind anddegree. Alister regarded Ian as his better self, through whom torise above himself; Ian looked up to his brother as the head of thefamily, uniting in himself all ancestral claims, the representativeof an ordered and harmonious commonwealth. He saw in Alister virtuesand powers he did not recognize in himself. His love blossomed intothe deeper devotion that he only had been sent to college: he wasbound to share with his elder brother what he had learned. SoAlister got more through Ian than he would have got at the bestcollege in the world. For Ian was a born teacher, and foundintensest delight, not in imparting knowledge--that is acomparatively poor thing--but in leading a mind up to see what itwas before incapable of seeing. It was part of the same gift that healways knew when he had not succeeded. In Alister he found awonderful docility--crossed indeed with a great pride, againstwhich he fought sturdily. 

It is not a good sign of any age that it should find it hard tobelieve in such simplicity and purity as that of these young men; itis perhaps even a worse sign of our own that we should find itdifficult to believe in such love between men. I am sure of this, that a man incapable of loving another man with hearty devotion, cannot be capable of loving a woman as a woman ought to be loved. Fromeach other these two kept positively nothing secret. 

Alister had a great love of music, which however had had littledevelopment except from the study of the violin, with the assistanceof a certain poor enough performer in the village, and whatcriticism his brother could afford him, who, not himself a player, had heard much good music. But Alister was sorely hampered by thefact that his mother could not bear the sound of it. The late chiefwas one of the few clergymen who played the violin; and at the firstwail of the old instrument in the hands of his son, his widow wasseized with such a passion of weeping, that Alister took the utmostcare she should never hear it again, always carrying it to someplace too remote for the farthest-travelling tones to reach her. Butthis was not easy, for sound will travel very far among the hills. At times he would take it to the room behind Annie's shop, at timesto the hut occupied by Hector of the Stags: there he would notexcruciate his host at least, and Rob of the Angels would endureanything for his chief. The place which he most preferred was toodistant to be often visited; but there, soon after Christmas, thebrothers now resolved to have a day together, a long talk, and aconference with the violin. On a clear frosty morning in Januarythey set out, provided for a night and two days. 

The place was upon an upland pasture-ground, yet in theirpossession: no farm was complete without a range in some high valleyfor the sheep and cattle in summer. On the north of this valleystood a bare hilltop, whose crest was a limestone rock, rising fromthe heather about twenty feet. Every summer they had spent weeks oftheir boyhood with the shepherds, in the society of this hill, andone day discovered in its crest a shallow cave, to which thereafterthey often took their food, and the book they were reading together. There they read the English Ossian, troubled by no ignorantunbelief; and there they made Gaelic songs, in which Alisterexcelled, while Ian did better in English. 

When Ian was at home in the university-vacations, they were fonderthan ever of going to the hill. There Ian would pour out to Alisterof the fullness of his gathered knowledge, and there and then theymade their first acquaintance with Shakspere. Ian had bought somedozen of his plays, in smallest compass and cleanest type, at apenny a piece, and how they revelled in them the long summerevenings! Ian had bought also, in a small thick volume, the poems ofShelley: these gave them not only large delight, but much to talkabout, for they were quite capable of encountering his vaguephilosophy. Then they had their Euclid and Virgil--and even triedtheir mental teeth upon Dante, but found the Commedia without notestoo hard a nut for them. Every fresh spring, Ian brought with himfresh books, and these they read in their cave. But I must notforget the cave itself, which also shared in the progress of itstroglodytes. 

The same week in which they first ate and read in it, they conceivedand began to embody the idea of developing the hollow into a house. Foraging long ago in their father's library for mental pabulum, theyhad come upon Belzoni's quarto, and had read, with the avidity ofimaginative boys, the tale of his discoveries, taking especialdelight in his explorations of the tombs of the kings in the rocksof Beban el Malook: these it was that now suggested excavation. 

They found serviceable tools about the place at home, and the rockwas not quite of the hardest. Not a summer, for the last seventeenyears, had passed without a good deal being done, Alister workingalone when Ian was away, and the cave had now assumed notabledimensions. It was called by the people uamh an ceann, the cave ofthe chief, and regarded as his country house. All around it wascovered with snow throughout the winter and spring, and suppliedlittle to the need of man beyond the blessed air, and a gloriousvision of sea and land, mountain and valley, falling water, gleaminglake, and shadowy cliff. 

Crossing the wide space where so lately they had burned the heatherthat the sheep might have its young shoots in the spring, thebrothers stood, and gazed around with delight. 

"There is nothing like this anywhere!" said Ian. 

"Do you mean nothing so beautiful?" asked Alister. 

"No; I mean just what I say: there is nothing like it. I do not carea straw whether one scene be more or less beautiful than another;what I do care for is--its individual speech to my soul. I feeltowards visions of nature as towards writers. If a book or aprospect produces in my mind a mood that no other produces, then Ifeel it individual, original, real, therefore precious. If a sceneor a song play upon the organ of my heart as no other scene or songcould, why should I ask at all whether it be beautiful? A bare hillmay be more to me than a garden of Damascus, but I love them both. The first question as to any work of art is whether it puts thewilling soul into any mood at all peculiar; the second, what thatmood is. It matters to me little by whom our Ossian was composed, and it matters nothing whoever may in his ignorance declare thatthere never was an Ossian any more than a Homer: here is a somethingthat has power over my heart and soul, works upon them as notanything else does. I do not ask whether its power be great orsmall; it is enough that it is a peculiar power, one by itself; thatit puts my spiritual consciousness in a certain individualcondition, such in character as nothing else can occasion. Either aman or a nation must have felt to make me so feel. "

They were now climbing the last slope of the hill on whose top stoodtheir playhouse, dearer now than in their boyhood. Alisteroccasionally went there for a few hours' solitude, and Ian wouldwrite there for days at a time, but in general when they visited theplace it was together. Alister unlocked the door and they entered. 

Unwilling to spend labour on the introductory, they had made thefirst chamber hardly larger than the room required for opening thedoor. Immediately within, another door opened into a room of abouteight feet by twelve, with two small windows. Its hearth was aprojection from the floor of the live stone; and there, all readyfor lighting, was a large pile of peats. The chimney went up throughthe rock, and had been the most difficult part of their undertaking. They had to work it much wider than was necessary for the smoke, andthen to reduce its capacity with stone and lime. Now and then itsmoked, but peat-smoke is sweet. 

The first thing after lighting the fire, was to fill their kettle, for which they had to take off the snow-lid of a small spring nearat hand. Then they made a good meal of tea, mutton-ham, oatcakes andbutter. The only seats in the room were a bench in each of two ofthe walls, and a chair on each side of the hearth, all of the liverock. 

From this opened two rooms more--one a bedroom, with a bed in therock-wall, big enough for two. Dry heather stood thick between themattress and the stone. The third room, of which they intendedmaking a parlour, was not yet more than half excavated; and there, when they had rested a while, they began to bore and chip at thestone. Their progress was slow, for the grain was close: never, evenwhen the snow above was melting, had the least moisture comethrough. For a time they worked and talked: both talked better whenusing their hands. Then Alister stopped, and played while Ian wenton; Ian stopped next, and read aloud from a manuscript he hadbrought, while his brother again worked. But first he gave Alisterthe history of what he was going to read. It was suggested, he said, by that strange poem of William Mayne's, called "The Dead Man'sMoan, " founded on the silly notion that the man himself is buried, and not merely his body. 

 "I wish I were up to straught my banes, And drive frae my face the cauld, dead air; I wish I were up, that the friendly rains Micht wash the dark mould frae my tangled hair!"

quoted Ian, and added, "I thought I should like to follow out the idea, and see what oughtto come of it. I therefore supposed a person seized by something ofthe cataleptic kind, from which he comes to himself still in thebody, but unable to hold communication with the outer world. Hethinks therefore that he is dead and buried. Recovering from hisfirst horror, he reflects that, as he did not make himself think andfeel, nor can cease to think and feel if he would, there must besomewhere--and where but within himself?--the power by which hethinks and feels, a power whose care it must be, for it can belongto no other, to look after the creature he has made. Then comes tohim the prayer of Job, 'Oh that thou wouldst hide me in the gravetill thy anger with me was past! Then wouldst thou desire to seeagain the work of thy hands, the creature thou hadst made! Thenwouldst thou call, and I would answer. ' So grandly is the mancomforted thereby, that he breaks out in a dumb song of triumph overdeath and the grave. As its last tone dies in him, a kiss falls uponhis lips. It is the farewell of the earth; the same moment he burststhe bonds and rises above the clouds of the body, and enters intothe joy of his Lord. "

Having thus prepared Alister to hear without having to think as wellas attend, which is not good for poetry, Ian read his verses. I willnot trouble my reader with them; I am sure he would not think sowell of them as did Alister. What Ian desired was sympathy, notadmiration, but from Alister he had both. 

Few men would care to hear the talk of those two, for they had nointerest in anything that did not belong to the reality of things. To them the things most men count real, were the merest phantasms. They sought what would not merely last, but must go on growing. Atstrife with all their known selfishness, they were growing intostrife with all the selfishness in them as yet unknown. There wasfor them no question of choice; they MUST choose what was true; theyMUST choose life; they MUST NOT walk in the way of death. 

They were very near to agreeing about EVERYthing they should ask. Few men are capable of understanding such love as theirs, ofunderstanding the love of David and Jonathan, of Shakspere to W. H. , of Tennyson and Hallam. Every such love, nevertheless, is apossession of the race; what has once been is, in possibility tocome, as well as in fact that has come. A solitary instance ofanything great is enough to prove it human, yea necessary tohumanity. I have wondered whether the man in whom such love ispossible, may not spring of an altogether happy conjunction of maleand female--a father and mother who not only loved each other, butwere of the same mind in high things, of the same lofty aims inlife, so that their progeny came of their true man-and-woman-hood. If any unaccountable disruption or discord of soul appear in a man, it is worth while to ask whether his father and mother were of oneaspiration. Might not the fact that their marriage did not go deepenough, that father and mother were not of one mind, only of onebody, serve to account for the rude results of some marriages ofpersonable people? At the same time we must not forget the endlessand unfathomable perpetuations of ancestry. But however these thingsmay be, those two men, brothers born, were also brothers willed. 

They ceased quarrying, and returned to the outer room. Ian betookhimself to drawing figures on one of the walls, with the intentionof carving them in dipped relief. Alister proceeded to take theirbedding from before the fire, and prepare for the night. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE PRINCESS. 

While they were thus busied, Ian, with his face to the wall, in thedim light of the candle by which he was making his first roughsketches, began the story of his flight from Russia. Long ere heended, Alister came close behind him, and there stood, his bosomheaving with emotion, his eyes burning with a dry fire. Ian wasperfectly composed, his voice quiet and low. 

I will not give his tale in the first person; and will tell of itonly as much as I think it necessary my reader should know. 

Having accepted a commission of the Czar, he was placed in a post oftrust in the palace. 

In one apartment of it, lived an imperial princess, the burden ofwhose rank had not even the alleviation of society. Her disclosureof a sympathy with oppressed humanity had wakened a doubt as to herpolitics, and she was virtually a prisoner, restricted to a cornerof the huge dwelling, and allowed to see hardly any but her women. Her father had fallen into disgrace before her, and her mother wasdead of grief. All around her were spies, and love was nowhere. Gladly would she have yielded every rag of her rank, to breathe theair of freedom. To be a peasant girl on her father's land, would bea life of rapture!

She knew little of the solace books might have given her. With amind capable of rapid development, she had been ill taught except inmusic; and that, alone, cannot do much for spiritual development; itcannot enable the longing, the aspiration it rouses, to understanditself; it cannot lead back to its own eternal source. 

She knew no one in whom to trust, or from whom to draw comfort; herconfessor was a man of the world, incapable of leading her to anyfountain of living water; she had no one to tell her of God and hisfatherhood, the only and perfect refuge from the divine miseries ofloneliness. 

A great corridor went from end to end of one of the wings of thepalace, and from this corridor another passage led toward theapartment of the princess, consisting of some five or six rooms. Atcertain times of the day, Ian had to be at the beginning of thecorridor, at the head of a huge stair with a spacious hall-likelanding. Along the corridor few passed, for the attendants used aback stair and passages. As he sat in the recess of a large window, where stood a table and chair for his use, Ian one morning heard acry--whence, he never knew--and darted along the corridor, thinkingassistance might be wanted. When about halfway down, he saw a ladyenter, near the end of it, and come slowly along. He stood aside, respectfully waiting till she should pass. Her eyes were on theground, but as she came near she raised them. The sadness of themwent to his heart, and his soul rushed into his. The princess, Iimagine, had never before met such an expression, and misunderstoodit. Lonely, rejected, too helpless even to hope, it seemed full ofsomething she had all her life been longing for--a soul to be herrefuge from the wind, her covert from the tempest, her shadow as ofa great rock in the weary land where no one cared for her. She stoodand gazed at him. 

Ian at once perceived who she must be, and stood waiting for someexpression of her pleasure. But she appeared fascinated; her eyesremained on his, for they seemed to her to be promising help. Herfascination fascinated him, and for some moments they stood thus, regarding each other. Ian felt he must break the spell. It was herpart to speak, his to obey, but he knew the danger of the smallestsuspicion. If she was a princess and he but a soldier on guard, shewas a woman and he was a man: he was there to protect her! "How mayI serve your imperial highness?" he asked. She was silent yet amoment, then said, "Your name?" He gave it. "Your nation?" He statedit. "When are you here?" He told her his hours. "I will see youagain, " she said, and turned and went back. 

From that moment she loved him, and thought he loved her. But, though he would willingly have died for her, he did not love her asshe thought. Alister wondered to hear him say so. At such a moment, and heart-free, Alister could no more have helped falling in lovewith her than he could help opening his eyes when the light shone ontheir lids. Ian, with a greater love for his kind than even Alister, and with a tenderness for womankind altogether infinite, was notready to fall in love. Accessible indeed he was to the finest ofNature's witcheries; ready for the response as of summer lightningsfrom opposing horizons; all aware of loveliest difference, of refugeand mysterious complement; but he was not prone to fall in love. 

The princess, knowing the ways of the house, contrived to see himpretty often. He talked to her of the hest he knew; he did what hecould to lighten her loneliness by finding her books and music; bestof all, he persuaded her--without difficulty--to read the NewTestament. In their few minutes of conference, he tried to show herthe Master of men as he showed himself to his friends; but theirtime together was always so short, and their anxiety for each otherso great, seeing that discovery would be ruin to both, that theycould not go far with anything. 

At length came an occasion when at parting they embraced. How it wasIan could not tell. He blamed himself much, but Alister thought itmight not have been his fault. The same moment he was aware that hedid not love her and that he could not turn back. He was ready to doanything, everything in honour; yet felt false inasmuch as he hadgiven her ground for believing that he felt towards her as he couldnot help seeing she felt towards him. Had it been in his power toorder his own heart, he would have willed to love, and so would haveloved her. But the princess doubted nothing, and the change thatpassed upon her was wonderful. The power of human love is next tothe power of Grod's love. Like a flower long repressed by cold, sheblossomed so suddenly in the sunshine of her bliss, that Ian greatlydreaded the suspicion which the too evident alteration might arouse:the plain, ordinary-looking young woman with fine eyes, began to puton the robes of beauty. A softest vapour of rose, the colour of theeast when sundown sets it dreaming of sunrise, tinged her cheek; itgrew round like that of a girl; and ere two months were gone, shelooked years younger than her age. But Ian could never be absolutelyopen with her; while she, poor princess, happy in her ignorance ofthe shows of love, and absorbed in the joy of its great deliverance, jealoused nothing of restraint, nothing of lack, either in his wordsor in the caresses of which he was religiously sparing. He washaunted by the dread of making her grieve who had already grieved somuch, and was but just risen from the dead. 

One evening they met as usual in the twilight; in five minutes thesteps of the man would be heard coming to light the lamps of thecorridor, his guard would be over, and he must retire. Few wordspassed, but they parted with more of lingering tenderness thanusual, and the princess put a little packet in his hand. The samenight his only friend in the service entered his room hurriedly, andurged immediate flight: something had been, or was imagined to bediscovered, through which his liberty, perhaps his life, wascompromised; he must leave at once by a certain coach which wouldstart in an hour: there was but just time to disguise him; he mustmake for a certain port on the Baltic, and there lie concealed untila chance of getting away turned up!

Ian refused. He feared nothing, had done nothing to be ashamed of!What was it to him if they did take his life! he could die as wellas another! Anxious about the princess, he persisted in his refusal, and the coach went without him. Every passenger in that coach wasmurdered. He saw afterward the signs of their fate in the snow. 

In the middle of the night, a company of men in masks entered hisroom, muffled his head, and hurried him into a carriage, which droverapidly away. 

When it stopped, he thought he had arrived at some prison, but soonfound himself in another carriage, with two of the police. He couldhave escaped had he been so minded, but he could do nothing for theprincess, and did not care what became of him. At a certain town hisattendants left him, with the assurance that if he did not makehaste out of the country, he would find they had not lost sight ofhim. 

But instead of obeying, he disguised himself, and took his way toMoscow, where he had friends. Thence he wrote to his friend at St. Petersburg. Not many letters passed ere he learned that the princesswas dead. She had been placed in closer confinement, her health gaveway, and by a rapid decline she had gained her freedom. 

All the night through, not closing their eyes till the morning, thebrothers, with many intervals of thoughtful silence, lay talking. 

"I am glad to think, " said Alister, after one of these silences, "you do not suffer so much, Ian, as if you had been downright inlove with her. "

"I suffer far more, " answered Ian with a sigh; "and I ought tosuffer more. It breaks my heart to think she had not so much from meas she thought she had. "

They were once more silent. Alister was full of trouble for hisbrother. Ian at length spoke again. 

"Alister, " he said, "I must tell you everything! I know the truthnow. If I wronged her, she is having her revenge!"

By his tone Alister seemed through the darkness to see his sadsmile. He was silent, and Alister waited. 

"She did not know much, " Ian resumed. "I thought at first she hadnothing but good manners and a good heart; but the moment the sun ofanother heart began to shine on her, the air of another's thought tobreathe upon her, the room of another soul to surround her, shebegan to grow; and what more could God intend or man desire? As Itold you, she grew beautiful, and what sign of life is equal tothat!"

"But I want to know what you mean by her having her revenge on you?"said Alister. 

"Whether I loved her then or not, and I believe I did, beyond adoubt I love her now. It needed only to be out of sight of her, andsee other women beside the memory of her, to know that I lovedher. --Alister, I LOVE HER!" repeated Ian with a strange exaltation. 

"Oh, Ian!" groaned Alister; "how terrible for you!"

"Alister, you dear fellow!" returned Ian, "can you understand nobetter than that? Do you not see I am happy now? My trouble was thatI did not love her--not that she loved me, but that I did not loveher! Now we shall love each other for ever!"

"How do you know that, Ian?"

"By knowing that I love her. If I had not come to know that, I couldnot have said to myself I would love her for ever. "

"But you can't marry her, Ian! The Lord said there would be nomarrying there!"

"Did he say there would be no loving there, Alister? Most peopleseem to fancy he did, for how else could they forget the dead asthey do, and look so little for their resurrection? Few can besaid really to believe in any hereafter worth believing in. How manygo against the liking of the dead the moment they are gone-behave asif they were nowhere, and could never call them to account! Theirplans do not recognize their existence; the life beyond is no factorin their life here. If God has given me a hope altogether beyondanything I could have generated for myself, beyond all thelikelihoods and fulfilments around me, what can I do but give himroom to verify it--what but look onward! Some people's bodies get sotired that they long for the rest of the grave; it is my soul thatgets tired, and I know the grave can give that no rest; I look forthe rest of more life, more strength, more love. But God is not shutup in heaven, neither is there one law of life there and anotherhere; I desire more life here, and shall have it, for what isneedful for this world is to be had in this world. In proportion asI become one with God, I shall have it. This world never did seem myhome; I have never felt quite comfortable in it; I have yet to find, and shall find the perfect home I have not felt this world, even mymother's bosom to be. Nature herself is not lovely enough to satisfyme. Nor can it be that I am beside myself, seeing I care only forthe will of God, not for my own. For what is madness but two or morewills in one body? Does not the 'Bible itself tell us that we arepilgrims and strangers in the world, that here we have no abidingcity? It is but a place to which we come to be made ready foranother. Yet I am sure those who regard it as their home, are nothalf so well pleased with it as I. They are always grumbling at it. 'What wretched weather!' they say. 'What a cursed misfortune!'they cry. 'What abominable luck!' they protest. Health is thefirst thing, they say, and cannot find it. They complain that theirplans are thwarted, and when they succeed, that they do not yieldthe satisfaction they expected. Yet they mock at him who says heseeks a better country!--But I am keeping you awake, Alister! I willtalk no more. You must go to sleep!"

"It is better than any sleep to hear you talk, Ian, " returnedAlister. "What a way you are ahead of me! I do love this world! WhenI come to die, it will tear my heart to think that this cave whichyou and I have dug out together, must pass into other hands! I loveevery foot of the earth that remains to us--every foot that has beentaken from us. When I stand on the top of this rock, and breathe theair of this mountain, I bless God we have still a spot to call ourown. It is quite a different thing from the love of mere land; Icould not feel the same toward any, however beautiful, that I hadbut bought. This, our own old land, I feel as if I loved insomething the same way as I love my mother. Often in the hotsummer-days, lying on my face in the grass, I have kissed the earthas if it were a live creature that could return my caresses! Thelong grass is a passion to me, and next to the grass I love theheather, not the growing corn. I am a fair farmer, I think, but Iwould rather see the land grow what it pleased, than pass into thehands of another. Place is to me sacred almost as body. There is atleast something akin between the love we bear to the bodies of ourfriends, and that we bear to the place in which we were born andbrought up. "

"That is all very true, Alister. I understand your feelingperfectly; I have it myself. But we must be weaned, I say onlyweaned, from that kind of thing; we must not love the outside as ifit were the inside! Everything comes that' we may know the sender-ofwhom it is a symbol, that is, a far-off likeness of something inhim; and to him it must lead us-the self-existent, true, originallove, the making love. But I have felt all you say. I used to lie inbed and imagine the earth alive and carrying me on her back, till Ifell asleep longing to see the face of my nurse. Once, the fancyturned into a dream. I will try to recall a sonnet I made the samenight, before the dream came: it will help you to understand it. Iwas then about nineteen, I believe. I did not care for it enough torepeat it to you, and I fear we shall find it very bad. "

Stopping often to recall and rearrange words and lines, Iancompleted at last the following sonnet:--

"She set me on my feet with steady hand, Among the crowding marvelson her face, Bidding me rise, and run a strong man's race; Swathedmo in circumstance's swaddling band; Fed me with her own self; thenbade me stand MYself entire, --while she was but a place Hewn for mydwelling from the midst of space, A something better than HER sea orland. Nay, Earth! thou bearest me upon thy back, Like a rough nurse, and I can almost feel A touch of kindness in thy bands of steel, Although I cannot see thy face, and track An onward purpose shiningthrough its black, Instinct with prophecy of future weal. 

"There! It is not much, is it?"

"It is beautiful!" protested Alister. 

"It is worth nothing, " said Ian, "except between you and me-and thatit will make you understand my dream. That I shall never forget. When a dream does us good we don't forget it. 

"I thought I was home on the back of something great and strong-Icould not tell what; it might be an elephant or a great eagle or alion. It went sweeping swiftly along, the wind of its flight roaringpast me in a tempest. I began to grow frightened. Where could thiscreature of such awful speed be carrying me? I prayed to God to takecare of me. The head of the creature turned to me, and I saw theface of a woman, grand and beautiful. Never with my open eyes have Iseen such a face! And I knew it was the face of this earth, and thatI had never seen it before because she carries us upon her back. When I woke, I knew that all the strangest things in life andhistory must one day come together in a beautiful face of lovingpurpose, one of the faces of the living God. The very mother of theLord did not for a long time understand him, and only through sorrowcame to see true glory. Alister, if we were right with God, we couldsee the earth vanish and never heave a sigh; God, of whom it was buta shimmering revelation, would still be ours!"

In the morning they fell asleep, and it was daylight, late in thewinter, when Alister rose. He roused the fire, asleep all throughthe night, and prepared their breakfast of porridge and butter, tea, oat-cake, and mutton-ham. When it was nearly ready, he woke Ian, and when they had eaten, they read together a portion of the Bible, that they might not forget, and start the life of the day withouttrust in the life-causing God. 

"All that is not rooted in him, " Ian would say, "all hope or joythat does not turn its face upward, is an idolatry. Our prayers mustrise that our thoughts may follow them. "

The portion they read contained the saying of the Lord that we mustforsake all and follow him if we would be his disciples. 

"I am sometimes almost terrified, " said Ian, "at the scope of thedemands made upon me, at the perfection of the self-abandonmentrequired of me; yet outside of such absoluteness can be nosalvation. In God we live every commonplace as well as most exaltedmoment of our being. To trust in him when no need is pressing, whenthings seem going right of themselves, may be harder than whenthings seem going wrong. At no time is there any danger except inourselves, and the only danger is of trusting in something else thanthe living God, and so getting, as it were, outside of God. OhAlister, take care you do not love the land more than the will ofGod! Take care you do not love even your people more than the willof God. "

They spent the day on the hill-top, and as there was no sign ofstorm, remained till the dark night, when the moon came to lightthem home. 

"Perhaps when we are dead, " said Alister as they went, "we may beallowed to corne here again sometimes! Only we shall not be able toquarry any further, and there is pain in looking on what cannot goon. "

"It may be a special pleasure, " returned Ian, "in those newconditions, to look into such a changeless cabinet of the past. Whenwe are one with our life, so that no prayer can be denied, therewill be no end to the lovely possibilities. "

"So I have the people I love, I think I could part with all thingselse, even the land!" said Alister. 

"Be sure we shall not have to part with THEM. We shall yet walk, Ithink, with our father as of old, where the setting sun sent theshadows of the big horse-gowans that glowed in his red level rays, trooping eastward, as if they would go round the world to meet thesun that had banished them, and die in his glory; the wind of thetwilight will again breathe about us like a thought of the livingGod haunting our goings, and watching to help us; the stars willyet call to us out of the great night, 'Love and be fearless. ' 'Beindependent!' cries the world from its' great Bible of theBelly;-says the Lord of men, 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God andhis righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you. 'Our dependence is our eternity. We cannot live on bread alone; weneed every word of God. We cannot live on air alone; we need anatmosphere of living souls. Should we be freer, Alister, if we wereindependent of each other? When I am out in the world, my heart isalways with mother and you. We must be constantly giving ourselvesaway, we must dwell in houses of infinite dependence, or sit alonein the waste of a godless universe. "

It was a rough walk in the moonlight over the hills, but full of arare delight. And while they walked the mother was waiting them, with the joy of St. John, of the Saviour, of God himself in herheart, the joy of beholding how the men she loved loved each other. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE TWO PAIRS. 

The next morning, on the way to the village, the brothers overtookChristina and Mercy, and they walked along together. 

The young men felt inclined to be the more friendly with the girls, that the men of their own family were so unworthy of them. A man whodoes not respect a woman because she is a woman, cannot havethorough respect for his own mother, protest as he pleases: he isincapable of it, and cannot know his own incapacity. Alas for girlsin a family where the atmosphere of vile thinking, winnowed by thecarrion wings of degraded and degrading judgments, infolds them! Oneof the marvels of the world is, that, with such fathers andbrothers, there are so few wicked women. Type of the greater numberstands Ophelia, poor, weak, and not very refined, yet honest, and, in all her poverty, immeasurably superior to father and brother. 

Christina's condescension had by this time dwindled almost to thevanishing-point, and her talk was in consequence more natural: thecompany, conversation, and whole atmosphere of the young men, tendedto wake in the girls what was best and sweetest. Reality appeals atonce to the real, opens the way for a soul to emerge from the fog ofthe commonplace, the marsh of platitude, the Sahara of lies, intothe colour and air of life. The better things of humanity often needthe sun of friendship to wile them out. A girl, well-bred, tolerablyclever, and with some genius of accommodation, will appear to a manpossessed of a hundred faculties of which she knows nothing; but hisbelief will help to rouse them in her. A young man will see an angelwhere those who love her best see only a nice girl; but he sees notmerely what she might be, but what one day she must be. 

Christina had been at first rather taken with the ploughman, but sheturned her masked batteries now mainly on the soldier. During thedinner she had noted how entirely Ian was what she chose to call aman of the world; and it rendered him in her eyes more worthy ofconquest. Besides, as elder sister, must she not protect theinexperienced Mercy?

What is this passion for subjugation? this hunger for homage? Is itof hell direct, or what is there in it of good to begin with?Apparently it takes possession of such women as have set up eachherself for the object of her worship: she cannot then rest from theeffort to bring as many as possible to worship at the same shrine;and to this end will use means as deserving of the fire as anywitchcraft. 

Christina stopped short with a little cry, and caught Ian's arm. 

"I beg your pardon, " she said, "but I cannot bear it a momentlonger! Something in my boot hurts me so!"

She limped to the road-side, sat down, accepted the service of Ianto unlace her boot, and gave a sigh of relief when he pulled it off. He inverted and shook it, then searched and found a nail which musthave hurt her severely. 

But how to get rid of the cruel projection! Ian's slender hand couldbut just reach with its finger-tips the haunted spot. In vain hetried to knock it down against a stone put inside. Alister couldsuggest nothing. But Mistress Conal's cottage was near: they mightthere find something to help! Only Christina could not be leftbehind, and how was she to walk in a silk stocking over a roadfrozen hard as glass? The chief would have carried her, but shewould not let him. Ian therefore shod her with his Glengarry bonnet, tying it on with his handkerchief. 

There was much merriment over the extemporized shoe, mingled withapologetic gratitude from Christina, who, laughing at her poulticedfoot, was yet not displeased at its contrast with the other. 

When the chief opened the door of the cottage, there was no one tobe seen within. The fire was burning hot and flameless; athree-footed pot stood half in it; other sign of presence they sawnone. As Alister stooped searching for some implement to serve theirneed, in shot a black cat, jumped over his back, and disappeared. The same instant they heard a groan, and then first discovered theold woman in bed, seemingly very ill. Ian went up to her. 

"What is the matter with you, Mistress Conal?" he asked, addressingher in English because of the ladies. 

But in reply she poured out a torrent of Gaelic, which seemed to thegirls only grumbling, but was something stronger. Thereupon thechief went and spoke to her, but she was short and sullen with him. He left her to resume his search. 

"Let alone, " she cried. "When that nail leaves her brog, it will befor your heart. "

Ian sought to soothe her. 

"She will bring misery on you all!" she insisted. 

"You have a hammer somewhere, I know!" said Alister, as if he hadnot heard her. 

"She shall be finding no help in MY house!" answered the old womanin English. 

"Very well, Mistress Conal!" returned the chief; "the lady cannotwalk home; I shall have to carry her!"

"God forbid!" she cried. "Go and fetch a wheelbarrow. "

"Mistress Conal, there is nothing for it but carry her home in myarms!"

"Give me the cursed brog then. I will draw the nail. "

But the chief would not yield the boot; he went out and searched thehill-side until he found a smooth stone of suitable size, with whichand a pair of tongs, he beat down the nail. Christina put on theboot, and they left the place. The chief stayed behind the rest fora moment, but the old woman would not even acknowledge his presence. 

"What a rude old thing she is! This is how she always treats us!"said Christina. 

"Have you done anything to offend her?" asked Alister. 

"Not that we know of. We can't help being lowlanders!"

"She no doubt bears you a grudge, " said Ian, "for having what oncebelonged to us. I am sorry she is so unfriendly. It is not a commonfault with our people. "

"Poor old thing! what does it matter!" said Christina. 

A woman's hate was to her no more than the barking of a dog. 

They had not gone far, before the nail again asserted itself; it hadbeen but partially subjugated. A consultation was held. It resultedin this, that Mercy and the chief went to fetch another pair ofboots, while Ian remained with Christina. 

They seated themselves on a stone by the roadside. The sun cloudedover, a keen wind blew, and Christina shivered. There was nothingfor it but go back to the cottage. The key was in the door, Ianturned it, and they went in. Certainly this time no one was there. The old woman so lately groaning on her bed had vanished. Ian madeup the fire, and did what he could for his companion's comfort. 

She was not pleased with the tone of his attentions, but the way sheaccepted them made her appear more pleased than Ian cared for, andhe became colder and more polite. Piqued by his indifference, shetook it nevertheless with a sweetness which belonged to her natureas God made it, not as she had spoiled it; and even such a butterflyas she, felt the influence of a man like Ian, and could not helpbeing more natural in his presence. His truth elicited what therewas of hers; the trae being drew to the surface what there was oftrue in the being that was not true. The longer she was in hiscompany, the more she was pleased with him, and the more annoyedwith her failure in pleasing him. 

It is generally more or less awkward when a young man and maidenbetween whom is no convergent rush of spiritual currents, findthemselves alone together. Ian was one of the last to feel suchawkwardness, but he thought his companion felt it; he did his best, therefore, to make her forget herself and him, telling her storyafter story which she could not but find the more interesting thatfor the time she was quieted from self, and placed in the humblerand healthier position of receiving the influence of another. Forone moment, as he was narrating a hair's-breadth escape he had hadfrom a company of Tartar soldiers by the friendliness of a younggirl, the daughter of a Siberian convict, she found herself underthe charm of a certain potency of which he was himself altogetherunconscious, but which had carried away hearts more indifferent thanhers. 

In the meantime, Alister and Mercy were walking toward the NewHouse, and, walking, were more comfortable than those that satwaiting. Mercy indeed had not much to say, but she was capable ofasking a question worth answering, and of understanding not alittle. Thinking of her walk with Ian on Christmas day, --

"Would you mind telling me something about your brother?" she said. 

"What would you like to know about him?" asked Alister. 

"Anything you care to tell me, " she answered. 

Now there was nothing pleased Alister better than talking about Ian;and he talked so that Mercy could not help feeling what a brother hemust be himself; while on his part Alister was delighted with thegirl who took such an interest in Ian: for Ian's sake he began tolove Mercy. He had never yet been what is called in love--hadlittle opportunity indeed of falling in love. His breeding had beenthat of a gentleman, and notwithstanding the sweetness andgentleness of the maidens of his clan, there were differences whichhad as yet proved sufficient to prevent the first approaches oflove, though, once entertained, they might have added to the depthof it. At the same time it was by no means impossible for Alister tofall in love with even an uneducated girl--so-called; neither wouldhe, in that case, have felt any difficulty about marrying her; butthe fatherly relation in which he stood toward his clan, had tendedrather to prevent the thing. Many a youth falls to prematurelove-making, from the lack in his daily history of the womanlyelement. Matrons in towns should be exhorted to make of their housesa refuge. Too many mothers are anxious for what they count thewelfare of their own children, and care nothing for the children ofother women! But can we wonder, when they will wallow in mean-nesses to save their own from poverty and health, and damn them intocomfort and decay. 

Alister told Mercy how Ian and he used to spend their boyhood. Herecounted some of their adventures in hunting and herding andfishing, and even in going to and from school, a distance of fivemiles, in all weathers. Then he got upon the poetry of the people, their legends, their ballads and their songs; and at last came tothe poetry of the country itself--the delights of following theplough, the whispers and gleams of nature, her endless appealthrough every sense. The mere smell of the earth in a springmorning, he said, always made him praise God. 

"Everything we have, " he went on, "must be shared with God. That isthe notion of the Jewish thank-offering. Ian says the greatest wordin the universe is ONE; the next greatest, ALL. They are but the twoends of a word to us unknowable--God's name for himself. "

Mercy had read Mrs. Barbauld's Hymns, and they had been something toher; but most of the little poetry she had read was only platitudesweetened with sound; she had never read, certainly never understooda real poem. Who can tell what a nature may prove, after feeding ongood food for a while? The queen bee is only a better fed workingbee. Who can tell what it may prove when it has been ploughed withthe plough of suffering, when the rains of sorrow, the frosts ofpain, and the winds of poverty have moistened and swelled and driedits fallow clods?

Mercy had not such a sweet temper as her sister, but she was not soselfish. She was readier to take offence, perhaps just because shewas less self-satisfied. Before long they might change places. Alittle dew from the eternal fountain was falling upon them. Christina was beginning to be aware that a certain man, neither richnor distinguished nor ambitious, had yet a real charm for her. Notthat for a moment she would think seriously of such a man! Thatwould he simply idiotic! But it would be very nice to have a littleinnocent flirtation with him, or perhaps a "Platonic friendship!"--her phrase, not mine. What could she have to do with Plato, who, when she said I, was aware only of a neat bundle of foolish desires, not the God at her heart!

Mercy, on the other hand, was being drawn to the big, strong, childlike heart of the chief. There is always, notwithstanding thegulf of unlikeness between them, an appeal from the childish to thechildlike. The childish is but the shadow of the childlike, andshadows are little like the things from which they fall. But to whatsave the heavenly shall the earthly appeal in its sore need, itswidowhood, its orphanage? with what shall the childish take refugebut the childlike? to what shall ignorance cry but wisdom? Mercyfelt no restraint with the chief as with Ian. His great, deep, yetrefined and musical laugh, set her at ease. Ian's smile, with itsshim--mering eternity, was no more than the moon on a rain-pool toMercy. The moral health of the chief made an atmosphere of conscioussafety around her. By the side of no other man had she ever felt so. With him she was at home, therefore happy. She was already growingunder his genial influence. Every being has such influence who isnot selfish. 

When Christina was re-shod, and they were leaving the cottage, Ian, happening to look behind him, spied the black cat perched on theedge of the chimney in the smoke. 

"Look at her, " he said, "pretending innocence, when she has beenwatching you all the time!"

Alister took up a stone. 

"Don't hurt her, " said Ian, and he dropped it. 

CHAPTER VII. 

AN CABRACH MOR. 

I have already said that the young men had not done well as hunters. They had neither experience nor trustworthy attendance: none of thechief's men would hunt with them. They looked on them as intruders, and those who did not share in their chiefs dislike to uselesskilling, yet respected it. Neither Christian nor Sercombe had yetshot a single stag, and the time was drawing nigh when they mustreturn, the one to Glasgow, the other to London. To have no proof ofprowess to display was humbling to Sercombe; he must show a stag'shead, or hide his own! He resolved, therefore, one of the nextmoonlit nights, to stalk by himself a certain great, wide-hornedstag, of whose habits he had received information. 

At Oxford, where Valentine made his acquaintance, Sercombe belongedto a fast set, but had distinguished himself notwithstanding as anathlete. He was a great favourite with a few, not the best of theset, and admired by many for his confidence, his stature, and hisregular features. These latter wore, however, a self-assertion whichof others made him much disliked: a mean thing in itself, it had themeanest origin--the ability, namely, to spend money, for he was thefavourite son of a rich banker in London. He knew nothing of thefirst business of life--self-restraint, had never denied himselfanything, and but for social influences would, in manhood asinfancy, have obeyed every impulse. He was one of the merest slavesin the universe, a slave in his very essence, for he counted wrongto others freedom for himself, and the rejection of the laws of hisown being, liberty. The most righteous interference was insolence;his likings were his rights, and any devil that could whisper him adesire, might do with him as he pleased. From such a man every truenature shrinks with involuntary recoil, and a sick sense of theinhuman. But I have said more of him already than my historyrequires, and more than many a reader, partaking himself of hischaracter to an unsuspected degree, will believe; for such mencannot know themselves. He had not yet in the eyes of the worlddisgraced himself: it takes a good many disgraceful things to bringa rich man to outward disgrace. 

His sole attendant when shooting was a clever vagabond lad belongingto nowhere in particular, and living by any crook except theshepherd's. From him he heard of the great stag, and the spots whichin the valleys he frequented, often scraping away the snow with hisfeet to get at the grass. He did not inform him that the animal wasa special favourite with the chief of Clanruadh, or that the clanlooked upon him. As their live symbol, the very stag represented ascrest to the chief's coat of arms. It was the same Nancy hadreported to her master as eating grass on the burn-side in themoonlight. Christian and Sercombe had stalked him day after day, butwithout success. And now, with one poor remaining hope, the latterhad determined to stalk him at night. To despoil him of his life, his glorious rush over the mountain side, his plunge into thevalley, and fierce strain up the opposing hill; to see that ideal ofstrength, suppleness, and joyous flight, lie nerveless and flaccidat his feet; to be able to call the thicket-like antlers of thesplendid animal his own, was for the time the one ambition of HilarySercombe; for he was of the brood of Mephistopheles, the child ofdarkness, whose delight lies in undoing what God has done--thenearest that any evil power can come to creating. 

There was, however, a reason for the failure of the young huntersbeyond lack of skill and what they called their ill-luck. Hector ofthe Stags was awake; his keen, everywhere-roving eyes were uponthem, seconded by the keen, all-hearkening ears of Bob of theAngels. They had discovered that the two men had set their hearts onthe big stag, an cabrach mor by right of excellence, and every timethey were out after him, Hector too was out with his spy-glass, thegift of an old sea-faring friend, searching the billowy hills. While, the southrons would be toiling along to get the wind of himunseen, for the old stag's eyes were as keen as his velvety nose, the father and son would be lying, perhaps close at hand, perhapsfar away on some hill-side of another valley, watching now thehunters, now the stag. For love of the Macruadh, and for love of thestag, they had constituted themselves his guardians. Again and againwhen one of them thought he was going to have a splendidchance--perhaps just as, having reached a rock to which he had beenmaking his weary way over stones and bogs like Satan through chaos, and raised himself with weary slowness, he peeped at last over thetop, and lo, there he was, well within range, quietly feeding, nought between the great pumping of his big joyous heart and the hotbullet but the brown skin behind his left shoulder!--a distant shotwould forestall the nigh one, a shot for life, not death, and thestag, knowing instantly by wondrous combination of sense andjudgment in what quarter lay the danger, would, without once lookinground, measure straight a hundred yards of hillocks and rocksbetween the sight-taking and the pulling of the trigger. Anothertime it would be no shot, but the bark of a dog, the cry of amoorfowl, or a signal from watching hind that started him; for thecreatures understand each the other's cries, and when an animal seesone of any sort on the watch to warn covey or herd or flock of itsown kind, it will itself keep no watch, but feed in security. ToChristian and Sercombe it seemed as if all the life in the glen werein conspiracy to frustrate their hearts' desire; and the latter atleast grew ever the more determined to kill the great stag: he hadbegun to hate him. 

The sounds that warned the stag were by no means always what theyseemed, those of other wild animals; they were often hut imitationsby Bob of the Angels. I fear the animal grew somewhat bolder andless careful from the assurance thus given him that he was watchedover, and cultivated a little nonchalance. Not a moment, however, did he neglect any warning from quarter soever, but from peacefulfeeder was instantaneously wind-like fleer, his great horns thrownback over his shoulders, and his four legs just touching the groundwith elastic hoof, or tucking themselves almost out of sight as heskipped rather than leaped over rock and gully, stone andbush--whatever lay betwixt him and larger room. Great joy it was tohis two guardians to see him, and great game to watch the motions ofhis discomfited enemies. For the sake of an cabrach Hector and Bobwould go hungry for hours. But they never imagined the luxuriousSasunnach, incapable, as they thought, of hardship or sustainedfatigue, would turn from his warm bed to stalk the lordly animalbetwixt snow and moon. 

One night, Hector of the Stags found he could not sleep. It was notfor cold, for the night was for the season a mild one. The snowindeed lay deep around their dwelling, but they owed not a little ofits warmth to the snow. It drifted up all about it, and kept off theterrible winds that swept along the side of the hill, like sharpswift scythes of death. They were in the largest and mostcomfortable of their huts--a deepish hollow in the limestone rock, lined with turf, and with wattles filled in with heather, the topsoutward; its front a thick wall of turf, with a tolerable door ofdeal. It was indeed so snug as to be far from airy. Here they keptwhat little store of anything they had--some dried fish and venison;a barrel of oat-meal, seldom filled full; a few skins of wildcreatures, and powder, ball, and shot. 

After many fruitless attempts to catch the still fleeting vapoursleep, raising himself at last on his elbow, Hector found that Robwas not by his side. 

He too had been unable to sleep, and at last discovered that he wasuneasy about something-what, he could not tell. He rose and wentout. The moon was shining very clear, and as there was much snow, the night, if not so bright as day, was yet brighter than many aday. The moon, the snow, the mountains, all dreaming awake, seemedto Rob the same as usual; but presently he fancied the hillsideopposite had come nearer than usual: there must be a reason forthat! He searched every yard of it with keenest gaze, but sawnothing. 

They were high above Glenruadh, and commanded parts of it: latethough it was, Rob thought he saw some light from the New House, which itself he could not see, reflected from some shadowedevergreen in the shrubbery. He was thinking some one might be ill, and he ought to run down and See whether a messenger was wanted, when his father joined him. He had brought his telescope, andimmediately began to sweep the moonlight on the opposite hill. In amoment he touched Rob on the shoulder, and handed him the telescope, pointing with it. Rob looked and saw a dark speck on the snow, moving along the hill-side. It was the big stag. Now and then hewould stop to snuff and search for a mouthful, but was evidentlymaking for one of his feeding-places--most likely that by the burnon the chief's land. The light! could it imply danger? He had heardthe young men were going to leave: were they about to attempt a lastassault on the glory of the glen? He pointed out to his father thedim light in the shadow of the house. Hector turned his telescopethitherward, immediately gave the glass to Bob, went into the hut, and came out again with his gun. They had not gone far when theylost sight of the stag, but they held on towards the castle. Atevery point whence a peep could be had in the direction of thehouse, they halted to reconnoitre: if enemies were abroad, theymust, if possible, get and keep sight of them. They did not stop formore than a glance, however, but made for the valley as fast as theycould walk: the noise of running feet would, on such a still night, be heard too far. The whole way, without sound uttered, father andson kept interchanging ideas on the matter. 

From thorough acquaintance with the habits of the animal, they werepretty certain he was on his way to the haunt aforementioned: if hegot there, he would be safe; it was the chiefs ground, and no onewould dare touch him. But he was not yet upon it, and was in danger;while, if he should leave the spot in any westward direction, hewould almost at once be out of sanctuary! If they found himtherefore at his usual feed, and danger threatening, they must scarehim eastward; if no peril seemed at hand, they would watch him awhile, that he might feed in safety. Swift and all but soundless ontheir quiet brogs they paced along: to startle the deer while thehunter was far off, might be to drive him within range of his shot. 

They reached the root of the spur, and approached the castle;immediately beyond that, they would be in sight of the feedingground. But they were yet behind it when Rob of the Angels boundedforward in terror at the sound of a gun. His father, however, whowas in front, was off before him. Neither hearing anything, norseeing Rob, he knew that a shot had been fired, and, caution beingnow useless, was in a moment at full speed. The smoke of the shothung white in the moonlight over the end of the ridge. No red bulkshadowed the green pasture, no thicket of horns went shaking aboutover the sod. No lord of creation, but an enemy of life, stoodregarding his work, a tumbled heap of death, yet saying to himself, like God when he made the world, "It is good. " The noble creaturelay disformed on the grass; shot through the heart he had leapedhigh in the air, fallen with his head under him, and broken hisneck. 

Rage filled the heart of Hector of the Stags. He could not curse, but he gave a roar like a wild beast, and raised his gun. But Rob ofthe Angels caught it ere it reached his shoulder. He yielded it, and, with another roar like a lion, bounded bare-handed upon theenemy. He took the descent in three leaps, and the burn in one. Itwas not merely that the enemy had killed an cabrach mor, the greatstag of their love; he had killed him on the chief's own land! underthe very eyes of the man whose business it was to watch over him! Itwas an offence unpardonable! an insult as well as a wrong to hischief! In the fierce majesty of righteous wrath he threw himself onthe poacher. Sercombe met him with a blow straight from theshoulder, and he dropped. 

Rob of the Angels, close behind him, threw down the gun. The devilall but got into Rob of the Angels. His knife flashed pale in themoonlight, and he darted on the Sasunnach. It would then have goneill with the bigger man, for Bob was lithe as a snake, swift notonly to parry and dodge but to strike; he could not have reached thebody of his antagonist, but Sercombe's arm would have had at leastone terrible gash from his skean-dhu, sharp as a razor, had not, atthe moment, from the top of the ridge come the stern voice of thechief. Rob's knife, like Excalibur from the hand of Sir Bedivere, "made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, " as he threw it fromhim, and himself down by his father. Then Hector came to himself androse. Rob rose also; and his father, trembling with excitement, stood grasping his arm, for he saw the stalwart form of his chief onthe ridge above them. Alister had been waked by the gun, and at theroar of his friend Hector, sprang from his bed. When he saw hisbeloved stag dead on his pasture, he came down the ridge like anavalanche. 

Sercombe stood on his defence, wondering what devil was to pay, butbeginning to think he might be in some wrong box. He had taken notrouble to understand the boundaries between Mr. Peregrine Palmer'sland and that of the chief, and had imagined himself safe on thesouth side of the big burn. 

Alister gazed speechless for a moment on the slaughtered stag, andheaved a great sigh. 

"Mr. Sercombe, " he said, "I would rather you had shot my best horse!Are you aware, sir, that you are a poacher?"

"I had supposed the appellation inapplicable to a gentleman!"answered Sercombe, with entire coolness. "But by all means take mebefore a magistrate. "

"You are before a magistrate. "

"All I have to answer then is, that I should not have shot theanimal had I not believed myself within my rights. "

"On that point, and on this very ground, I instructed you myself!"said the chief. 

"I misunderstood you. "

"Say rather you had not the courtesy to heed what I told you-had notfaith enough to take the word of a gentleman! And for this my poorstag has suffered!"

He stood for some moments in conflict with himself, then quietlyresumed. 

"Of course, Mr. Sercombe, I have no intention of pushing thematter!" he said. 

"I should hope not!" returned Sercombe scornfully. "I will paywhatever you choose to set on the brute. "

It would be hard to say which was less agreeable to the chief-tohave his stag called a brute, or be offered blood-money for him. 

"Stag Ruadh priced like a bullock!" he said, with a slow smile, fullof sadness; "--the pride of every child in the strath! Not agentleman in the county would have shot Clanruadh's deer!"

Sercombe was by this time feeling uncomfortable, and it made himangry. He muttered something about superstition. 

"He was taken when a calf, " the chief went on, "and given to agreat-aunt of mine. But when he grew up, he took to the hills again, and was known by his silver collar till he managed to rid himself ofit. He shall he buried where he lies, and his monument shall tellhow the stranger Sasunnach served the stag of Clanruadh!"

"Why the deuce didn't you keep the precious monster in a paddock, and let people know him for a tame animal?" sneered Sercombe. 

"My poor Euadh!" said the chief; "he was no tame animal! He as wellas I would have preferred the death you have given him to such afate. He lived while he lived! I thank you for his immediatetransit. Shot right through the heart! Had you maimed him I shouldhave been angrier. "

Sercombe felt flattered, and, attributing the chief's gentleness toa desire to please him, began to condescend. 

"Well, come now, Macruadh!" he began; but the chief turned from him. 

Hector stood with his arm on Rob's shoulder, and the tears rollingdown his cheeks. He would not have wept but that the sobs of his sonshook him. 

"Rob of the Angels, " Alister said in their mother-tongue, "you mustmake an apology to the Sasunnach gentleman for drawing the knife onhim. That was wrong, if he had killed all the deer in Benruadh. "

"It was not for that, Macruadh, " answered Rob of the Angels. "It wasbecause he struck my father, and laid a better man than himself onthe grass. "

The chief turned to the Englishman. "Did the old man strike you, Mr. Sercombe?"

"No, by Jove! I took a little care of that! If he had, I would havebroke every bone in his body!"

"Why did you strike him then?"

"Because he rushed at me. "

"It was his duty to capture a poacher!--But you did not know he wasdeaf and dumb!" Alister added, as some excuse. 

"The deaf makes no difference!" protested Bob. "Hector of theStags does not fight with his hands like a woman!"

"Well, what's done is done!" laughed Sercombe. "It wasn't a bad shotanyhow!"

"You have little to plume yourself upon, Mr. Sercombe!" said thechief. "You are a good shot, but you need not have been sofrightened at an old man as to knock him down!"

"Come, come, Macruadh! enough's enough! It's time to drop this!"returned Sercombe. "I can't stand much more of it!--Take ten poundsfor the head!--Come!"

The chief made one great stride towards him, but turned away, andsaid, "Come along, Rob! Tell your father you must not go up the hill againto-night. "

"No, sir, " answered Bob; "there's nothing now to go up the hill for!Poor old Buadh! God rest his soul!"

"Amen!" responded the chief; "but say rather, 'God give him room torun!'"

"Amen! It is better. --But, " added Kob, "we must watch by the body. The foxes and hooded crows are gathering already--I hear them on thehills; and I saw a sea-eagle as white as silver yesterday! Wecannot leave Ruadh till he is iznder God's plaid!"

"Then one of you come and fetch food and fire, " said the chief. "Iwill be with you early. "

Father and son communicated in silence, and Rob went with the chief. 

"They worship the stag, these peasants, as the old Egyptians thebull!" said Sercombe to himself, walking home full of contempt. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE STAG'S HEAD. 

Alister went straight to his brother's room, his heart bursting withindignation. It was some time before Ian could get the story fromhim in plain consecution; every other moment he would diverge intofierce denunciations. 

"Hadn't you better tell your master what has happened?" at lengthsaid Ian. "He ought to know why you curse one of your fellows sobitterly. "

Alister was dumb. For a moment he looked aghast. 

"Ian!" he said: "You think he wants to be told anything? I alwaysthought you believed in his divinity!"

"Ah!" returned Ian, "but do you? How am I to imagine it, when you goon like that in his hearing? Is it so you acknowledge his presence?"

"Oh, Ian! you don't know how it tortures me to think of thatinterloper, the low brute, killing the big stag, the Macruadhstag-and on my land too! I feel as if I could tear him in pieces. But for him I would have killed him on the spot! It is hard if I maynot let off my rage even to you!"

"Let it off to him, Alister; he will give you fairer play than yoursmall brother; he understands you better than I. "

"But I could not let it off to him that way!"

"Then that is not a good way. The justice that, even in imagination, would tear and destroy and avenge, may be justice, but it is devil'sjustice. Come, begin now, and tell me all quietly-as if you had readit in a book. "

"Word for word, then, with all the imprecations! "returnedAlister, a little cooler; and Ian was soon in possession of thestory. 

"Now what do you think, Ian?" said the chief, ending a recital trueto the very letter, and in a measure calm, but at various pointsrevealing, by the merest dip of the surface, the boiling of thefloods beneath. 

"You must send him the head, Alister, " answered Ian. 

"Send-what-who-I don't understand you, Ian!" returned the chief, bewildered. 

"Oh, well, never mind!" said Ian. "You will think of it presently!"

And therewith he turned his face to the wall, as if he would go tosleep. 

It had been a thing understood betwixt the brothers, and that fromso far back in the golden haze of childhood that the beginning ofit was out of sight, that, the moment one of them turned his back, not a word more was to be said, until he who thus dropped thesubject, chose to resume it: to break this unspoken compact wouldhave been to break one of the strands in the ancient bond of theirmost fast brotherhood. Alister therefore went at once to his room, leaving Ian loving him hard, and praying for him with his face tothe wall. He went as one knowing well the storm he was about toencounter, but never before had he had such a storm to meet. 

He closed the door, and sat down on the side of his bed like onestunned. He did not doubt, yet could hardly allow he believed, thatIan, his oracle, had in verity told him to send the antlers of hiscabrach mor, the late live type of his ancient crest, the pride ofClanruadh, to the vile fellow of a Sasunnach who had sent out intothe deep the joyous soul of the fierce, bare mountains. 

There were rushings to and fro in the spirit of Alister, wild andterrible, even as those in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Henever closed his eyes, but fought with himself all the night, untilthe morning broke. Could this thing be indeed his duty? And if nothis duty, was he called to do it from mere bravado of goodness? Howfrightfully would not such an action be misunderstood by such a man!What could he take it for but a mean currying of favour with him!Why should he move to please such a fellow! Ian was too hard uponhim! The more he yielded, the more Ian demanded! Every time it wassomething harder than the last! And why did he turn his face tothe wall? Was he not fit to be argued with! Was he one that wouldnot listen to reason! He had never known Ian ungenerous till now!

But all the time there lay at his door a thing calling out to bedone! The thing he did not like was always the thing he had to do!he grumbled; but this thing he hated doing! It was abominable! What!send the grand head, with its horns spread wide like a half-moon, and leaning--like oaks from a precipice--send it to the man that madeit a dead thing! Never! It must not be left behind! It must go tothe grave with the fleet limbs! and over it should rise a monument, at sight of which every friendly highlandman would say, Feiich ancabracli mor de Clanruadli! What a mockery of fate to be exposed forever to the vulgar Cockney gaze, the trophy of a fool, whose boastwas to kill! Such a noble beast! Such a mean man! To mutilate hisremains for the pride of the wretch who killed him! It was toohorrible!

He thought and thought-until at last he lay powerless to think anymore. But it is not always the devil that enters in when a manceases to think. God forbid! The cessation of thought givesopportunity for setting the true soul thinking from anotherquarter. Suddenly Alister remembered a conversation he had hadwith Ian a day or two before. He had been saying to Ian that hecould not understand what Jesus meant when he said, "Whosoever shallsmite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also;" and wasdissatisfied with the way Ian had answered him. "You must explain itto yourself, " Ian said. He replied, "If I could do that, I shouldnot have to ask you. " "There are many things, " Ian rejoined, "--arithmetic is one--that can be understood only in the doing ofthem. " "But how can I do a thing without understanding it?" objectedAlister. "When you have an opportunity of doing this very thing, "said Ian, "do it, and see what will follow!" At the time he thoughtIan was refusing to come to the point, and was annoyingly indefiniteand illogical; but now it struck him that here was the opportunityof which he had spoken. 

"I see!" he said to himself. "It is not want of understanding thatis in the way now! A thing cannot look hateful and reasonable at thesame moment! This may be just the sort of thing Jesus meant! Even ifI be in the right, I have a right to yield my right--and to HIM Iwill yield it. That was why Ian turned his face to the wall: hewanted me to discover that here was my opportunity! How but in thename of Jesus Christ could he have dared tell me to forgive Ruadh'sdeath by sending his head to his murderer! It has to be done! I'vegot to do it! Here is my chance of turning the other cheek and beinghurt again! What can come of it is no business of mine! To returnevil is just to do a fresh evil! It MAY make the man ashamed ofhimself! It cannot hurt the stag; it only hurts my pride, and I owemy pride nothing! Why should not the fellow have what satisfactionhe may--something to show for his shot! He shall have the head. "

Thereupon rushed into his heart the joy of giving up, of deliverancefrom self; and pity, to leaven his contempt, awoke for Sercombe. Nosooner had he yielded his pride, than he felt it possible to lovethe man--not for anything he was, but for what he might and must be. 

"God let the man kill the stag, " he said; "I will let him have thehead. "

Again and yet again swelled afresh the tide of wrath andunwillingness, making him feel as if he could not carry out hisresolve; but all the time he knew the thing was as good asdone--absolutely determined, so that nothing could turn it aside. 

"To yield where one may, is the prerogative of liberty!" he said tohimself. "God only can give; who would be his child must yield!Abroad in the fields of air, as Paul and the love of God make mehope, what will the wind-battling Ruadh care for his old head! Wouldhe not say, 'Let the man have it; my hour was come, or the Some Onewould not have let him kill me!'?"

Thus argued the chief while the darkness endured--and as soon as themorning began to break, rose, took spade and pick and great knife, and went where Hector and Rob were watching the slain. 

It was bitterly cold. The burn crept silent under a continuousbridge of ice. The grass-blades were crisp with frost. The groundwas so hard it met iron like iron. 

He sent the men to get their breakfast from Nancy: none but himselfshould do the last offices for Ruadh! With skilful hand he separatedand laid aside the head--in sacrifice to the living God. Then thehard earth rang with mighty blows of the pickaxe. The labour wassevere, and long ere the grave was deep enough, Hector and Rob hadreturned; but the chief would not get out of it to give them anyshare in the work. When he laid hold of the body, they did not offerto help him; they understood the heart of their chief. Not without alast pang that he could not lay the head beside it, he began toshovel in the frozen clods, and then at length allowed them to takea part. When the grave was full, they rolled great stones upon it, that it might not be desecrated. Then the chief went back to hisroom, and proceeded to prepare the head, that, as the sacrifice, soshould be the gift. 

"I suppose he would like glass eyes, the ruffian!" he muttered tohimself, "but I will not have the mockery. I will fill the socketsand sew up the eyelids, and the face shall be as of one thatsleeps. "

Haying done all, and written certain directions for temporarytreatment, which he tied to an ear, he laid the head aside till theevening. 

All the day long, not a word concerning it passed between thebrothers; but when evening came, Alister, with a blue cottonhandkerchief in his hand, hiding the head as far as the roots of thehuge horns, asked Ian to go for a walk. They went straight to theNew House. Alister left the head at the door, with his complimentsto Mr. Sercombe. 

As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Ian put his armthrough his brother's, but did not speak. 

"I know now about turning the other cheek!" said Alister. "--PoorEuadh!"

"Leave him to the God that made the great head and nimble feet ofhim, " said Ian. "A God that did not care for what he had made, howshould we believe in! but he who cares for the dying sparrow, may betrusted with the dead stag. "

"Truly, yes, " returned Alister. 

"Let us sit down, " said Ian, "and I will sing you a song I made lastnight; I could not sleep after you left me. "

Without reply, Alister took a stone by the wayside, and Ian one acouple of yards from him. This was his song. 

 LOVE'S HISTORY. 

 Love, the baby, Toddled out to pluck a flower; One said, "No, sir;" one said, "Maybe, At the evening hour!"

 Love, the boy, Joined the boys and girls at play; But he left them half his joy Ere the close of day. 

 Love, the youth, Roamed the country, lightning-laden; But he hurt himself, and, sooth, Many a man and maiden!

 Love, the man, Sought a service all about; But he would not take their plan, So they cast him out. 

 Love, the aged, Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles, Bead a volume many-paged, Full of tears and smiles. 

 Love, the weary, Tottered down the shelving road: At its foot, lo, night the starry Meeting him from God!

 "Love, the holy!" Sang a music in her dome, Sang it softly, sang it slowly, "--Love is coming home!"

Ere the week was out, there stood above the dead stag a growingcairn, to this day called Carn a' cabrach mor. It took ten men withlevers to roll one of the boulders at its base. Men still caststones upon it as they pass. 

The next morning came a note to the cottage, in which Sercombethanked the Macruadh for changing his mind, and said that, althoughhe was indeed glad to have secured such a splendid head, he wouldcertainly have stalked another deer, had he known the chief set suchstore by the one in question. 

It was handed to Alister as he sat at his second breakfast with hismother and Ian: even in winter he was out of the house by sixo'clock, to set his men to work, and take his own share. He read tothe end of the first page with curling lip; the moment he turned theleaf, he sprang from his seat with an exclamation that startled hismother. 

"The hound!--I beg my good dogs' pardon, one and all!" he cried. "--Look at this, Ian! See what comes of taking your advice!"

"My dear fellow, I gave you no advice that had the least regard tothe consequence of following it! That was the one thing you hadnothing to do with. "

"READA, " insisted Alister, as he pranced about the room. "No, don'tread the letter; it's not worth, reading. Look at the paper in it. "

Ian looked, and saw a cheque for ten pounds. He burst into loudlaughter. 

"Poor Ruadh's horns! they're hardly so long as their owner's ears!"he said. 

"I told you so!" cried the chief. 

"No, Alister! You never suspected such a donkey!"

"What is it all about?" asked the mother. 

"The wretch who shot Ruadh, " replied Alister, "--to whom I gave hishead, all to please Ian, --"

"Alister!" said Ian. 

The chief understood, and retracted. 

"--no, not to please Ian, but to do what Ian showed me was right:--Ibelieve it was my duty!--I hope it was!--here's the murdering fellowsends me a cheque for ten pounds!--I told you, Ian, he offered meten pounds over the dead body!"

"I daresay the poor fellow was sorely puzzled what to do, andappealed to everybody in the house for advice!"

"You take the cheque to represent the combined wisdom of the NewHouse?"

"You must have puzzled them all!" persisted Ian. "How could peoplewith no principle beyond that of keeping to a bargain, understandyou otherwise! First, you perform an action such persons thinkdegrading: you carry a fellow's bag for a shilling, and then himselffor nothing! Next, in the very fury of indignation with a man forkilling the finest stag in the country on your meadow, you carry himhome the head with your own hands! It all comes of that unluckydivine motion of yours to do good that good may come! That shillingof Mistress Conal's is at the root of it all!"

Ian laughed again, and right heartily. The chief was too angry toenter into the humour of the thing. 

"Upon my word, Ian, it is too bad of you! What ARE you laughing at?It would become you better to tell me what I am to do! Am I free tobreak the rascal's bones?"

"Assuredly not, after that affair with the bag!"

"Oh, damn the bag!--I beg your pardon, mother. "

"Am I to believe my ears, Alister?"

"What does it matter, mother? What harm can it do the bag? I wishedno evil to any creature!"

"It was the more foolish. "

"I grant it, mother. But you don't know what a relief it issometimes to swear a little!--You are quite wrong, Ian; it all comesof giving him the head!"

"You wish you had not given it him?"

"No!" growled Alister, as from a pent volcano. 

"You will break my ears, Alister!" cried the mother, unable to keepfrom laughing at the wrath in which he went straining through theroom. 

"Think of it, " insisted Ian: "a man like could not think otherwisewithout a revolution of his whole being to which the change of theleopard's spots would he nothing. --What you meant, after all, wasnot cordiality; it was only generosity; to which his response, hiscountercheck friendly, was an order for ten pounds!--All is rightbetween you!"

"Now, really, Ian, you must not go on teasing your elder brotherso!" said the mother. 

Alister laughed, and ceased fuming. "But I must answer the brute!"he said. "What am I to say to him?"

"That you are much obliged, " replied Ian, "and will have the chequeframed and hung in the hall. "

"Come, come! no more of that!"

"Well, then, let me answer the letter. "

"That is just what I wanted!"

Ian sat down at his mother's table, and this is what he wrote. 

"Dear sir, --My brother desires me to return the cheque which youunhappily thought it right to send him. Humanity is subject tomistake, but I am sorry for the individual who could somisunderstand his courtesy. I have the honour to remain, sir, yourobedient servant, Ian Macruadh. "

As Ian guessed, the matter had been openly discussed at the NewHouse; and the money was sent with the approval of all except thetwo young ladies. They had seen the young men in circumstances morefavourable to the understanding of them by ordinary people. 

"Why didn't the chief write himself?" said Christian. 

"Oh, " replied Sercombe, "his little brother had been to school, andcould write better!"

Christina and Mercy exchanged glances. 

"I will tell you, " Mercy said, "why Mr. Lau answered the note: thechief had done with you!"

"Or, " suggested Christina, "the chief was in such a rage that hewould write nothing but a challenge. "

"I wish to goodness he had! It would have given me the chance ofgiving the clodhopper a lesson. "

"For sending you the finest stag's head and horns in the country!"remarked Mercy. 

"I shot the stag! Perhaps you don't believe I shot him!"

"Indeed I do! No one else would have done it. The chief would havedied sooner!"

"I'm sick of your chief!" said Christian. "A pretty chief without apenny to bless himself! A chief, and glad of the job of carrying acarpet-bag! You'll be calling him MY LORD, next!"

"He may at least write BARONET after his name when he pleases, "returned Mercy. 

"Why don't he then? A likely story!"

"Because, " answered Christina, "both his father and himself wereashamed of how the first baronet got his title. It had to do withthe sale of a part of the property, and they counted the land theclan's as well as the chief's. They regarded it as an act oftreachery to put the clan in the power of a stranger, and the chieflooks on the title as a brand of shame. "

"I don't question the treachery, " said Christian. "A highlander istreacherous. "

Christina had asked a friend in Glasgow to find out for her anythingknown among the lawyers concerning the Macruadhs, and what she hadjust recounted was a part of the information she had therebyreceived. 

Thenceforward silence covered the whole transaction. Sercombeneither returned the head, sent an apology, nor recognized the gift. That he had shot the stag was enough!

But these things wrought shaping the idea of the brothers in theminds of the sisters, and they were beginning to feel a strangeconfidence in them, such as they had never had in men before. Acurious little halo began to shimmer about the heads of the youngmen in the picture-gallery of the girls' fancy. Not the less, however, did they regard them as enthusiasts, unfitted to thisworld, incapable of self-protection, too good to live--in a word, unpractical! Because a man would live according to the laws of hisbeing as well as of his body, obeying simple, imperative, essentialhuman necessity, his fellows forsooth call him UNPRACTICAL! Of theidiotic delusions of the children of this world, that of beingpractical is one of the most ludicrous. 

Here is a translation, made by Ian, of one of Alister's Gaelicsongs. 

 THE SUN'S DAUGHTER. 

 A bright drop of water In the gold tire Of a sun's daughter Was laughing to her sire;

 And from all the flowers about, That never toiled or spun, The soul of each looked out, Clear laughing to the sun. 

 I saw them unfolding Their hearts every one! Every soul holding Within it the sun!

 But all the sun-mirrors Vanished anon; And their flowers, mere starers, Grew dry in the sun. 

 "My soul is but water, Shining and gone! She is but the daughter, " I said, "of the sun!"

 My soul sat her down In a deep-shaded gloom; Her glory was flown, Her earth was a tomb, Till night came and caught her, And then out she shone; And I knew her no daughter Of that shining sun--

 Till night came down and taught her Of a glory yet unknown; And I knew my soul the daughter Of a sun behind the sun. 

 Back, back to him that wrought her My soul shall haste and run; Straight back to him, his daughter, To the sun behind the sun. 

CHAPTER IX. 

ANNIE OF THE SHOP. 

At the dance in the chief's barn, Sercombe had paired with Annie ofthe shop oftener than with any other of the girls. That she shouldplease him at all, was something in his favour, for she was asimple, modest girl, with the nicest feeling of the laws ofintercourse, the keenest perception both of what is in itself right, and what is becoming in the commonest relation. She understood by afine moral instinct what respect was due to her, and what respectshe ought to show, and was therefore in the truest sense well-bred. There are women whom no change of circumstances would cause to altereven their manners a hair's-breadth: such are God's ladies; thereare others in whom any outward change will reveal the vulgarity of anature more conscious of claim than of obligation. 

I need not say that Sercomhe, though a man of what is callededucation, was but conventionally a gentleman. If in doubt whether aman be a gentleman or not, hear him speak to a woman he regards ashis inferior: his very tone will probably betray him. A truegentleman, that is a true man, will be the more carefullyrespectful. Sercombe was one of those who regard themselves asrespectable because they are prudent; whether they are human, andtheir brother and sister's keeper, they have never asked themselves. 

To some minds neither innocent nor simple, there is yet somethingattractive in innocence and simplicity. Perhaps it gives them apleasing sense of their superiority--a background against which torejoice in their liberty, while their pleasure in it helps toobscure the gulf between what the man would fain hold himself to be, and what in reality he is. There is no spectre so terrible as theunsuspected spectre of a man's own self; it is noisome enough to theman who is ever trying to better it: what must it appear to the manwho sees it for the first time! Sercombe's self was ugly, and he didnot know it; he thought himself an exceptionally fine fellow. No oneknows what a poor creature he is but the man who makes it hisbusiness to be true. The only mistake worse than thinking well ofhimself, is for a man to think God takes no interest in him. 

One evening, sorely in lack of amusement, Sercombe wandered out intoa star-lit night, and along the road to the village. There he wentinto the general shop, where sat Annie behind the counter. Now thefirst attention he almost always paid a woman, that is when he caredand dared, was a compliment--the fungus of an empty head or a falseheart; but with Annie he took no such initiative liberty, and she, accustomed to respectful familiarity from the chief and his brother, showed no repugnance to his friendly approach. 

"Upon my word, Miss Annie, " said Sercombe, venturing at length alittle, "you were the best dancer on the floor that night!"

"Oh, Mr. Sercombe! how can you say so--with such dancers as theyoung ladies of your party!" returned Annie. 

"They dance well, " he returned, "but not so well as you. "

"It all depends on the dance--whether you are used to it or not. "

"No, by Jove! If you had a lesson or two such as they have beenhaving all their lives, you would dance out of their sight in thetwinkling of an eye. If I had you for a partner every night for amonth, you would dance better than any woman I have ever seen--offthe stage--any lady, that is. "

The grosser the flattery, the surer with a country girl, he thought. But there was that in his tone, besides the freedom of sounding herpraises in her own ears, which was unpleasing to Annie's ladyhood, and she held her peace. 

"Come out and have a turn, " he said thereupon. "It is lovelystar-light. Have you had a walk to-day?"

"No, I have not, " answered Annie, casting how to get rid of him. 

"You wrong your beauty by keeping to the house. "

"My beauty, " said Annie, flushing, "may look after itself; I havenothing to do with it--neither, excuse me, sir, have you. "

"Why, who has a right to be offended with the truth! A man can'thelp seeing your face is as sweet as your voice, and your figure, asrevealed by your dancing, a match for the two!"

"I will call my mother, " said Annie, and left the shop. 

Sercombe did not believe she would, and waited. He took herdeparture for a mere coquetry. But when a rather grim, handsome oldwoman appeared, asking him--it took the most of her English--"Whatwould you be wanting, sir?" as if he had just come into the shop, hefound himself awkwardly situated. He answered, with more than hisusual politeness, that, having had the pleasure of dancing with herdaughter at the chief's hall, he had taken the liberty of looking into inquire after her health; whereupon, perplexed, the old woman inher turn called Annie, who came at once, but kept close to hermother. Sercombe began to tell them about a tour he had made inCanada, for he had heard they had friends there; but the mother didnot understand him, and Annie more and more disliked him. He soonsaw that at least he had better say nothing more about a walk, andtook himself off, not a little piqued at repulse from a peasant-girlin the most miserable shop he had ever entered. 

Two days after, he went again--this time to buy tobacco. Annie wasshort with him, but he went yet again and yet sooner: theseprimitive people objected to strangers, he said; accustomed to himshe would be friendly! he would not rest until he had gained somefooting of favour with her! Annie grew heartily offended with theman. She also feared what might be said if he kept coming to theshop--where Mistress Conal had seen him more than once, and lookedpoison at him. For her own sake, for the sake of Lachlan, and forthe sake of the chief, she resolved to make the young father of theancient clan acquainted with her trouble. It was on the day afterhis rejection of the ten-pound note that she found her opportunity, for the chief came to see her. 

"Was he rude to you, Annie?" he asked. 

"No, sir--too polite, I think: he must have seen I did not want hiscompany. --I shall feel happier now you know. "

"I will see to it, " said the chief. 

"I hope it will not put you to any trouble, sir!"

"What am I here for, Annie! Are you not my clanswoman! Is notLachlan my foster-brother!--He will trouble you no more, I think. "

As Alister walked home, he met Sercombe, and after a greeting notvery cordial on either side, said thus:

"I should be obliged to you, Mr. Sercombe, if you would send foranything you want, instead of going to the shop yourself. AnnieMacruadh is not the sort of girl you may have found in such aposition, and you would not wish to make her uncomfortable!"

Sercombe was, ashamed, I think; for the refuge of the fool whendissatisfied with himself, is offence with his neighbour, andSercombe was angry. 

"Are you her father--or her lover?" he said. 

"She has a right to my protection--and claims it, " rejoined Alisterquietly. 

"Protection! Oh!--What the devil would you protect her from?"

"From you, Mr. Sercombe. "

"Protect her, then. "

"I will. Force yourself on that young woman's notice again, and youwill have to do with me. "

They parted. Alister went home. Sercombe went straight to the shop. 

He was doing what he could to recommend himself to Christina; butwhether from something antagonistic between them, or fromunwillingness on her part to yield her position of advantage and soher liberty, she had not given him the encouragement he thought hedeserved. He believed himself in love with her, and had told her so;but the truest love such a man can feel, is a poor thing. Headmired, and desired, and thought he loved her beauty, and that hecalled being in love with HER! He did not think much about hermoney, but had she then been brought to poverty, he would at leasthave hesitated about marrying her. 

In the family he was regarded as her affianced, although she did nottreat him as such, but merely went on bewitching him, pleased thatat least he was a man of the world. 

While one is yet only IN LOVE, the real person, the love-capable, lies covered with the rose-leaves of a thousand sleepy-eyed dreams, and through them come to the dreamer but the barest hints of thereal person of whom is the dream. A thousand fancies fly out, approach, and cross, but never meet; the man and the woman arepleased, not with each other, but each with the fancied other. Themerest common likings are taken for signs of a wonderful sympathy, of a radical unity--of essential capacity, therefore, of loving andbeing loved; at a hundred points their souls seem to touch, buttheir contacts are the merest brushings as of insect-antennae; thereal man, the real woman, is all the time asleep under therose-leaves. Happy is the rare fate of the true--to wake and comeforth and meet in the majesty of the truth, in the image of God, intheir very being, in the power of that love which alone is being. They love, not this and that about each other, but each the veryother--a love as essential to reality, to truth, to religion, as thelove of the very God. Where such love is, let the differences oftaste, the unfitnesses of temperament be what they may, the two mustby and by be thoroughly one. 

Sercombe saw no reason why a gentleman should not amuse himself withany young woman he pleased. What was the chief to him! He was nothis chief! If he was a big man in the eyes of his little clan, hewas nothing much in the eyes of Hilary Sercombe. 

CHAPTER X

THE ENCOUNTER. 

Annie came again to her chief, with the complaint that Mr. Sercombepersisted in his attentions. Alister went to see her home. They hadnot gone far when Sercombe overtook them, and passed. The chief toldAnnie to go on, and called after him, "I must have a word or two with you, Mr. Sercombe!"

He turned and came up with long steps, his hands in hiscoat-pockets. 

"I warned you to leave that girl alone!" said the chief. 

"And I warn you now, " rejoined Sercombe, "to leave me alone!"

"I am bound to take care of her. "

"And I of myself. "

"Not at her expense!"

"At yours then!" answered Sercombe, provoking an encounter, to whichhe was the more inclined that he saw Ian coming slowly up the ridge. 

"It was your deliberate intention then to forget the caution I gaveyou?" said the chief, restraining his anger. 

"I make a point of forgetting what I do not think worthremembering. "

"I forget nothing!"

"I congratulate you. "

"And I mean to assist your memory, Mr. Sercombe. "

"Mr. Macruadh!" returned Sercombe, "if you expect me not to open mylips to any hussy in the glen without your leave, --"

His speech was cut short by a box on the ear from the open hand ofthe chief. He would not use his fist without warning, but such aword applied to any honest woman of his clan demanded instantrecognition. 

Sercomhe fell back a step, white with rage, then darting forward, struck straight at the front of his adversary. Alister avoided theblow, but soon found himself a mere child at such play with theEnglishman. He had not again touched Sercombe, and was himselfbleeding fast, when Ian came up running. 

"Damn you! come on!" cried Sercombe when he saw him; "I can do theprecious pair of you!"

"Stop!" cried Ian, laying hold of his brother from behind, pinninghis arms to his sides, wheeling him round, and taking his place. "Give over, Alister, " he went on. "You can't do it, and I won't seeyou punished when it is he that deserves it. Go and sit there, andlook on. "

"YOU can't do it, Ian!" returned Alister. "It is my business. Oneblow in will serve. He jumps about like a goat that I can't hithim!"

"You are blind with blood!" said Ian, in a tone that gave Sercombeexpectation of too easy a victory. "Sit down there, I tell you!"

"Mind, I don't give in!" said Alister, but turning went to the bankat the roadside. "If he speak once again to Annie, I swear I willmake him repent it!"

Sercombe laughed insultingly. 

"Mr. Sercombe, " said Ian, "had we not better put off our bout tillto-morrow? You have fought already!"

"Damn you for a coward, come on!"

"Would you not like to take your breath for a moment?"

"I have all I am likely to need. "

"It is only fair, " persisted Ian, "to warn you that you will notfind my knowledge on the level of my brother's!"

"Shut up, " said Sercombe savagely, "and come on. "

For a few rounds Ian seemed to Alister to be giving Sercombe time torecover his wind; to Sercombe he seemed to be saving his own. Hestood to defend, and did not attempt to put in a blow. 

"Mr. Sercombe, " he said at length, "you cannot serve me as you didmy brother. "

"I see that well enough. Come on!"

"Will you give your word to leave Annie of the shop alone?"

Sercombe answered with a scornful imprecation. 

"I warn you again, I am no novice in this business!" said Ian. 

Sercombe struck out, but did not reach his antagonist. 

The fight lasted but a moment longer. As his adversary drew backfrom a failed blow, Alister saw Ian's eyes flash, and his left armshoot out, as it seemed, to twice its length. Sercombe neitherreeled nor staggered but fell supine, and lay motionless. Thebrothers were by his side in a moment. 

"I struck too hard!" said Ian. 

"Who can think about that in a fight!" returned Alister. 

"I could have helped it well enough, and a better man would. Something shot through me--I hope it wasn't hatred; I am sure it wasanger--and the man went down! What if the devil struck the blow!"

"Nonsense, Ian!" said Alister, as they raised Sercombe to carry himto the cottage. "It was pure indignation, and nothing to blame init!"

"I wish I could be sure of that!"

They had not gone far before he began to come to himself. 

"What are you about?" he said feebly but angrily. "Set me down. "

They did so. He staggered to the road-side, and leaned against thebank. 

"What's been the row?" he asked. "Oh, I remember!--Well, you've hadthe best of it!"

He held out his hand in a vague sort of way, and the gesture invadedtheir soft hearts. Each took the hand. 

"I was all right about the girl though, " said Sercombe. "I didn'tmean her any harm. "

"I don't think you did, " answered Alister; "and I am sure you couldhave done her none; but the girl did not like it. "

"There is not a girl of the clan, or in the neighbourhood, for whommy brother would not have done the same. " said Ian. 

"You're a brace of woodcocks!" cried Sercombe. "It's well you're notout in the world. You would be in hot water from morning to night! Ican't think how the devil you get on at all!"

"Get on! Where?" asked Ian with a smile. 

"Come now! You ain't such fools as you want to look! A man must makea place for himself somehow in the world!"

He rose, and they walked in the direction of the cottage. 

"There is a better thing than that, " said Ian!

"What?"

"To get clean out of it. "

"What! cut your throats?"

"I meant that to get out of the world clean was better than to geton in it. "

"I don't understand you. I don't choose to think the man thatthrashed me a downright idiot!" growled Sercombe. 

"What you call getting on, " rejoined Ian, "we count not worth athought. Look at our clan! it is a type of the world itself. Everything is passing away. We believe in the kingdom of heaven. "

"Come, come! fellows like you must know well enough that's all bosh!Nobody nowadays--nobody with any brains--believes such rot!"

"We believe in Jesus Christ, " said Ian, "and are determined to dowhat he will have us do, and take our orders from nobody else. "

"I don't understand you!"

"I know you don't. You cannot until you set about changing yourwhole way of life. "

"Oh, be damned! what an idea! a sneaking, impossible idea!"

"As to its being an impossible idea, we hold it, and live by it. Howabsurd it must seem to you, I know perfectly. But we don't live inyour world, and you do not even see the lights of ours. "

"'There is a world beyond the stars'!--Well, there may be; I knownothing about it; I only know there is one on this side of them, --avery decent sort of world too! I mean to make the best of it. "

"And have not begun yet!"

"Indeed I have! I deny myself nothing. I live as I was made tolive. "

"If you were not made to obey your conscience or despise yourself, you are differently made from us, and no communication is possiblebetween us. We must wait until what differences a man from a beastmake its appearance in you. "

"You are polite!"

"You have spoken of us as you think; now we speak of you as wethink. Taking your representation of yourself, you are in thecondition of the lower animals, for you claim inclination as the lawof your life. "

"My beast is better than your man!"

"You mean you get more of the good of life!"

"Right! I do. "

The brothers exchanged a look and smile. 

"But suppose, " resumed Ian, "the man we have found in us should oneday wake up in you! Suppose he should say, 'Why did you make abeast of me?'! It will not be easy for you to answer him!"

"That's all moonshine! Things are as you take them. "

"So said Lady Macbeth till she took to walking in her sleep, andcouldn't get rid of the smell of the blood!"

Sercombe said no more. He was silent with disgust at the nonsense ofit all. 

They reached the door of the cottage. Alister invited him to walkin. He drew back, and would have excused himself. 

"You had better lie down a while, " said Alister. 

"You shall come to my room, " said Ian. "We shall meet nobody. "

Sercombe yielded, for he felt queer. He threw himself on Ian's bed, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. 

When he woke, he had a cup of tea, and went away little the worse. The laird could not show himself for several days. 

After this Annie had no further molestation. But indeed the youngmen's time was almost up--which was quite as well, for Annie of theshop, after turning a corner of the road, had climbed the hill-side, and seen all that passed. The young ladies, hearing contradictorystatements, called upon Annie to learn the truth, and theintercourse with her that followed was not without influence onthem. Through Annie they saw further into the character of thebrothers, who, if they advocated things too fine for the world thegirls had hitherto known, DID things also of which it would by nomeans have approved. They valued that world and its judgment not astraw!

CHAPTER XI. 

A LESSON. 

All the gentlemen at the New House left it together, and its ladieswere once more abandoned to the society of Nature, who said littleto any of them. For, though she recognized her grandchildren, anddid what she could for them, it was now time they should make somemove towards acquaintance with her. A point comes when she muststand upon her dignity, for it is great. If you would hear herwonderful tales, or see her marvellous treasures, you must nottrifle with her; you must not talk as if you could rummage herdrawers and cahinets as you pleased. You must believe in her; youmust reverence her; else, although she is everywhere about thehouse, you may not meet her from the beginning of one year to theend of another. 

To allude to any aspect of nature in the presence of the girls wasto threaten to bore them; and I heartily confess to being boredmyself with common talk about scenery; but these ladies appearedunaware of the least expression on the face of their grand-mother. Doubtless they received some good from the aspect of things--thatthey could not help; there Grannie's hidden, and thereforeirresistible power was in operation; but the moment they had theirthoughts directed to the world around them, they began to gapeinwardly. Even the trumpet and shawm of her winds, the stately marchof her clouds, and the torrent-rush of her waters, were to thempoor facts, no vaguest embodiment of truths eternal. It was smallwonder then that verse of any worth should be to them but soundingbrass and clanging cymbals. What they called society, its ways andjudgments, its decrees and condemnations, its fashions and pomps andshows, false, unjust, ugly, was nearly all they cared for. The truthof things, without care for which man or woman is the merest puppet, had hitherto been nothing to them. To talk of Nature wassentimental. To talk of God was both irreverent and ill-bred. Wordsworth was an old woman; St. Paul an evangelical churchman. Theysaw no feature of any truth, but, like all unthinkers, wrapped thewords of it in their own foolishness, and then sneered at them. Theywere too much of ladies, however, to do it disagreeably; they onlysmiled at the foolish neighbour who believed things they were toosensible to believe. It must, however, be said for them, that theyhad not yet refused anything worth believing--as presented to them. They had not yet actually looked upon any truth and refused it. Theywere indeed not yet true enough in themselves to suspect thepresence of either a truth or a falsehood. 

A thaw came, and the ways were bad, and they found the time hang yetheavier on their unaided hands. An intercourse by degreesestablished itself between Mrs. Macruadh and the well-meaning, handsome, smiling Mrs. Palmer, and rendered it natural for the girlsto go rather frequently to the cottage. They made themselvesagreeable to the mother, and subject to the law of her presenceshowed to better advantage. 

With their love of literature, it was natural also that the youngmen should at such times not only talk about books, but occasionallyread for their entertainment from some favourite one; so that now, for the first time in their lives, the young ladies were broughtunder direct teaching of a worthy sort--they had had but a mockeryof it at school and church--and a little light began to soak throughtheir unseeking eyes. Among many others, however, less manifest, oneobstruction to their progress lay in the fact that Christina, whosepercep in some directions was quick enough, would always make a dartat the comical side of anything that could be comically turned, sodisturbing upon occasion the whole spiritual atmosphere about somedelicate epiphany: this to both Alister and Ian was unbearable. Sheoffended chiefly in respect of Wordsworth--who had not humour enoughalways to perceive what seriously meant expression might suggest aludicrous idea. 

One time, reading from the Excursion, Ian came to the verse--not tobe found, I think, in later editions--

"Perhaps it is not he but some one else":--

"Awful idea!" exclaimed Christina, with sepulchral tone; "--'someone else!' Think of it! It makes me shudder! Who might it not havebeen!"

Ian closed the book, and persistently refused to read more that day. 

Another time he was reading, in illustration of something, Wordsworth's poem, "To a Skylark, " the earlier of the two with thattitle: when he came to the unfortunate line, --

"Happy, happy liver!"--

"Oh, I am glad to know that!" cried Christina. "I always thought thepoor lark must have a bad digestion--he was up so early!"

Ian refused to finish the poem, although Mercy begged hard. 

The next time they came, he proposed to "read something in MissPalmer's style, " and taking up a volume of Hood, and avoiding bothhis serious and the best of his comic poems, turned to two or threeof the worst he could find. After these he read a vulgar rime aboutan execution, pretending to be largely amused, making flat jokes ofhis own, and sometimes explaining elaborately where was no occasion. 

"Ian!" said his mother at length; "have you bid farewell to yoursenses?"

"No, mother, " he answered; "what I am doing is the merestconsequence of the way you brought us up. "

"I don't understand that!" she returned. 

"You always taught us to do the best we could for our visitors. Sowhen I fail to interest them, I try to amuse them. "

"But you need not make a fool of yourself!"

"It is better to make a fool of myself, than let Miss Palmer make afool of--a great man!"

"Mr. Ian, " said Christina, "it is not of yourself but of me you havebeen making a fool. --I deserved it!" she added, and burst intotears. 

"Miss Palmer, " said Ian, "I will drop my foolishness, if you willdrop your fun. "

"I will, " answered Christina. 

And Ian read them the poem beginning--

 "Three years she grew in sun and shower. "

Scoffing at what is beautiful, is not necessarily a sign of evil; itmay only indicate stupidity or undevelopment: the beauty is notperceived. But blame is often present in prolonged undevelopment. Surely no one habitually obeying his conscience would long be leftwithout a visit from some shape of the beautiful!

CHAPTER XII. 

NATURE. 

The girls had every liberty; their mother seldom interfered. Herselftrue to her own dim horn-lantern, she had confidence in thediscretion of her daughters, and looked for no more than discretion. Hence an amount of intercourse was possible between them and theyoung men, which must have speedily grown to a genuine intimacy hadthey inhabited even a neighbouring sphere of conscious life. 

Almost unknown to herself, however, a change for the better hadbegun in Mercy. She had not yet laid hold of, had not yet perceivedany truth; but she had some sense of the blank where truth ought tobe. It was not a sense that truth was lacking; it was only a sensethat something was not in her which was in those men. A nature suchas hers, one that had not yet sinned against the truth, was not onelong to frequent such a warm atmosphere of live truth, withoutapproach to the hour when it must chip its shell, open its eyes, andacknowledge a world of duty around it. 

One lovely star-lit night of keen frost, the two mothers weresitting by a red peat-fire in the little drawing-room of thecottage, and Ian was talking to the girls over some sketches he hadmade in the north, when the chief came in, bringing with him an airof sharp exhilaration, and proposed a walk. 

"Come and have a taste of star-light!" he said. 

The girls rose at once, and were ready in a minute. 

The chief was walking between the two ladies, and Ian was a fewsteps in front, his head bent as in thought. Suddenly, Mercy saw himspread out his arms toward the starry vault, with his face to itsserrated edge of mountain-tops. The feeling, almost the sense ofanother presence awoke in her, and as quickly vanished. The thought, IS HE A PANTHEIST? took its place. Had she not surprised him in anact of worship? In that wide outspreading of the lifted arms, was henot worshipping the whole, the Pan? Sky and stars and mountains andsea were his God! She walked aghast, forgetful of a hundred thingsshe had heard him say that might have settled the point. She had, during the last day or two, been reading an article in whichPANTHEISM was once and again referred to with more horror thandefiniteness. Recovering herself a little, she ventured approach tothe subject. 

"Macruadh, " she said, "Mr. Ian and you often say things about NATUREthat I cannot understand: I wish you would tell me what you mean byit. "

"By what?" asked Alister. 

"By NATURE" answered Mercy. "I heard Mr. Ian say, for instance, theother night, that he did not like Nature to take liberties with him;you said she might take what liberties with you she pleased; andthen you went on talking so that I could not understand a wordeither of you said!"

While she spoke, Ian had turned and rejoined them, and they were nowwalking in a line, Mercy between the two men, and Christina on Ian'sright. The brothers looked at each other: it would be hard to makeher understand just that example! Something more rudimentary mustprepare the way! Silence fell for a moment, and then Ian said--

"We mean by nature every visitation of the outside world through oursenses. "

"More plainly, please Mr. Ian! You cannot imagine how stupid I feelwhen you are talking your thinks, as once I heard a child callthem. "

"I mean by nature, then, all that you see and hear and smell andtaste and feel of the things round about you. "

"If that be all you mean, why should you make it seem so difficult?"

"But that is not all. We mean the things themselves only for thesake of what they say to us. As our sense of smell brings us news offields far off, so those fields, or even the smell only that comesfrom them, tell us of things, meanings, thoughts, intentions beyondthem, and embodied in them. "

"And that is why you speak of Nature as a person?" asked Mercy. 

"Whatever influences us must be a person. But God is the only realperson, being in himself, and without help from anybody; and so wetalk even of the world which is but his living garment, as if thatwere a person; and we call it SHE as if it were a woman, because somany of God's loveliest influences come to us through her. Shealways seems to me a beautiful old grandmother. "

"But there now! when you talk of her influences, and the libertiesshe takes, I do not know what you mean. She seems to do and hesomething to you which certainly she does not and is not to me. Icannot tell what to make of it. I feel just as when our music-masterwas talking away about thorough bass: I could not get hold, head ortail, of what the man was after, and we all agreed there was nosense in it. Now I begin to suspect there must have been too much!"

"There is no fear of her!" said Ian to himself. 

"My heart told me the truth about her!" thought Alister jubilant. "Now we shall have talk!"

"I think I can let you see into it, Miss Mercy, " said Ian. "Imaginefor a moment how it would be if, instead of having a roof like 'thismost excellent canopy the air, this brave o'erhanging, thismajestical roof, fretted with golden fire, '--"

"Are you making the words, or saying them out of a book?"interrupted Mercy. 

"Ah! you don't know Hamlet? How rich I should feel myself if I hadthe first reading of it before me like you!--But imagine howdifferent it would have been if, instead of such a roof, we had onlyclouds, hanging always down, like the flies in a theatre, within ayard or two of our heads!"

Mercy was silent for a moment, then said, "It would be horribly wearisome. "

"It would indeed be wearisome! But how do you think it would affectyour nature, your being?"

Mercy held the peace which is the ignorant man's wisdom. 

"We should have known nothing of astronomy, " said Christina. 

"True; and the worst would have been, that the soul would have hadno astronomy--no notion of heavenly things. "

"There you leave me out again!" said Mercy. 

"I mean, " said Ian, "that it would have had no sense ofoutstretching, endless space, no feeling of heights above, anddepths beneath. The idea of space would not have come awake in it. "

"I understand!" said Christina. "But I do not see that we shouldhave been much the worse off. Why should we have the idea of morethan we want? So long as we have room, I do not see what spacematters to us!"

"Ah, but when the soul wakes up, it needs all space for room! Alimit of thousands of worlds will not content it. Mere elbow-roomwill not do when the soul wakes up!"

"Then my soul is not waked up yet!" rejoined Christina with a laugh. 

Ian did not reply, and Christina felt that he accepted theproposition, absurd as it seemed to herself. 

"But there is far more than that, " he resumed. "What notion couldyou have had of majesty, if the heavens seemed scarce higher thanthe earth? what feeling of the grandeur of him we call God, of hisillimitation in goodness? For space is the body to the idea ofliberty. Liberty is--God and the souls that love; these are thelimitless room, the space, in which thoughts, the souls of things, have their being. If there were no holy mind, then no freedom, nospiritual space, therefore no thoughts; just as, if there were nospace, there could be no things. "

Ian saw that not even Alister was following him, and changed hiskey. 

"Look up, " he said, "and tell me what you see. --What is the shapeover us?"

"It is a vault, " replied Christina. 

"A dome--is it not?" said Mercy. 

"Yes; a vault or a dome, recognizable at the moment mainly by itsshining points. This dome we understand to be the complement orcompleting part of a correspondent dome on the other side of theworld. It follows that we are in the heart of a hollow sphere ofloveliest blue, spangled with light. Now the sphere is the oneperfect geometrical form. Over and round us then we have the oneperfect shape. I do not say it is put there for the purpose ofrepresenting God; I say it is there of necessity, because of itsnature, and its nature is its relation to God. It is of God'sthinking; and that half-sphere above men's heads, with influenceendlessly beyond the reach of their consciousness, is the beginningof all revelation of him to men. They must begin with that. It isthe simplest as well as most external likeness of him, while itsrelation to him goes so deep that it represents things in his verynature that nothing else could. "

"You bewilder me, " said Mercy. "I cannot follow you. I am not fitfor such high things!"

"I will go on; you will soon begin to see what I mean: I know whatyou are fit for better than you do yourself, Miss Mercy. --Thinkthen how it would be if this blue sky were plainly a solid. Men ofold believed it a succession of hollow spheres, one outside theother; it is hardly a wonder they should have had little gods. Nomatter how high the vault of the inclosing sphere; limited at all itcould not declare the glory of God, it could only show hishandiwork. In our day it is a sphere only to the eyes; it is aforeshortening of infinitude that it may enter our sight; there isno imagining of a limit to it; it is a sphere only in this, that inno one direction can we come nearer to its circumference than inanother. This infinitive sphere, I say then, or, if you like itbetter, this spheric infinitude, is the only figure, image, emblem, symbol, fit to begin us to know God; it is an idea incomprehensible;we can only believe in it. In like manner God cannot by searching befound out, cannot be grasped by any mind, yet is ever before us, theone we can best know, the one we must know, the one we cannot helpknowing; for his end in giving us being is that his humblestcreature should at length possess himself, and be possessed by him. "

"I think I begin, " said Mercy--and said no more. 

"If it were not for the outside world, " resumed Ian, "we should haveno inside world to understand things by. Least of all could weunderstand God without these millions of sights and sounds andscents and motions, weaving their endless harmonies. They come outfrom his heart to let us know a little of what is in it!"

Alister had been listening hard. He could not originate such things, but he could understand them; and his delight in them proved themhis own, although his brother had sunk the shaft that laid opentheir lode. 

"I never heard you put a thing better, Ian!" he said. 

"You gentlemen, " said Mercy, "seem to have a place to think in thatI don't know how to get into! Could you not open your church-door alittle wider to let me in? There must be room for more than two!"

She was looking up at Alister, not so much afraid of him; Ian was toher hardly of this world. In her eyes Alister saw something thatseemed to reflect the starlight; but it might have been a luminoushaze about the waking stars of her soul!

"My brother has always been janitor to me, " replied Alister; "I donot know how to open any door. But here no door needs to be opened;you have just to step straight into the temple of nature, among allthe good people worshipping. "

"There! that is what I was afraid of!" cried Mercy: "you arepantheists!"

"Bless my soul, Mercy!" exclaimed Christina; "what do you mean?"

"Yes, " answered Ian. "If to believe that not a lily can grow, not asparrow fall to the ground without our Father, be pantheism, Alisterand I are pantheists. If by pantheism you mean anything that wouldnot fit with that, we are not pantheists. "

"Why should we trouble about religion more than is required of us!"interposed Christina. 

"Why indeed?" returned Ian. "But then how much is required?"

"You require far more than my father, and he is good enough for me!"

"The Master says we are to love God with all our hearts and soulsand strength and mind. "

"That was in the old law, Ian, " said Alister. 

"You are right. Jesus only justified it--and did it. "

"How then can you worship in the temple of Nature?" said Mercy. 

"Just as he did. It is Nature's temple, mind, for the worship ofGod, not of herself!"

"But how am I to get into it? That is what I want to know. "

"The innermost places of the temple are open only to such as alreadyworship in a greater temple; but it has courts into which any honestsoul may enter. "

"You wouldn't set me to study Wordsworth?"

"By no means. "

"I am glad of that--though there must be more in him than I see, oryou couldn't care for him so much!"

"Some of Nature's lessons you must learn before you can understandthem. "

"Can you call it learning a lesson if you do not understand it?"

"Yes--to a certain extent. Did you learn at school to work the ruleof three?"

"Yes; and I was rather fond of it. "

"Did you understand it?"

"I could work sums in it. "

"Did you see how it was that setting the terms down so, and workingout the rule, must give you a true answer. Did you perceive that itwas safe to buy or sell, to build a house, or lay out a garden, bythe rule of three?"

"I did not. I do not yet. "

"Then one may so far learn a lesson without understanding it! Alldo, more or less, in Dame Nature's school. Not a few lessons must beso learned in order to be better learned. Without being so learnedfirst, it is not possible to understand them; the scholar has notfacts enough about the things to understand them. Keats's youthfuldelight in Nature was more intense even than Wordsworth's, but hewas only beginning to understand her when he died. Shelley was muchnearer understanding her than Keats, but he was drowned before hedid understand her. Wordsworth was far before either of them. At thesame time, presumptuous as it may appear, I believe there areregions to be traversed, beyond any point to which Wordsworth leadsus. "

"But how am I to begin? Do tell me. Nothing you say helps me in theleast. "

"I have all the time been leading you toward the door at which youwant to go in. It is not likely, however, that it will open to youat once. I doubt if it will open to you at all except throughsorrow. "

"You are a most encouraging master!" said Christina, with a lightlaugh. 

"It was Wordsworth's bitter disappointment in the outcome of theFrench revolution, " continued Ian, "that opened the door to him. Yethe had gone through the outer courts of the temple with moreunderstanding than any who immediately preceded him. --Will you letme ask you a question?"

"You frighten me!" said Mercy. 

"I am sorry for that. We will talk of something else. "

"I am not afraid of what you may ask me; I am frightened at what youtell me. I fear to go on if I must meet Sorrow on the way!"

"You make one think of some terrible secret society!" saidChristina. 

"Tell me then, Miss Mercy, is there anything you love very much? Idon't say any PERSON, but any THING. "

"I love some animals. "

"An animal is not a thing. It is possible to love animals and notthe nature of which we are speaking. You might love a dog dearly, and never care to see the sun rise!--Tell me, did any flower evermake you cry?

"No, " answered Mercy, with a puzzled laugh; "how could it?"

"Did any flower ever make you a moment later in going to bed, or amoment earlier in getting out of it?"

"No, certainly!"

"In that direction, then, I am foiled!"

"You would not really have me cry over a flower, Mr. Ian? Did ever aflower make you cry yourself? Of course not! it is only silly womenthat cry for nothing!"

"I would rather not bring myself in at present, " answered Iansmiling. "Do you know how Chaucer felt about flowers?"

"I never read a word of Chaucer. "

"Shall I give you an instance?"

"Please. "

"Chaucer was a man of the world, a courtier, more or less a man ofaffairs, employed by Edward III. In foreign business of state: youcannot mistake him for an effeminate or sentimental man! He does notanywhere, so far as I remember, say that ever he cried over aflower, but he shows a delight in some flowers so delicate and deepthat it must have a source profounder than that of most people'stears. When we go back I will read you what he says about the daisy;but one more general passage I think I could repeat. There areanimals in it too!"

"Pray let us hear it, " said Christina. 

He spoke the following stanzas--not quite correctly, but supplyingfor the moment's need where he could not recall:--

 A gardein saw I, full of blosomed bowis, Upon a river, in a grene mede, There as sweetnesse evermore inough is, With floures white, blewe, yelowe, and rede, And cold welle streames, nothing dede, That swommen full of smale fishes light, With finnes rede, and scales silver bright. 

 On every bough the birdes heard I sing, With voice of angell, in hir armonie, That busied hem, hir birdes forth to bring, The little pretty conies to hir play gan hie, And further all about I gan espie, The dredeful roe, the buck, the hart, and hind, Squirrels, and beastes small, of gentle kind. 

 Of instruments of stringes in accorde, Heard I so play, a ravishing swetnesse, That God, that maker is of all and Lorde, Ne heard never better, as I gesse, Therewith a wind, unneth it might be lesse, Made in the leaves grene a noise soft, Accordant to the foules song on loft. 

 The aire of the place so attempre was, That never was ther grevance of hot ne cold, There was eke every noisome spice and gras, Ne no man may there waxe sicke ne old, Yet was there more joy o thousand fold, Than I can tell or ever could or might, There is ever clere day, and never night. 

He modernized them also a little in repeating them, so that hishearers missed nothing through failing to understand the words: howmuch they gained, it were hard to say. 

"It reminds one, " commented Ian, "of Dante's paradise on the top ofthe hill of purgatory. "

"I don't know anything about Dante either, " said Mercy regretfully. 

"There is plenty of time!" said Ian. 

"But there is so much to learn!" returned Mercy in a hopeless tone. 

"That is the joy of existence!" Ian replied. "We are not bound toknow; we are only bound to learn. --But to return to my task: a manmay really love a flower. In another poem Chaucer tells us that suchis his delight in his books that no other pleasure can take him fromthem--

 Save certainly, when that the month of May Is comen, and that I heare the foules sing, And that the floures ginnen for to spring, Farwell my booke, and my devotion!

Poor people love flowers; rich people admire them. "

"But, " said Mercy, "how can one love a thing that has no life?"

Ian could have told her that whatever grows must live; he couldfurther have told her his belief that life cannot be without itsmeasure of consciousness; but it would have led to more difficulty, and away from the end he had in view. He felt also that noimaginable degree of consciousness in it was commensurate with thelove he had himself for almost any flower. His answer to Mercy'squestion was this:--

"The flowers come from the same heart as man himself, and are sentto be his companions and ministers. There is something divinelymagical, because profoundly human in them. In some at least thehuman is plain; we see a face of childlike peace and confidence thatappeals to our best. Our feeling for many of them doubtless owessomething to childish associations; but how did they get their holdof our childhood? Why did they enter our souls at all? They arejoyous, inarticulate children, come with vague messages from thefather of all. If I confess that what they say to me sometimes makesme weep, how can I call my feeling for them anything but love? Theeternal thing may have a thousand forms of which we know nothingyet!"

Mercy felt Ian must mean something she ought to like, if only sheknew what it was; but he had not yet told her anything to help her!He had, however, neither reached his end nor lost his way; he wasleading her on--gently and naturally. 

"I did not mean, " he resumed, "that you must of necessity begin withthe flowers. I was only inquiring whether at that point you werenearer to Nature. --Tell me--were you ever alone?"

"Alone!" repeated Mercy, thinking. "--Surely everybody has been manytimes alone!"

"Could you tell when last you were alone?"

She thought, but could not tell. 

"What I want to ask you, " said Ian, "is--did you ever feel alone?Did you ever for a moment inhabit loneliness? Did it ever pressitself upon you that there was nobody near--that if you callednobody would hear? You are not alone while you know that you canhave a fellow creature with you the instant you choose. "

"I hardly think I was ever alone in that way. "

"Then what I would have you do, " continued Ian, "is--to makeyourself alone in one of Nature's withdrawing-rooms, and seatyourself in one of Grannie's own chairs. --I am coming to the pointat last!--Upon a day when the weather is fine, go out by yourself. Tell no one where you are going, or that you are going anywhere. Climb a hill. If you cannot get to the top of it, go high on theside of it. No book, mind! nothing to fill your thinking-place fromauother's! People are always saying 'I think, ' when they are notthinking at all, when they are at best only passing the thoughts ofothers whom they do not even know. 

"When you have got quite alone, when you do not even know thenearest point to anybody, sit down and be lonely. Look out on theloneliness, the wide world round you, and the great vault over you, with the lonely sun in the middle of it; fold your hands in yourlap, and be still. Do not try to think anything. Do not try to callup any feeling or sentiment or sensation; just be still. By and by, it may be, you will begin to know something of Nature. I do not knowyou well enough to be sure about it; but if you tell me afterwardshow you fared, I shall then know you a little better, and perhaps beable to tell you whether Nature will soon speak to you, or notuntil, as Henry Vaughan says, some veil be broken in you. "

They were approaching the cottage, and little more was said. Theyfound Mrs. Palmer prepared to go, and Mercy was not sorry: she hadhad enough for a while. She was troubled at the thought that perhapsshe was helplessly shut out from the life inhabited by the brothers. When she lay down, her own life seemed dull and poor. These men, with all their kindness, respect, attention, and even attendanceupon them, did not show them the homage which the men of their owncircle paid them!

"They will never miss us!" she said to herself. "They will go onwith their pantheism, or whatever it is, all the same!"

But they should not say she was one of those who talk but will notdo! That scorn she could not bear!

All the time, however, the thing seemed to savour more of spell orcast of magic than philosophy: the means enjoined were suggestive ofa silent incantation!

CHAPTER XIII. 

GRANNY ANGRY. 

It must not be supposed that all the visiting was on the part ofthose of the New House. The visits thence were returned by bothmatron and men. But somehow there was never the same freedom in thehouse as in the cottage. The difference did not lie in the presenceof the younger girls: they were well behaved, friendly, and nowisedisagreeable children. Doubtless there was something in the absenceof books: it was of no use to jump up when a passage occurred; helpwas not at hand. But it was more the air of the place, the presenceof so many common-place things, that clogged the wheels of thought. Neither, with all her knowledge of the world and all her sweetness, did Mrs. Palmer understand the essentials of hospitality half sowell as the widow of the late minister-chief. All of them liked, andconfessed that they liked the cottage best. Even Christina feltsomething lacking in their reception. She regretted that the housewas not grand enough to show what they were accustomed to. 

Mrs. Palmer seldom understood the talk, and although she sat lookingpersistently content, was always haunted with a dim feeling that herhushand would not be hest pleased at so much intercourse between hisrich daughters and those penniless country-fellows. But what couldshe do! the place where he had abandoned them was so dull, sosolitary! the girls must not mope! Christina would wither up withoutamusement, and then good-bye to her beauty and all that dependedupon it! In the purity of her motherhood, she more than liked theyoung men: happy mother she would think herself, were her daughtersto marry such men as these! The relations between them and theirmother delighted her: they were one! their hearts were together!they understood each other! She could never have such bliss with hersons! Never since she gave them birth had she had one such look fromeither of hers as she saw pass every now and then from these totheir mother! It would be like being born again to feel herselfloved in that way! For any danger to the girls, she thought with asigh how soon in London they would forget the young highlanders. Wasthere no possibility of securing one of them? What chance was thereof Mercy's marrying well! she was so decidedly plain! Was the ideaof marrying her into an old and once powerful family like that ofthe Macruadh, to her husband inconceivable? Could he not restore itsproperty as the dowry of his unprized daughter! it would be to himbut a trifle!--and he could stipulate that the chief shouldacknowledge the baronetcy and use his title! Mercy would then be awoman of consequence, and Peregrine would have the Bible-honour ofbeing the repairer of the breach, the restorer of paths to dwellin!--Such were some of the thoughts that would come and go in thebrain of the mother as she sat; nor were they without a share in herreadiness to allow her daughters to go out with the young men: shehad an unquestioning conviction of their safety with them. 

The days went by, and what to Christina had seemed imprisonment, began to look like some sort of liberty. She had scarce come nearerto sympathy with those whose society consoled her, but their talkhad ceased to sound repulsive. She was infinitely more than awell-modelled waxflower, and yet hardly a growing plant. More wasneeded to wake her than friends awake. It is wonderful how long thesleeping may go with the waking, and not discover any differencebetween them. But Grannie Nature was about to interfere. 

The spring drew gently on. It would be long ere summer was summerenough to show. There seemed more of the destructive in the springitself than of the genial--cold winds, great showers, days of steadyrain, sudden assaults of hail and sleet. Still it was spring, and atlength, one fine day with a bright sun, snow on the hills, andclouds in the east, but no sign of any sudden change, the girls wentout for a walk, and took the younger girls with them. 

A little way up the valley, out of sight of the cottage, a smallburn came down its own dell to join that which flowed through thechiefs farm. Its channel was wide, but except in time of rain hadlittle water in it. About half a mile up its course it divided, orrather the channel did, for in one of its branches there was seldomany water. At the fork was a low rocky mound, with an ancient ruinof no great size-three or four fragments of thick walls, withinwhose plan grew a slender birch-tree. Thither went the little party, wandering up the stream: the valley was sheltered; no wind but thesouth could reach it; and the sun, though it could not make it verywarm, as it looked only aslant on its slopes, yet lighted both sidesof it. Great white clouds passed slowly across the sky, with now andthen a nearer black one threatening rain, but a wind overhead wascarrying them quickly athwart. 

Ian had seen the ladies pass, but made no effort to overtake them, although he was bound in the same direction: he preferred saunteringalong with a book of ballads. Suddenly his attention was roused by apeculiar whistle, which he knew for that of Hector of the Stags: itwas one of the few sounds he could make. Three times it washurriedly repeated, and ere the third was over, Ian had discoveredHector high on a hill on the opposite side of the burn, waving hisarms, and making eager signs to him. He stopped and set himself tounderstand. Hector was pointing with energy, but it was impossibleto determine the exact direction: all that Ian could gather was, that his presence was wanted somewhere farther on. He resumed hiswalk therefore at a rapid pace, whereupon Hector pointed higher. There on the eastern horizon, towards the north, almost down uponthe hills, Ian saw a congeries of clouds in strangest commotion, such as he had never before seen in any home latitude--a mass ofdarkly variegated vapours manifesting a peculiar and appallingunrest. It seemed tormented by a gyrating storm, twisting andcontorting it with unceasing change. Now the gray came writhing out, now the black came bulging through, now a dirty brown smeared theashy white, and now the blue shone calmly out from eternaldistances. At the season he could hardly think it a thunderstorm, and stood absorbed in the unusual phenomenon. But again, louder andmore hurried, came the whistling, and again he saw Hectorgesticulating, more wildly than before. Then he knew that someonemust be in want of help or succour, and set off running as hard ashe could: he saw Hector keeping him in sight, and watching to givehim further direction: perhaps the ladies had got into somedifficulty!

When he arrived at the opening of the valley just mentioned, Hector's gesticulations made it quite plain it was up there he mustgo; and as soon as he entered it, he saw that the cloudy turmoil wasamong the hills at its head. With that he began to suspect thedanger the hunter feared, and almost the same instant heard themerry voices of the children. Running yet faster, he came in sightof them on the other side of the stream, --not a moment too soon. Thevalley was full of a dull roaring sound. He called to them as heran, and the children saw and came running down toward him, followedby Mercy. She was not looking much concerned, for she thought itonly the grumbling of distant thunder. But Ian saw, far up thevalley, what looked like a low brown wall across it, and knew whatit was. 

"Mercy!" he cried, "run up the side of the hill directly; you willbe drowned--swept away if you do not. "

She looked incredulous, and glanced up the hill-side, but carne onas if to cross the burn and join him. 

"Do as I tell you, " he cried, in a tone which few would haveventured to disregard, and turning darted across the channel towardher. 

Mercy did not wait his coming, but took the children, each by ahand, and went a little way up the hill that immediately borderedthe stream. 

"Farther! farther!" cried Ian as he ran. "Where is Christina?"

"At the ruin, " she answered. 

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Ian, and darted off, crying, "Up the hillwith you! up the hill!"

Christina was standing by the birch-tree in the ruin, looking downthe burn. She had heard Ian calling, and saw him running, butsuspected no danger. 

"Come; come directly; for God's sake, come!" he cried. "Look up theburn!" he added, seeing her hesitate bewildered. 

She turned, looked, and came running to him, down the channel, whitewith terror. It was too late. The charging water, whose front rankwas turf, and hushes, and stones, was almost upon her. The solidmatter had retarded its rush, but it was now on the point ofdividing against the rocky mound, to sweep along both sides, andturn it into an island. Ian bounded to her in the middle of thechannel, caught her by the arm, and hurried her back to the mound asfast as they could run: it was the highest ground immediatelyaccessible. As they reached it, the water broke with a roar againstits rocky base, rose, swelled--and in a moment the island wascovered with a brown, seething, swirling flood. 

"Where's Mercy and the children?" gasped Christina, as the waterrose upon her. 

"Safe, safe!" answered Ian. "We must get to the ruin!"

The water was halfway up his leg, and rising fast. Their danger wasbut beginning. Would the old walls, in greater part built withoutmortar, stand the rush? If a tree should strike them, they hardlywould! If the flood came from a waterspout, it would soon beover--only how high it might first rise, who could tell! Such werehis thoughts as they struggled to the ruin, and stood up at the endof a wall parallel with the current. 

The water was up to Christina's waist, and very cold. Here out ofthe rush, however, she recovered her breath in a measure, and showednot a little courage. Ian stood between her and the wall, and heldher fast. The torrent came round the end of the wall from bothsides, but the encounter and eddy of the two currents rather pushedthem up against it. Without it they could not have stood. 

The chief danger to Christina, however, was from the cold. With thewater so high on her body, and flowing so fast, she could not longresist it! Ian, therefore, took her round the knees, and lifted heralmost out of the water. 

"Put your arms up, " he said, "and lay hold of the wall. Don't mindblinding me; my eyes are of little use at present. There--put yourfeet in my hands. Don't be frightened; I can hold you. "

"I can't help being frightened!" she panted. 

"We are in God's arms, " returned Ian. "He is holding us. "

"Are you sure we shall not be drowned?" she asked. 

"No; but I am sure the water cannot take us out of God's arms. "

This was not much comfort to Christina. She did not know anythingabout God--did not believe in him any more than most people. Sheknew God's arms only as the arms of Ian--and THEY comforted her, forshe FELT them!

How many of us actually believe in any support we do not immediatelyfeel? in any arms we do not see? But every help I from God; Ian'shelp was God's help; and though to believe in Ian was not to believein God, it was a step on the road toward believing in God. He thatbelieveth not in the good man whom he hath seen, how shall hebelieve in the God whom he hath not seen?

She began to feel a little better; the ghastly choking at her heartwas almost gone. 

"I shall break your arms!" she said. 

"You are not very heavy, " he answered; "and though I am not sostrong as Alister, I am stronger than most men. With the help of thewall I can hold you a long time. "

How was it that, now first in danger, self came less to the frontwith her than usual? It was that now first she was face to face withreality. Until this moment her life had been an affair ofunrealities. Her selfishness had thinned, as it were vaporized, every reality that approached her. Solidity is not enough to teachsome natures reality; they must hurt themselves against the solidere they realize its solidity. Small reality, small positivity ofexistence has water to a dreaming soul, half consciously gazingthrough half shut eyes at the soft river floating away in themoonlight: Christina was shivering in its grasp on her person, itsomnipresence to her skin; its cold made her gasp and choke; the pushand tug of it threatened to sweep her away like a whelmed log! It iswhen we are most aware of the FACTITUDE of things, that we are mostaware of our need of God, and most able to trust in him; when mostaware of their presence, the soul finds it easiest to withdraw fromthem, and seek its safety with the maker of it and them. Therecognition of inexorable reality in any shape, or kind, or way, tends to rouse the soul to the yet more real, to its relations withhigher and deeper existence. It is not the hysterical alone for whomthe great dash of cold water is good. All who dream life instead ofliving it, require some similar shock. Of the kind is everydisappointment, every reverse, every tragedy of life. The true ineven the lowest kind, is of the truth, and to be compelled to feeleven that, is to be driven a trifle nearer to the truth of being, ofcreation, of God. Hence this sharp contact with Nature tended tomake Christina less selfish: it made her forget herself so far as tocare for her helper as well as herself. 

It must be remembered, however, that her selfishness was not thecultivated and ingrained selfishness of a long life, but that of anuneducated, that is undeveloped nature. Her being had notdegenerated by sinning against light known as light; it had not beenconsciously enlightened at all; it had scarcely as yet begun togrow. It was not lying dead, only unawaked. I would not beunderstood to imply that she was nowise to blame--but that she wasby no means so much to blame as one who has but suspected thepresence of a truth, and from selfishness or self-admiration hasturned from it. She was to blame wherever she had not done as herconscience had feebly told her; and she had not made progress justbecause she had neglected the little things concerning which she hadpromptings. There are many who do not enter the kingdom of heavenjust because they will not believe the tiny key that is handed them, fit to open its hospitable gate. 

"Oh, Mr. Ian, if you should be drowned for my sake!" she falteredwith white lips. "You should not have come to me!"

"I would not wish a better death, " said Ian. 

"How can you talk so coolly about it!" she cried. 

"Well, " he returned, "what better way of going out of the world isthere than by the door of help? No man cares much about what theidiots of the world call life! What is it whether we live in thisroom or another? The same who sent us here, sends for us out ofhere!"

"Most men care very much! You are wrong there!"

"I don't call those who do, men! They are only children! I know manymen who would no more cleave to this life than a butterfly wouldfold his wings and creep into his deserted chrysalis-case. I do careto live--tremendously, but I don't mind where. He who made this roomso well worth living in, may surely be trusted with the next!"

"I can't quite follow you, " stammered Christina. "I am sorry. Perhaps it is the cold. I can't feel my hands, I am so cold. "

"Leave the wall, and put your arms round my neck. The change willrest me, and the water is already falling! It will go as rapidly asit came!"

"How do you know that?"

"It has sunk nearly a foot in the last fifteen minutes: I have beencarefully watching it, you may be sure! It must have been awaterspout, and however much that may bring, it pours it out all atonce. "

"Oh!" said Christina, with a tremulous joyfulness; "I thought itwould go on ever so long!"

"We shall get out of it alive!--God's will be done!"

"Why do you say that? Don't you really mean we are going to besaved?"

"Would you want to live, if he wanted you to die?"

"Oh, but you forget, Mr. Ian, I am not ready to die, like you!"sobbed Christina. 

"Do you think anything could make it better for you to stop here, after God thought it better for you to go?"

"I dare not think about it. "

"Be sure God will not take you away, if it be better for you to livehere a little longer. But you will have to go sometime; and if youcontrived to live after God wanted you to go, you would findyourself much less ready when the time came that you must. But, mydear Miss Palmer, no one can be living a true life, to whom dying isa terror. "

Christina was silent. He spoke the truth! She was not worthanything! How grand it was to look death in the face with a smile!

If she had been no more than the creature she had hitherto shownherself, not all the floods of the deluge could have made her thinkor feel thus: her real self, her divine nature had begun to wake. True, that nature was as yet no more like the divine, than thedrowsy, arm-stretching, yawning child is like the merry elf about tospring from his couch, full of life, of play, of love. She had nofaith in God yet, but it was much that she felt she was not worthanything. 

You are right: it was odd to hold such a conversation at such atime! But Ian was an odd man. He actually believed that God wasnearer to him than his own consciousness, yet desired communion withhim! and that Jesus Christ knew what he said when he told hisdisciples that the Father cared for his sparrows. 

Only one human being witnessed their danger, and he could give nohelp. Hector of the Stags had crossed the main valley above wherethe torrent entered it, and coming over the hill, saw withconsternation the flood-encompassed pair. If there had been help inman, he could have brought none; the raging torrent blocked the wayboth to the village and to the chief's house. He could only standand gaze with his heart in his eyes. 

Beyond the stream lay Mercy on the hillside, with her face in theheather. Frozen with dread, she dared not look up. Had she moved butten yards, she would have seen her sister in Ian's arms. 

The children sat by her, white as death, with great lumps in theirthroats, and the silent tears rolling down their cheeks. It was thefirst time death had come near them. 

A sound of sweeping steps came through the heather. They looked up:there was the chief striding toward them. 

The flood had come upon him at work in his fields, whelming hisgrowing crops. He had but time to unyoke his bulls, and run for hislife. The bulls, not quite equal to the occasion, were caught andswept away. They were found a week after on the hills, nothing theworse, and nearly as wild as when first the chief took them in hand. The cottage was in no danger; and Nancy got a horse and the last ofthe cows from the farm-yard on to the crest of the ridge, againstwhich the burn rushed roaring, just as the water began to invade thecowhouse and stable. The moment he reached the ridge, the chief setout to look for his brother, whom he knew to be somewhere up thevalley; and having climbed to get an outlook, saw Mercy and thegirls, from whose postures he dreaded that something had befallenthem. 

The girls uttered a cry of welcome, and the chief answered, butMercy did not lift her head. 

"Mercy, " said Alister softly, and kneeling laid his hand on her. 

She turned to him such a face of blank misery as filled him withconsternation. 

"What has happened?" he asked. 

She tried to speak, but could not. 

"Where is Christina?" he went on. 

She succeeded in bringing out the one word "ruin. "

"Is anybody with her?"

"Ian. "

"Oh!" he returned cheerily, as if then all would be right. But apang shot through his heart, and it was as much for himself as forMercy that he went on: "But God is with them, Mercy. If he were not, it would be bad indeed! Where he is, all is well!"

She sat up, and putting out her hand, laid it in his great palm. 

"I wish I could believe that!" she said; "but you know people AREdrowned sometimes!"

"Yes, surely! but if God be with them what does it matter! It is noworse than when a mother puts her baby into a big bath. "

"It is cruel to talk like that to me when my sister is drowning!"

She gave a stifled shriek, and threw herself again on her face. 

"Mercy, " said the chief--and his voice trembled a little, "you donot love your sister more than I love my brother, and if he bedrowned I shall weep; but I shall not be miserable as if a mockingdevil were at the root of it, and not one who loves them better thanwe ever shall. But come; I think we shall find them somehow aliveyet! Ian knows what to do in an emergency; and though you might notthink it, he is a very strong man. "

She rose immediately, and taking like a child the hand he offeredher, went up the hill with him. 

The girls ran before them, and presently gave a scream of joy. 

"I see Chrissy! I see Chrissy!" cried one. 

"Yes! there she is! I see her too!" cried the other. 

Alister hurried up with Mercy. There was Christina! She seemedstanding on the water!

Mercy burst into tears. 

"But where's Ian?" she said, when she had recovered herself alittle; "I don't see him!"

"He is there though, all right!" answered Alister. "Don't you seehis hands holding her out of the water?"

And with that he gave a great shout:--

"Ian! Ian! hold on, old boy! I'm coming!"

Ian heard him, and was filled with terror, but had neither breathnor strength to answer. Along the hillside went Alister boundinglike a deer, then turning sharp, shot headlong down, dashed into thetorrent--and was swept away like a cork. Mercy gave a scream, andran down the hill. 

He was not carried very far, however. In a moment or two he hadrecovered himself, and crept out gasping and laughing, just belowMercy. Ian did not move. He was so benumbed that to change hisposition an inch would, he well knew, be to fall. 

And now Hector began to behave oddly. He threw a stone, which wentin front of Ian and Christina. Then he threw another, which wentbehind them. Then he threw a third, and Christina felt her hatcaught by a bit of string. She drew it toward her as fast asnumbness would permit, and found at the end a small bottle. Shemanaged to get it uncorked, and put it to Ian's lips. He swallowed amouthful, and made her take some. Hector stood on one side, thechief on the other, and watched the proceeding. 

"What would mother say, Alister!" cried Ian across the narrowingwater. 

In the joy of hearing his voice, Alister rushed again into thetorrent; and, after a fierce struggle, reached the mound, where hescrambled up, and putting his arms round Ian's legs with a shout, lifted the two at once like a couple of babies. 

"Come! come, Alister! don't be silly!" said Ian. "Set me down!"

"Give me the girl then. "

"Take her!"

Christina turned on him a sorrowful gaze as Alister took her. 

"I have killed you!" she said. 

"You have done me the greatest favour, " he replied. 

"What?" she asked. 

"Accepted help. "

She burst out crying. She had not shed a tear before. 

"Get on the top of the wall, Ian, out of the wet, " said Alister. 

"You can't tell what the water may have done to the foundations, Alister! I would rather not break my leg! It is so frozen it wouldnever mend again!"

As they talked, the torrent had fallen so much, that Hector of theStags came wading from the other side. A few minutes more, andAlister carried Christina to Mercy. 

"Now, " he said, setting her down, "you must walk. "

Ian could not cross without Hector's help; he seemed to have nolegs. They set out at once for the cottage. 

"How will your crops fare, Alister?" asked Ian. 

"Part will be spoiled, " replied the chief; "part not much theworse. "

The torrent had rushed half-way up the ridge, then swept along theflank of it, and round the end in huge bulk, to the level on theother side. The water lay soaking into the fields. The valley wasdesolated. What green things had not been uprooted or carried awaywith the soil, were laid flat. Everywhere was mud, and scattered allover were lumps of turf, with heather, brushwood, and small trees. But it was early in the year, and there was hope!

I will spare the description of the haste and hurrying to and fro inthe little house--the blowing of fires, the steaming pails andblankets, the hot milk and tea! Mrs. Macruadh rolled up her sleeves, and worked like a good housemaid. Nancy shot hither and thither onher bare feet like a fawn--you could not say she ran, and certainlyshe did not walk. Alister got Ian to bed, and rubbed him with roughtowels--himself more wet than he, for he had been rolled over andover in the torrent. Christina fell asleep, and slept many hours. When she woke, she said she was quite well; but it was weeks beforeshe was like herself. I doubt if ever she was quite as strong again. For some days Ian confessed to an aching in his legs and arms. Itwas the cold of the water, he said; but Alister insisted it was fromholding Christina so long. 

"Water could not hurt a highlander!" said Alister. 

CHAPTER XIV

CHANGE. 

Christina walked home without difficulty, but the next day did notleave her bed, and it was a fortnight before she was able to be outof doors. When Ian and she met, her manner was not quite the same asbefore. She seemed a little timid. As she shook hands with him hereyes fell; and when they looked up again, as if ashamed of theirinvoluntary retreat, her face was rosy; but the slight embarrassmentdisappeared as soon as they began to talk. No affectation orformality, however, took its place: in respect of Ian her falsenesswas gone. The danger she had been in, and her deliverance throughthe voluntary sharing of it by Ian, had awaked the simpler, the realnature of the girl, hitherto buried in impressions and theirresponses. She had lived but as a mirror meant only to reflect theouter world: something of an operative existence was at lengthbeginning to appear in her. She was growing a woman. And the firststage in that growth is to become as a little child. 

The child, however, did not for some time show her face to any butIan. In his presence Christina had no longer self-assertion or wile. Without seeking his notice she would yet manifest an almost childishwillingness to please him. It was no sudden change. She had, eversince their adventure, been haunted, both awake and asleep, by hispresence, and it had helped her to some discoveries regardingherself. And the more she grew real, the nearer, that is, that shecame to being a PERSON, the more she came under the influence of histruth, his reality. It is only through live relation to others thatany individuality crystallizes. 

"You saved my life, Ian!" she said one evening for the tenth time. 

"It pleased God you should live, " answered Ian. 

"Then you really think, " she returned, "that God interfered to saveus?"

"No, I do not; I don't think he ever interferes. "

"Mr. Sercombe says everything goes by law, and God never interferes;my father says he does interfere sometimes. "

"Would you say a woman interfered in the management of her ownhouse? Can one be said to interfere where he is always at work? Heis the necessity of the universe, ever and always doing the bestthat can be done, and especially for the individual, for whose sakealone the cosmos exists. If we had been drowned, we should havegiven God thanks for saving us. "

"I do not understand you!"

"Should we not have given thanks to find ourselves lifted out of thecold rushing waters, in which we felt our strength slowly sinking?"

"But you said DROWNED! How could we have thanked God for deliveranceif we were drowned?"

"What!--not when we found ourselves above the water, safe and well, and more alive than ever? Would it not be a dreadful thing to lietossed for centuries under the sea-waves to which the torrent hadborne us? Ah, how few believe in a life beyond, a larger life, moreawake, more earnest, more joyous than this!"

"Oh, _I_ do! but that is not what one means by LIFE; that is quite adifferent kind of thing!"

"How do you make out that it is so different? If I am I, and you areyou, how can it be very different? The root of things isindividuality, unity of idea, and persistence depends on it. God isthe one perfect individual; and while this world is his and thatworld is his, there can be no inconsistency, no violent difference, between there and here. "

"Then you must thank God for everything--thank him if you aredrowned, or burnt, or anything!"

"Now you understand me! That is precisely what I mean. "

"Then I can never be good, for I could never bring myself to that!"

"You cannot bring yourself to it; no one could. But we must come toit. I believe we shall all be brought to it. "

"Never me! I should not wish it!"

"You do not wish it; but you may be brought to wish it; and withoutit the end of your being cannot be reached. No one, of course, couldever give thanks for what he did not know or feel as good. But whatIS good must come to be felt good. Can you suppose that Jesus at anytime could not thank his Father for sending him into the world?"

"You speak as if we and he were of the same kind!"

"He and we are so entirely of the same kind, that there is no blissfor him or for you or for me but in being the loving obedient childof the one Father. "

"You frighten me! If I cannot get to heaven any other way than that, I shall never get there. "

"You will get there, and you will get there that way and no other. If you could get there any other way, it would be to be miserable. "

"Something tells me you speak the truth; but it is terrible! I donot like it. "

"Naturally. "

She was on the point of crying. They were alone in the drawing-roomof the cottage, but his mother might enter any moment, and Ian saidno more. 

It was not a drawing toward the things of peace that was at work inChristina: it was an urging painful sense of separation from Ian. She had been conscious of some antipathy even toward him, so unlikewere her feelings, thoughts, judgments, to his: this feeling hadchanged to its opposite. 

A meeting with Ian was now to Christina the great event of day orweek; but Ian, in love with the dead, never thought of danger toeither. 

One morning she woke from a sound and dreamless sleep, and gettingout of bed, drew aside the curtains, looked out, and then opened herwindow. It was a lovely spring-morning. The birds were singing loudin the fast greening shrubbery. A soft wind was blowing. It came toher, and whispered something of which she understood only that itwas both lovely and sad. The sun, but a little way up, was shiningover hills and cone-shaped peaks, whose shadows, stretching eagerlywestward, were yet ever shortening eastward. His light was gentle, warm, and humid, as if a little sorrowful, she thought, over hismany dead children, that he must call forth so many more to the newlife of the reviving year. Suddenly as she gazed, the little clumpof trees against the hillside stood as she had never seen it standbefore--as if the sap in them were no longer colourless, but redwith human life; nature was alive with a presence she had never seenbefore; it was instinct with a meaning, an intent, a soul; themountains stood against the sky as if reaching upward, knowingsomething, waiting for something; over all was a glory. The changewas far more wondrous than from winter to summer; it was not as if adead body, but a dead soul had come alive. What could it mean? Hadthe new aspect come forth to answer this glow in her heart, or wasthe glow in her heart the reflection of this new aspect of theworld? She was ready to cry aloud, not with joy, not from herfeeling of the beauty, but with a SENSATION almost, hithertounknown, therefore nameless. It was a new and marvellous interest inthe world, a new sense of life in herself, of life in everything, arecognition of brother-existence, a life-contact with the universe, a conscious flash of the divine in her soul, a throb of the pure joyof being. She was nearer God than she had ever been before. But shedid not know this--might never in this world know it; she understoodnothing of what was going on in her, only felt it go on; it was notlove of God that was moving in her. Yet she stood in her white dresslike one risen from the grave, looking in sweet bliss on a newheaven and a new earth, made new by the new opening of her eyes. Tosave man or woman, the next thing to the love of God is the love ofman or woman; only let no man or woman mistake the love of love forlove!

She started, grew white, stood straight up, grew red as asunset:--was it--could it be?--"Is this love?" she said to herself, and for minutes she hardly moved. 

It was love. Whether love was in her or not, she was in love--and itmight get inside her. She hid her face in her hands, and wept. 

With what opportunities I have had of studying, I do not sayUNDERSTANDING, the human heart, I should not have expected suchfeeling from Christina--and she wondered at it herself. Till a childis awake, how tell his mood?--until a woman is awaked, how tell hernature? Who knows himself?--and how then shall he know hisneighbour?

For who can know anything except on the supposition of its remainingthe same? and the greatest change of all, next to being born again, is beginning to love. The very faculty of loving had been hithertorepressed in the soul of Christina--by poor education, by low familyand social influences, by familiarity with the worship of riches, byvanity, and consequent hunger after the attentions of men; but nowat length she was in love. 

At breakfast, though she was silent, she looked so well that hermother complimented her on her loveliness. Had she been more of amother, she might have seen cause for anxiety in this freshbourgeoning of her beauty. 

CHAPTER XV. 

LOVE ALLODIAL. 

While the chief went on in his humble way, enjoying life and hislowly position; seeming, in the society of his brother, to walk theouter courts of heaven; and, unsuspicious of the fact, growing moreand more in love with the ill educated, but simple, open, and wiseMercy, a trouble was gathering for him of which he had nopresentiment. We have to be delivered from the evils of which we areunaware as well as from those we hate; and the chief had to be setfree from his unconscious worship of Mammon. He did not worshipMammon by yielding homage to riches; he did not make a man's moneyhis pedestal; had he been himself a millionaire, he would not haveconnived at being therefore held in honour; but, ever consciouslyaware of the deteriorating condition of the country, and pitifullyregarding the hundred and fifty souls who yet looked to him as theirhead, often turning it over in his mind how to shepherd them shouldthings come to a crisis, his abiding, ever-recurring comfort was themoney from the last sale of the property, accumulating ever since, and now to be his in a very few years: he always thought, I say, first of this money and not first of God. He imagined it aninexhaustible force, a power with which for his clan he could workwonders. It is the common human mistake to think of money as a forceand not as a mere tool. But he never thought of it otherwise than asbelonging to the clan; never imagined the least liberty to use itsave in the direct service of his people. And all the time, the veryshadow of this money was disappearing from the face of the earth!

It had scarcely been deposited where the old laird judged it as safeas in the Bank of England, when schemes and speculations wereinitiated by the intrusted company which brought into jeopardyeverything it held, and things had been going from bad to worse eversince. Nothing of this was yet known, for the directors had from thefirst carefully muffled up the truth, avoiding the least economylest it should be interpreted as hinting at any need of prudence;living in false show with the very money they were thus lying away, warming and banqueting their innocent neighbours with fuel and winestolen from their own cellars; and working worse wrong and moremisery under the robe of imputed righteousness, that is, respectability, than could a little army of burglars. Unawares to atrusting multitude, the vacant eyes of loss were drawing near tostare them out of hope and comfort; and annihilation had long closedin upon the fund which the chief regarded as the sheet-anchor of hisclan: he trusted in Mammon, and Mammon had played him one of hisrogue's-tricks. The most degrading wrong to ourselves, and the worsteventual wrong to others, is to trust in any thing or person but theliving God: it was an evil thing from which the chief had sore needto be delivered. Even those who help us we must regard as the lovinghands of the great heart of the universe, else we do God wrong, andwill come to do them wrong also. 

And there was more yet of what we call mischief brewing in anotherquarter to like hurt. 

Mr. Peregrine Palmer was not now so rich a man as when he boughthis highland property; also he was involved in affairs of doubtfulresult. It was natural, therefore, that he should begin to think ofthe said property not merely as an ornament of life, but assomething to fall back upon. He feared nothing, however, moreunpleasant than a temporary embarrassment. Had not his family beenin the front for three generations! Had he not a vested right insuccess! Had he not a claim for the desire of his heart on whateverpower it was that he pictured to himself as throned in the heavens!It never came into his head that, seeing there were now daughters inthe family, it might he worth the while of that Power to make a poorman of him for their sakes; or that neither he, his predecessors, nor his sons, had ever come near enough to anything human to be fitfor having their pleasures taken from them. But what I have to dowith is the new aspect his Scotch acres now put on: he must see tomaking the best of them! and that best would be a deer-forest! Heand his next neighbour might together effect something worth doing!Therefore all crofters or villagers likely to trespass must be gotrid of--and first and foremost the shepherds, for they had endlessopportunities of helping themselves to a deer. Where there weresheep there must be shepherds: they would make a clearance of both!The neighbour referred to, a certain Mr. Brander, who had made hismoney by sharp dealing in connection with a great Russian railway, and whom Mr. Peregrine Palmer knew before in London, had enlightenedhim on many things, and amongst others on the shepherds' passion fordeer-stalking. Being in the company of the deer, he said, the wholeday, and the whole year through, they were thoroughly acquaintedwith their habits, and were altogether too much both for the deerand for their owners. A shepherd would take the barrel of his gunfrom the stock, and thrust it down his back, or put it in a hollowcrook, and so convey it to the vicinity of some spot frequented by aparticular animal, to lie hidden there for his opportunity. In thehills it was impossible to tell with certainty whence came the soundof a shot; and no rascal of them would give information concerninganother! In short, there was no protecting the deer withoutuprooting and expelling the peasantry!

The village of the Clanruadh was on Mr. Brander's land, and wasdependent in part on the produce of small pieces of ground, thecultivators of which were mostly men with other employment as well. Some made shoes of the hides, others cloth and clothes of the woolof the country. Some were hinds on neighbouring farms, but most wereshepherds, for there was now very little tillage. Almost all theland formerly cultivated had been given up to grass and sheep, andnot a little of it was steadily returning to that state of naturefrom which it had been reclaimed, producing heather, ling, blueberries, cnowperts, and cranberries. The hamlet was too far fromthe sea for much fishing, but some of its inhabitants would joinrelatives on the coast and go fishing with them, when there wasnothing else to be done. But many of those who looked to the sea forhelp had lately come through a hard time, in which they would havedied but for the sea-weed and shellfish the shore afforded them; yetsuch was their spirit of independence that a commission appointed toinquire into their necessity, found scarcely one willing toacknowledge any want: such was the class of men and women nowdoomed, at the will of two common-minded, greedy men, to expulsionfrom the houses and land they had held for generations, and lovedwith a love unintelligible to their mean-souled oppressors. 

Ian, having himself learned the lesson that, so long as a man isdependent on anything earthly, he is not a free man, was verydesirous to have his brother free also. He could not be satisfied toleave the matter where, on their way home that night from THE TOMB, as they called their cave-house, their talk had left it. Alister'slove of the material world, of the soil of his ancestral acres, was, Ian plainly saw, not yet one with the meaning and will of God: hewas not yet content that the home of his fathers should fare as thefather of fathers pleased. He was therefore on the outlook for theright opportunity of having another talk with him on the subject. 

That those who are trying to be good are more continuously troubledthan the indifferent, has for ages been a puzzle. "I saw the wickedspreading like a green bay tree, " says king David; and he was farfrom having fathomed the mystery when he got his mind at rest aboutit. Is it not simply that the righteous are worth troubling? thatthey are capable of receiving good from being troubled? As a manadvances, more and more is required of him. A wrong thing in thegood man becomes more and more wrong as he draws nearer to freedomfrom it. His friends may say how seldom he offends; but every timehe offends, he is the more to blame. Some are allowed to go onbecause it would be of no use to stop them yet; nothing would yetmake them listen to wisdom. There must be many who, like Dives, needthe bitter contrast between the good things of this life and theevil things of the next, to wake them up. In this life they are notonly fools, and insist on being treated as fools, but would have Godconsent to treat them as if he too had no wisdom! The laird was onein whom was no guile, but he was far from perfect: any man is farfrom perfect whose sense of well-being could be altered by anychange of circumstance. A man unable to do without this thing orthat, is not yet in sight of his perfection, therefore not out ofsight of suffering. They who do not know suffering, may well doubtif they have yet started on the way TO BE. If clouds were gatheringto burst in fierce hail on the head of the chief, it was that hemight be set free from yet another of the cords that bound him. Hewas like a soaring eagle from whose foot hung, trailing on theearth, the line by which his tyrant could at his will pull him backto his inglorious perch. 

To worship truly is to treat according to indwelling worth. Thehighest worship of Nature is to worship toward it, as David andDaniel worshipped toward the holy place. But even the worship ofNature herself might be an ennobling idolatry, so much is the divinepresent in her. There is an intense, almost sensuous love of Nature, such as the chief confessed to his brother, which is not only onewith love to the soul of Nature, but tends to lift the soul of manup to the lord of Nature. To love the soul of Nature, however, doesnot secure a man from loving the body of Nature in the lowMammon-way of possession. A man who loves the earth even as the meeklove it, may also love it in a way hostile to such possession of itas is theirs. The love of possessing as property, must, unchecked, come in time to annihilate in a man the inheritance of the meek. 

A few acres of good valley-land, with a small upland pasturage, anda space of barren hill-country, had developed in the chief a greaterlove of the land as a possession than would have come of entranceupon an undiminished inheritance. He clave to the ground remainingto him, as to the last remnant of a vanishing good. 

One day the brothers were lying on the westward slope of the ridge, in front of the cottage. A few sheep, small, active, black-faced, were feeding around them: it was no use running away, for thechief's colley was lying beside him! The laird every now and thenburied his face in the short sweet mountain-grass-like that of theclowns in England, not like the rich sown grass on the cultivatedbank of the burn. 

"I believe I love the grass, " he said, "as much, Ian, as yourChaucer loved the daisy!"

"Hardly so much, I should think!" returned Ian. 

"Why do you think so?"

"I doubt if grass can be loved so much as a flower. "

"Why not?"

"Because the one is a mass, the other an individual. "

"I understand. "

"I have a fear, Alister, that you are in danger of avarice, " saidIan, after a pause. 

"Avarice, Ian! What can you mean?"

"You are as free, Alister, from the love of money, as any man I everknew, but that is not enough. Did you ever think of the origin ofthe word AVARICE?"

"No. "

"It comes--at least it seems to me to come--from the same root asthe verb HAVE. It is the desire to call THINGS ours--the desire ofcompany which is not of our kind--company such as, if small enough, you would put in your pocket and carry about with you. We call theholding in the hand, or the house, or the pocket, or the power, HAVING; but things so held cannot really be HAD; HAVING is but anillusion in regard to THINGS. It is only what we can be WITH that wecan really possess--that is, what is of our kind, from God to thelowest animal partaking of humanity. A love can never be lost; it isa possession; but who can take his diamond ring into the somewherebeyond?--it is not a possession. God only can be ours perfectly;nothing called property can be ours at all. "

"I know it--with my head at least, " said Alister; "but I am not surehow you apply it to me. "

"You love your country--don't you, Alister?"

"I do. "

"What do you mean by LOVING YOUR COUNTRY?"

"It is hard to say all at once. The first thing that comes to me is, that I would rather live in it than in any other. "

"Would you care to vaunt your country at the expense of any other?"

"Not if it did not plainly excel--and even then it might be neithermodest nor polite!"

"Would you feel bound to love a man more because he was afellow-countryman?"

"Other things being equal, I could not help it. "

"Other things not being equal, --?"

"I should love the best man best--Scotsman or negro. "

"That is as I thought of you. For my part, my love for my own peoplehas taught me to love every man, be his colour or country what itmay. The man whose patriotism is not leading him in that directionhas not yet begun to be a true patriot. Let him go to St. Paul andlearn, or stay in his own cellar and be an idiot. --But now, fromloving our country, let us go down the other way:--Do you love thehighlands or the lowlands best? You love the highlands, of course, you say. And what district do you like best? Our own. What parish?Your father's. What part of the parish? Why this, where at thismoment we are lying. Now let me ask, have you, by your love for thispiece of the world, which you will allow me to call ours, learned tolove the whole world in like fashion?"

"I cannot say so. I do not think we can love the whole world in thesame way as our own part of it--the part where we were born andbred! It is a portion of our very being. "

"If your love to what we call our own land is a love that cannotspread, it seems to me of a questionable kind--of a kind involvingthe false notion of HAVING? The love that is eternal is alone true, and that is the love of the essential, which is the universal. Welove indeed individuals, even to their peculiarities, but onlyBECAUSE of what lies under and is the life of them--what they sharewith every other, the eternal God-born humanity WHICH IS THE PERSON. Without this humanity where were your friend? Mind, I mean noabstraction, but the live individual humanity. Do you see what I amdriving at? I would extend my love of the world to all the worlds;my love of humanity to all that inhabit them. I want, from being aScotsman, to be a Briton, then a European, then a cosmopolitan, then a dweller of the universe, a lover of all the worlds I see, andshall one day know. In the face of such a hope, I find my love forthis ground of my father's--not indeed less than before, but verysmall. It has served its purpose in having begun in me love of therevelation of God. Wherever I see the beauty of the Lord, that shallbe to me his holy temple. Our Lord was sent first to the lost sheepof the house of Israel:-how would you bear to be told that he lovedthem more than Africans or Scotsmen?"

"I could not bear it. "

"Then, Alister, do you not see that the love of our mother earth ismeant to be but a beginning; and that such love as yours for theland belongs to that love of things which must perish? You seem tome not to allow it to blossom, but to keep it a hard bud; and a budthat will not blossom is a coffin. A flower is a completed idea, athought of God, a creature whose body is most perishable, bat whosesoul, its idea, cannot die. With the idea of it in you, thewithering of the flower you can bear. The God in it is yours always. Every spring you welcome the daisy anew; every time the primrosedeparts, it grows more dear by its death. I say there must be abetter way of loving the ground on which we were born, than thatwhence the loss of it would cause us torture. "

Alister listened as to a prophecy of evil. 

"Rather than that cottage and those fields should pass into thehands of others, " he said, almost fiercely, "I would see them sunkin a roaring tide!"

Ian rose, and walked slowly away. 

Alister lay clutching the ground with his hands. For a passingmoment Ian felt as if he had lost him. 

"Lord, save him from this demon-love, " he said, and sat down amongthe pines. 

In a few minutes, Alister came to him. 

"You cannot mean, Ian, " he said-and his face was white through allits brown, "that I am to think no more of the fields of my fathersthan of any other ground on the face of the earth!" "Think of themas the ground God gave to our fathers, which God may see fit to takefrom us again, and I shall be content--for the present, " answeredIan. 

"Do not be vexed with me, " cried Alister. "I want to think as wellas do what is right; but you cannot know how I feel or you wouldspare me. I love the very stones and clods of the land! The place isto me as Jerusalem to the Jews:--you know what the psalm says:--

 Thy saints take pleasure in her stones, Her very dust to them is dear!"

"They loved their land as theirs, " said Ian, "and have lost it!"

"I know I must be cast out of it! I know I must die and go from it;but I shall come back and wander about the fields and the hills withyou and our father and mother!"

"And how about horse and dog?" asked Ian, willing to divert histhoughts for a moment, "Well! Daoimean and Luath are so good that I'don't see why I shouldnot have them!"

"No more do I!" responded Ian. "We may be sure God will either letyou have them, or show you reason to content you for not havingthem. No love of any thing is to be put in the same thought-pocketwith love for the poorest creature that has life. But I am sometimesnot a little afraid lest your love for the soil get right in to yoursoul. We are here but pilgrims and strangers. God did not make theworld to be dwelt in, but to be journeyed through. We must not loveit as he did not mean we should. If we do, he may have great troubleand we much hurt ere we are set free from that love. Alister, wouldyou willingly walk out of the house to follow him up and down forever?"

"I don't know about willingly, " replied Alister, "but if I were sureit was he calling me, I am sure I would walk out and follow him. "

"What if your love of house and lands prevented you from being sure, when he called you, that it was he?"

"That would be terrible! But he would not leave me so. He would notforsake me in my ignorance!"

"No. Having to take you from everything, he would take everythingfrom you!"

Alister went into the house. 

He did not know how much of the worldly mingled with the true inhim. He loved his people, and was unselfishly intent on helping themto the utmost; but the thought that he was their chief was no smallsatisfaction to him; and if the relation between them was a grandone, self had there the more soil wherein to spread its creepingchoke-grass roots. In like manner, his love of nature nourished theparasite possession. He had but those bare hill-sides, and those fewrich acres, yet when, from his ejrry on the hill-top, he looked downamong the valleys, his heart would murmur within him, "From my feetthe brook flows gurgling to water my fields! The wild moors aroundme feed my sheep! Yon glen is full of my people! "Even with the puresmell of the earth, mingled the sense of its possession. When, stepping from his cave-house, he saw the sun rise on the out-stretched grandeur of the mountain-world, and felt the earth a newcreation as truly as when Adam first opened his eyes on its glory, his heart would give one little heave more at the thought that aportion of it was his own. But all is man's only because it isGod's. The true possession of anything is to see and feel in it whatGod made it for; and the uplifting of the soul by that knowledge, is the joy of true having. The Lord had no land of his own. He didnot care to have it, any more than the twelve legions of angels hewould not pray for: his pupils must not care for things he did notcare for. He had no place to lay his head in-had not even a grave ofhis own. For want of a boat he had once to walk the rough Galileansea. True, he might have gone with the rest, but he had to stopbehind to pray: he could not do without that. Once he sent a fish tofetch him money, but only to pay a tax. He had even to borrow thefew loaves and little fishes from a boy, to feed his five thousandwith. 

The half-hour which Alister spent in the silence of his chamber, served him well: a ray as of light polarized entered his soul in itsgloom. He returned to Ian, who had been all the time walking up anddown the ridge. 

"You are right, Ian!" he said. "I do love the world! If I weredeprived of what I hold, I should doubt God! I fear, oh, I fear, Ian, he is going to take the land from me!"

"We must never fear the will of God, Alister! We are not right untilwe can pray heartily, not say submissively, 'Thy will be done!' Wehave not one interest, and God another. When we wish what he doesnot wish, we are not more against him than against our real selves. We are traitors to the human when we think anything but the willof God desirable, when we fear our very life. "

It was getting toward summer, and the days were growing longer. 

"Let us spend a night in the tomb!" said Ian; and they fixed a dayin the following week. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

MEECY CALLS ON GEANNIE. 

Although the subject did not again come up, Mercy had not forgottenwhat Ian had said about listening for the word of Nature, and hadresolved to get away the first time she could, and see whetherGrannie, as Ian had called her, would have anything to do with her. It were hard to say what she expected--something half magical ratherthan anything quite natural. The notions people have of spiritualinfluence are so unlike the facts, that, when it begins they neverrecognize it, but imagine something common at work. When the Lordcame, those who were looking for him did not know him:--was he not aman like themselves! did they not know his father and mother!

It was a fine spring morning when Mercy left the house to seek aninterview with Nature somewhere among the hills. She took a path sheknew well, and then struck into a sheep-track she had never tried. Up and up she climbed, nor spent a thought on the sudden changes towhich at that season, and amongst those hills, the weather issubject. With no anxiety as to how she might fare, she was yetalready not without some awe: she was at length on her pilgrimageto the temple of Isis!

Not until she was beyond sight of any house, did she begin to feelalone. It was a new sensation, and of a mingled sort. But the slightsense of anxiety and fear that made part of it, was soon overpoweredby something not unlike the exhilaration of a child escaped fromschool. This grew and grew until she felt like a wild thing that hadbeen caught, and had broken loose. Now first, almost, she seemed tohave begun to live, for now first was she free! She might lie in theheather, walk in the stream, do as she pleased! No one wouldinterfere with her, no one say Don't! She felt stronger and fresherthan ever in her life; and the farther she went, the greater grewthe pleasure. The little burn up whose banks, now the one and nowthe other, she was walking, kept on welcoming her unaccustomedfeet to the realms of solitude and liberty. For ever it seemedcoming to meet her, hasting, running steep, as if straight out ofthe heaven to which she was drawing nearer and nearer. The wind wokenow and then, and blew on her for a moment, as. If tasting her, tosee what this young Psyche was that had floated up into the wildthin air of the hills. The incessant meeting of the brook made it acompanion to her although it could not go her way, and was alwaysleaving her. But it kept her from the utter loneliness she sought;for loneliness is imperfect while sound is by, especially asing-sound, and the brook was one of Nature's self--playingsong--instruments. But she came at length to a point where theground was too rough to let her follow its path any more, andturning from it, she began to climb a steep ridge. The growing anddeepening silence as she went farther and farther from the brook, promised the very place for her purpose on the top of the heatheryridge. 

But when she reached it and looked behind her, lo, the valley shehad left lay at her very feet! The world had rushed after and caughther! She had not got away from it! It was like being enchanted! Shethought she was leaving it far behind, but the nature she sought toescape that she might find Nature, would not let her go! It keptfollowing her as if to see that she fell into no snare, neither wastoo sternly received by the loftier spaces. She could distinguishone of the laird's men, ploughing in the valley below: she knew himby his red waistcoat! Almost fiercely she turned and made for thenext ridge: it would screen her from the world she had left; itshould not spy upon her! The danger of losing her way back neversuggested itself. She had not learned that the look of things as yougo, is not their look when you turn to go back; that with yourattitude their mood will have altered. Nature is like a lobster-pot:she lets you easily go on, but not easily return. 

When she gained the summit of the second ridge, she looked abroad ona country of which she knew nothing. It was like the face of anutter stranger. Not far beyond. Rose yet another ridge: she must seehow the world looked from that! On and on she went, crossing ridgeafter ridge, but no place invited her to stay and be still. 

She found she was weary, and spying in the midst of some shortheather a great stone, sat down, and gave herself up to the restthat stole upon her. Though the sun was warm, the air was keen, and, hot with climbing, she turned her face to it, and drank in itsrefreshing with delight. She looked around; not a trace of humanitywas visible-nothing but brown and gray and green hills, with theclear sky over her head, and in the north a black cloud creepingup from the horizon. Another sense than that of rest awoke in her;now first in her life the sense of loneliness absolute began topossess her. And therewith suddenly descended upon her a farthersomething she had never known; it was as if the loneliness, or whatis the same thing, the presence of her own being without another toqualify and make it reasonable and endurable, seized and held her. The silence gathered substance, grew as it were solid, and closingupon her, imprisoned her. Was it not rather that the Soul of Nature, unprevented, unthwarted by distracting influences, found a freerentrance to hers, but she, not yet in harmony with it, felt its con-tact as alien-as bondage therefore and not liberty? She was nearerthan ever she had been to knowing the presence of the God who isalways nearer to us than aught else. Yea, something seemed, throughthe very persistence of its silence, to say to her at last, and keepsaying, "Here I am!" She looked behind her in sudden terror: 110form was there. She sent out her gaze to the horizon: the huge wavesof the solid earth stood up against the sky, sinking so slowly shecould not see them sink: they stood mouldering away, biding theirtime. They were of those "who only stand and wait, " fulfilling thewill of him who set them to crumble till the hour of the new heavensand the new earth arrive. There was no visible life between her andthe great silent mouldering hills. On her right hand lay a bluesegment of the ever restless sea, but so far that its commotionseemed a yet deeper rest than that of the immovable hills. 

She sat and sat, but nothing came, nothing seemed coming to her. Thehope Ian had given her was not to be fulfilled! For here there wasno revelation! She was not of the kind Nature could speak to!

She began to grow uncomfortable--to feel as if she had donesomething wrong--as if she was a child put into the corner--a cornerof the great universe, to learn to be sorry for something. Certainlysomething was wrong with her-but what? Why did she feel souncomfortable? Was she so silly as mind being alone? There wasnothing in these mountains that would hurt her! The red deer were^sometimes dangerous, but none were even within sight! Yet somethinglike fear was growing in her! Why should she be afraid? Everythingabout her certainly did look strange, as if she had nothing to dowith it, and it had nothing to do with her; but that was all! IanMacruadh must be wrong! How could there be any such bond as he saidbetween Nature and the human heart, when the first thing she feltwhen alone with her, was fear! The world was staring at her! She wasthe centre of a fixed, stony regard from all sides! The earth, andthe sea, and the sky, were watching her! She did not like it! Shewould rise and shake off the fancy! But she did not rise; somethingheld her to her thinking. Just so she would, when a child inthe dark, stand afraid to move lest the fear itself, lying in waitlike a tigress, should at her first motion pounce upon her. Theterrible, persistent silence!--would nothing break it! And there wasin herself a response to it--something that was in league with it, and kept telling her that things were not all right with her; thatshe ought not to be afraid, yet had good reason for being afraid;that she knew of no essential safety. There must be some refuge, some impregnable hiding-place, for the thing was a necessity, andshe ought to know of it! There must be a human condition of neverbeing afraid, of knowing nothing to be afraid of! She wonderedwhether, if she were quite good, went to church twice every Sunday, and read her bible every morning, she would come not to be afraidof-she did not know what. It would be grand to have no fear ofperson or thing! She was sometimes afraid of her own father, evenwhen she knew no reason! How that mountain with the horn keptstaring at her!

It was all nonsense! She was silly! She would get up and go home: itmust be time!

But things were not as they should be! Something was required ofher! Was it God wanting her to do something? She had never thoughtwhether he required anything of her! She must be a better girl! Thenshe would have God with her, and not be afraid!

And all the time it was God near her that was making her unhappy. For, as the Son of Man came not to send peace on the earth but asword, so the first visit of God to the human soul is generally in acloud of fear and doubt, rising from the soul itself at hisapproach. The sun is the cloud-dispeller, yet often he must lookthrough a fog if he would visit the earth at all. The child, notbeing a son, does not know his father. He may know he is what iscalled a father; what the word means he does not know. How thenshould he understand when the father comes to deliver him from hispaltry self, and give him life indeed!

She tried to pray. She said, "Oh G--od! forgive me, and make me good. I want to be good!" Then she rose. 

She went some little way without thinking where she was going, andthen found she did not even know from what direction she had come. Asharp new fear, quite different from the former, now shot throughher heart: she was lost! She had told no one she was going anywhere!No one would have a notion where to look for her! She had beenbeginning to feel hungry, but fear drove hunger away. All she knewwas that she must not stay there. Here was nowhere; walking on shemight come somewhere--that is, among human beings! So out she seton her weary travel from no-where to somewhere, giving Naturelittle thanks. She did not suspect that her grandmother had beendoing anything for her by the space around her, or that now, by thetracklessness, the lostness, she was doing yet more. On and on shewalked, climbing the one hillside and descending the other, goingshe knew not whither, hardly hoping she drew one step nearer home. 

All at once her strength went from her. She sat down and cried. Butwith her tears came the thought how the chief and his brother talkedof God. She remembered she had heard in church that men ought to cryto God in their troubles. Broken verses of a certain psalm came toher, saying God delivered those who cried to him even from thingsthey had brought on themselves, and she had been doing nothingwrong! She tried to trust in him, but could not: he was as far fromher as the blue heavens! True, it bent over all, but its one greateye was much too large to see the trouble she was in! What did itmatter to the blue sky if she fell down and withered up to bones anddust! She well might-for here no foot of man might pass till she wasa thing terrible to look at! If there was nobody where seemed to benothing, how fearfully empty was the universe! Ah, if she had Godfor her friend! What if he was her friend, and she had not known itbecause she never spoke to him, never asked him to do anything forher? It was horrible to think it could be a mere chance whether shegot home, or died there! She would pray to God! She would ask him totake her home!

A wintery blast came from the north. The black cloud had risen, andwas now spreading over the zenith. Again the wind came with an angryburst and snarl. Snow carne swept upon it in hard sharp littlepellets. She started up, and forgot to pray. 

Some sound in the wind or some hidden motion of memory all at oncelet loose upon her another fear, which straight was agony. A rumourhad reached the New House the night before, that a leopard hadbroken from a caravan, and got away to the hills. It was but arumour; some did not believe it, and the owners contradicted it, buta party had set out with guns and dogs. It was true! it was true!There was the terrible creature crouching behind that stone! He wasin every clump of heather she passed, swinging his tail, and readyto spring upon her! He must be hungry by this time, and there wasnothing there for him to eat but her! By and by, however, she wastoo cold to be afraid, too cold to think, and presently, half-frozenand faint for lack of food, was scarce able to go a step farther. She saw a great rock, sank down in the shelter of it, and in aminute was asleep. She slept for some time, and woke a littlerefreshed. The wonder is that she woke at all. It was dark, and herfirst consciousness was ghastly fear. The wind had ceased, and thestorm was over. Little snow had fallen. The stars were all outoverhead, and the great night was round her, enclosing, watchingher. She tried to rise, and could just move her limbs. Had shefallen asleep again, she would not have lived through the night. Butit is idle to talk of what would have been; nothing could have beenbut what was. Mercy wondered afterwards that she did not lose herreason. She must, she thought, have been trusting somehow in God. 

It was terribly dreary. Sure never one sorer needed God's help! Andwhat better reason could there be for helping her than that she sosorely needed it! Perhaps God had let her walk into this troublethat she might learn she could not do without him! She--would try tobe good! How terrible was the world, with such wide spaces andnobody in them!

And all the time, though she did not know it, she was sobbing andweeping. 

The black silence was torn asunder by the report of a gun. Shestarted up with a strange mingling of hope and terror, gave a loudcry, and sank senseless. The leopard would be upon her!

Her cry was her deliverance. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

IN THE TOMB. 

The brothers had that same morning paid their visit to the tomb, andthere spent the day after their usual fashion, intending to go homethe same night, and as the old moon was very late in rising, to takethe earlier and rougher part of the way in the twilight. Just asthey were setting out, however, what they rightly judged a passingstorm came on, and they delayed their departure. By the time thestorm was over, it was dark, and there was no use in hurrying;they might as well stop a while, and have the moon the latter partof the way. When at length they were again on the point of starting, they thought they heard something like sounds of distress, but thedarkness making search difficult and unsatisfactory, the chiefthought of firing his gun, when Mercy's cry guided them to where shelay. Alister's heart, at sight of her, and at the thought of whatshe must have gone through, nearly stood still. They carried her in, laid her on the bed, and did what they could to restore her, tillshe began to come to herself. Then they left her, that she might notsee them without preparation, and sat down by the fire in the outerroom, leaving the door open between the two. 

"I see how it is!" said Alister. "You remember, Ian, what you saidto her about giving Nature an opportunity of exerting her influence?Mercy has been following your advice, and has lost her way among thehills!"

"That was so long ago!" returned Ian thoughtfully. 

"Yes-when the weather was not fit for it. It is not fit now, but shehas ventured!"

"I believe you are right! I thought there was some reality inher!-But she must not hear us talking about her!"

When Mercy came to herself, she thought at first that she lay whereshe had fallen, but presently perceived that she was covered, andhad something hot at her feet: was she in her own bed? was it all aterrible dream, that she might know what it was to be lost, andthink of God? . She put out her arm: her hand went against coldstone. The dread thought rushed in-that she was buried-was lying inher grave-to lie there till the trumpet should sound, and the deadbe raised. She was not horrified; her first feeling was gladnessthat she had prayed before she died. She had been taught at churchthat an hour might come when it would be of no use to pray-the hourof an unbelieving death: it was of no use to pray now, but herprayer before she died might be of some avail! She wondered that shewas not more frightened, for in sooth it was a dreary prospectbefore her: long and countless years must pass ere again she heardthe sound of voices, again saw the light of the sun! She was halfawake and half dreaming; the faintness of her swoon yet upon her, the repose following her great weariness, and the lightness of herbrain from want of food, made her indifferent-almost happy. Shecould lie so a long time, she thought. 

At length she began to hear sounds, and they were of human voices. She had companions then in the grave! she was not doomed to asolitary waiting for judgment! She must be in some family-vault, among strangers. She hoped they were nice people: it was verydesirable to be buried with nice people!

Then she saw a reddish light. It was a fire--far off! Was she in thebad place? Were those shapes two demons, waiting till she had gotover her dying? She listened:--"That will divide her between us, "said one. "Yes, " answered the other; "there will be no occasion tocut it! "What dreadful thing could they mean? But surely she hadheard their voices before! She tried to speak, but could not. 

"We must come again soon!" said one. "At this rate it will take alife-time to carve the tomb. "

"If we were but at the roof of it!" said the other. "I long totackle the great serpent of eternity, and lay him twining andcoiling and undulating all over it! I dream about those tombs beforeever they were broken into-royally furnished in the dark, waitingfor the souls to come back to their old, brown, dried up bodies!"

Here one of them rose and came toward her, growing bigger andblacker as he came, until he stood by the bedside. He laid his handon her wrist, and felt her pulse. It was Ian! She could not see hisface for there was no light on it, but she knew his shape, hismovements! She was saved!

He saw her wide eyes, two great spiritual nights, gazing up at him. 

"All, you are better, Miss Mercy!" lie said cheerily. "Now you shallhave some tea!"

Something inside her was weeping for joy, but her outer self wasquite still. She tried again to speak, and uttered a fewinarticulate sounds. Then came Alister on tip-toe, and they stood bothby the bedside, looking down on her. 

"I shall be all right presently!"' she managed at length to say. "Iam so glad I'm not dead! I thought I was dead!"

"You would soon have been if we had not found you!" replied Alister. 

"Was it you that fired the gun?"

"Yes. "

"I was so frightened!"

"It saved your life, thank God! for then you cried out. "

"Fright was your door out of fear!" said Ian. 

"I thought it was the leopard!"

"I did bring my gun because of the leopard, " said Alister. 

"It was true about him then?"

"He is out. "

"And now it is quite dark!"

"It doesn't signify; we'll take a lantern; I've got my gun, and Ianhas his dirk!"

"Where are you going then?" asked Mercy, still confused. 

"Home, of course. "

"Oh, yes, of course! I will get up in a minute. "

"There is plenty of time, " said Ian. "You must eat something beforeyou get up. We, have nothing but oat-cakes, I am sorry to say!"

"I think you promised me some tea!" said Mercy. "I don't feelhungry. "

"You shall have the tea. When did you eat last?"

"Not since breakfast. "

"It is a marvel you are able to speak! You must try to eat someoat-cake. "

"I wish I hadn't taken that last slice of deer-ham!" said Alister, ruefully. 

"I will eat if I can, " said Mercy. 

They brought her a cup of tea and some pieces of oat-cake; then, having lighted her a candle, they left her, and closed the door. 

She sipped her tea, managed to eat a little of the dry but wholesomefood, and found herself capable of getting up. It was the strangestbedroom! she thought. Everything was cut out of the live rock. Thedressing-table might have been a sarcophagus! She kneeled by thebedside, and tried to thank God. Then she opened the door. The chiefrose at the sound of it. 

"I'm sorry, " he said, "that we have no woman to wait on you. "

"I want nothing, thank you!" answered Mercy, feeling very weak andready to cry, but restraining her tears. "What a curious house thisis!"

"It is a sort of doll's house my brother and I have been at workupon for nearly fifteen years. We meant, when summer was come, toask you all to spend a day with us up here. "

"Whhen first we went to work on it, " said Ian, "we used to tell eachother tales in which it bore a large share, and Alister's weregenerally about a lost princess taking refuge in it!"

"And now it is come true!" said Alister. 

"What an escape I have had!"

"I do not like to hear you say that!" returned Ian. "You have beentaken care of all the time. If you had died in the cold, it wouldnot have been because God had forgotten you; you would not have beenlost. "

"I wanted to know, " said Mercy, "whether Nature would speak to me. It was of no use! She never came near me!"

"I think she must have come without your knowing her, " answered Ian. "But we shall have a talk about that afterwards, when you are quiterested; we must prepare for home now. "

Mercy's heart sank within her--she felt so weak and sleepy! How wasshe to go back over all that rough mountain-way! But she dared notask to be left-with the leopard about! He might come down the widechimney!

She soon found that the brothers had never thought of her walking. They wrapt her in Ian's plaid. Then they took the chiefs, which wasvery strong, and having folded it twice lengthwise, drew each an endof it over his shoulders, letting it hang in a loop between them: inthis loop they made her seat herself, and putting each as arm behindher, tried how they could all get on. 

After a few shiftings and accommodations, they found the planlikely to answer. So they locked the door, and left the fire glowingon the solitary hearth. 

To Mercy it was the strangest journey--an experience never to beforgotten. The tea had warmed her, and the air revived her. It wasnot very cold, for only now and then blew a little puff of wind. Thestars were brilliant overhead, and the wide void of the air betweenher and the earth below seemed full of wonder and mystery. Now andthen she fancied some distant sound the cry of the leopard: he mightbe coming nearer and nearer as they went! but it rather added to theeerie witchery of the night, making it like a terrible story read inthe deserted nursery, with the distant noise outside of her brothersand sisters at play. The motion of her progress by and by becamepleasant to her. Sometimes her feet would brush the tops of theheather; but when they came to rocky ground, they always shortenedthe loop of the plaid. To Mercy's inner ear came the sound of wordsshe had heard at church: "He shall give his angels charge over thee, and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thoudash thy foot against a stone. " Were not these two men God's ownangels!

They scarcely spoke, except when they stopped to take breath, butwent on and on with a steady, rhythmic, silent trudge. Up and downthe rough hill, and upon the hardly less rough hill-road, they hadenough ado to heed their steps. Now and then they would let her walka little way, but not far. She was neither so strong nor so heavy asa fat deer, they said. 

They were yet high among the hills, when the pale, withered, wasteshred of the old moon rose above the upheaved boat-like back of oneof the battlements of the horizon-rampart. With disconsolate face, now lost, now found again, always reappearing where Mercy had notbeen looking for her, she accompanied them the rest of theirjourney, and the witch-like creature brought out the whole characterof the night. Booked in her wonderful swing, Mercy was not alwaysquite sure that she was not dreaming the strangest, pleasantestdream. Were they not fittest for a dream, this star and moon besetnight-this wind that now and then blew so eerie and wild, yet didnot wake her-this gulf around, above, and beneath her, through whichshe was borne as if she had indeed died, and angels were carryingher through wastes of air to some unknown region afar? Except whenshe brushed the heather, she forgot that the earth was near her. Thearms around her were the arms of men and not angels, but how farabove this lower world dwelt the souls that moved those stronglimbs! What a small creature she was beside them! how unworthy ofthe labour of their deliverance! Her awe of the one kept growing;the other she could trust with heart as well as brain; she couldnever be afraid of him! To the chief she turned to shadow her fromIan. 

When they came to the foot of the path leading up to MistressConal's cottage, there, although it was dark night, sat the oldwoman on a stone. 

"It's a sorrow you are carrying home with you, chief!" she said inGaelic. "As well have saved a drowning man!"

She did not rise or move, but spoke like one talking by thefireside. 

"The drowning man has to be saved, mother!" answered the chief, alsoin Gaelic; "and the sorrow in your way has to be taken with you. Itwon't let you pass!"

"True, my son!" said the woman; "but it makes the heart sore thatsees it!"

-"Thank you for the warning then, but welcome the sorrow!" hereturned. "Good night. "

"Good night, chiefs sons both!" she replied. "You're your father'sanyway! Did he not one night bring home a frozen fox in his arms, towarm him by his fire! But when he had warmed him-lie turned himout!"

It was quite clear when last they looked at the sky, but the momentthey left her, it began to rain heavily. 

So fast did it rain, that the men, fearing for Mercy, turned off theroad, and went down a steep descent, to make straight across theirown fields for the cottage; and just as they reached the bottom ofthe descent, although they had come all the rough way hithertowithout slipping or stumbling--once, the chief fell. He rose inconsternation; but finding that Mercy, upheld by Ian, had simplydropped on her feet, and taken no hurt, relieved himself by un-sparing abuse of his clumsiness. Mercy laughed merrily, resumed herplace in the plaid, and closed her eyes. She never saw where theywere going, for she opened them again only when they stopped alittle as they turned into the fir-clump before the door. 

"Where are we?" she asked; but for answer they carried her straightinto the house. 

"We have brought you to our mother instead of yours, " said Alister. "To get wet would have been the last straw on the back of such aday. We will let them know at once that you are safe. "

Lady Macruadh, as the highlanders generally called her, made hasteto receive the poor girl with that sympathetic pity which, of allgood plants, flourishes most in the Celtic heart. Mercy's mother hadcome to her in consternation at her absence, and the only comfortshe could give her was the suggestion that she had fallen in withher sons. She gave her a warm bath, -put her to bed, and then madeher eat, so preparing her for a healthful sleep. And she didsleep, but dreamed of darkness and snow and leopards. 

As men were out searching in all directions, Alister, while Ianwent to the New House, lighted a beacon on the top of the old castleto bring them back. By the time Ian had persuaded Mrs. Palmer toleave Mercy in his mother's care for the night, it was blazingbeautifully. 

In the morning it was found that Mercy had a bad cold, and could notbe moved. But the cottage, small as it was, had more than oneguest-chamber, and Mrs. Macruadh was delighted to have her tonurse. 

END OF VOL. II. 

VOL. III. 

CONTENTS OF VOL. III. 

CHAPTER

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

WHAT'S MINE'S MINE

CHAPTER I

AT A HIGH SCHOOL. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER II

A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No; but Alister!"

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

"He will do what he thinks right!"

"Is not that enough, mother?"

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

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

She was silent. 

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

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

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

"That is dangerous doctrine!"

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

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

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

"We don't always think alike. "

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

"He is very fond of the girl!"

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

"She might well be teachable to such teachers!"

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

"Nothing would make me trust her!"

"Why?"

"She comes of an' abominable breed. "

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

"I make her suffer!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mother answered only with a sigh. 

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER III

HOW ALISTER TOOK IT. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alister looked straight in his mother's face. 

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

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

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

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

"You did not then know what she was!"

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

"You thought her the daughter of a gentleman!"

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

"Then you mean to go on with it?"

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

"It must have been!" said the mother. 

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

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

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

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

"Ah! if only your father were here!"

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

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

"So would I, mother!" said Alister. 

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

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

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

The brothers went. 

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

"Of course you did!" answered Alister. 

"But I am very sorry!"

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

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

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

"What ARE you thinking of, Alister?"

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

"You frightened me for a moment, Alister!"

"How could I, lan?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I have SAID nothing definite. "

"But she understands?"

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

"She is more pleasant. "

"She is quite attentive to you!"

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

"There is a great change on her!"

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

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

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

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

"What will you do then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I would appeal to Mercy. "

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

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

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

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

"How?"

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

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

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

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

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

"There must never be a word concerning them!"

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

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

"When do you go?" asked the chief. 

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

She could say no more. 

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

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

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

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

"My brother will persuade her. "

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

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

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

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

Alister came from the back room. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV

LOVE. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look! Chrissy!" she said, pointing. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Because we wanted to watch you coming. "

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

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

Mercy looked up; Christina looked down. 

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

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

"How did you know we were silent?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you do it for?"

The brothers exchanged glances. 

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

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

Ere she could give an answer, Ian went on. 

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

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

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

"Do tell us, " pleaded Christina. 

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

"I do, I do!"

"Then I suppose we must tell you!"

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

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

"Do show it us, " begged Christina. 

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

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

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

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

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

They had dropped a little behind the other pair. 

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

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

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

CHAPTER V

PASSION AND PATIENCE. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I start for Canada next week. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dear Miss Palmer, --" faltered Ian. 

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

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

The WE and the US gave her a little hope. 

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

She burst out weeping afresh. 

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

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

She fancied he did not believe in her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How forgive trust? Is that an offence?"

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

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

"What if it should be only for--"

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

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

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

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

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

"You will not tell anybody?"

"You must trust me. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VI

LOVE GLOOMING. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look so lovely!" said the chief. 

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

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

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

She was evidently not pleased. 

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

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

She took her hand from his arm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is that?"

"How your father will take my condition. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did you know it was abuse?"

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

"It would be of no use!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't answer that without thinking. "

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

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

"You will mean it one day. "

"Are you sure God will teach me?"

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

"More than to save us?"

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

CHAPTER VII

A GENEROUS DOWRY. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The chief answered with a nod. 

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

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

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

"I will write. Good morning. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You too have been tried with terrible thoughts?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean to do?"

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

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

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

"It would, mother!" he answered. 

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

"A grand thing, indeed, mother!"

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

"Because it is none. "

"How is that?"

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

"I do not understand you!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mercy stood silent and motionless. 

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

He was between her and the door. 

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

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

CHAPTER VIII

MISTRESS CONAL. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently the speaker dared no more. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She gave a loud wail, but checked it. 

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

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

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

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

She was silent. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Macruadh walked up to him. 

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

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

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

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

Each eager assailant stood like a block. 

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

To do him justice, he was no coward. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ceased as if in despair. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IX

THE MARCHES. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We'll take our chance!"

"Take your man then!"

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

Bob of the Angels burst into a scornful laugh. 

"You will! will you?"

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

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

"We will go with you, " he said. 

"We don't want YOU!"

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

"You know nothing. "

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

"You crow high, my cock!"

"No higher than I strike, " answered Rob. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He shall go before Mr. Brander. "

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

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

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

"I make no question of that!"

"He says he was not on your property. "

"Says!"

"He is not a man to lie!"

Mr. Palmer smiled. 

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

"You shall not see him. "

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

"Mr. Brander is not at home. "

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

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

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

"Where you will not find him. "

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

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

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

Mr. Palmer laughed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have no business in my house!"

"I have the right of a magistrate. "

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

"Allow me to pass. "

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Macruadh. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The keepers darted forward. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do not know which it is. "

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

"What hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER X

MIDNIGHT. 

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

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

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

Content and patient, Mercy sat watching. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A long silence, save of shining eyes, followed. 

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

"Waiting is loving, " answered Mercy. 

She leaned out, looking down to her heaven. 

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

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

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

"Then why are you in court dress?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I shall always see you like that!"

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

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

"God and Ian did, " said Alister. 

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

"Then you will always trust me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. "

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

"Yes, surely!"

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

"What IS that for, Mercy?"

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

"You darling!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words prefaced another storm of tears. 

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

"Perhaps he will love you yet, Chrissy!"

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XI

SOMETHING STRANGE. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XII

THE POWER OF DARKNESS. 

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

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

The mother's thoughts flew instantly to Ian. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As they spoke, Nancy entered. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you far behind with your rent?"

"Not a quarter, Macruadh. "

"Then what does it mean?"

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

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

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

"Is it law, sir?"

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

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

"I will go with you to the village. "

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

"I would fain be!" answered the chief. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will the law not help us, Macruadh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE NEW STANCE. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIV

THE PEAT-MOSS. 

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

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

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

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

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

"He does not like me!" said Craftie. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I will go with you. "

"When you please, then, chief. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Only our bodies, " returned Alister. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excuse me; I cannot. "

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

"I will not. "

"Go, or I will compel you. "

As he spoke, he half raised his gun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They arrived some time before the doctor. 

CHAPTER XV

A DARING VISIT. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She turned upon her almost fiercely. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Then I will wait outside!" said Mercy, her quick temper waking inspite of her anxiety: she had anticipated coldness, but nottreatment like this! "There is one, I think, Mrs. Macruadh, " sheadded, "who will not find fault with me for it!"

"At least he will not tell you so for some time!"

The door had not been quite closed, and it opened noiselessly. 

"She does not mean me, mother, " said Alister; "she means JesusChrist. He would say to you, LET HER ALONE. He does not care forSociety. Its ways are not his ways, nor its laws his laws. Come in, Mercy. I am sorry my mother's trouble about me should have made herinhospitable to you!"

"I cannot come in, Alister, if she will not let me!" answered Mercy. 

"Pray walk in!" said Mrs. Macruadh. 

She would have passed Mercy, going toward the kitchen, but theTRANCE was narrow, and Mercy did not move. 

"You see, Alister, I cannot!" she insisted. "That would not please, would it?" she added reverently. "Tell me how you are, and I willgo, and come again to-morrow. "

Alister told her what had befallen, making little of the affair, andsaying he suspected it was an accident. 

"Oh, thank you!" she said, with a sigh of relief. "I meant to sit bythe castle wall till the doctor came; but now I shall get backbefore they discover I am gone. "

Without a word more, she turned and ran from the house, and reachedher room unmissed and unseen. 

The next was a dreary hour--the most painful that mother and son hadever passed together. The mother was all this time buttressing herpride with her grief, and the son was cut to the heart that heshould have had to take part against his mother. But when the doctorcame at length, and the mother saw him take out his instruments, thepride that parted her from her boy melted away. 

"Forgive me, Alister!" she whispered; and his happy kiss comfortedher repentant soul. 

When the small operations were over, and Alister was in bed, shewould have gone to let Mercy know all she could tell her. But shemust not: it would work mischief in the house! She sat down byAlister's bedside, and watched him all night. 

He slept well, being in such a healthful condition of body that hisloss of blood, and the presence of the few shot that could not befound, did him little harm. He yielded to his mother's entreaties tospend the morning in bed, but was up long before the evening in thehope of Mercy's coming, confident that his mother would now be likeherself to her. She came; the mother took her in her arms, andbegged her forgiveness; nor, having thus embraced her, could she anymore treat her relation to her son with coldness. If the girl wasready, as her conduct showed, to leave all for Alister, she hadsaved her soul alive, she was no more one of the enemy!

Thus was the mother repaid for her righteous education of her son:through him her pride received almost a mortal blow, her justicegrew more discriminating, and her righteousness more generous. 

In a few days the chief was out, and looking quite himself. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE FLITTING. 

The time was drawing nigh when the warning of ejection woulddoubtless begin to be put in force; and the chief hearing, throughRob of the Angels, that attempts were making to stir the people up, determined to render them futile: they must be a trick of the enemyto get them into trouble! Taking counsel therefore with the best ofthe villagers, both women and men, he was confirmed in the idea thatthey had better all remove together, before the limit of theearliest notice was expired. But his councillors agreed with himthat the people should not be told to get themselves in readinessexcept at a moment's notice to move. In the meantime he pushed ontheir labour at the new village. 

In the afternoon preceding the day on which certain of the clan wereto be the first cast out of their homes, the chief went to thevillage, and going from house to house, told his people to haveeverything in order for flitting that very night, so that in themorning there should not be an old shoe left behind; and to let norumour of their purpose get abroad. They would thus have a goodlaugh at the enemy, who was reported to have applied for militaryassistance as a precautionary measure. His horses should be ready, and as soon as it was dark they would begin to cart and carry, andbe snug in their new houses before the morning!

All agreed, and a tumult of preparation began. "Lady Macruadh" camewith help and counsel, and took the children in charge while themothers bustled. It was amazing how much had to be done to remove sosmall an amount of property. The chief's three carts were firstladen; then the men and women loaded each other. The chief took onhis hack the biggest load of all, except indeed it were Hector's. Toand fro went the carts, and to and fro went the men and women, Iknow not how many journeys, upheld by companionship, merriment, hope, and the clan-mother's plentiful provision of tea, coffee, milk, bread and butter, cold mutton and ham--luxurious fare to all. As the sun was rising they closed every door, and walked for thelast time, laden with the last of their goods, out of the place oftheir oppression, leaving behind them not a cock to crow, a peat toburn, or a scrap that was worth stealing--all removed in such orderand silence that not one, even at the New House, had a suspicion ofwhat was going on. Mercy, indeed, as she sat looking from her windowlike Daniel praying toward Jerusalem, her constant custom now, evenwhen there was no moon to show what lay before her, did think sheheard strange sounds come faintly through the night from the valleybelow--even thought she caught shadowy glimpses of a shapeless, gnome-like train moving along the road; but she only wondered if theHighlands had suddenly gifted her with the second sight, and thesewere the brain-phantasms of coming events. She listened and gazed, but could not be sure that she heard or saw. 

When she looked out in the morning, however, she understood, for thecastle-ridge was almost hidden in the smoke that poured from everychimney of the new village. Her heart swelled with joy to think ofher chief with all his people under his eyes, and within reach ofhis voice. From her window they seemed so many friends gathered tocomfort her solitude, or the camp of an army come to set her free. 

Hector and Rob, with one or two more of the clan, hid themselves towatch those who came to evict the first of the villagers. There wereno military. Two sheriff's officers, a good many constables, and afew vagabonds, made up the party. Rob's keen eye enabled him todistinguish the very moment when first they began to be aware ofsomething unusual about the place; he saw them presently halt andlook at each other as if the duty before them were not altogetherCANNY. At no time would there be many signs of life in the poorhamlet, but there would always be some sounds of handicraft, someshuttle or hammer going, some cries of children weeping or at play, some noises of animals, some ascending smoke, some issuing orentering shape! They feared an ambush, a sudden onslaught. Warilythey stepped into the place, sharply and warily they looked aboutthem in the street, slowly and with circumspection they opened doorafter door, afraid of what might be lurking behind to pounce uponthem at unawares. Only after searching every house, and discoveringnot the smallest sign of the presence of living creature, did theyrecognize their fool's-errand. And all the time there was the newvillage, smoking hard, under the very windows, as he chose himselfto say, of its chief adversary!

CHAPTER XVII

THE NEW VILLAGE. 

The winter came down upon them early, and the chief and his motherhad a sore time of it. Well as they had known it before, the povertyof their people was far better understood by them now. Unable toendure the sight of it, and spending more and more to meet it, theysaw it impossible for them to hold out. For a long time theirsuccour had been draining if not exhausting the poor resources ofthe chief; he had borne up in the hope of the money he was so soonto receive; and now there was none, and the need greater than ever!He was not troubled, for his faith was simple and strong; but hisfaith made him the more desirous of doing his part for the comingdeliverance: faith in God compels and enables a man to befellow-worker with God. He was now waiting the judgment of Ianconcerning the prospects of the settlers in that part of Canada towhich he had gone, hoping it might help him to some resolve in viewof the worse difficulties at hand. 

In the meantime the clan was more comfortable, and passed the wintermore happily, than for many years. First of all, they had access tothe chief at any moment. Then he had prepared a room in his ownhouse where were always fire and light for such as would read whatbooks he was able to lend them, or play at quiet games. To them itshumble arrangements were sumptuous. And best of all, he would, inthe long dark fore-nights, as the lowland Scotch call them, readaloud, at one time in Gaelic, at another in English, things thatgave them great delight. Donal shoemaker was filled with joyunutterable by the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. If only this stateof things could be kept up--with Ian back, and Mercy married to thechief! thought the mother. But it was not to be; that grew plainerevery day. 

Mr. Palmer would gladly have spent his winter elsewhere, leaving hisfamily behind him; but as things were, he could not leave them, andas certain other things were, he did not care to take them toLondon. Besides, for them all to leave now, would be to confessdefeat; and who could tell what hurt to his forest might not followin his absence from the cowardly hatred of the peasants! He wasresolved to see the thing out. But above all, he must keep thatworthless girl, Mercy, under his own eye!

"That's what comes of NOT drinking!" he would say to himself; "a mangrows as proud as Satan, and makes himself a curse to hisneighbours!"

Then he would sigh like a man ill-used and disconsolate. 

Both Mercy and the chief thought it better not to venture much, butthey did occasionally contrive to meet for a few minutes--by thehelp of Christina generally. Twice only was Mercy's handkerchiefhung from the window, when her longing for his voice had grownalmost too strong for her to bear. The signal brought him both timesthrough the wild wintry storm, joyous as a bird through the summerair. Once or twice they met just outside the gate, Mercy flying likea snow-bird to the tryst, and as swiftly back through the keen bluefrost, when her breath as she ran seemed to linger in the air likesmoke, and threaten to betray her. 

At length came the much desired letter from Ian, full of matter forthe enabling of the chief's decision. 

Two things had long been clear to Alister--that, even if the groundhe had could keep his people alive, it certainly could not keep themall employed; and that, if they went elsewhere, especially to anytown, it might induce for many, and ensure for their children, alamentable descent in the moral scale. He was their shepherd, andmust lose none of them! therefore, first of all, he must not losesight of them! It was now clear also, that the best and mostdesirable thing was, that the poor remnant of the clan should leavetheir native country, and betake themselves where not a few of theirown people, among them Lachlan and Annie, would welcome them toprobable ease and comfort. There he would buy land, settle withthem, and build a village. Some would cultivate the soil under theirchief; others would pursue their trades for the good of thecommunity and themselves!

And now came once more the love of land face to face with the loveof men, and in the chief's heart paled before it. For there was butone way to get the needful money: the last of the Macruadh propertymust go! Not for one moment did it rouse a grudging thought in thechief: it was for the sake of the men and women and children whoselives would be required of him! The land itself must yield, themwings to forsake it withal, and fly beyond the sea!

CHAPTER XVIII

A FRIENDLY OFFER

It was agreed between mother and son to submit the matter to Ian, and if he should, be of the same mind, at once to negotiate the saleof the land, in order to carry the clan to Canada. They wrotetherefore to Ian, and composed themselves to await his answer. 

It was a sorrowful thing to Alister to seem for a moment to followthe example of the recreant chiefs whose defection to feudalism wasthe prelude to their treachery toward their people, and whosefaithlessness had ruined the highlands. But unlike Glengarry or"Esau" Reay, he desired to sell his land that he might keep hispeople, care for them, and share with them: his people safe, whatmattered the acres!

Reflecting on the thing, he saw, in the case of Ian's approval ofthe sale, no reason why he should not show friendliness where nonewas expected, and give Mr. Peregrine Palmer the first chance ofpurchase. He thought also, with his usual hopefulness, that the timemight come when the clan, laying its savings together, would be ableto redeem its ancient homesteads, and then it might be an advantagethat they were all in the possession of one man. Such things hadbeen, and might be again! The Lord could bring again the captivityof Clanruahd as well as that of Zion!

Two months passed, and they had Ian's answer--when it was well oninto the spring, and weather good for a sea-voyage was upon its way. Because of the loss of their uncle's money, and the good prospect ofcomfort in return for labour, hard but not killing, Ian entirelyapproved of the proposal. From that moment the thing was no longerdiscussed, but how best to carry it out. The chief assembled theclan in the barn, read his brother's letter, and in a simple speechacquainted them with the situation. He told them of the loss of themoney to which he had looked for the power to aid them; remindedthem that there was neither employment nor subsistence enough on theland--not even if his mother and he were to live like the rest ofthem, which if necessary they were quite prepared to do; and statedhis resolve to part with the remnant of it in order to provide themeans of their migrating in a body to Canada, where not a few oldfriends were eager to welcome them. There they would buy land, hesaid, of which every man that would cultivate it should have aportion enough to live upon, while those with trades should haveevery facility for following them. All, he believed, would fare wellin return for hard work, and they would be in the power of no man. There was even a possibility, he hoped, that, if they lived andlaboured well, they might one day buy back the home they had left;or if not they, their sons and daughters might return from theircaptivity, and restore the house of their fathers. If anyone wouldnot go, he would do for him what seemed fair. 

Donal shoemaker rose, unpuckered his face, slackened thepurse-strings of his mouth, and said, "Where my chief goes, I will go; where my chief lives, I will live;and where my chief is buried, God grant I may be buried also, withall my family!"

He sat down, covered his face with his hands, and wept and sobbed. 

One voice rose from all present:

"We'll go, Macruadh! We'll go! Our chief is our home!"

The chief's heart swelled with mingled gladness and grief, but heanswered quietly, "Then you must at once begin your preparations; we ought not to bein a hurry at the last. "

An immediate stir, movement, bustle, followed. There was muchtalking, and many sunny faces, over which kept sweeping the cloudsof sorrow. 

The next morning the chief went to the New House, and desired to seeMr. Palmer. He was shown into what the new laird called his study. Mr. Palmer's first thought was that he had come to call him toaccount for firing at him. He neither spoke nor advanced a step tomeet him. The chief stood still some yards from him, and said aspleasantly as he could, --

"You are surprised to see me, Mr. Palmer!"

"I am. "

"I come to ask if you would like to buy my land?"

"Already!" said Mr. Palmer, cast on his enemy a glare of victory, and so stood regarding him. The chief did not reply. 

"Well!" said Mr. Palmer. 

"I wait your answer, " returned the chief. 

"Did it never strike you that insolence might be carried too far?"

"I came for your sake more than my own, " rejoined the chief, withouteven a shadow of anger. "I have no particular desire you should takethe land, but thought it reasonable you should have the firstoffer. "

"What a dull ox the fellow must take me for!" remarked the new lairdto himself. "It's all a dodge to get into the house! As if he wouldsell ME his land! Or could think I would hold any communication withhim! Buy his land! It's some trick, I'll lay my soul! The infernalscoundrel! Such a mean-spirited wretch too! Takes an ounce of shotin the stomach, and never says 'What the devil do you mean by it?' Idon't believe the savage ever felt it!"

Something like this passed with thought's own swiftness through themind of Mr. Palmer, as he stood looking the chief from head to foot, yet in his inmost person feeling small before him. 

"If you cannot at once make up your mind, " said Alister, "I willgive you till to-morrow to think it over. "

"When you have learned to behave like a gentleman, " answered the newlaird, "let me know, and I will refer you to my factor. "

He turned and rang the hell. Alister bowed, and did not wait for theservant. 

It must be said for Mr. Palmer, however, that that morning Christinahad positively refused to listen to a word more from Mr. Sercombe. 

In the afternoon, Alister set out for London. 

CHAPTER XIX

ANOTHER EXPULSION. 

Mr. Peregrine Palmer brooded more and more upon what he counted thecontempt of the chief. It became in him almost a fixed idea. It hadalready sent out several suckers, and had, amongst others, developedthe notion that he was despised by those from whom first of all helooked for the appreciation after which his soul thirsted--his ownfamily. He grew therefore yet more moody, and his moodiness anddistrust developed suspicion. It is scarce credible what a crushinginfluence the judgment he pretended to scorn, thus exercised uponhim. It was not that he acknowledged in it the smallest justice;neither was it that he cared altogether for what such a fanaticalfool as the chief might think; but he reflected that if one could sodespise his money because of its source, there might be others, might be many who did so. At the same time, had he been sure of theapprobation of all the world beside, it would have troubled him nota little, in his thirst after recognition, that any gentleman, oneof family especially, however old-fashioned and absurd he might be, should look down upon him. His smouldering, causelessly excitedanger, his evident struggle to throw off an oppression, and thefierce resentment of the chief's judgment which he would now andthen betray, revealed how closely the offence clung to hisconsciousness. 

Flattering himself from her calmness that Mercy had got over herfoolish liking for the "boor, " as he would not unfrequently stylethe chief, he had listened to the prayers of her mother, andsubmitted to her company at the dinner-table; but he continued totreat her as one who had committed a shameful fault. 

That evening, the great little man could hardly eat for recurrentwrathful memories of the interview of the morning. Perhaps his mostpainful reflection was that he had not been quick enough to embracethe opportunity of annihilating his enemy. Thunder loweredportentous in his black brows, and not until he had drunk severalglasses of wine did a word come from his lips. His presence waspurgatory without the purifying element. 

"What do you think that fellow has been here about this morning?" hesaid at length. 

"What fellow?" asked his wife unnecessarily, for she knew whatvisitor had been shown into the study. 

"The highland fellow, " he answered, "that claims to do what hepleases on my property!"

Mercy's face grew hot. 

"--Came actually to offer me the refusal of his land!--the meresttrick to get into the house--confound him! As much as told me, if Idid not buy it off-hand, I should not have the chance again! Thecheek of the brute! To dare show his face in my house after triflingwith my daughter's affections on the pretence that he could notmarry a girl whose father was in trade!"

Mercy felt she would be false to the man she loved, and whom sheknew to be true, if she did not speak. She had no thought ofdefending him, but simply of witnessing to him. 

"I beg your pardon, papa, " she said, "but the Macruadh never trifledwith me. He loves me, and has not given me up. If he told you he wasgoing to part with his land, he is going to part with it, and cameto you first because he must return good for evil. I saw him from mywindow ride off as if he were going to meet the afternoon coach. "

She would not have been allowed to say so much, had not her fatherbeen speechless with rage. This was more than he or any man couldbear! He rose from the table, his eyes blazing. 

"Return ME good for evil!" he exclaimed; "--a beast who has done memore wrong than ever I did in all my life! a scoundrel bumpkin wholoses not an opportunity of insulting me as never was man insultedbefore! You are an insolent, heartless, depraved girl!--ready tosacrifice yourself, body and soul, to a man who despises you andyours with the pride of a savage! You hussey, I can scarce keep myhands off you!"

He came toward her with a threatful stride. She rose, pushed backher chair, and stood facing him. 

"Strike me, " she said with a choking voice, "if you will, papa; butmamma knows I am not what you call me! I should be false andcowardly if I did not speak the truth for the man to whom Iowe"--she was going to say "more than to any other human being, " butshe checked herself. 

"If the beggar is your god, " said her father, and struck her on thecheek with his open hand, "you can go to him!"

He took her by the arm, and pushed her before him out of the room, and across the hall; then opening the door, shoved her from him intothe garden, and flung the door to behind her. The rain was fallingin torrents, the night was very dark, and when the door shut, shefelt as if she had lost her eyesight. 

It was terrible!--but, thank God, she was free! Without a moment'shesitation--while her mother wept and pleaded, Christina stoodburning with indignation, the two little ones sat white with openmouths, and the servants hurried about scared, but trying to look asif nothing had happened--Mercy fled into the dark. She stumbled intothe shrubbery several times, but at last reached the gate, and whilethey imagined her standing before the house waiting to be let in, was running from it as from the jaws of the pit, in terror of avoice calling her back. The pouring rain was sweet to her wholeindignant person, and especially to the cheek where burned the brandof her father's blow. The way was deep in mud, and she slipped andfell more than once as she ran. 

Mrs. Macruadh was sitting in the little parlour, no one but Nancy inthe house, when the door opened, and in came the wild-looking girl, draggled and spent, and dropped kneeling at her feet. Great massesof long black hair hung dripping with rain about her shoulders. Herdress was torn and wet, and soiled with clay from the road and earthfrom the shrubbery. One cheek was white, and the other had a redpatch on it. 

"My poor child!" cried the mother; "what has happened? Alister isaway!"

"I know that, " panted Mercy. "I saw him go, but I thought you wouldtake me in--though you do not like me much!"

"Not like you, my child!" echoed the mother tenderly. "I love you!Are you not my Alister's choice? There are things I could havewished otherwise, but--"

"Well could I wish them otherwise too!" interposed Mercy. "I do notwish another father; and I am not quite able to wish he hadn'tstruck me and put me out into the dark and the rain, but--"

"Struck you and put you out! My child! What did he do it for?"

"Perhaps I deserved it: it is difficult to know how to behave to afather! A father is supposed to be one whom you not only love, as Ido mine, but of whom you can be proud as well! I can't be proud ofmine, and don't know quite how to behave to him. Perhaps I ought tohave held my peace, but when he said things that were not--notcorrect about Alister, misinterpreting him altogether, I felt itcowardly and false to hold my tongue. So I said I did not believethat was what Alister meant. It is but a quarter of an hour ago, andit looks a fortnight! I don't think I quite know what I am saying!"

She ceased, laid her head on Mrs. Macruadh's knee, then sank to thefloor, and lay motionless. All the compassion of the woman, all theprotective pride of the chieftainess, woke in the mother. She raisedthe girl in her arms, and vowed that not one of her house should seteyes on her again without the consent of her son. He should see howhis mother cared for what was his!--how wide her arms, how big herheart, to take in what he loved! Dear to him, the daughter of theman she despised should be as the apple of her eye! They would ofcourse repent and want her back, but they should not have her;neither should a sound of threat or demand reach the darling's ears. She should be in peace until Alister came to determine her future. There was the mark of the wicked hand on the sweet sallow cheek! Shewas not beautiful, but she would love her the more to make up! ThankGod, they had turned her out, and that made her free of them! Theyshould not have her again; Alister should have her!--and from thehand of his mother!

She got her to bed, and sent for Rob of the Angels. With injunctionsto silence, she told him to fetch his father, and be ready as soonas possible to drive a cart to the chief's cave, there to makeeverything comfortable for herself and Miss Mercy Palmer. 

Mercy slept well, and as the day was breaking Mrs. Macruadh woke herand helped her to dress. Then they walked together through thelovely spring morning to the turn of the valley-road, where a cartwas waiting them, half-filled with oat-straw. They got in, and wereborne up and up at a walking-pace to the spot Mercy knew so well. Never by swiftest coach had she enjoyed a journey so much as thatslow crawl up the mountains in the rough springless cart of herploughman lover! She felt so protected, so happy, so hopeful. Alister's mother was indeed a hiding place from the wind, a covertfrom the tempest! Having consented to be her mother, she couldmother her no way but entirely. An outcast for the sake of herAlister, she should have the warmest corner of her heart next to himand Ian!

Into the tomb they went, and found everything strangelycomfortable--the stone-floor covered with warm and woolly skins ofblack-faced sheep, a great fire glowing, plenty of provisions hungand stored, and the deaf, keen-eyed father with the swift keen-earedson for attendants. 

"You will not mind sharing your bed with me--will you, my child?"said Mrs. Macruadh: "Our accommodation is scanty. But we shall besafe from intrusion. Only those two faithful men know where we are. "

"Mother will be terribly frightened!" said Mercy. 

"I thought of that, and left a note with Nancy, telling her you weresafe and well, but giving no hint of where. I said that her dove hadflown to my bosom for shelter, and there she should have it. "

Mercy answered with a passionate embrace. 

CHAPTER XX

ALISTER'S PRINCESS. 

Ten peaceful days they spent in the cave-house. It was coldoutside, but the clear air of the hill-top was delicious, and insideit was warm and dry. There were plenty of books, and Mercy neverfelt the time a moment too long. The mother talked freely of hersons, and of their father, of the history of the clan, of her owngirlhood, and of the hopes and intentions of her sons. 

"Will you go with him, Mercy?" she asked, laying her hand on hers. 

"I would rather be his servant, " answered Mercy, "than remain athome: there is no life there!"

"There is life wherever there is the will to live--that is, to dothe thing that is given one to do, " said the mother. 

In writing she told Alister nothing of what had happened: he mighthurry home without completing his business! Undisturbed by freshanxiety, he settled everything, parted with his property to an oldfriend of the family, and received what would suffice for hisfurther intents. He also chartered a vessel to take them over thesea, and to save weariness and expense, arranged for it to gonorthward as far as a certain bay on the coast, and there take theclan on board. 

When at length he reached home, Nancy informed him that his motherwas at the hill-house, and begged he would go there to her. He was agood deal perplexed: she very seldom went there, and had neverbefore gone for the night! and it was so early in the season! He setout immediately. 

It was twilight when he reached the top of the hill, and no lightshone from the little windows of the tomb. 

That day Mercy had been amusing her protectress with imitations, inwhich kind she had some gift, of certain of her London acquaintance:when the mother heard her son's approaching step, a thought came toher. 

"Here! Quick!" she said; "Put on my cap and shawl, and sit in thischair. I will go into the bedroom. Then do as you like. "

When the chief entered, he saw the form of his mother, as hethought, bending over the peat-fire, which had sunk rather low: inhis imagination he saw again the form of his uncle as on that nightin the low moonlight. She did not move, did not even look up. Hestood still for a moment; a strange feeling possessed him ofsomething not being as it ought to be. But he recovered himself withan effort, and kneeling beside her, put his arms round her--not alittle frightened at her continued silence. 

"What is the matter, mother dear?" he said. "Why have you come up tothis lonely place?"

When first Mercy felt his arms, she could not have spoken if shewould--her heart seemed to grow too large for her body. But in amoment or two she controlled herself, and was able to say--sufficientlyin his mother's tone and manner to keep up the initiated misconception:

"They put me out of the house, Alister. "

"Put you out of the house!" he returned, like one hearing andtalking in a dream. "Who dared interfere with you, mother? Am Ilosing my senses? I seem not to understand my own words!"

"Mr. Palmer. "

"Mr. Palmer! Was it to him I sold the land in London? What could hehave to do with you, mother? How did they allow him to come near thehouse in my absence? Oh, I see! He came and worried you so aboutMercy that you were glad to take refuge from him up here!--Iunderstand now!"

He ended in a tone of great relief: he felt as if he had justrecovered his senses. 

"No, that was not it. But we are going so soon, there would havebeen no good in fighting it out. We ARE going soon, are we not?"

"Indeed we are, please God!" replied the chief, who had relapsedinto bewilderment. 

"That is well--for you more than anybody. Would you believe it--theworthless girl vows she will never leave her mother's house!"

"Ah, mother, YOU never heard her say so! I know Mercy better thanthat! She will leave it when I say COME. But that won't be now. Imust wait, and come and fetch her when she is of age. "

"She is not worthy of you. "

"She is worthy of me if I were twenty times worthier! Mother, mother! What has turned you against us again? It is not like you tochange about so! I cannot bear to find you changeable! I should havesworn you were just the one to understand her perfectly! I cannotbear you should let unworthy reasons prejudice you againstanyone!--If you say a word more against her, I will go and sitoutside with the moon. She is not up yet, but she will be presently--and though she is rather old and silly, I shall find her muchbetter company than you, mother dear!"

He spoke playfully, but was grievously puzzled. 

"To whom are you talking, Alister?--yourself or a ghost?"

Alister started up, and saw his mother coming from the bedroom witha candle in her hand! He stood stupefied. He looked again at theseated figure, still bending over the fire. Who was it if not hismother?

With a wild burst of almost hysteric laughter, Mercy sprang to herfeet, and threw herself in his arms. It was not the less a newbewilderment that it was an unspeakably delightful change from thelast. Was he awake or dreaming? Was the dream of his boyhood cometrue? or was he dreaming it on in manhood? It was come true! Theprincess was arrived! She was here in his cave to be his own!

A great calm and a boundless hope filled the heart of Alister. Thenight was far advanced when he left them to go home. Nor did he findhis way home, but wandered all night about the tomb, making longrounds and still returning like an angel sent to hover and watchuntil the morning. When he astonished them by entering as they satat breakfast, and told them how he had passed the night, it thrilledMercy's heart to know that, while she slept and was dreaming abouthim, he was awake and thinking about her. 

"What is only dreaming in me, is thinking in you, Alister!" shesaid. 

"I was thinking, " returned Alister, "that as you did not know I waswatching you, so, when we feel as if God were nowhere, he iswatching over us with an eternal consciousness, above and beyond ourevery hope and fear, untouched by the varying faith and fluctuatingmoods of his children. "

After breakfast he went to see the clergyman of the parish, wholived some miles away; the result of which visit was that in a fewdays they were married. First, however, he went once more to the NewHouse, desiring to tell Mr. Palmer what had been and was about to bedone. He refused to see him, and would not allow his wife orChristina to go to him. 

The wedding was solemnized at noon within the ruined walls of theold castle. The withered remnant of the clan, with pipes playing, guns firing, and shouts of celebration, marched to the cave-house tofetch thence the bride. When the ceremony was over, a feast wasready for all in the barn, and much dancing followed. 

When evening came, with a half-moon hanging faint in the limpidblue, and the stars looking large through the mist of ungatheredtears--those of nature, not the lovers; with a wind like the breathof a sleeping child, sweet and soft, and full of dreams of summer;the mountains and hills asleep around them like a flock of day-wearied things, and haunted by the angels of Rob's visions--thelovers, taking leave only of the mother, stole away to walk throughthe heavenly sapphire of the still night, up the hills and over therushing streams of the spring, to the cave of their rest--no illomen but lovely symbol to such as could see in the tomb the porch ofparadise. Where should true lovers make their bed but on thethreshold of eternity!

CHAPTER XXI

THE FAREWELL. 

A month passed, and the flag of their exile was seen flying in thebay. The same hour the chief's horses were put to, the carts wereloaded, their last things gathered. Few farewells had to be made, for the whole clan, except two that had gone to the bad, turned outat the minute appointed. The chief arranged them in marching column. Foremost went the pipes; the chief, his wife, and his mother, camenext; Hector of the Stags, carrying the double-barrelled rifle thechief had given him, Rob of the Angels, and Donal shoemaker, followed. Then came the women and children; next, the carts, with afew, who could not walk, on the top of the baggage; the men broughtup the rear. Four or five favourite dogs were the skirmishers of thecolumn. 

The road to the bay led them past the gate of the New House. Thechief called a halt, and went with his wife to seek a lastinterview. Mr. Peregrine Palmer kept his room, but Mrs. Palmer badeher daughter a loving farewell--more relieved than she cared toshow, that the cause of so much discomfort was going so far away. The children wept. Christina bade her sister good-bye with ahopeless, almost envious look: Mercy, who did not love him, wouldsee Ian! She who would give her soul for him was never to look onhim again in this world!

Kissing Mercy once more, she choked down a sob, and whispered, "Give my love--no, my heart, to Ian, and tell him I AM trying. "

They all walked together to the gate, and there the chief's mothertook her leave of the ladies of the New House. The pipes struck up;the column moved on. 

When they came to the corner which would hide from them their nativestrath, the march changed to a lament, and with the opening wail, all stopped and turned for a farewell look. Men and women, the chiefalone excepted, burst into weeping, and the sound of theirlamentation went wandering through the hills with an adieu to everyloved spot. And this was what the pipes said:

We shall never see you more, Never more, never more! Till the sea bedry, and the world be bare, And the dews have ceased to fall, Andthe rivers have ceased to run, We shall never see you more, Nevermore, never more!

They stood and gazed, and the pipes went on lamenting, and the womenwent on weeping. 

"This is heathenish!" said Alister to himself, and stopped thepiper. 

"My friends, " he cried, in Gaelic of course, "look at me: my eyesare dry! Where Jesus, the Son of God, is--there is my home! He ishere, and he is over the sea, and my home is everywhere! I have lostmy land and my country, but I take with me my people, and make nomoan over my exile! Hearts are more than hills. Farewell Strathruadhof my childhood! Place of my dreams, I shall visit you again in mysleep! And again I shall see you in happier times, please God, withmy friends around me!"

He took off his bonnet. All the men too uncovered for a moment, thenturned to follow their chief. The pipes struck up Macrimmon'slament, Till an crodh a Dhonnachaidh (TURN THE KINE, DUNCAN). Notone looked behind him again till they reached the shore. There, outin the bay, the biggest ship any of the clan had ever seen waswaiting to receive them. 

When Mr. Peregrine Palmer saw that the land might in truth be forsale, he would gladly have bought it, but found to his chagrin thathe was too late. It was just like the fellow, he said, to mock himwith the chance of buying it! He took care to come himself, and notsend a man he could have believed!

The clan throve in the clearings of the pine forests. The hill-menstared at their harvests as if they saw them growing. Their manychildren were strong and healthy, and called Scotland their home. 

In an outlying and barren part of the chief's land, they came uponrock oil. It was so plentiful that as soon as carriage becamepossible, the chief and his people began to grow rich. 

News came to them that Mr. Peregrine Palmer was in difficulties, anddesirous of parting with his highland estate. The chief was now ableto buy it ten times over. He gave his agent in London directions tosecure it for him, with any other land conterminous that might comeinto the market. But he would not at once return to occupy it, forhis mother dreaded the sea, and thought to start soon for anotherhome. Also he would rather have his boys grow where they were, andas men face the temptations beyond: where could they find suchteaching as that of their uncle Ian! Both father and uncle wouldhave them ALIVE before encountering what the world calls LIFE. 

But the Macruadh yet dreams of the time when those of the clan thenleft in the world, accompanied, he hopes, by some of those that wentout before them, shall go back to repeople the old waste places, andfrom a wilderness of white sheep and red deer, make the mountainland a nursery of honest, unambitious, brave men and strong-heartedwomen, loving God and their neighbour; where no man will think ofhimself at his brother's cost, no man grow rich by his neighbour'sruin, no man lay field to field, to treasure up for himself wrathagainst the day of wrath. 

THE END.