aforneU Hmnetaitg Ethrara 
 
 Stljata, 5?etn lork 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
^1 a i ?»-' 
 
 e^siE dul 
 
 ■it 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PR 4262.R3 1894 
 
 Red and white heather; north country tale 
 
 3 1924 013 445 832 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013445832 
 
RED & WHITE HEATHER 
 
ROBERT BUCHANAN'S POEMS AND NOVELS. 
 
 Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 6s. each. 
 SELECTED POEMS OF ROBERT BUCHANAN. With a Frontis 
 
 piece by Thomas Dalziel. 
 THE EARTHQUAKE ; or, Six Days and a Sabbath. 
 THE CITY OF DREAM : an Epic Poem. With Frontispiece and 
 
 Vignette by P. Macnab. 
 THE WANDERING JEW : a Christmas Carol. Second Edition, with 
 
 a Note, 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN'S COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. With 
 Steel-plate Portrait. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, js, 6d. 
 
 THE OUTCAST ; a Rhyme for the Time. With 15 Illustrations. Small 
 demy 8vo. cloth boards, Ss, 
 
 Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 3J. 6d. each ; post 8vo. illustrated boards, 
 2S. each. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. 
 
 A CHILD OF NATURE. With a Frontispiece. 
 
 GOD AND THE MAN. With Illustrations by Feed. Barnard. 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM OF MADELINE. With Frontispiece by A. W. 
 
 Cooper. 
 LOVE ME FOR EVER. With a Frontispiece by P. Macnab. 
 
 MATT : a Story of a Caravan. 
 THE MASTER OF THE MINE. 
 THE HEIR OF LINNE. 
 
 ANNAN WATER. 
 THE NEW ABELARD. 
 FOXGLOVE MANOR. 
 
 WOMAN AND THE MAN. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 31. 6(i. [Sherily. 
 London : CHATTO & WINDUS, 214 PICCADILLY, W. 
 
R 
 
 ED & WHITE HEATHER 
 
 North Country Tales & 
 Ballads 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN 
 
 Author of ^ God and tlie Man* ' TJie Shadow of the Sword* &-'c. 
 
 IToitiron 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1894 
 
*** The first tale in this collection is printed now for the 
 first time ; some of the other pieces have appeared already 
 in magazines. The longest of the tales, ' Miss Jean's Love 
 Story' was written many years ago.—K. B. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS i 
 
 THE BALLAD OF LORD LANGSHAW . . . 65 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 71 
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST . . . . .127 
 
 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY . . . 139 
 
 THE DUMB BAIRN .239 
 
 SANDIE MACPHERSON . . . 247 
 
 L'ENVOI .269 
 
<: 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CONCERNS THE DISCOVERY OF A GREAT POET 
 
 |HOM the gods love die young' is 
 a saying which I, John Syme, tra- 
 veller for the firm of Hairst and 
 Sheckle, seed and grain merchants, Glasgow, 
 have always regarded as unco' disingenuous 
 and heathenish. It was invented, no doubt, 
 by some poor-spirited body to cloak the in- 
 justice of the Immortals who presided over 
 pagan destinies, and who (so far as I have 
 heard and read, though I am no scholar) 
 were far from deserving the respect of any 
 decent man. Anyhow, I never had any 
 hankering after the kind of affection which 
 
2 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 first mortifies and then kills its object ; so 
 that when poor Walter, my brother, passed 
 away, and the newspaper folk trotted out the 
 old stale saying, ' Quem Dii diligunt,' &c., 
 for the comfort of us that mourned him, I 
 made a remark that neither gods nor men 
 could consider complimentary, and thanked 
 my stars that I was incapable of appreciating 
 that pagan sort of consolation. 
 
 No doubt you have heard of Walter. 
 He was as brave, honest, and simple a lad 
 as ever drew breath, and would have been 
 living now, perhaps, if those uncannie hussies, 
 the Muses, as they call them, had left him 
 alone. 
 
 For, of course, you knew he was a Poet 
 — the Poet, as the newspapers christened 
 him, for twenty-four hours ; and, although in 
 our native town of Paisley poets are said to 
 form seventy-five per cent, of the population, 
 he was the only one I ever knew intimately, 
 except Peter Sanderson the cobbler, who 
 had his poems published by subscription, 
 and, on the strength of that, drank himself 
 into a rnortal fever one Burns's birthday. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 3 
 
 Not that Walter was a poet of that sort ; 
 far from it. He was a sober, earnest, quiet, 
 self-respecting lad ; and even the Muses 
 themselves never turned his head or made 
 him neglect his work. 
 
 We were pattern-designers together be- 
 fore I took to commercial travelling and he 
 took to literature, and, though I say it, both 
 were well liked and generally respected. A 
 good, kind brother he was to me, being 
 three or four years my senior, and in every 
 respect, except common sense, my superior ; 
 for I was crabbed and small, and had what 
 they call ' a game leg,' caused by an accident 
 in childhood, while he was tall, straight, and 
 well-favoured, with an intellectual expres- 
 sion. I was ever plodding, saving, working 
 at our trade ; he was ever fond of reading 
 and thinking, in both of which pursuits my 
 powers were limited. Books were his de- 
 light ; every bawbee he could scrape together 
 was spent upon them, and when our day's 
 work was done he would sit studying into 
 the small hours of the night. He was never 
 proud, however, or stuck up by knowledge, 
 
 B 2 
 
4 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 but just as fond of me as if I was clever 
 like himself 
 
 ' Vulcan ' he used to call me, in allusion 
 to my lameness, and that epithet was my 
 first introduction to the pagan gods, who 
 ultimately beguiled him to his ruin. 
 
 He had been writing poetry for a long 
 time before I knew anything about it. 
 
 Very quiet and douce in his ways was 
 Walter, with none of the wild manners and 
 talkative habits which are said to be charac- 
 teristic of men of genius. He kept his 
 feelings to himself, even when he was most 
 tried. But, on paper \ He was as eloquent 
 there as Lord Byron, and as longwinded as 
 John Milton, the author of ' Paradise Lost.' 
 
 It was one Sunday morning, when we 
 were taking our usual walk together in the 
 fields outside the town, that he first un- 
 bosomed himself to me on the subject of 
 what he called his ' inspiration.' 
 
 ' Jock,' he said, turning his quiet eyes on 
 mine and smiling, ' I believe that I'm a 
 Poet ! ' 
 
 ' God forbid ! ' I exclaimed, remembering 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS s 
 
 the character of most of the poets of whom 
 I'd read. 
 
 ' Bide a bit,' he continued, placing his 
 hand gently on my arm. ' I've had my 
 doubts for a long time; I've been hoping 
 and despairing, thinking and planning, but 
 now my mind's made up. I am certain that 
 I possess a share of the divine gift. If I 
 work hard and am faithful to my art, I shall 
 live among the British poets when I die ! ' 
 
 I looked at him in wonder. Though the 
 words seemed mad enough, his face looked 
 like an angel's, so soft, so sweet and shining ! 
 And, hang it all, he was an angel, if ever one 
 walked the ways of this hard world ! 
 
 But I was sharp with him, having at that 
 time little skill to understand him, and I 
 cried, sneering : 
 
 ' You'll live among them when you die ! 
 What havers^ you're telling ! ' 
 
 At this he fairly laughed, but just as 
 suddenly again he looked serious. 
 
 ' There's only one thing in the world 
 worth winning,' he said, ' and that's fame ! 
 
 ' Scoticl, 'nonsense.' 
 
6 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 I'll be famous, Jock! I'll be sitting in the 
 same temple with Burns, and Shelley, and 
 Keats — at their feet, no doubt, but still in 
 their company ! ' 
 
 ' And what good will that do ye ? ' I 
 retorted impatiently. ' What good would it 
 be even if they raised you a monument, like 
 the one yonder on the Banks o' Doon ? 
 You'll be dead and buried ! ' 
 
 But it was no use talking to him ; he was 
 fairly daft with the idea of making a name in 
 the world as a poet. 
 
 When we got home that day he read me 
 some of the things he had written, and won- 
 derful things they were, full of expressions 
 that no man in his senses ever used. I could 
 have appreciated them well enough if they 
 had been written like Burns' s songs in the 
 ' Doric,' for I love a good song when I hear 
 it as well as most men ; but they were written 
 in fine English, and some of them were as 
 long as my arm. I think I see Walter now, 
 ladling out the lines, his eyes flashing, his lips 
 trembling, as if he were a man possessed ! 
 The longest and strangest of them all 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 7 
 
 was a piece in six acts, called The Child of 
 Ishmael ; but it was unlike any play I ever 
 saw or heard. 
 
 The hero was one called ' The Wanderer,' 
 who was intended, Walter said, to ' personify ' 
 the poet himself. This Wanderer was about 
 as like my brother as a chuckie-stone is like 
 a field-gowan ; for a more discontented, 
 bilious, self-conceited, miserable, soul-torment- 
 ing body never existed, even in a poem. He 
 was aye wailing about, meditating, and ad- 
 dressing the mountains, the sea, and the sky. 
 He did almost all the talking, and the other 
 characters just got a line in here and there. 
 His language was simply awful ! He be- 
 lieved in nothing under the sky or above it, 
 and he was ever lamenting the day that he 
 was born. Job himself wasn't in it with him 
 for swearing. 
 
 Of course Walter did not set much value 
 by my opinion ; but I gave it to him for all 
 that. I told him frankly that if he resembled 
 the Wanderer in any particular I'd be ashamed 
 as a decent man to be seen in his company. 
 
 In these days there was a Professor of 
 
8 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 Moral Philosophy in Aberdeen, one Glen- 
 finlas, who wrote a good deal in the maga- 
 zines about poets and poetry, and was said 
 to have the trick of discovering unknown 
 merit and announcing it to the world. I 
 once heard Glenfinlas lecture : he was a fat, 
 red-faced man, with big hands and feet, and 
 a flow of language that was fairly astounding, 
 though what the man was driving at it was 
 hard to tell. Well, nothing would content 
 Walter but sending his manuscripts up to 
 Aberdeen for the great Professor's opinion. 
 So off they went one day by post, and one 
 evening about a week afterwards, as I was 
 smoking my pipe in our lodging, in rushed 
 my brother looking like a man demented. 
 
 I sprang to my feet, thinking some ca- 
 lamity had happened, for when he tried to 
 speak his throat was choked and his eyes 
 were full of tears. 
 
 Yet he was laughing all the time like a 
 lassie that's hysterical ! 
 
 ' Read that ! ' he cried, waving a piece of 
 paper in his hand. ' Read that, and never 
 again doubt that I'm a poet' (as if I had 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 9 
 
 ever doubted it, and not been regretting it 
 for many a day !). 
 
 It was a letter from Glenfinlas, addressed 
 to ' Walter Syme, Poet, I'j, Goose Lane, 
 Paisley,' and since I have it here, carefully 
 preserved as a souvenir of my poor brother, 
 I'll just transcribe it : — 
 
 ' Brother in Soul and Song, I greet you. 
 I offer you my congratulations at the dawn 
 of a great career ! I have read the manu- 
 scripts you sent me not once but twenty 
 times, always in fresh wonder at the abun- 
 dance of their inspiration. You ask me if 
 you are a Poet ? I answer you, emphatically 
 and unhesitatingly. Yes ! The writer of the 
 sonnet commencing — 
 
 Red bloodstains on thy hands and feet, O Death', 
 
 has drunk deep, indeed, of the waters of 
 Aganippe ; I hail in him already the soul- 
 fellow of the divine Shelley. But in The 
 Child of Iskmael I discern an even larger 
 fulfilment and a still greater promise. In the 
 character of the Wanderer the whole Welt- 
 schmertz of these latter days is embodied. 
 
ic A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 Solitary lines loom like constellations in a 
 great heaven of luminous metaphor. The 
 passage beginning, 
 
 Fight for the breast, ye late-born sons of Earth ! 
 She heeds you not, but rolls her blind old eyes. 
 Searching the starry vacancy in vain ! 
 
 is one of the most magnificent in the language. 
 I can write no more now, dear Poet, but I 
 hope to be able, next month, with your per- 
 mission, in the pages of the Orb, to draw 
 attention to your genius. Meantime, Ave 
 atque Vale, from 
 
 ' Your well-wisher and admirer, 
 
 ' Peter Glenfinlas.' 
 
 ' P.S. — I shall be glad to have further 
 particulars of your present environment. If, 
 as I gather, you are self-educated, and sup- 
 port yourself by some menial labour, it is 
 time to snatch you once and for ever from 
 all base necessities and sordid surroundings.' 
 
 Now, I put it to you frankly, was not 
 such a letter as that, coming from a Professor 
 in a great University, enough, to turn the 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS ii 
 
 head of any man/ and make him so conceited 
 with himself as to be almost unbearable to 
 his friends and companions ? It had no such 
 effect on my brother, either then or after. 
 When I had read it through, he just wrung 
 my hand, sat down, and cried. 
 
 They were tears of joy. I think that 
 was the happiest moment in all my brother's 
 life ; and you will understand his character 
 when I tell you that he remained, in spite of 
 all his pride and happiness, as simple-hearted 
 and modest as ever. 
 
 ' The enemies of Glenfinlas — and he had many — accused 
 him of being too fond of the bottle, and of losing his critical 
 discrimination under the influence of a favourite whisky 
 'blend.' Maybe this was a libel, but the good man was 
 certainly a bit enthusiastic. In a single year, they tell me, 
 he discovered two hundred and fifty 'great poets' in Scot- 
 land alone. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 HOW THE POET FELL IN LOVE 
 
 Perhaps I should have mentioned, as it is 
 of importance in view of after-events, that, 
 good-looking as my brother was, he could 
 lay no claim to genteel appearance or fine 
 manners. To look at him you would have 
 taken him for a simple, quiet, commonplace 
 person of the artisan class, and his dress 
 favoured the impression. 
 
 There was nothing in him of the fine 
 gentleman ; how could there be, seeing his 
 upbringing and his education ? And blether 
 as he might on paper about standing on 
 mountain-tops and arraigning Providence, he 
 was of plain and simple tastes in reality, and 
 ever awkward and bashful in fine company. 
 "^ Well, in due time, under the auspices of 
 Glenfinlas, Walter's first book was published. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 13 
 
 and, what was more wonderful, he got fifty- 
 pounds for it ! The very day it appeared 
 Glenfinlas had a long article about it in the 
 Orb, and this set all the newspapers going. 
 You never in all your life heard such a chorus 
 of praise ! The critics just were mad over it. 
 Bits of it, they said, were as wonderful as 
 anything in Shakespeare, and for two or 
 three weeks the name of ' Walter Syme ' was 
 as well known to the world as the name of/ 
 the English poet laureate. 
 
 It is a wonderful thing to be famous ! — 
 Dozens of letters arrived by the post every 
 morning, everybody wanted Walter's picture, 
 or his autograph, or both ; folks from all 
 parts came thronging down Goose Lane, 
 asking for the whereabouts of the ' poet 
 Syme.' Ladies in their carriages, professors 
 from college, ministers of the kirk, were 
 calling late and early, and when Walter ap- 
 peared, awkward and blushing, they looked 
 at him as if he were some wonderful kind of 
 wild beast ! 
 
 Then, as luck would have it, that gowk, 
 Glenfinlas, put it about that for Walter to 
 
14 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 continue pattern-designing was a ' national 
 disgrace ' ; he should be rescued, the Pro- 
 fessor said, from a life of poverty and 
 degradation. 
 
 Kindly as it was meant, this annoyed 
 Walter terribly, and he wrote to the papers 
 saying that he was well contented to earn his 
 bread honestly, and that he wanted neither 
 help nor patronage. Glenfinlas was angered 
 at Walter's letter, and thought it ungrateful, 
 and that was the first drop of bitterness in 
 my brother's cup of gladness. The end of it 
 all was, however, that Walter was persuaded 
 to give up pattern-designing and take to lite- 
 rature, which he did — to his misfortune ! 
 
 At last, however, a real, fine thing fell in 
 his way. Helwas offered, through the influ- 
 ence of Glenfinlas, the post of librarian at 
 the University of Aberdeen, with a salary of 
 120/. a year, five tons of coals, and a free 
 lodging in the college. 
 
 When this offer came, Walter almost 
 leapt for joy. The thought of dwelling for 
 ever among books, and having unlimited 
 time at his own command, was just enraptur- 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 15 
 
 ing ! He accepted the situation, and prepared 
 to go to Aberdeen. 
 " It was about this time, when the papers 
 were ringing his praises, that he received an 
 invitation to go on a visit to the great Duke 
 of Glamis, in the Highlands of Scotland. 
 The Duke had a castle far away in the north, 
 where he entertained large parties of his 
 friends, and, of course, it was a great honour 
 for Walter to be invited. 
 
 When he came back I saw he was blithe- 
 some and happy, but when I questioned 
 him he confessed that he had been ill at 
 ease in such grand company. The Duke 
 and Duchess, he said, were simple, kindly 
 folk ; but their friends and connections were 
 stuck up with -pride and o'er fond of pa- 
 tronising. 
 
 'They tried to make a lion of me, Jock,' 
 he said with his gentle smile, ' but I fear they 
 wanted me to behave like a puppy-dog, and 
 wag my tail for their amusement ! ' 
 
 Now, this visit of which I speak was the 
 turning-point of Walter's life ; for it was 
 when visiting the great Duke that he first 
 
1 6 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 met with Jessie Maclnver, the lady who 
 afterwards became his wife. 
 
 He told me all about their first meeting.- 
 
 It was at a grand ball, given by the Duke 
 to his guests and the tenantry. The hall of 
 Glamis Castle was laid out for dancing, and 
 there were twenty pipers of different clans, 
 including the Duke's own piper, to play the 
 music. Gentry and simple folk mixed freely 
 together ; whisky and wine flowed like water. 
 In the middle of it all Walter saw what he 
 called ' a vision of loveliness,' — a fair-haired 
 young lady in a dress of light tartan, whirling 
 round in a reel, and the moment he looked at 
 her he could see no one else. 
 
 ' Who is that lady ? ' he asked of the 
 Duke. 
 
 ' That is Miss Maclnver of the Isles,' the 
 Duke replied. ' Would you like to be intro- 
 duced ? ' 
 
 Would he like it ! He jumped at the 
 offer, and in a few minutes he stood, stam- 
 mering and blushing, in the presence of the 
 young lady. 
 
 She was a real beauty ; fair, blue-eyed. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 17 
 
 pink-cheeked, like a picture in an album of 
 beauties. She reminded him, he said, of the 
 portrait of the famous Lady Hamilton as the 
 Spirit of Music ; and there was a modest 
 pride about her and a stately gentleness that 
 won his heart at once. 
 
 ' Do you not dance, Mr. Syme ? ' she said 
 to him, with a bewitching smile, in the softest 
 of Highland accents. 
 
 Poor Walter had to confess that dancing 
 was not one of his accomplishments. He 
 would have given the world at that minute if 
 he could have led Miss Maclnver out upon 
 the floor. 
 
 In spite of that, they got on finely. He 
 took her to the buffet and gave her refresh- 
 ments, and then they walked out together on 
 the terrace. She had heard all about his 
 fame as a poet, and seemed to have a great 
 respect for him. 
 
 'And ye write poetry, Mr. Syme?' she 
 said, just pressing his arm with her wee hand. 
 ' I'm awfully fond of poetry mysel' ! ' and with 
 that she looked straight into his eyes, and 
 finished him ! 
 
 c 
 
1 8 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 While they were standing there a big, red- 
 whiskered, six-foot-tall gentleman in High- 
 land costume came up to them, and glowered 
 at Walter. 
 
 ' My brother Donald,' she said sweetly, 
 introducing him ; and before the night was 
 out he had been introduced to three more of 
 her brothers, every one of them with red 
 whiskers and six feet high. Her father, too, 
 was there, busy among the refreshments from 
 night till early dawn, when they found him 
 under the buffet fondly embracing an empty 
 whisky bottle. 
 
 But they were great folk, the Maclnvers, 
 and although they had no title themselves, 
 their ancestors had been Kings. They were 
 distant kinsmen of the Duke's, and what they 
 lacked in worldly goods and gear they made 
 up in pride of blood. Everybody looked 
 upon Miss Maclnver as a kind of Princess 
 in her own right, for her family kept up the 
 tradition of great birth, and had a piper of its 
 own. 
 
 All this, combined with the lady's physical 
 attractions, fairly fascinated my poor brother. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 19 
 
 He was all poetry and romance, and to love 
 a Highland Princess was just a beautiful 
 dream. He hung about her like a bee round 
 a flower, till the day broke and the time 
 came for parting. 
 
 There was a waggonette at the door, 
 harnessed to two shaggy mountain ponies. 
 They lifted up her father and put him under 
 the seat, then her brother Donald took the 
 reins, and her three other brothers leapt in, 
 
 ' Good-bye, Mr. Syme,' she said, giving 
 him her hand. ' I hope you'll come to see us 
 at Glen Inver.' 
 
 She stepped into the trap like a fairy, her 
 brothers uttered a ' hooch ' of farewell (they 
 were all of them well-lined with liquor), and 
 away she drove, leaving Walter hopelessly in 
 love. 
 
 Of course they met again ! — Glen Inver 
 Lodge was only a few miles away, and one 
 fine morning Walter walked to it over the 
 hills. It was a big, old-fashioned house, built 
 on the shore of a sea- loch, and in front of it, 
 about a hundred yards away, and surrounded 
 by water, were the ruins of an old castle 
 
20 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 where the Maclnvers had lived in the time 
 of King Robert the Bruce. 
 
 A lonesome place, Walter said, and a 
 lonesome dwelling ; and the house was wild 
 inside and out, with few of the conveniences 
 of modern civilisation, and no indication of 
 worldly prosperity. But what won my brother 
 was the fine wild landscape all around, the 
 red deer passing up the glen, and the eagle 
 hanging like a speck against the grey sky 
 above the corry. 'Twas like living a hundred 
 years ago, he said ; and the father of the 
 house was a fine man with all his failings, 
 and the sons were grand men, too ; and all 
 of them wore the kilt and Highland bonnet. 
 And, if that was not enough, the whole place 
 was full of their kinsmen, a grand race of 
 jaaen. _^) Riches the Maclnvers had not, but 
 they possessed a mighty name, and the tra- 
 ditions of the family went back as far as the 
 Ark. 
 
 The Highland Princess was sitting in a 
 wee bit room overlooking the shore. Two 
 big deerhounds were lying at her feet. 
 
 ' My father's shooting up the glen,' she 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 21 
 
 said, after they had shaken hands, ' and my 
 brothers are just gone away to the fishing — 
 so, you see, I'm here all alone.' 
 
 This was just as Walter would have 
 wished, for he had the lady of the house all 
 to himself. She talked little, but she looked 
 rather surprised when he began praising the 
 beauties of the landscape and raving about 
 the romance of living in a place like that. 
 
 ' It's a dull place to spend the year in,' 
 she remarked, ' but we get the Scotsman the 
 day after publication, and a leddy friend of 
 mine sends me the fashions from Edinburgh.' 
 
 She looked so pretty and winsome as she 
 spoke, that Walter scarcely understood what 
 she was saying ; but he talked to her again 
 of the wonders of Nature, and the ' everlast- 
 ing hills,' and the peace and loveliness of her 
 Highland home. 
 
 She listened to him patiently and sweetly, 
 and then said, with a sigh : 
 
 ' The place is bonnie enough, no doubt, 
 but I like Edinburgh best. I think Prince's 
 Street is just lovely, don't you ? ' 
 
 Walter had to confess that he knew 
 
22 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 nothing about Edinburgh, but he explained 
 that he far preferred the solitude of the High- 
 lands to all big cities, especially to Glasgow, 
 where he was born. 
 
 Then she talked to him about Glasgow, 
 and asked whether he went to many balls 
 and parties (my brother Walter at balls and 
 parties !), and put all sorts of other feminine 
 questions which he was about as able to 
 answer as to tell about things in the moon. 
 It seemed a little odd to him that a divine 
 creature like Miss Maclnver should be inte- 
 rested in such trifles ; but a man in love, you 
 see, is able to find delightful sense even in 
 the blethering of an idiot. 
 
 He asked her about the Gaelic poet 
 Ossian, and whether she read him in the 
 original ? She knew little or nothing about 
 him, however, or about poets generally ; but 
 she could sing one or two Gaelic songs, and, 
 at Walter's request, she sang one of them — a 
 love-song — to her own accompaniment on the 
 piano. The piano was an old one, awfully 
 out of tune, but Walter thought he was 
 listening to the music of the spheres. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 23 
 
 He was just in the seventh heaven when 
 Jessie's big brothers came in and broke the 
 enchantment. 
 
 They had little or no conversation, but 
 just sat down in their kilts and glowered at 
 Walter like great watch-dogs, replying to his 
 remarks with an occasional ' Oh, aye,' or an 
 ' oomph ' of dubious approbation. But the 
 head of the house, when he arrived, was far 
 more friendly and communicative. He or- 
 dered the servants to bring refreshments 
 (which is the English name for ' whisky '), 
 and pressed my brother to stay to dinner. 
 
 Well, Walter stayed, and that night com- 
 pleted his case. 
 
 The dinner was homely enough, consist- 
 ing of sheep's-head broth, with boiled mutton 
 and vegetables to follow ; but there was 
 plenty of good whisky, and I'm afraid Walter 
 took his share. 
 
 After dinner th j old man got very talka- 
 tive over the toddy, and his sons spoke 
 sulkily among themselves of fishing and 
 shooting — things which were like Greek to 
 Walter ; but the long and the short of it was. 
 
24 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 whether by accident or design, that Walter 
 found himself alone in the moonlight with 
 the lady, and then and there asked her to 
 become his wife. 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Syme ! ' she murmured, hanging 
 on his arm, ' I'm afraid my father would never 
 hear of it. Our ancestors were Kings ! ' 
 
 ' And you are a Princess,' whispered 
 Walter, ' and I know it's presumption on my 
 pa,rt even to think of it.' 
 
 ' Not just presumption,' she replied, with 
 a tender pressure of his arm, which opened 
 the floodgates of his speech and set him 
 talking wildly of love and moonlight, and 
 poetry and the Muses, and all the thousand 
 things about which he was so eloquent in his 
 books. She listened to him with ' rapt and 
 loving eyes ' (his own expression in speaking 
 about it afterwards) ; but, in my opinion, 
 based on after-experience of the lady, she 
 was just calculating his ways and means. 
 
 It has always been a puzzle to me how it 
 was that old Maclnver, the heir of Kings, did 
 not put down his foot at the very beginning 
 and protest against the engagement. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 25 
 
 The only explanation I can find is that 
 the old gentleman, having met Walter at the 
 Duke's table, and knowing very little about 
 the financial status of poets, must have 
 thought Walter a far greater and richer 
 person than he really was, or was ever likely 
 to be. At all events, the father offered no 
 particular .objection, and though the big 
 brothers, from the very beginning, were 
 barely civil, having a supreme contempt for 
 Lowlanders and particularly for poets, their 
 opinion counted for very little. So, before 
 Walter left Glamis Castle to come south he 
 was engaged to be married to Miss Jessie 
 Maclnver. 
 
 As usual, I was a kill-joy, and pointed 
 out that 120/. a year, his salary as librarian 
 at Aberdeen University, was little enough to 
 keep a wife on, let alone a possible family. 
 But Walter explained that he would double 
 and treble his income by writing books and 
 contributing to magazines ; and he had some'^ 
 reason on his side, for besides the fifty pounds 
 'for his first book he had been paid another 
 fifty for two pieces, one in verse and the other 
 
26 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 in prose, which he had contributed to an 
 English literary publication. So I yielded 
 that point, and suggested that, perhaps, Miss 
 Maclnver, being so grandly born — a Princess 
 in her own right — was likely to be a bit too 
 proud and ' stuck up ' for a simple man's 
 wife. 
 
 This made Walter very angry. 
 
 ' She's an angel,' he said, ' and as simple 
 in her tastes as either you or I. Of course 
 she is proud of her ancestry, as is natural ; 
 but she loves me, and would be content to 
 live in a mud-cabin with the man she loves. 
 Dear little child of Nature ! If you once saw 
 her you'd say I was the luckiest and happiest 
 man in all the world ! ' 
 
 I said no more then, but I thought of her 
 whisky-drinking old father and her silly big 
 brothers, and — well, I had my doubts ! 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 27 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HOW THE MOON OF HONEY WANED 
 
 They were married within three months from 
 the date of their first meeting. 
 
 Had they waited a little longer, perhaps 
 the marriage would never have taken place 
 at all ; but the whole thing was conceived 
 and carried out during the first flush of poor 
 Walter's prosperity. The papers from Lon- 
 don to John o' Groat's were ringing with his 
 name, the magazines were fighting like wolves 
 to receive his contributions, not a day passed 
 but he was invited to dine at the table of 
 some great lord or wealthy commoner, and 
 altogether his success was bewildering as it 
 was sudden. No doubt, the Maclnvers, 
 knowing nothing of the thorny paths of 
 literature, thought it a fine match, and so, 
 for that matter, did Jessie herself 
 
28 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 They were all carried away, like Walter, 
 by the blether of the newspapers. I'll confess 
 that I, too, was proud and happy for the time 
 being. As for Walter, he was like one of 
 his own poetic heroes : he ' seemed to walk 
 on thrones ! ' 
 
 But it was less the world's flattery that 
 gladdened him than the thought that he was 
 so victorious in the lists of Love. 
 
 He went over to Aberdeen to assume his 
 duties as college librarian, and there the pro- 
 fessors and learned people made much of 
 him. Everybody thought that his future was 
 made — aye, and so it might have been if he 
 had never tumbled across those proud and 
 poverty-stricken Maclnvers, confound them ! 
 I must apologise for swearing ; but the very 
 thought of the outcome makes me lose my 
 head. 
 
 Paragraphs budded out in all the news- 
 papers. I have kept one or two samples : — 
 
 ' Romantic Engagement. — It is now autho- 
 ritatively announced that the distinguished 
 poet, Mr. Walter Syme, will shortly lead to 
 the hymeneal altar the only daughter of 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 29 
 
 Donald Maclnver, of Glenfinlas, chief of the 
 famous tribe, and lineal descendant of old 
 Scottish kings. Such a marriage revives 
 the golden age, and fitly crowns the triumph 
 of one whom the most discerning of our 
 critics. Professor Glenfinlas, has christened 
 " the young Shakespeare of Scotland." The 
 great Duke of Glamis, to whom the fair 
 bride is related, has intimated his intention 
 of being present at the wedding.' 
 And again : 
 
 ' When Apollo unstrings his lute it is to 
 wander blissfully with Venus through the 
 garden of the Hesperides ! The new poet, 
 Walter Syme, whose name is now " familiar 
 as household words," has found among the 
 lonely glens and sky-kissing mountains of 
 Caledonia a bride worthy of his love and 
 song. The descendant of the royal race of 
 bards will shortly espouse the descendant of 
 our Scottish mountain kings. In other and 
 simpler words, he is about to marry Miss 
 Jessie Maclnver, a kinswoman of the great 
 Earl of Glamis. The bride is young and 
 beautiful, and her romantic soul has been 
 
30 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 won by the witching music of the poet's 
 harp. Surely no union could be of better 
 omen — the union of the aristocracy of heaven- 
 born genius with the aristocracy of old 
 descent.' 
 
 There was a good deal about ' old 
 descent ' and the ' race of kings ' in all the 
 paragraphs. It only made Walter smile, but 
 it made me angry. 
 
 You see, I had my suspicions that trouble 
 would come of it, and so it turned out in the 
 end. 
 
 It was a wonderful wedding, and I was 
 invited to be present. The whole clan, 
 numerous as a flock of locusts, was there, 
 and the Duke came over in person with his 
 retainers. There were tents for drinking 
 and dancing, pipers by the dozen, and kilts 
 and tartans everywhere. 
 
 I must say that old Maclnver did the 
 thing in grand style, but his finances were so 
 low that he had to borrow loo/. from Walter, 
 just before the wedding, to meet his ex- 
 penses. 
 
 The Maclnvers were Protestants, and 
 
A, HIGHLAND PRINCESS 31 
 
 the ceremony took place in a Protestant 
 chapel a few miles from Glen Inver. Walter 
 and I (I was 'best man') wore frock-coats 
 and light trousers, but nearly everybody else 
 sported the tartan. 
 
 At the wedding-breakfast the great Duke 
 made a speech in Gaelic, which provoked 
 great enthusiasm ; and, though Walter did 
 not understand a word, he looked bright as 
 a sunbeam. His face fell a little, however, 
 when old Mac Inver, after rising to his feet 
 to respond for his own health, burst suddenly 
 into tears, and rolled under the table in an 
 agony of grief and whisky. 
 
 The happy pair drove away together to 
 the railway-station, eighteen miles off, to 
 spend the honeymoon in a cottage belonging 
 to the Duke up in Sutherlandshire. Jessie 
 had been very keen to go to the Continent, 
 but Walter had prevailed on her to remain in 
 Scotland. 
 
 After the bride and bridegroom had de- 
 parted, and the Duke had driven back to 
 Glamis Castle, I remained to join in the 
 rejoicings. I knew nothing of the Highland 
 
32 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 manners and customs, but I thought to my- 
 self that I had landed on some uncivilised 
 island, among a lot of screaming savages. 
 Whisky flowed like water, and the whole 
 clan swam in it! It was just like pande- 
 monium. 
 
 And what irritated me beyond measure 
 was that everybody, from Jessie's big brother 
 down to the raggedest creature in the place, 
 were of the opinion that Jessie had conde- 
 scended fearfully in marrying a man like Wal- 
 ter, without either birth or fine connections. 
 
 Even that old arch-humbug, Maclnver, 
 shook his head drunkenly when the subject 
 was mentioned, and hinted that his daughter 
 should have married a lord or a chieftain at 
 the least. I had high words with him and 
 his sons, and hinted that my brother, simple 
 as he was by birth, was worth a whole cart- 
 load of drunken Highland loafers, whose 
 ancestors had, no doubt, been thieves and 
 cattle-stealers. 
 
 Donald Maclnver the younger, six feet 
 high in his brogues, almost flew at my throat 
 for my impertinence, but I was handy with 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 33 
 
 my fists and challenged him to fight it out 
 man to man. Big as he was, I would have 
 taught him a lesson ; but the old man inter- 
 vened and apologised, and when I sullenly 
 accepted his apology, fell weeping on my 
 bosom and told me that he loved me like a 
 son. 
 
 I got away next day, less liked than 
 respected, and left the whole ragged clan 
 still drinking and lantenting. I heard after- 
 wards that they kept it up for a whole week, 
 and the descendant of Kings, when the 
 revels were done, suffered awfully from an 
 attack of delirium tremens. 
 
 Walter wrote me from the North, saying 
 how happy he was, and what a perfect angel 
 he had married! Poor Walter! His bliss 
 was destined to have a short life ; for he had 
 not been married a week when that awful attack 
 in the London ' Megatherium ' came out 
 like a thunderbolt from the blue. The critic 
 called him ' a plagiarist,' and here are some of 
 the samples he gave to illustrate his case : — 
 
 How many stars twinkle in yonder heaven. — Syme. ? 
 ' Twinkle, twinkle, little star ! '—Doctor Watts. / 
 
 D 
 
34 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 Holly and mistletoe bedeck'd the hall, 
 
 And gaily round and round the dancers swept ; — 
 
 And so they kept their Yule /— Syme. 
 
 ' The mistletoe hung on the castle wall, 
 
 The holly-hon^ deck'd the old oak hall, 
 
 And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay. 
 
 Keeping their Christmas holiday ! '—Popular Song. 
 
 Shades of the great departed, hovering near. 
 
 Forsake their realms of rest. — Syme. 
 
 ' Oh, Mary, dear departed shade. 
 
 Where is thy place of peaceful restl'' — Burns. 
 Pale Love stands sable-vestured, while they bear 
 "^ His fo^«'^ hopes to burial. — Syme. 
 ' Stand back, my lord, and let the coffin pass.' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 I'll cling to thee, O Earth, and suck thy sweets 
 Gladly as any insect of the hive ! — Syme. 
 ' Where the bee sucks there suck I ! '—Shakespeare. 
 And for thy sake, O gracious Mother Earth, 
 J^ love these little ones ; yea, in thy name, 
 I kiss them and I bless them ere they go. — Syme. 
 ' Let me kiss him for his mother ! '—Popular Song. 
 Where we tread the light grows less, 
 Through the bowery wilderness 
 ' Thinner steals the starry ray. — Syme. 
 ' Thou lingering star with lessening my.'— Burns. 
 
 Et cetera ! et cetera ! Absurd as the charge 
 was, it was echoed within twenty-four hours 
 through every journal in the land. 
 
 Those who had put Walter on a pinnacle 
 were the very first to try and throw him over. 
 His enemies (for where is the successful man 
 that has not enemies by the score ?) rejoiced 
 exceedingly. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 35 
 
 It was useless to point out, as a few sen- 
 sible writers did, that the accusation brought 
 against him could be brought as easily against 
 Shakespeare himself, and that, after all, the 
 passages quoted were far from being his only- 
 claim to literary recognition. ' Plagiarist !^ — 
 plagiarist ! ' was everywhere the cry. All the 
 dogs that had wagged their tails at the poet's 
 triumph now showed their teeth and tore his 
 reputation to pieces. 
 
 Fancy a thing like that occurring in the 
 very midst of one's honeymoon ! I knew by 
 instinct what poor Walter would feel. The 
 charge went into his heart like a knife. 
 
 I didn't see him till over a month after- 
 wards, when he had gone with his wife to 
 Aberdeen. Then I went up to him, and I 
 saw at the first glance that his very life was 
 poisoned by the article in the ' Megatherium.' 
 
 But he laughed it off, of course. 
 
 ' I was angry at first,' he said, ' but I 
 don't mind now. The idiot who wrote the 
 article drums himself out of court by his own 
 folly. I shouldn't care at all, except — except 
 for Jessie ! ' 
 
36 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 My own opinion is that Jessie knew little 
 or nothing about the affair, and cared less. 
 She was far too busily engaged in matters 
 of housekeeping and millinery. 
 
 As you know, I'm only what is called an 
 old bachelor, so, maybe, my opinions about 
 womenkind are to be taken with a grain of 
 salt ; but this I do contend, that nine-tenths 
 of the women I have met are sillier than the 
 silliest man, and, in my opinion, silly people 
 are always selfish and conceited. My brother's 
 wife was a handsome woman, delicate and 
 fragile in figure, but there was something in 
 her nose and lips which contradicted the soft 
 look in her blue eyes, and her voice, though 
 clear and gentle, inclined to shrillness when 
 she was excited. Add to this, the lassie was 
 fairly eaten up with conceit of herself and her 
 family connections. She had some taste for 
 music and for embroidery, but none whatever 
 for books ; and her whole thought, on coming 
 to Aberdeen, was for the balls and parties 
 where she might shine as a Highland Prin- 
 cess and talk of her kinsman, the Duke of 
 Glamis. In her own way, I think she was 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 37 
 
 fond of Walter ; but I soon found that his 
 simple habits displeased her, and that she' 
 thought him a bit slovenly in his style of dress^ 
 
 I've told Walter's story so far to very 
 little purpose if you think my brother Walter 
 had either fine manners or a smooth tongue, 
 or any of the graces that attract ladies in 
 society. He was homely both in ways and 
 attire, he hated dress-suits and top-hats and 
 patent leather boots, and he was a dumb man 
 at the dinner-table when fine folk asked him 
 out. But if you put him in company where 
 there were no airs and graces and simpering 
 fine ladies, and if you let him wear his old 
 coat and boots, and stick a pipe in his mouth, 
 he would talk for hours like an oracle. He 
 hated what he called Society, as much as his 
 new wife loved it, and he was in no sense of 
 the word a fine gentleman. For these and 
 for other reasons he was the wrong sort of 
 man to marry a grand, stuck-up, company- 
 loving creature like Jessie. 
 
 They got on well enough for a time, as 
 most folks do in the first few months of 
 matrimony. 
 
38 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 The Aberdeen professors were very kind 
 to Walter, and though there was a good deal 
 of drudgery connected with his duties as 
 librarian, he took to it kindly, for he loved to 
 be among books. He was busy, too, on his 
 new book of poems, afterwards published 
 under the title of ' Songs of the City,' and the 
 publisher had paid him a hundred pounds for 
 it on account. 
 
 The article in the ' Megatherium ' made 
 a great stir at the time, although, like most 
 spiteful things, it was soon forgotten. 
 ^ But when his new book came out, about 
 a year after his marriage, and simultaneously 
 with Jessie's publication of a little son and 
 heir, it was almost still-born. No one could 
 tell why, for, to my simple mind and to many 
 minds of far more judgment, it was far more 
 natural and attractive than his first attempt. 
 
 But the man who had called him ' pla- 
 giarist ' had managed, somehow or other, to 
 ' dish ' his reputation. The notices in the 
 literary journals were short and some of them 
 contemptuous, the big monthlies ignored the 
 book altogether, and it was whispered every- 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 39 
 
 where that Walter had failed to fulfil his 
 promise. 
 
 My brother bore this uncivil treatment 
 quite meekly, but when the publisher wrote 
 him that the book had fallen flat and had no 
 sale, poor Walter was in despair. 
 
 All this time, to please his wife, he had 
 gone out a great deal to dinners and balls and 
 evening parties, but gradually he was invitedTA 
 less and less, and some of the professors' J 
 wives began to snub Jessie. 
 
 This was the silly creature's first disen- 
 chantment. She had married a fine hero, 
 and she found herself the wife of a poor man 
 whom many folk despised. 
 
 About this time, to complicate matters, 
 she found herself ' as ladies wish to be who 
 love their lords.' Her face became sharp 
 and pinched, and she had fits of awful temper. 
 
 One day, when I was on a visit to them, 
 and we were at dinner together, she began 
 ' flyting ' Walter about their position, and 
 when he remonstrated she grew hysterical. 
 She had a long tale to tell about a lady 
 acquaintance of hers, whose husband earned 
 
40 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 a heap of money by writing novels, and who 
 said that Walter was making a great mistake 
 by writing ' poetry ' — because, she said, no- 
 body read it, and it never ' paid.' 
 
 Then she turned to me. 
 
 ' You've common sense,' she said, ' and 
 Walter has very little. Why don't you 
 advise him to give up writing poems, which 
 is just a waste of time ? ' 
 
 I said nothing, but looked at Walter, who 
 was white as a sheet. 
 
 ' After all,' he said, forcing a smile, 
 ' money isn't everything ; and, besides, I've 
 my salary as librarian, and ' 
 
 ' And five tons of coals and a free lodg- 
 ing ! ' exclaimed the Princess, tossing her 
 head. ' A man might just as weel be a 
 pauper pensioner, or take alms from the 
 workhouse.' 
 
 My blood rose at this. 
 
 ' A hundred and twenty a year is good 
 enough,' I said ; ' and as for being a pauper, 
 my brother earns whatever he gets ! The 
 great mistake he made was getting married!' 
 
 Before I knew what I had done Jessie 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 41 
 
 fainted clean away, and had to be carried up 
 to her room. 
 
 ' You shouldn't talk to her like that,' 
 Walter said, after he had followed her up- 
 stairs and comforted her. ' She's very sensi- 
 tive, Jock, and in her present condition ' 
 
 'Tons of coals, indeed! I suppose she's 
 glad enough to have them.' 
 
 ' Come, come, Jock,' said Walter, ' you're 
 cut out for an old bachelor, and don't under- 
 stand women. Jessie made a great step~" 
 downwards by marrying me. She has been 
 used to luxury, and her ancestors were 
 kings.' 
 
 ' Damn her ancestors ! ' I muttered below 
 my breath. 
 
 ' And, after all, this may be right. There's 
 no profit in poetry, and we shall be badly in 
 need of money. I shall have to take my 
 coat off and put my shoulder to the wheel.' 
 
 So about that time he began a long prose 
 story, and worked at it night after night 
 through the small hours till his looks grew 
 ' quite haggard and worn. 
 
 He was greatly delighted, however, when 
 
 r 
 
42 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 a publisher offered him 400/. for the copy- 
 right, and as for Jessie, she was again in the 
 best of tempers. 
 
 Just then, as I found out afterwards, 
 Jessie's second brother, who had bought a 
 commission in the army, got into a bad 
 scrape of some sort, and Walter lent him 
 1 50/. to escape prosecution and fly out of the 
 country. But there was 250/. left, over and 
 above Walter's salary, and it seemed a 
 thumping sum of money. So everything 
 looked rosy enough when Jessie's confine- 
 ment came, and Walter found himself the 
 proud father of a little lass, blue-eyed and 
 fair like the mother. 
 
 From that time forward Walter had to 
 work like a galley-slave to keep the pot 
 boiling. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 HOW IT ALL ENDED 
 
 As you may have gathered already from 
 some of my remarks, I'm not a sentimental 
 man, and I think that old adage a good one 
 which says : ' As a man makes his bed let 
 him lie upon it.' Most misfortunes in life 
 come through our own thoughtless folly. I 
 am quite ready to admit, therefore, that my 
 brother had acted like a fool, and that he was 
 rightly punished. 
 
 But for all that my heart bled for poor 
 Walter ! He never grumbled and he never 
 complained, but I could see clearly that he 
 was sick at heart, first at the world's neglect, 
 and then at the daily drudgery which kept 
 him away from the only world he loved. 
 
 All day long he was busy in the library, 
 fetching and carrying like a slave, and after 
 
44 ^ HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 evening came he was at his desk writing 
 away into the small hours of the night. Now 
 and then he eased his soul by writing a scrap 
 of verse, and whenever he did that, his look 
 was brighter for a time, and the load of 
 weariness seemed lighter. But his chief 
 work was to write prose stories and to edit 
 books, and to do what they call * pot boilers ' 
 for the publishers. With this thing and that 
 he earned yearly a handsome amount of 
 money. But it would have needed a long 
 purse indeed to keep my lady in fine clothes 
 and good temper, to dress her out for balls 
 and parties, to pay the servants and the 
 nurses, and to provide for endless domestic 
 emergencies. Jessie was a fruitful vine, and 
 the second year of the marriage brought 
 another mouth to feed, and before the fourth 
 year was out another. 
 
 I had not seen my brother for many 
 months, when, about four years after their 
 marriage, I went up to Aberdeen and paid 
 him a visit, and I was shocked and surprised 
 at his appearance, for he looked twenty years 
 older. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 47 
 
 By this time the college accommodation 
 had grown too small for his needs, and he 
 had taken a biggish house in the neighbour- 
 hood and furnished it finely. I found him 
 writing (it was early in the evening when I 
 arrived), in a small bedroom at the top of 
 the house, furnished as a kind of study. He 
 wore a beard now, his hair was just touched 
 with grey, and he had taken to wearing 
 glasses. 
 
 He was right glad to see me, and we sat 
 down for a good long ' crack.' 
 
 ' Jessie's out paying calls,' he said, ' but 
 she'll be in to dinner at half-past seven.' 
 
 And when I asked how she was and all 
 the family, he replied : 
 
 ' She's rather delicate since her last con- 
 finement. It's a boy this time, braw little 
 fellow ; you shall see him before he goes to 
 bed.' 
 
 ' And how about the Great Poem } ' I 
 said, alluding to a notion he had long had of 
 a work which was to be his masterpiece. 
 
 He shook his head with a sad, far-off kind 
 of smile. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 44 
 
 ' I get no time for that kind of nonsense 
 now,' was his reply. ' I've got to stick to 
 thp prose of Hfe, and look after the wife and 
 bairns. After all, maybe it was all a mistake, 
 and I mistook my gifts. When I read the 
 great poets I despair.' 
 
 ' Well, well,' I said gently, ' a clean fire- 
 side, with wife and bairns, is a good thing. 
 I thought you'd maybe get cured of your 
 flirtation with the Muses. The hizzies never 
 yet brought luck to any man.' 
 
 You should have seen the change that 
 passed over Walter's face. 
 
 His eyes flashed and his mouth quivered 
 as he said : 
 
 ' God bless them, Jock ! God bless them ; 
 and God bless the poets ! Even now, when 
 all the fire seems gone out of me, and the 
 numbers won't come, I think of only one 
 thing, and that's poetry. What if I fail ? 
 Others will succeed. Many are called, and 
 few chosen. God bless them all ! ' 
 
 It seemed to me mad talk, but, before I 
 could say another word, in came a strapping 
 servant-girl, with red cheeks and carroty hair. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 47 
 
 'Will you come toon to the kitchen, Mr. 
 Syme ? ' she cried, ' Sandie Pherson is blind 
 drunk, and the cook's in heesterics, and 
 Sandie' s dancing the hieland fling on the 
 kitchen table ! ' 
 
 I looked at Walter, and he answered the 
 question in my face. 
 
 ' It's one of my wife's distant kinsmen, 
 and he's been staying here with the servants 
 on his way to join his ship. Come down- 
 stairs, and we'll see what it's all about.' 
 
 Downstairs we went, and there we found 
 a great shockheaded Highlander in a sailor's 
 dress dancing and screeching like a madman, 
 and brandishing a long dirk, or knife, while 
 the cook sat screaming in a chair and calling 
 out for the police. 
 
 The moment the man saw Walter he held 
 his peace and jumped off" the table. 
 
 ' You drunken beast ! ' cried Walter. 
 ' How dare you make such a noise in my 
 house ? ' 
 
 At that moment the man said something 
 in the Gaelic and shook his knife, but before 
 he could do or say anything more, Walter 
 
48 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 had him by the scruff of the neck and ran 
 him out into the open air by the side-door ; 
 then he gave him a parting push, and sent 
 him sprawling on the sidewalk, where he fell 
 like a log. 
 
 ' Ye hae killed him ! ' screeched the carroty 
 housemaid. ' Poor Sandie ! ' 
 
 But Sandie wasn't dead, only dead drunk. 
 
 ' What does it all mean ? ' I questioned as 
 we went upstairs together. 
 
 ' Nothing, nothing,' he replied, ' only you 
 see, Jock, this isn't the Highlands, and every 
 member of Jessie's clan thinks he has a right 
 to my hospitality. They swarm here in 
 and out of season — of all trades and profes- 
 sions, and, of course, for Jessie's sake, I help 
 them when I can. But now and then, as 
 to-night, it becomes more than a man can 
 bear.' 
 
 ' And what does the wife say ? ' 
 
 'Well, Jessie, poor lass, is very clannish, 
 and it's a rule among her people to give free 
 hospitality to all and sundry of their own 
 blood. Sometimes I'm driven fairly mad by 
 the lazy loons ; they're like a flock of locusts. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 49 
 
 coming from all quarters of the compass, and 
 never going away empty-handed.' 
 
 We went into the dining-room — a grand 
 apartment, large, broad, and well-furnished, 
 I had lit my pipe up in the study, and still 
 held it in my mouth. 
 
 ' I think you'd better put out your pipe,' 
 Walter said quietly. ' Jessie objects to smok- 
 ing in this part of the house.' 
 
 I did as he told me, but looked volumes. 
 
 Presently there was a ring at the bell, 
 and in came Jessie, dressed out like a flower- 
 garden, and at her back a great chap with a 
 moustache, whom I recognised as one of her 
 brothers. She gave me a cold greeting, and 
 her companion (' her brother the Captain,' 
 as she called him), favoured me with a 
 patronising nod. 
 
 ' We dine at half-past seven,' she said, 
 ' and there's only just time to dress. I hope 
 you haven't forgotten, W. S., that we go to 
 the Mac Inlay's reception this evening ? ' 
 
 She addressed him by his initials — W. S. ! 
 — and here I take leave to remark that if/ 
 had a wife who couldn't call me honestly by 
 
 E 
 
50 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 my Christian name, I'd take French leave of 
 her, even if we'd been married by all the 
 ministers from Maidenkirk to John o' Groat's ! 
 
 ' I think I will stop at home to-night,' 
 Walter replied ; ' as it's such a long time 
 since I saw my brother. Donald will be 
 your escort to the reception.' 
 
 ' Just as you please, W. S. ! ' she cried, 
 with a vicious look at me, and bounced out of 
 the room. 
 
 ' It's all right, old fellow,' said Donald 
 her brother, twisting his moustache, ' I'll take 
 care of Jessie. May I come up with you 
 to your study ? I want a few words in 
 private.' 
 
 Walter took me into the drawing-room, 
 which was furnished brawly, and hung all 
 round with Highland landscapes and pictures 
 of Jessie's kinsfolk, including the great Duke 
 in a splendid plush frame ; and there he left 
 us, while he went upstairs with the Captain. 
 
 I stayed there cooling my heels for some 
 time, when in came the mistress of the house, 
 in a low-necked dress of silk tartan, and with 
 flowers in her hair. I must say that she 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 51 
 
 looked nearly as bonnie as on her wedding- 
 day ; but I could see, for all that, she was 
 out of temper. 
 
 I tried to talk with her, and questioned 
 her about the children, but it was little use ; 
 she had no conversation, till somehow or 
 other we got on the subject of Walter, and 
 then she was all complaints that he cared 
 nothing for ' society,' and neglected his dress, 
 and was looked upon by the gentlefolk of her 
 acquaintance as a person of no manners. 
 
 'I know he means well,' she said, 'and 
 he's very kind and considerate in many 
 things, and of course he's clever, and a good 
 husband whatever ; but if he would only 
 respect himself more, and take tent of what 
 society thought about him ! ' 
 
 When Walter came back, I saw he had 
 put on a clean shirt and brushed his hair, but 
 he wore the same old coat that he wore when 
 I found him writing. The Captain followed 
 him, got up in what they call ' war-paint,' 
 which is English slang for a dress suit, and 
 he looked uncommonly sulky. 
 
 ' I think you might have changed your 
 
 E 2 
 
52 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 coat,' said the lady, with a toss of the 
 head. 
 
 Walter laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 ' Oh, I'm going to have a long talk and a 
 smoke with Jock, and I like my old coat 
 best,' he said. ' Jock, will you take Jessie in 
 to dinner ? ' 
 
 I offered the Highland Princess my arm, 
 and in we went, followed by Walter and the 
 Captain. 
 
 It was not a cheerful meal. The mistress 
 of the house was in one of her. uppish moods, 
 and the Captain sat scowling at his plate, so 
 that Walter and I had the conversation all to 
 ourselves. We talked of old friends and old 
 times, and the happy days in Goose Lane, 
 Paisley. Jessie tossed her head as she 
 listened, for all her thoughts were of pride 
 and gentility, and she thought us a couple of 
 barbarians. 
 
 When the two had gone away to the 
 party, Walter and I went upstairs to smoke, 
 and on our way he took me into the nursery 
 to show me the bairns ; bonnie bairns they 
 were, fair like their mother. 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 53 
 
 ' What was the matter with the Captain ? ' 
 I asked, when we were snug in the study. 
 
 Walter looked worried, and hesitated be- 
 fore he replied. 
 
 'He's angry,' he explained, ' because I 
 refused to put my name to a bit of paper. I 
 did so some months ago, and had to pay over 
 a hundred pounds. The fact is, Jock, I've a 
 hard job to make both ends meet, and poor 
 Jessie doesn't understand money matters at 
 all. There's one good thing, though: my life's 
 heavily insured ; and if anything happens to 
 me, Jessie and the bairns won't be left to 
 starve.' 
 
 I pieced it all together from the hints my 
 brother gave me, and I came to the conclu- 
 sion that things were in a bad way. To 
 please his wife and keep up a fine house and 
 a position, Walter was carrying a burthen 
 o'erheavy for his shoulders — aye, just coin- 
 ing his life's blood into gold for the Highland 
 Princess and her belongings to spend. He 
 never had a minute's peace and pleasure. It 
 was work, work, work, from morn to night, 
 and from night to morn, and all to appease 
 
54 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 the appetite of those hungry Maclnvers 
 There wasn't one of them that didn't sponge 
 on the man they despised for his common 
 manners and plebeian birth. Not a week 
 passed but some vagrant of the clan turned 
 up in the kitchen, demanding free drink and 
 borrowing money to help him on the road. 
 
 And the more Walter worked and slaved 
 the greater grew the demands upon him, and 
 the worse grew Jessie's temper. 
 
 His wife was fond of him, no doubt, in 
 her own silly stuck-up fushionless way, but she 
 knew as much about his true nature as I 
 knew about the man in the moon. She had 
 but one thought — to be genteel, to make a 
 show, and to mix with fashionable people. 
 Then, in order to be invited out she had to 
 give parties herself, and these made holes in 
 Walter's purse. 
 
 But all this work and worry would have 
 been nothing to my brother if he had been 
 able, now and then, to work for what he 
 called Fame. Before that night was done he 
 fairly sobbed as if his heart was broken. 
 
 ' It has all gone now, Jock,' he said, 'the 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 5? 
 
 glory and the dream ! I've neither hope nor 
 ambition. I'm subdued to what I work in, 
 like the dyer's hand. But, for all that, poetry's 
 life and breath to me, and I care for nothing 
 else. It was my first love and it will be my 
 last.' 
 
 I grasped his hand and tried to comfort 
 him, saying that things would mend ; but he 
 shook his head. 
 
 ' Not this side of the grave,' was his reply. 
 ' I think I could bear all better, Jock, if I 
 had only some one to speak to now and then. 
 Poor Jessie doesn't understand, and I've to 
 cover a sore heart with a smiling face. I ken 
 I'm a fool ! I ought to be contented, I ought 
 to be happy with my wife and children. But 
 it's no use. There's the Muse ever beckon- 
 ing and mocking, while I lie at her feet, a 
 broken, worthless man ! ' 
 
 You mustn't fancy from these words that 
 Walter was one of the whining sort ; it was 
 my coming and the thought of the old days 
 that fairly broke him down. ' If I had only 
 some one to speak to, now and then ! ' That 
 was the tragedy of it ! To be living day and 
 
56 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 night in the house with the folk nearest and 
 dearest to him, and ever to have a secret 
 hunger in his heart, and never to be able to 
 utter it. Plain man though I was, and no 
 scholar, I understood his loneliness almost as 
 well as if I'd been a poet myself. 
 
 Braver man than my brother Walter never 
 faced the bleak winds of this world. He 
 never thought of blaming others for his own 
 folly, he took the blows of good and bad 
 fortune with equal calmness, and he toiled 
 like a galley-slave to make things comfort- 
 able and happy for his little household. But 
 day after day he became wearier, and day 
 after day his strength grew less. 
 
 When the noisy clamour of the house 
 was hushed, and the Highland Princess slept 
 soundly, dreaming of. invitations and of new 
 dresses, he worked in his room at the top of 
 the house, turning out work for which he had 
 no love, and burning his brains away to make 
 the pot boil. 
 
 And folk knew him now, not as Walter 
 Syme the poet, but as Walter Syme the 
 
A HIGHLAND PRrNCESS 57 
 
 literary ' hack.' It made my blood boil to 
 read in the newspapers, from time to time, 
 that Walter was one of those poetic flowers 
 that ' blossom too soon ' and never ' fulfil 
 their promise,' and that his reputation had 
 been like a soap-bubble, bursting almost as 
 soon as blown. No one wrote him kind 
 letters now, no lion-hunters came to see him, 
 no fine ladies wrote for his autograph ; as a 
 poet he was as good as buried, and only 
 disinterred now and then by silly critics, to 
 illustrate the folly of literary ambition. 
 
 The crowning insult came one day, when 
 that blethering gowk. Professor Glenfinlas, in 
 an article on ' A New Poet ' just discovered, 
 alluded to Walter as a poor creature who 
 might have done fine things, but who had 
 'sold his birthright for a mess of pottage.' 
 The allusion was like a smack in the face to 
 a long-suffering man, and, to the astonish- 
 ment of everybody, myself included, Walter 
 retaliated in an article criticising his critic. 
 He just stripped the red-faced Professor 
 as naked as he was born of all critical pre- 
 tension, and described him as a foolish 
 
58 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 creature making poetic discoveries for his 
 own glory. 
 
 Not content with that, Walter wrote, 
 and published, some more poetry. Nobody 
 praised it, few people read it, but I'll contend 
 to my dying day that it was better poetry 
 than ever Glenfinlas had praised. 
 
 For the first time, as it seemed to me, 
 Walter forgot fine language, and put his 
 whole heart into the verses. All his suffer- 
 ing, all his passionate love and sorrow, got 
 expression. There was one lyric called 
 ' Paisley,' describing the feelings of a poor 
 lad shut up between the brick walls of an 
 ugly town, which was as fine as anything in 
 Burns or Tannahill ; and I ken no higher 
 praise. 
 
 Well, that was poor Walter's swan-song 
 (as folk call it) ; and a few weeks after that 
 he caught gastric fever, and took to his bed. 
 
 I was away south at the time, on business 
 connected with our firm ; and when I first 
 heard of Walter's illness I little suspected 
 that it was anything serious. At last, how- 
 ever, I got a telegram from Aberdeen, bidding 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 59 
 
 me go there at once ; and, of course, I went 
 by the first train. 
 
 I was just in time. 
 
 I found poor Walter delirious and sinking 
 fast, and the whole place upside down, with 
 its mistress out of her senses with hysteria. 
 Old Maclnver was stopping there, and much 
 use he was to anybody, his chief care being 
 the whisky-bottle. 
 
 At first Walter did not know me. He 
 lay rolling his head from side to side, and 
 spouting fragments of verse, some from his 
 own poems, but most .from Shakespeare and 
 other well-known writers. Worn and thin 
 and grey, with his eyes large and lustrous, 
 and a pink spot on each cheek, he looked 
 like a dying man. 
 
 The doctor, an old, white-headed gentle- 
 man, a Professor of Medicine in the Uni- 
 versity, came into the room, bent over him, 
 took his temperature, and went out as quickly 
 as he came. I followed him downstairs into 
 the dining-room, where old Maclnver sat 
 Waiting. 
 
 Is he in danger ? ' I asked. 
 
6o A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 ' In very great danger,' replied the doctor ; 
 ' I can't promise you that he will recover.' 
 
 A great stone rose in my throat, and my 
 eyes were blind with tears. The doctor 
 looked at me through his glasses, and said : 
 
 ' His nervous system has run down 
 through overwork. I'm sorry, very sorry. 
 A gifted young man, and his wife, poor lady, 
 is a charming woman. Hem ! I will look 
 in again this evening ; ' and with that he 
 looked at his gold watch and trotted away. 
 
 ' A sad business, a very sad business ! ' 
 said Maclnver. ' My daughter is distracted. 
 /If anything happens to poor Syme, it will be 
 , a heavy blow to her, a heavy blow.' 
 
 And with that he went to the sideboard 
 and helped himself to a glass of whisky ' neat.' 
 
 ' They were happy together,' he continued, 
 ' though I never thought that my child would 
 marry away from her own people. Her an- 
 cestors were kings, sir, as ye are doubtless 
 aware. It was a come-down, but he was a 
 well-meaning man, and I loved him like a son. 
 
 I left the old ruffian to his whisky-bottle, 
 and went upstairs again. A strange nurse 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 6i 
 
 was at the bedside, for the Highland Princess 
 was no use except to moan and ' greet,' and 
 put everybody wrong. She was lying down, 
 they said, worn out with anxious watching, 
 and they were giving her raw eggs mixed 
 with brandy to keep up her strength. 
 
 It wasn't till late in the evening that 
 Walter fell into a quiet sleep. When he 
 wakened, he recognised me at once and held 
 out his thin hand for me to take. I held it 
 in mine, with the tears streaming down my 
 face. 
 
 ' You're better now,' I said gently ; and 
 so, to my thinking, he seemed. 
 
 He smiled sweetly, and pressed my hand. 
 
 ' Take care of Jessie and the bairns,' he 
 whispered. ' Remember my life's insured, 
 and ' 
 
 Before he could finish the sentence, he 
 kind of lost consciousness, and began moan- 
 ing and tossing his head from side to side. 
 Before the breaking of dawn he quietly 
 passed away. 
 
 I had the ordering of everything up to 
 
62 A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 
 
 and after the funeral. My brother's wifq went 
 about the house Hke a daft thing, useless to 
 everybody, even to her own children. But 
 she brightened up a bit before the day of the 
 funeral, for a large number of her kinsmen 
 were invited over from Glen Inver to lend a 
 kind of grandeur to the occasion. 
 
 Before the funeral Jessie sent for me. I 
 went upstairs and saw the Highland Princess 
 lying full-dressed on her bed, her hair down 
 about her shoulders, and her eyelids red with 
 weeping. 
 
 The moment she saw me she gave a hys- 
 terical sob, and almost fainted away ; but she 
 recovered herself immediately. 
 
 ' Is your mourning ordered, John ? ' says 
 she. 
 
 I told her that it was, and I saw her eyes 
 taking me in from top to toe. I was wearing 
 a cutaway coat and a pair of shepherd's tartan 
 trousers, having had no time yet to get fitting 
 apparel. 
 
 She shook with sobs, but her eyes were 
 still riveted on my clothes. 
 
 ' Dear Walter, he's dead and gone ! she 
 
A HIGHLAND PRINCESS 63 
 
 moaned. ' Everything I see reminds me of 
 him! Everything! Even those trousers C 
 you're wearing, John I Just his vulgar taste ! ' 
 
 ' Whom the gods love die young ' is, as I 
 began by saying, a poor pagan kind of con- 
 solation. Neither gods nor mortals ever 
 showed much love for my brother Walter. 
 He would have been living yet if he had 
 been less leal and tender. He might have 
 got on grandly, in spite of his mad flirtation - 
 with the heathen Muses ; but he made a sad 
 mistake when he tried to find poetry and 
 inspiration in the bosom of a Highland 
 Princess. 
 

 ^^9^^Sn 
 
 a^^^g 
 
 „oi-_, 
 
 r ^P 
 
 
 
 ^m 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^^^^^m 
 
 ^^^m 
 
 ^^^^b^^: 
 
 r//:£' BALLAD OF LORD 
 LANGSHA W. 
 
 ND will ye hae my house, lady, 
 And will ye hae my land — 
 The house is old, the land is bare. 
 And empty is my hand ; 
 But gin ye hunger still for more 
 
 This knife o' steel I'll gie — 
 To cut the breast, howk out the heart 
 That's sick wi' love for thee ! ' 
 
 ' Bide in thy house, Lord Langshaw, 
 
 And keep thy barren land, — 
 My plight is gien to Lauderdale 
 
 Whose ring is on my hand ; 
 He lifts me to my saddle-bow. 
 
 And thro' the glens we ride^- 
 Sae sheathe thy knife, thou waefu' man. 
 
 And seek some ither bride ! ' 
 
66 THE BALLAD OF LORD LANGSHA W 
 
 ' The silver shackle wags its pow 
 
 Around this house, my dear, 
 The wind across my lanesome land 
 
 Is whistling shrill and drear — 
 It's hey the blowing o' the broom, 
 
 And ho the wither'd thorn ! 
 The bat blinks at the candlelight. 
 
 And thinks it shining morn ! ' 
 
 Lightly, lightly. 
 
 She trotted down the vale. 
 The gay goshawk upon her wrist, 
 
 Wi' fair young Lauderdale ; 
 While at his door Lord Langshaw stood 
 
 They pass'd his barren land. 
 And as they pass'd she look'd and laugh'd. 
 
 And waved her lily hand. 
 
 ' O bonnie Mary Lindsay, 
 
 You've left me here alane. 
 That last light look is like the steel 
 
 To cut my heart in twain. 
 It's hey the empty house and hall. 
 
 And ho the blighted name — 
 But bide ye, bide ye, till the day 
 
 Thy bridegroom leads thee hame ! ' 
 
 Lightly, lightly, 
 
 The wedding bells did ring, 
 And on her middle finger sma' 
 
 The bridegroom set the ring. 
 
THE BALLAD OF LORD LANGSHAW 67 
 
 But as they came from oot the kirk 
 
 The bride went white to see 
 Lord Langshaw on his airn-gray steed 
 
 Under the black yew-tree ! 
 
 Then hameward rode Lord Langshaw, 
 
 That waefu' man o' men, 
 Heavy he droopit as 'neath the snaws 
 
 O' threescore years and ten ; 
 All round his house the bitter blast 
 
 Wail'd like a saul in pain, 
 He crept from off his airn-gray steed 
 
 And threw his page the rein. 
 
 ' Come hither, come hither, my little foot-page. 
 
 You've served your master weel — 
 When I lie bluidy on my bed 
 
 Pluck out the blade o' steel, 
 Then leave me in the lanesome house 
 
 And do as I command, 
 And as ye do my last behest 
 
 Thy saul be blest or ban'd ! ' 
 
 Lightlj^ lightly. 
 
 They gallopt doon the vale, 
 Her een were shining bright as stars 
 
 On young Lord Lauderdale ; 
 The castle gate stood open wide. 
 
 The wedding feast was spread ; 
 Without, the moon rose thin and white ; 
 
 Within, the lights burnt red. 
 
 F 3 
 
THE BALLAD OF LORD LANGSHAW 
 
 ■ O bonnie Mary Lindsay, 
 
 A happy dower is thine — 
 We pledge the bridegroom and the bride 
 
 In stoups o' Rhenish wine ! ' 
 Then up and laugh'd young Lauderdale, 
 
 ' A health to all," he said, 
 And a health to him who woo'd in vain 
 
 The maiden I hae wed ! ' 
 
 From Patrickirk and Lammermoor, 
 
 From Mirkmoss and from Doon, 
 Came wedding gifts o' gems and gold, 
 
 Silk snood, and broider'd goon. 
 It's hey the braw bravv wedding gifts, 
 
 And ho the dance and sang ! 
 But nae gift came that night from him 
 
 Who'd loved sae weel and lang. 
 
 Lightly, brightly, 
 
 The moon lit roof and tower, 
 Wi' sheets o' lawn and quilt o' silk 
 
 They spread the bridal bower. 
 The bower was dark, but thro' the pane 
 
 The moon keek'd in that night, 
 And on the pillow fringed wi' gold 
 
 Shed beams o' siller light. 
 
 There's laughing in the lighted hall 
 
 'Mong lords and ladies fair, 
 The merry bridesmaids and the bride 
 
 Come smiling up the stair. 
 
THE BALLAD OF LORD LANGSHAW 69 
 
 The bridal bower is open wide, 
 
 Softly they enter in. 
 And on the pillow stain'd wi' red 
 
 Lord Langshaw's gift is seen ! 
 
 A gruesome gift, Lord Langshaw, 
 
 Is this that comes from you ! 
 A bluidy gift, the dripping knife 
 
 That stab'd your strong heart thro' ! 
 O bonnie Mary Lindsay, 
 
 Weel may you scream and fall, 
 Thy lot is wae, this ae night. 
 
 This ae night, and all ! 
 
 This ae night, this ae night. 
 
 This ae night and all. 
 The Lykewake dirge shall echo on 
 
 Within your castle-wall. 
 Dead on his bed Lord Langshaw smiles 
 
 Like marble cold and gray. 
 And at his feet his little foot-page 
 
 Keeps watch till dawn o' day ! 
 
-If 
 
 6^ 
 
 £ 
 
 .^j^jfe^^-^i=^^^^"'^i^^W|p 
 
 
 ^^^^**":^jiSi 
 
 T//B LEGEND OF 
 THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 PART I 
 
 WAS in the harvest time, it matters 
 not how many years ago. The 
 sun was shining, the men and 
 women reaping, the gleaners gleaning, when 
 Madge Kirk, a tall, strapping lassie, suddenly 
 dropt her reaping-hook, fell back on the 
 stubble, and screamed aloud. 
 
 ' The deil ! the deil ! ' she cried. 
 In a moment she was surrounded by her 
 companions, in answer to whose questions 
 she could not articulate a word. All she 
 could do was to scream, kick, and point at a 
 piled sheaf which stood at a distance of a few 
 
72 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 yards , but the cause of her alarm at once 
 became apparent. Protruding from the 
 centre of the sheaf, and glaring vacantly at 
 the crowd, was a great human head, profusely 
 ornamented with tangled red locks and the 
 most luxuriant of red whiskers. 
 
 ' The deil ! the deil ! ' cried the reapers, 
 catching Madge's alarm, and taking to their 
 heels in a body. One or two men, however, 
 either because their legs failed them, or 
 because they were naturally more courageous, 
 stood stock-still, staring open-mouthed at the 
 apparition, whose face evinced as much con- 
 sternation as their own, and who, after wildly 
 gasping for breath, at length found voice. 
 
 ' Tinna be fear't, goot folk, tinna be fear't ! 
 she's no' the Deil, but a poor piper ! ' 
 
 With these words the great head protruded 
 itself more and more, till first a pair of arms, 
 then a stunted body, then a pair of tattered 
 kilts, and, lastly, two bare and hairy legs 
 dragged themselves out of the wheat-sheaf 
 This strange figure, after suddenly presenting 
 itself, cast one wild glance at the astonished 
 villagers, and then, with a wild howl, ran 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 73 
 
 swiftly towards the outskirts of the harvest- 
 field. Recovering from their fear in a moment, 
 the men gave pursuit, and were speedily 
 joined by the reapers, men and women, who 
 had hastened out of the stranger's reach, but 
 who had by this time gathered courage. The 
 piper, as he had called himself, led the way, 
 leaping and running like a wild deer ; the 
 crowd followed, shouting and stumbling. At 
 last, close to the field-gate, the piper stopped, 
 breathing hard, and was immediately sur- 
 rounded by his pursuers, who had now a 
 better opportunity than before of examining 
 his personal appearance. 
 
 A piper whom melancholy had marked 
 for her own ; a piper melancholy of face, 
 melancholy of mien, melancholy from his 
 horrent hair down to his thick, lugubriously- 
 twisted legs ; a piper below the middle height, 
 but with shoulders broad as a giant's, sloping 
 down to the narrow hips of a strongly-built 
 and agile man ; a piper pale of face, with 
 small lack-lustre eyes and a huge twisted knob 
 of a nose, that glowed like a red-hot cinder, 
 and whose hair and beard were one tangled 
 
74 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 mass of red, mingling with the hue of his nose 
 and giving a weirdness to his physiognomy. 
 
 His dress consisted only of jacket, waist- 
 coat, and kilt of antique tartan — all these 
 articles of raiment being dirty and tattered 
 and torn. It was noticeable that he wore 
 neither shoes nor stockings, and that, although 
 a piper, he carried no pipes. 
 
 As this weird being stood panting and 
 puffing amid the villagers, those nearest to 
 him felt that his breath resembled burning 
 flame, and as he panted and glared, and 
 glared and panted, his hair surrounded him 
 like a fiery halo. He panted and stared 
 confusedly, while the reapers questioned him 
 in eager wonder. Who was he ? Where 
 had he come from ? What did they call 
 him ? What had he been doing in the 
 harvest-field ? Was he a mortal or a spirit ? 
 He answered by rolling his eyes wildly, 
 pointing downwards towards the earth. Hor- 
 rible ! He clearly meant to intimate that 
 he had come from underground, and, from 
 his fiery face and hot breath, it was not diffi- 
 cult to guess the precise locality. Perhaps 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 75 
 
 he was a deil after all ! Frightful thought ! 
 The rustics drew back shuddering, but as 
 they did so, the piper, with a piteous look, 
 opened his great mouth, pointed down his 
 throat with his forefinger, and imitated the 
 act of drinking. Men and women looked 
 questioningly, with dubious headshakings, at 
 each other ; it was clear that the poor creature 
 was craving for something to quench his 
 thirst, which was not at all surprising, seeing 
 the probability that he had come from so very 
 warm a place. Without a moment's hesita- 
 tion, Jock Sanderson, a wild, whisky-loving 
 blade, stepped forward and proffered a stone- 
 bottle, which was eagerly seized. But what 
 was Jock's surprise at what followed ? After 
 raising the bottle to his lips and tasting the 
 contents, the piper, with a hideous grimace, 
 dashed the botde to the ground, gave an 
 unearthly cry, and again ran off at full speed, 
 pursued by the amazed reapers. 
 
 ' Daft fule ! ' growled Sanderson, stooping 
 to pick up the half-spilt bottle — ' daft fule ! 
 no' to ken gude drink when he tastes't ! ' 
 
 One and all felt their courage rise with 
 
76 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 the Stranger's pusillanimity, and, quite forget- 
 ting work, off they ran, hunting the nimble- 
 footed one, who this time did not halt so soon, 
 but swiftly sped over the neighbouring field, 
 leapt a hedge-row, and gained the highway, 
 dashed on swiftly until he entered the village, 
 and was not overtaken before he had reached 
 the centre of the main street. Here he 
 stumbled and fell, and was soon surrounded. 
 Two or three sturdy fellows gripped him 
 firmly, and again he stood at bay, panting, 
 puffing, and glaring at his captors, who were 
 as much out of breath as himself At this 
 point a middle-aged rustic made a suggestion. 
 
 ' The poor chiel's out o' breath. Tak' 
 him into Tam Baird's, and gie him a gill of 
 Tarn's best.' 
 
 And the speaker pointed to the public- 
 house, which stood a few yards distant. 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, the 
 piper could not have evinced more consterna- 
 tion, and, murmuring something in an un- 
 known tongue, he cast one despairing glance 
 at Tam Baird's. Tam himself was standing 
 on the threshold grinning and talking. The 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 77 
 
 sight was too much for the piper. Moan- 
 ing miserably, he tore himself from those 
 who held him, and again set off at full 
 speed. 
 
 It was pretty evident by this time that 
 the piper was a maniac : no rational being 
 would conduct himself in so objectionable a 
 manner. The general feeling, therefore, 
 became one of fear lest, in his mad race, he 
 should do some violence ; and it was neces- 
 sary for the public safety to secure him, which 
 the reapers, now reinforced by rustics from 
 the village, tried their best to do. But on 
 he sped, his wild hair flowing, his hands 
 waving — on he went up the main street. 
 Women and children, startled by the tumult, 
 rushed out to gaze at him, and drew back 
 screaming as he passed ; men flung themselves 
 in his path, in the hope of stopping him, but 
 he nimbly avoided them. There was a gene- 
 ral howl along the whole of his onward path. 
 Whither would he fly } When would he 
 halt ? What would he do next ? These 
 questions were suddenly answered. The 
 piper, casting one wild glance behind him, 
 
78 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 passed through an open green gate in a low 
 wall, and ran into the minister's garden. 
 
 The crowd followed with a shout, feeling 
 that capture was secure ; but suddenly they 
 stopped short, and became dumb. Crouch- 
 ing, at a little distance, under an apple-tree, 
 was the piper, and a little nearer, between 
 him and the people, stood the minister. 
 
 Now the Rev. Solomon Habbielove, then 
 minister of Kirk, was a tall, severe-looking, 
 white-haired old gentleman, who had the 
 reputation of being a grand scholar, and who 
 possessed great influence over his flock. 
 Moreover, he was a kindly man, a great 
 book-lover, and a rigid teetotaller. He abo- 
 minated malt liquor, and held all spirits to be 
 perdition. 
 
 ' Hooly and fairly, hoolyand fairly ! ' cried 
 Solomon Habbielove, waving back the vil- 
 lagers. ' What's the meaning of this com- 
 motion, and wha' — what novum monstrinn — 
 have we here ? ' 
 
 And he pointed at the glaring piper, who 
 was flushed and out of breath. In answer 
 to the question, there was a great clatter of 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 79 
 
 tongues : all spoke at once, and each drowned 
 the words of the other. 
 
 ' Silence ! silence ! ' cried the minister. 
 ' I canna hear you if you all speak at once. 
 You, Tammas Todd, step forward, and tell 
 me what this means.' 
 
 A tall, awkward billie shuffled forward in 
 front of his companions. 
 
 ' I canna tell muckle,' he said, touching 
 his bonnet. ' A' I ken is jest this : yon 
 chap's clean daft, and ca's himsel' a piper ! — 
 a piper ! ' he repeated, in supreme contempt. 
 'He's daft as daft can be, and gif he's no 
 taen haud of in time, he'll be doein' some ane 
 a mischief.' 
 
 The minister looked curiously at the 
 piper, who shook his head emphatically, and 
 said something in Gaelic, in which tongue 
 Solomon, with an appearance of sudden 
 interest, immediately replied. Ere long the 
 piper repeated the pantomime of opening 
 his mouth, pointing down his throat with 
 his forefinger, and imitating the act of 
 drinking. 
 
 ' Quarit aquas,' murmured the minister. 
 
8o LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 approvingly ; and he added, in a low voice, 
 ' Janet, Janet ! ' 
 
 At the call, a cleanly serving-woman 
 came running out of the manse. 
 
 ' Janet, woman, a jug of cold water and a 
 glass tumbler.' 
 
 With an amazed stare at the piper, Janet 
 ran back into the house, and soon returned 
 with the water. Irradiate with joy grew the 
 piper, as the minister poured out the limpid 
 fluid ; he evinced no dislike and horror now, 
 but drained tumbler after tumbler with rap- 
 turous eyerollings and audible cat-like purr- 
 ings. When the jug was emptied he glared 
 around him like a refreshed warrior, and 
 again spoke to the minister in the same 
 strange language. Solomon Habbielove 
 evinced more and more amazement and 
 eager interest, and at last, turning to the 
 villagers, he spoke as follows : 
 
 ' Wonderful are the ways of Providence ! 
 Our friend here, poor body, is nae maniac, 
 as ye would hae me believe, but just a poor 
 Hieland piper, who brings to me a tale of 
 wonder, a tale of abomination, a tale of 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 8i 
 
 mystery ! Gang your ways, honest folk ! 
 Donald will come ben the house with me, to 
 partake of my frugal fare, and ye shall hear 
 what ye shall hear another time. Quid sit fu- 
 turum eras, as Horatius ^^\\h.,fuge qiusreic f ' 
 
 So saying, Solomon motioned to the 
 reapers, who retired slowly and unwillingly, 
 grumbling audibly, through the green gate. 
 Their curiosity was awakened, and they did 
 not like to be baffled ; but they had not 
 courage to resist boldly. Closing the gate 
 upon them, Solomon seized the piper by the 
 arm, led him into the house, to the horror and 
 amaze of the cleanly Janet, and escorted him 
 into the sanctmii sanctorum, or study. There 
 the two worthies remained closeted for hours, 
 in earnest conversation ; and Janet, peeping 
 through the keyhole, saw the piper gesticulat- 
 ing as he spoke, while Solomon wrote rapidly 
 on foolscap paper. The subject of the con- 
 versation did not long remain a secret, but 
 resulted in the following extraordinary- narra- 
 tive : 
 
 His name, the piper said, was Donald 
 Mactavish, and he was born in Inverary, 
 
 G 
 
82 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 where Dougal, his father — honest man — was 
 piper to the great Duke of Argyll. One's 
 stomach screamed with joy to hear Dougal 
 play ' Macpherson's Reel,' or ' Tulloch- 
 gorum ; ' he was the prince of pipers ; and 
 people said that the reason Inverary was so 
 virtuous a place, was chiefly owing to Dou- 
 gal's music, which was so heavenly that the 
 spirits of darkness couldn't bear to hear it. 
 Donald was the eldest of a small family, and 
 it was the household dream that to him the 
 pipes should descend by inheritance on his 
 father's death ; so before he was ten years 
 old, Donald had actually a little instrument 
 of his own, and strutted before the Duke, 
 playing right boldly, clad in the Argyll 
 tartan — kilt and philabeg, all complete. He 
 was a thoughtful boy, and a reader of the 
 few Gaelic books which came in his way ; 
 but his mind was chiefly fed by the wild 
 tales of the Argyll clansmen, and the strange 
 legends of the Loch Fyne fishermen. When 
 a mere child, he would wander out into the 
 woods and glens, and seating himself on 
 some heathery knoll, play soft tunes on his 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 83 
 
 little bagpipes ; and all the while he would 
 dream that the pixies and wee fairy folk 
 would come tripping over the heather, and 
 tumbling out of the blue bells, to hear his 
 dulcet music. As he grew older, however, 
 this visionary amusement gradually grew 
 staler and staler ; and, instead of a poetical 
 musician, Donald became a rough, frisky 
 lad, fond of tippling barley-bree, and sport- 
 ing with the lasses. Many a raid did he 
 take among the mountain stills ! many a 
 moonlight night sat he under slanted sheaves 
 with his arms around a yielding waist ! He 
 was never over-bonnie of face ; but because 
 he was strong, and witty, and roguish, and 
 bold, and born, moreover, of the great Mac- 
 tavishes, the lasses overlooked his flaming 
 head of hair and rough-hewn features. As 
 his chin grew rougher and bristlier, his 
 pranks grew wilder and merrier ; at last, one 
 fine day, when he was full-grown, he com- 
 mitted a folly which gave grievous offence to 
 the big Duke, who ordered him to depart 
 from Inverary forthwith. For his father's 
 
 sake, Donald did not dare to refuse, and he 
 
 G 2 
 
84 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 bade home and parents farewell. Dougal 
 tore his hair, and danced about like a salmon 
 on a fishing-hook. Och, ish, O ! och, ish, O ! 
 the Mactavishes had been the big Duke's 
 pipers ever since there had been no big 
 dukes at all ; he was growing old, and he 
 had dreamed that Donald would succeed 
 him ; and Och, ish, O ! that the Mactavish 
 glory should be brought to the dust by his 
 own son. But, alas ! there was no help for 
 it. Donald set forth into the wide world — 
 all his wealth being a bag of oatmeal, a 
 bottle of whisky, some kippered Loch Fyne 
 herrings, and his father's second-best bag- 
 pipes. 
 
 Ay ; but what treasures had Donald 
 Mactavish — poor though he seemed ! Blest 
 with youth, health, and the bagpipes, he had 
 nothing to fear ; and, moreover, his misad- 
 venture had taught him the virtue of caution. 
 Nature had made a musician ; fortune had 
 made him a piper ; so the good stars met in 
 his horoscope, and gave him magic power 
 over the human heart. Northward he wan- 
 dered, trudging from clachan to clachan, 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 85 
 
 paying his way with sad music or merry, 
 glorifying bridals or solemnising funerals, 
 and winning the wonder of old and young. 
 Though he was a wanderer, glory waited on 
 him, for the mantle of the Mactavishes had 
 fallen on his shoulders ! Far and wide he 
 roamed — sleeping where he could, eating 
 and drinking at the public cost — rambling 
 up hill and down dale, whithersoever he 
 pleased. Everywhere there were cries of 
 amaze and admiration ; honours crowded on 
 the kilted musician ; though some few en- 
 vious rascals vowed that he was in league 
 with his Satanic majesty. Nay, Donald, 
 and no other — so he himself asserted — was 
 the identical piper who, meeting Maggie 
 Lauder going to Fife, played her the tune 
 to which she danced so lustily, and which 
 elicited from her the famous compliment : 
 
 ' Weel hae ye played your pipes, quo Meg, 
 
 Your cheeks are like the crimson, 
 Therms nane in Scotland plays so well. 
 
 Since we lost Habbie Simpson ! ' ^ 
 
 ' The most notorious of Scottish pipers. His statue is 
 to be seen in the town of Kilbarchan, in Renfrewshire. 
 
S6 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 From the Highlands Donald journeyed into 
 the Lowlands, where the instrument he played 
 was less liked. He managed, however, to 
 play his way from village to village, and to 
 popularise the pipes wherever he went. The 
 people laughed at his quaint appearance, but 
 his music made them loup with pleasure. 
 When he reached Kilbarchan, he paused 
 opposite Habbie's statue, and played for a 
 summer afternoon with such effect that the 
 stone piper seemed to turn alternately green 
 with jealousy and pale with wonder ; so, at 
 least, quoth Donald himself. 
 
 This vagrant life could not last for ever. 
 Gradually Donald began to get tired of rov- 
 ing about from place to place, and longed to 
 stretch his weary limbs at some quiet fireside. 
 He had always loved the lassies — nay, had 
 not this very love made him an exile ? — and 
 Och, to pree the honeyed lips, and encircle 
 the winsome waist of some strapping hizzie 
 in her teens ! While this yearning was strong 
 in him, he entered, with plaid flying and 
 pipes playing, the little village of Drum- 
 bungo, which lies a few Scots miles from 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 87 
 
 Glasgow city. Men, women, and children 
 rushed out to see him, and followed him, 
 charmed by his wild strains, to the village 
 green, where a dance was improvised. Loud 
 was the merriment ; reels, strathspeys, four- 
 somes, followed each other in rapid succes- 
 sion. Meantime Donald blew with might 
 and main, until his cheeks glowed like fire ; 
 but all the while his eye was fixed on one 
 trim figure whom he had singled out from the 
 throng, and who wore only the petticoat, short 
 gown, and tartan shawl. ' Och, ish, O ! ' said 
 Donald, she was fair to see ! Her eyes were 
 black as the sloe, her cheeks v/ere red as hips 
 and haws, her waist was slim as the willow, 
 and her straight bare leg was whiter than 
 new milk. She danced, she louped, she 
 snapped her fingers, she tripped and whirled, 
 and all the while she exchanged love-looks 
 with Donald, who fidgeted with admiration. 
 Gloaming came ; a wink brought the lassie 
 to Donald's side, and they sat down together 
 in a comer of the green. Sweet were the 
 whispers of the wondrous piper, albeit he 
 then knew only a few words of the Doric 
 
88 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 for his music had thrilled into the lassie's 
 heart, which was throbbing wildly with a new 
 emotion. ' Ponnie lassie, ponnie lassie, wilt 
 thou gang awa wi' the piper ? ' While she 
 hesitated, he struck up softly ' O'er the hills, 
 and far awa'.' This was too much — it sur- 
 passed all the eloquence of senates. The 
 Lowland lassie trembled, blushed a sweet 
 consent, and fell into the arms of the trium- 
 phant Mactavish. With plaids flying, and 
 pipes playing softly, off they crept together, 
 under the shadow of the darkness, and in 
 Glasgow they were wed.^ 
 
 Luckily, as Donald thought, Jeanie proved 
 no fruitful vine ; and the Mactavishes were 
 childless. Pursuing his amatory vein, Donald 
 settled down for some years in Glasgow, 
 where he supported himself and wife by 
 assisting at private and public gatherings. 
 Here he made the acquaintances which, as 
 he asserted, became the bane of his whole 
 future life ; for here, night after night, he 
 
 ' If Donald's story be not taken ctiin grano salts, it is 
 no fault of mine ; but let it be remembered that he himself 
 was the sole authority of all the incidents, as told to the 
 Rev. Mr. Habbielove. 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 89 
 
 began to carouse whisky in company with 
 Souter Macpherson, of the High Street, and 
 Alister Macdonald, the sexton of the cathe- 
 dral — two sinewy Celts, who had long been 
 settled in Glasgow, and who possessed, in 
 addition to Highland craft and boldness, all 
 the Lowland love for sly tippling. The 
 morals of the Mactavish again ebbed lament- 
 ably away ; his nose reddened, his face grew 
 crimson, and — as he himself rightly expressed 
 it — he was 'aye dram-dramming.' Is it to 
 be wondered at that the good wife stormed, 
 threatened, wept, and lamented the hour 
 when she had been led into grief by the 
 Highlandman ? and that again and again she 
 broke in upon the scenes of revel, "and 
 favoured Alister and the Souter with language 
 more strong than elegant .■* Donald tried to 
 pacify her by behaving a little better ; but 
 no, the household demon was fairly aroused, 
 and Jeanie, having once become a tartar, was 
 doomed to remain one for ever. Things 
 became so bad that Donald more than once 
 thought of suicide, but lacking courage he 
 lived on, receiving all sorts of wifely gifts, 
 
go LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 from hard words to porridge-bowls, from 
 boiling abuse to boiling water. ' Thraw her 
 neck,' suggested the Souter. ' Skirt awa' 
 pack to ta Hielans,' advised Alister. One 
 night Donald took the latter advice, and 
 made the best of his way to Inverary ; but 
 on arriving there, he found, to his consterna- 
 tion, that Dugald was dead, and that a new 
 piper — not, alas ! a Mactavish — had been 
 elected in his stead. Without revealing his 
 identity, Donald hastened away, and for some 
 days was a wanderer ; but fate guided him 
 back to a certain hostelry in the High Street 
 of Glasgow, where he found his two cronies 
 seated over their gills. Trembling in every 
 limb, he listened as they informed him of the 
 danger that awaited him : that the wife, fairly 
 daft, was searching for him high and low, 
 that she had vowed to beat him into a mess 
 of porridge, and that she was more like a 
 mad woman than a decent body. Donald 
 groaned, but with a few gills of whisky 
 came fresh courage ; and, by-and-by, he so 
 far forgot his peril that he laughed, shouted, 
 sang, and played ' Tullochgorum ' on his 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER gt 
 
 pipes. At last the clock of the cathedral 
 struck twelve — the hour after which the 
 public house must be closed. The cronies 
 looked at one another, puzzled by the ques- 
 tion — whither was Donald to betake himself 
 for the night ? Both the Souter and Alister 
 were married men, and more or less under 
 subjection ; so that neither dared to offer the 
 piper a night's lodging. Short was the time 
 given them to deliberate ; for suddenly there 
 came a loud knocking at the street-door, and 
 the voice of Jeanie herself was heard fiercely 
 demanding admittance. The whisky ebbed 
 from the heart of Donald, and his cheek 
 became ghastly pale. 
 
 ' Och, ish, O ! ' he groaned, ' it's the wife ! ' 
 ' Rin, Tonald, rin ! ' cried the other two. 
 ' Rin oot at the pack-door ! ' 
 
 Without hesitating for a moment, Donald 
 made a rush in the direction indicated, and 
 was closely followed by the others, who were 
 almost as much afraid of having their crowns 
 clawed as he was. A minute afterwards, 
 they were threading the numerous lanes and 
 alleys in the neighbourhood of the High 
 
92 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 Street, pausing every minute to listen for 
 the footsteps they dreaded to hear behind 
 them. Ere long they came forth into the 
 open moonshine, and saw, at a short distance 
 before them, the tall turrets, great windows, 
 and belfry of the cathedral — part lying in 
 dusky shadow, part glistening in the silver 
 light. 
 
 ' Ochone, ochone ! ' groaned Donald, fall- 
 ing on the Souter's bosom. ' Ochone ! Nain- 
 sell would gi' all the great Duke's bawbees, if 
 she could flee awa' to a land wi' neither wives 
 nor lassies, and wi' naething to drink but 
 heavenly Isla whisky.' 
 
 To Donald's amaze, Alister gave a great 
 shout, slapped his leg, and threw his bonnet 
 up in the air. Be it remembered here that 
 all the cronies were far gone in liquor. 
 
 ' Tonald Mactavish,'said Alister, solemnly, 
 ' hae ye a Hielan' heart ? or were ye suck't 
 on the sour milk of a Lowland cuddy ? ' 
 
 'She's Hielan', Alister, my man — Hielan' 
 frae the big tae to the wee purlie ! ' said 
 Donald. 
 
 ' Then come awa'.' 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 93 
 
 So saying, Alister led the way through a 
 small gate entering into the spacious burial- 
 ground which surrounded the cathedral ; and 
 threading a devious path among the graves 
 and monuments, crept close to the cathedral 
 walls, which were in deep shadow. It was 
 not in the nature of Donald or the Souter to 
 fear the supernatural ; they had much more 
 dread for living goodwives than for lifeless 
 ghosts. So they followed boldly. At last, 
 Alister halted before a low door, which he 
 opened with a great key, drawn from his coat 
 pocket, and revealed a dark passage, into 
 which the others peered curiously. 
 
 ' Stay here a wee,' he said, ' till I get my 
 light ; ' and, creeping away, he disappeared in 
 the darkness ; but speedily returned, carrying 
 in his hand a lighted lantern. 
 
 ' Now, Tonald Mactavish,' he asked seri- 
 ously, 'ye wad gie muckle to get awa' frae 
 the wife ? ' 
 
 ' Gie ! ' echoed Donald. ' She wad gie 
 the kilts aff her hurdles, and a heap main' 
 
 ' Atweel,' said Alister, ' has she no' tell't 
 ye aften, that under the cathedral o' Glasgow, 
 
94 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 the wee fairy folk langsyne puilt a strange 
 lang road — ta Teil kens whaur she gangs to ; 
 maybe till a land o' whisky neat and putter'd 
 croutie, maybe till the Teil hersel'. Atweel, 
 will the Mactavish risk the road — maybe 
 to dee the death, and maybe to be the 
 happiest piper frae Maidenheid to Shon o' 
 Groats ? ' 
 
 Donald hesitated ; but he thought of 
 Jeanie, and nerved his courage to the stick- 
 ing-point. 
 
 ' She'll gang ! ' he cried, stepping into the 
 passage. 
 
 ' Haud a wee, haud a wee ! ' said Alister. 
 ' Nane but your nainsell can gang wi' ye 
 ayont this door ; but wheesht ! tak' the lan- 
 tern — sae ! Gang on till ye come till the pig 
 vault, and keep your een on the groun', till 
 ye see a square stane wi' an airn ring ; pu' 
 up the stane, and ye'll see a stair that gangs 
 toon — toon ! Tonald Mactavish,' continued 
 Alister, with emotion, ' gie's your han' ! 
 Maybe she'll never see ye mair, and maybe 
 aye ; put this she'll say — ye' re a piper ta Teil 
 hersel' wad be proud o' ! ' 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 95 
 
 Alister seized one of Donald's hands, and 
 the Souter seized the other. 
 
 ' Got pless ye, Tonald ! ' said the Souter. 
 ' Hae ye the pipes a' safe .-* ' 
 
 'Ay, ay,' replied Donald, blowing softly 
 into the tubes, while they groaned again. 
 Meantime, the Souter seemed undergoing a 
 violent inner struggle, in which generosity at 
 last conquered. 
 
 ' Ye' re gaun a lang road, Tonald,' the 
 Souter whispered, pressing something into 
 his hand. ' Maybe ye'll be dry afore ye 
 reach the end ; sae — tak' ta pottle ! She's 
 Isla, Tonald, every drap. She couldna gie 
 a ponnier gift to her ain faithen' 
 
 The piper wrung the outstretched hands 
 of his cronies, grasped the lantern, and 
 stepped boldly into the passage. In a nio- 
 ment, the door was closed behind him, and 
 he heard the key turned in the lock from the 
 outside. His heart gave a thick throb, but 
 he stepped on — feeling his way through pas- 
 sages of chilly stone, on which the light of 
 the lantern shed a faint yellow gleam. 'Twas 
 not his first visit to the place : rnore than 
 
96 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 once, in the day-time, he had roamed through 
 the vaults with Alister ; but it was his first 
 visit by night ; and he himself confessed 
 afterwards, that he felt slightly nervous, and 
 fearful of a vision of the sheeted dead. The 
 spirit of whisky, however, triumphed over 
 caution ; and Donald found himself contem- 
 plating the square paving-stone with the iron 
 ring, which had been described to him by 
 Alister. Is it to be wondered at that he 
 took, at this point, a deep draught of the 
 black bottle — the gift of the Souter ? 
 
 All was still as death ; above and around 
 all was dark, but the lantern's gleam fell upon 
 the paving-stone below. With beating heart 
 Donald grasped the' ring and raised the stone, 
 revealing to view a dark flight of stone steps, 
 which descended, as it were into the dark 
 bowels of the earth. With a brief muttered 
 prayer, Donald descended — down, down, 
 down, down ! The steps were steep and 
 slippery ; and more than once he was on 
 the point of being precipitated to the bottom. 
 At last, however, he stood on firm earth. 
 By the light of the lantern, he discovered 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 97 
 
 that he was in a large vaulted chamber, in 
 one corner of which stood a large door. 
 Written on the door, in antique characters, 
 was the following inscription : 
 
 'Cf(iS atnSomc sate 
 
 K ang tfare enter, 
 le'n n0' 6e Slate 
 
 Sf %z readj t^e Centre. 
 5f i)e rcati) t]&c dEnlr 
 iWaj! ti)e ;Starg lefrtenlf, 
 Sax 3E a0u6t, I iiouSt, 
 1§e'n ne'er set out.' 
 
 With a great effort, Donald managed to 
 spell out the above ; but he could make no 
 sense of it. It was clear as daylight, how- 
 ever, that here was the entrance to the 
 mysterious underground passage. Creeping 
 close to the door, Donald saw that in the 
 lock thereof was a huge key. At this point, 
 he again found it necessary to have recourse 
 to the black bottle, thanks to whose courage- 
 inspiring contents, he had strength to turn 
 the key in the lock — a task which taxed all 
 the strength of his sinewy arms. With a 
 dull groaning sound, the door flew open, 
 revealing to view a dark, dangerous-looking 
 
98 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 cave ; and the instant Donald entered, the 
 great gate closed behind him with a bang, 
 the lantern was dashed from his hand by a 
 gust of wind, and he was in total darkness. 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 99 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Thump ! thump ! went the heart of the piper, 
 as he stood panting and trembling in the 
 dark. Bitterly did he repent his rashness — 
 tremulously did he long for the company of 
 even the tyrannical Jean. Too late ! To 
 recede was impossible : he must on or die. 
 The strong wind blowing on his face strength- 
 ened him with the hope that the passage 
 possessed some contiguous outlet ; possibly, 
 it might communicate with the open air. 
 After groping about for his lantern, and find- 
 ing it broken and extinguished, he stepped 
 quickly forward. Dark, dark, pitch dark, 
 was all around him, though the path seemed 
 a broad and safe one. Whisht ! He becomes 
 conscious of a rustling sound, as of something 
 sweeping quickly past him ; and, at the same 
 moment, something cold slaps him on the 
 
 H 2 
 
100 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 cheek. ' Ha ! ha ! ' shouts a voice in his 
 right ear ; ' Ho ! ho ! ' screams a voice in his 
 left. He gropes about him, but touches 
 nothing ; and the cold sweat stands in clammy- 
 beads upon his forehead. He tries to mutter 
 a prayer ; but his voice fails him, and he goes 
 staggering forward. 'How's a' wi' ye?' 
 groans a sepulchral voice behind him ; and 
 a hundred voices seem to answer the query 
 with a peal of echoing laughter. Donald 
 groans, for he thinks he hears the voices of 
 the dead, and every moment expects to be 
 confronted by a legion of apparitions. There 
 is but one remedy, and that is the black 
 bottle. Stopping short, Donald puts the 
 bottle to his mouth, and, although it is half 
 full, he drains it to the dregs. ' Ha ! ha ! ' 
 laugh the voices. But a new soul has entered 
 into the piper, who is no longer appalled. 
 The caves ring with the wild shriek by which 
 he mimics and mocks the invisible ones. The 
 blood of generations of Mactavishes boils 
 boldly within him, and he utters a Highland 
 howl. On he trudges. So reckless does he 
 grow, that he grasps his pipes firmly, blows 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER loi 
 
 with might and main, and strikes up ' Gillie 
 Galium.' The vaulted passage rings with 
 the wild music — and, hark ! the voices join 
 in chorus. Was ever such a fantastic melody ! 
 Donald fairly enters into the fun of the thing, 
 and steps out in wild defiance. His invisible 
 companions now begin to play new pranks. 
 Unseen hands push him swiftly forward, 
 unseen fingers pinch his bare legs and pull 
 his hair, crawling things sit astride his nose ; 
 but whensoever he makes an attempt to 
 grasp any of the offenders he grasps the 
 empty air. Well, there is nothing for it but 
 to walk on, thinks he ; and he does walk on, 
 on, on, in the total darkness, along a passage 
 that winds around and around through the 
 bowels of the earth. There seems no pro- 
 spect of the journey coming to an ending. 
 At last, Donald is fairly wearied out — his 
 strength dies away in one expiring screech 
 of the bagpipes — his head whirls, and he 
 loses consciousness. Then there is a long 
 blank. 
 
 When Donald began to recover his senses 
 he became conscious of an indistinct chatter- 
 
102 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 ing murmur, as of voices wrangling at a short 
 distance ; and he first fancied, with a thrill of 
 horror, that his entrance into the underground 
 passage had been all a dream, and that he 
 was lying helpless at the mercy of Jean, the 
 tang-tongued one. He was soon undeceived. 
 He saw, on opening his eyes, a sight which 
 caused him to rub them in amazement. Was 
 he dreaming or drunk ? or both ? Did he 
 see actualities, or merely the phantoms of a 
 vision ? He was lying on his back upon a 
 grassy knoll ; high above him was the roof 
 of what seemed a vast underground cave — a 
 roof sparkling with shining crystal and glitter- 
 ing gems ; and he was surrounded by some 
 dozen living beings — the most comical little 
 fellows he had ever set eyes upon in his 
 life. 
 
 A dozen little wiry fellows, ranging from 
 one foot to two feet in height, and all big of 
 head and sinewy of limb. A dozen flaming- 
 red heads of shock hair ; a dozen pairs of long 
 filmy ears ; a dozen red pimply faces, orna- 
 mented with small pug noses, tiny blue 
 eyes, and great good-humoured mouths ; a 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 103 
 
 dozen pairs of thin bony legs clothed above 
 the knee in kilts of scarlet. The upper parts 
 of their bodies were unclothed ; the scarlet 
 kilt, in fact, being their only article of attire. 
 If their personal attire was peculiar, their 
 attitudes and gestures were no less so. Three 
 out of the dozen were rolling on the ground, 
 shrieking with immoderate laughter, holding 
 their sides, and pointing at the piper ; but 
 the other nine were sitting cross-legged at 
 short distances from each other on the grass, 
 gazing meditatively at the stranger, and puff- 
 ing in philosophic manner at long clay pipes. 
 Nothing seemed to disturb the composure of 
 these latter. Had they been mortals, one 
 would have decided that they were at that 
 particular point of drunkenness when all the 
 faculties become muddled, and grave egotism 
 reigns supreme. They exchanged remarks 
 in the usual style of pot-house worthies, the 
 speaker withdrawing his pipe from his mouth 
 at brief intervals, and delivering his words 
 between the whiffs and puffs. Their voices 
 seemed thick and harsh, and they spoke in 
 some unknown tongue. 
 
I04 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 Again and again Donald rubbed his eyes, 
 to assure himself that they were not making 
 fools of his other senses ; but no ! he could 
 not be mistaken. He sat up and looked 
 around him. Above, far as the eye could 
 see, stretched the high and glittering roof; 
 and around, on every side, were grassy 
 knolls and hills of sweet-smelling thyme. 
 Though the roof seemed of solid rock, and 
 though there was no sun, all was as clear as 
 daylight. 
 
 ' My conscience ! ' murmured Donald, in 
 Gaelic, ' my conscience ! where am I ? ' and 
 he gazed at the dwarfs in eager inquiry. 
 But the three merry ones only laughed 
 the more merrily, while the nine philoso- 
 phers smoked calmly, nodded to each other 
 sagaciously, and looked sidelong at the 
 stranger. 
 
 Donald's next proceeding was to rise to 
 his feet, shake himself, nod familiarly to the 
 philosophers, and wink at the merry ones. 
 He then became conscious of excessive thirst, 
 and, casting his eye around, saw to his joy a 
 bubbling spring, which sparkled clear and 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 105 
 
 fresh down the mossy sides of a rock close 
 by. Snatching off his bonnet, he scooped it 
 into a cup in Highland fashion, filled it at the 
 spring, and lifting it to his lips took a deep 
 draught. Spirit of Habbie Simpson ! Why 
 that amazed pause, that look of confusing 
 delight and consternation ? Why did Donald 
 roll his eyes, smack his lips, and utter a cry 
 of wonder ? The spring at which he was 
 drinking was not one of water, such as cools 
 the thirsty traveller's lips in lonely places in 
 the upper earth — it was one of whisky ! 
 
 And capital whisky, too ! Such whisky 
 as is seldom to be had for love or money — 
 whisky of a sweet savour, and mightily 
 strong. Stout drinker though he was, 
 Donald coughed and nearly choked with the 
 draught ; but he was too experienced to feel 
 any sentiment for that rocky still but one of 
 undisguised admiration. When he had drunk 
 his fill he strode back to the dwarfs, and tried, 
 by means of signs and nods and winks, to 
 conduct a conversation ; but the merry ones 
 Only laughed, and the philosophers smoked 
 on. Presently, however, one of the philoso- 
 
lo6 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 phers rose gravely, walked to Donald in a 
 very serious though zigzag manner, and, 
 touching the bagpipes with the end of his 
 clay pipe, peered up curiously into Donald's 
 face. He was evidently puzzled by the 
 instrument, and could not make out its use 
 or nature. Finding all efforts to explain in 
 words impossible, Donald grinned, and puff- 
 ing out his cheeks, startled the echoes of 
 that strange land with the merry strains of 
 ' Johnnie Cope.' At the first notes, the three 
 merry dwarfs began to frisk, dance, snap 
 their fingers, and utter cries of delight, and, 
 as the music continued, their gambols and 
 capers grew wilder and more extravagant, 
 until they rolled, fairly exhausted, on the 
 ground. Meantime the philosophers had 
 smoked on, only closing their eyes and smil- 
 ing feebly, as if yielding to the blissful sensa- 
 tions awakened by the sweet melody. When 
 Donald ceased, they opened their eyes again, 
 and smoked on philosophically as if nothing 
 had happened. 
 
 The merry ones now approached the 
 philosophers and made some hurried remarks. 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 107 
 
 which were responded to in monosyllables. 
 At last, the philosophers nodded their heads 
 gravely, and rising to their feet, pipe in 
 mouth, looked at the piper. Donald was 
 now made to understand, by the gestures of 
 the whole twelve, that he was to accom- 
 pany them somewhere or other ; and, by a 
 careless nod, he expressed his willingness to 
 obey. 
 
 He did not fail to note that all his new 
 friends, and particularly the philosophers, 
 seemed to have considerable difficulty in 
 keeping on their legs. The three merry ones 
 trotted along, beckoning him to follow, which 
 he did rather unsteadily, for the crystal well 
 had got into his head. The philosophers 
 brought up the rear in single file, staggering 
 gravely from side to side, and puffing still at 
 their clay pipes. 
 
 This fantastic procession had not pro- 
 ceeded far before it was augmented by many 
 other dwarfs, all presenting the same pecu- 
 liarities of feature, and all clad in the kilt of 
 red scarlet. Donald only glanced casually 
 at the new-comers ; but he noticed that some 
 
loS LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 came rushing merrily with shouts of laughter 
 down the thymy hills, while many rose 
 gravely from the ground, where they sat 
 quietly smoking. There were others, how- 
 ever, who presented more novel character- 
 istics ; not a few, for instance, were weeping. 
 All were more or less unsteady in their 
 gait. 
 
 Bigger and bigger grew the procession, 
 Donald towering in the midst. Louder and 
 louder grew the din of voices, until Donald 
 was so deafened with the clamour that he 
 struck up ' The Campbells are coming.' To 
 this martial melody stepped or rather stag- 
 gered the throng — an undulating mass of 
 red hair and discord. At last they ap- 
 proached the banks of a little river, which 
 sparkled coolly along through the greenery. 
 Donald, who was now hot and perspiring, 
 cast a longing eye at the stream, than which 
 nothing could look more tempting ; and 
 encouraged by the example of many of the 
 dwarfs, who had rushed to the bank and lain 
 down on their faces to drink, he stooped 
 down and dipped his face in the limpid wave. 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 109 
 
 Amazement! Up jumped Donald, glaring 
 fiercely. The river, like the spring, was 
 composed of whisky ! 
 
 He had scarcely regained his feet when 
 he found himself face to face with a little fat 
 dwarf, whose attire and gestures showed him 
 of greater dignity than the rest. A dwarf 
 certainly as broad as he was long, and in 
 length or breadth about two feet. His face 
 was red and good-humoured, but his long 
 white hair proved that he was of venerable 
 age. In addition to the scarlet kilt, he wore 
 a short cloak of red tartan, and a gilt crown, 
 cocked rakishly on one side of his head. He 
 was smoking a short cutty pipe. 
 
 This worthy bowed condescendingly to 
 Donald, and addressed him, to his amaze, in 
 language he could understand. 
 
 ' Welcome, honest piper,' he said, ' to the 
 kingdom of the Ayfoos^— a race o' whom 
 you'll maybe hae heard up yonner on the 
 earth, and o' which I hae the honour to be 
 king. How's a' wi' ye ? ' 
 
 ' How's a' wi' her ?' asked Donald, with 
 an indignant look. ' She's gasping for a 
 
no LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 drink o' cauld water, for she's as dry as a 
 kippered Loch Fyne herring.' 
 
 ' Water ! ' echoed the king, making a wry 
 face — ' water ! Awa' wi' the graceless loon 
 wha mentions that name in the land o' the 
 Ayfoos. If ane of these folk ' — pointing to 
 the dwarfs — ' had kenned your meaning, 
 honest man, they'd drown ye in whisky for 
 an ungrateful knave. But come awa', come 
 awa', come awa' ! Dinna stand glowering 
 there, but follow us. I hae long been in need 
 of a court piper, and if ye behave yoursel like 
 a decent man, your fortune's made.' 
 
 Thoroughly confused and puzzled, Donald 
 followed the king up the bank, where many 
 Ayfoos were still lying, dipping their faces 
 in the stream, and drinking deeply. His 
 Majesty led the way to a heathery knoll at 
 some little distance, on the top of which he 
 seated himself, surrounded by some score of 
 philosophers, who seemed his especial body- 
 guard. On all sides stretched the crowd, 
 talking and shouting, and Donald stood in 
 the midst, opposite to the king. The latter 
 waved his hand, and all was profound silence. 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER in 
 
 ' Noo, honest piper, play awa', play awa' ! ' 
 said his Majesty. ' Stop a wee — what do 
 they call ye ? ' 
 
 ' Tonald MacTavish is her name in her 
 ain country,' answered Donald, assuming a 
 respect, though he had it not. 
 
 ' Gude ! ' said the king, nodding his head 
 approvingly. 'Weel, then, Donald, play 
 awa' ! ' 
 
 The piper needed no further bidding, 
 but at once proceeded to show his skill. He 
 commenced softly, with a few dulcet bars of 
 ' Roy's Wife ; ' then, by a natural transition, 
 he passed off into the lively strains of 
 ' Maggie Lauder,' and thence, through a 
 variety of famous airs, gradually increasing 
 in force and spirit, until he reached ' Tulloch- 
 gorum.' He would have been no musician 
 if he had not forgot everything in the 
 enthusiasm awakened by his art ; stronger 
 and bolder grew his strains, until he was 
 fairly compelled to dance an accompaniment. 
 His example was first followed by the king, 
 and finally by the greater part of the crowd, 
 until Donald and hosts of his new friends 
 
112 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 were capering gaily to the strains of ' Tul- 
 lochgorum.' Only the philosophers kept 
 still, puffed their pipes, and looked on placidly. 
 At last Donald sank down exhausted, and 
 the music ceased. The king, falling back 
 upon his heathery throne, panted hard, gazed 
 admiringly at Donald, and tried to speak. 
 
 ' Eh, man ! ' he gasped at last, rolling his 
 eyes rapturously. ' Eh, Donald Mactavish, 
 you're a heavenly piper ! ' 
 
 Praise is praise from whomsoever it 
 comes ; and, moreover, his Majesty seemed 
 so sincere that Donald could not help feeling 
 flattered, so he laid his hand upon his heart 
 and bowed his acknowledgments. Just then 
 a lugubrious-looking dwarf stepped up, and, 
 muttering something unintelligible, seized 
 Donald by the hand ; then, with a lack-lustre 
 look of unutterable affection, he placed his 
 finger on his lips and walked away. He 
 was followed by another, who approached 
 wagging his head from side to side and 
 weeping silently, but who suddenly caught 
 Donald's eye, and, striking a pugilistic atti- 
 tude, made a playful attempt to hit him upon 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 113 
 
 the nose. He finally retired backwards, 
 dancing from side to side, and kicking out 
 feebly at vacancy. Whereupon the king 
 laughed heartily, rose from his seat, and, 
 taking Donald by the arm, led the way along 
 the river-side. As they proceeded, followed 
 by the crowd, his Majesty conversed in the 
 most affable manner, and vouchsafed much 
 interesting information. It was obvious that 
 he was a dwarf of great intelligence, much 
 superior to the bulk of his people. He 
 himself had travelled much, he said, on the 
 upper earth, for the purpose of studying the 
 human mode of manufacturing whisky, and 
 in the course of his rambles he had learned to 
 speak English ; but the whole of his people 
 were ignorant of any land beyond their own. 
 Were there no female Ayfoos ? Certainly 
 not ; the Ayfoos were immortal — that is to 
 say, they could only perish with the earth 
 itself, and there was consequently no necessity 
 to perpetuate the species. They were daily 
 renewed by means of the elixir vitce, or 
 whisky of life. They were divided into 
 several classes — alike in feature, but differing 
 
114 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 in temperament and character. First came 
 the philosophers, who dehberated on all the 
 important affairs of state, drew up the code 
 of laws, and were the cabinet advisers of 
 Majesty itself. Next in rank were the fekters, 
 or fighting body-guard, always ready on any 
 emergency to do battle against an enemy. 
 The remainder were divided into various 
 brotherhoods — such as those who watered 
 their whisky with tears, those who were 
 afflicted with poetic melancholia, and those 
 who professed inviolable secrecy and eternal 
 friendship. It was one of these latter who 
 had shaken Donald so affectionately by the 
 hand. In a valley by themselves dwelt the 
 Amphibi, who lived half in the whisky and 
 half in the earth, and who were utterly desti- 
 tute of reasoning faculties or intellectual self- 
 consciousness. 
 
 It further appeared, from the king's con- 
 versation, that Donald was the only mortal 
 who had ever ventured into that unknown 
 region, with the single exception of a fool- 
 hardy baron, who, centuries before, had 
 perished at the very outset of his adventure. 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 115 
 
 Intelligence had been conveyed to the king 
 that a second mortal had passed into his ter- 
 ritories, and he was about to order the execu- 
 tion of the offender, when he was startled by 
 the sound of far-away music, which he had at 
 once identified as the sound of bagpipes. 
 Now, the bagpipes being the instrument he 
 loved of all others, he sent scouts to make 
 inquiries, and the result was the discovery 
 that the new-comer was a piper. His Majesty 
 was delighted. Here was an opportunity of 
 supplying a want which he and his court had 
 long felt. So he ordered the piper to be 
 knocked down, in order that he might not 
 recollect his road of entrance, and to be as 
 speedily as possible conveyed to the royal 
 presence. 
 
 But how, asked Donald, was he, a poor 
 mortal, to subsist ? — what could he eat and 
 drink.? — how should he fulfil the require- 
 ments of his weak flesh ? These queries 
 were pooh-pooh'd by the king, who replied 
 to them, however, as follows : That Donald, 
 although a mortal, would be renewed by 
 
 means of the elixir ; that, to attain that end, 
 
 I 2 
 
ii6 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 he must consume as much of the elixir as 
 possible ; and that, in fact, the elixir was the 
 only article of diet known among the Ayfoos, 
 who, without it, would assuredly perish. Did 
 his Majesty, then, think it possible that he 
 (Donald) could actually exist — nay, even 
 exist beyond the mortal term, by merely 
 partaking of the whisky of life ? Certainly. 
 In that case, thought Donald, affairs were 
 not so bad as he had feared ; the diet might 
 be a little peculiar at first, but, after all, it 
 would turn out advantageous. His face 
 brightened. His only regret, he said, was 
 that there was not a little to dilute the elixir, 
 the latter being so confoundedly strong. 
 
 The king of the Ayfoos frowned. 
 
 ' Donald Mactavish,' he said, ' heavenly 
 piper though ye are, beware ! I hae warned 
 ye once — I hae warned ye twice — but for the 
 better guidance o' your misleaded spirit, look 
 there ! ' 
 
 With these words, the monarch halted on 
 a rude bridge, which crossed a narrow and 
 slowly-flowing stream, and pointed down- 
 ward. Donald gazed down upon the stream, 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 117 
 
 and saw, to his surprise, that soft clouds of 
 steam floated upward from the murmuring 
 wave. A hundred yards farther on, the 
 waters mingled with those of which he had 
 previously drunk, and the two currents, united 
 into one, flowed swiftly round a curve. 
 
 ' This, Donald Mactavish, is the Aqua, a 
 wee tributary o' the river of which ye tasted, 
 and which we ca' the Vita, The waves o' 
 the Aqua are indeed composed o' what 
 mortals ca' water, but with this difference, 
 they're aye boiling hot. Cauld water, Donald, 
 is death to an Ayfoo. Noo, come awa', this 
 way ! ' 
 
 His Majesty, followed by Donald and the 
 dwarf-crowd, crossed the bridge, and walked 
 swiftly in the direction of the spot where the 
 two streams united ; but, ere long, he entered 
 the shade of a wood, and, after walking under 
 green boughs for some distance, descended 
 a rocky and precipitous path. At last, on 
 arriving at the bottom of the descent, he 
 entered a bright glen, and balancing himself 
 on the edge of a huge rock, pointed upward. 
 With a cry of wonder and admiration, Donald 
 
ii8 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 beheld a sight which, until then, had only 
 been dreamed of by mortal brain. 
 
 High above him were snow-white cliffs, 
 over which a foaming cataract leaped with 
 gorgeous sparkles, and fell with a soft sweet 
 murmur into a huge basin scooped in solid 
 rock below. Beside the basin grew a lemon- 
 tree, which bent downward with heavily-laden 
 branches, and occasionally dropped a golden 
 lemon into the pool. Over this picture floated 
 a soft stream, which formed itself into many 
 fantastic shapes, and smelt very savoury in 
 the nostrils. 
 
 While Donald was gazing upward in 
 wonder, many of the dwarfs, climbing wildly 
 over rocks and stones, approached the basin, 
 lay down, and drank eagerly. Even the 
 philosophers forgot their dignity, and partook 
 with rapturous eye-rollings. 
 
 ' These,' said the king, proudly, with a 
 wave of the hand, 'these, Donald, are the 
 ") Falls of Wuskitoddy, and you'll grant that 
 they mak' a sweet picture. Wonderful are 
 the provisions of nature, Donald ! Above 
 these cliffs, the Aqua and the Vita mingle. 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 119 
 
 and, flowing downward, sweeten themsel's 
 wi' the melting bits o' snowy rock. Run, 
 my man, and taste o' yon rippling well, and 
 gie's your candid opinion o' the manufacture.' 
 
 Donald obeyed, and, bending over the 
 basin, drank cautiously ; but in a moment 
 his face gleamed with joy, and he drank as 
 eagerly as the rest. The waters were nectar 
 newly brewed — a tipple divine enough for 
 the gods — flavouring sweetly of sugar, and 
 with just the tiniest dash of the lemon. As 
 Donald returned to the king, he picked up 
 a small fragment of the white cliffs, and 
 placed it in his mouth. It tasted exceedingly 
 like loaf sugar. 
 
 ' Weel, Donald, weel ? ' exclaimed the 
 king, when the piper again returned to his 
 side. Donald did not reply in words, but 
 his countenance evinced his exquisite appre- 
 ciation of the epicurean draught. Royalty 
 smiled triumphantly. 
 
 What followed seemed to Donald a wild 
 dream. Scarcely had he partaken of the 
 nectar, when he began to feel unsteady on 
 his legs. Then his head swam, and his veins 
 
120 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 became full of warmth and bliss. Striking 
 up 'Tullochgorum,' he went dancing up the 
 path by which he had descended, and was 
 followed by the king of the Ayfoos and all 
 his people. Selecting a grassy knoll, he 
 placed himself in the centre, and discoursed 
 his excellent music to the applauding crowd. 
 Next, his head swam more and more, but, 
 clearing suddenly, it left him in the mood 
 called philosophic. Snatching a pipe from 
 one of the philosophers, he seated himself 
 cross-legged on the grass, and for some time 
 smoked in silence. Suddenly recollecting, 
 however, that he had on the upper earth a 
 dear wife, whom he had not appreciated at 
 her worth, he began to weep copiously. In 
 the midst of his tears he looked at the king, 
 and, impressed with the discovery that he 
 had never seen a face so full of benevolence 
 and sympathy, he sprang up, wrung his 
 Majesty's hand, and swore eternal friendship. 
 Unfortunately, the king happened to smile, 
 which caused Donald such grievous offence, 
 that he started back fiercely, and was on the 
 point of committing a personal assault, when 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 121 
 
 the earth reeled under him, and he fell to the 
 ground unconscious. 
 
 On recovering himself, he became con- 
 scious of racking headache, sore bones, and 
 excessive thirst. His pipes had disappeared, 
 and he was lying on his back under the cool 
 shade of a lemon tree. All around him were 
 the crowd of dwarfs, and close to him stood 
 the king. Bending over him, and feeling 
 his pulse, was a smoking philosopher, whose 
 countenance expressed deep meditation, and 
 who said something in a low tone to his 
 Majesty. 
 
 ' Let the doctor see your tongue, Donald, 
 my man ! ' observed the king, good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 With a lugubrious grimace, Donald 
 obeyed the mandate. A look of deep mean- 
 ing passed over the face of the physician, 
 who drew out a pair of small tablets, and 
 wrote down the following prescription, of 
 which the piper was fortunate enough to get 
 a glimpse — 
 
 ' Die, aq. vit. ad lib. Node, poc. Whusk- 
 toddii.' — FouENEUCH, R. M.' 
 
122 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 Unfortunately the above was quite un- 
 intelligible to Donald, who was soon to 
 know, however, its full significance. Before 
 he could remonstrate, a goblet of whisky 
 was poured down his throat, and at the same 
 time the king, slapping him on the back, 
 bade him be of good cheer. Donald looked 
 rather lugubrious, for the time had come 
 when his stomach revolted at the sight of 
 the elixir ; but there was no help for it. 
 
 Closing his eyes, he sank upon his back 
 and meditated. It was clear enough that a 
 longer residence in the country of the Ayfoos 
 would prove fatal to him. Already he began 
 to feel the pangs of hunger ; his brain 
 seemed on fire, and his eyes and throat were 
 burning. What should he do ? Shade of 
 Habbie, how could he escape ? He knew 
 of no outlet from that strange land ; and 
 even if he had known, escape still seemed 
 impossible. A deep groan escaped him, and 
 he opened his eyes. To his horror, he saw 
 the king stooping over him with another 
 draught of the elixir. The sight was mad- 
 ness. In the despair of that moment, how- 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER ii^ 
 
 ever, there occurred to him a wild idea, 
 which he determined to carry out, even if 
 the result should be fatal. 
 
 ' Hold a wee, hold a wee ! ' he murmured, 
 pushing back the outstretched hand. 
 
 ' Drink, Donald Mactavish ! ' said the 
 king, with paternal severity. ' If ye neglect 
 the prescription o' our ain doctor, the danger 
 be on your ain head. If ye spurn the elixir, 
 ye must dee.' 
 
 ' Och, she'll trink fast enough,' gasped 
 Donald, conjuring up a look of mock rapture 
 as he gazed at the draught. ' But hold a 
 wee ! She wouldna seem ungrateful. Gude- 
 ness kens she would choose to dwell aye in 
 this heavenly land : but, for your Majesty's 
 ain sake, tak' tent lest she prove the ruin o' 
 your whole folk.' 
 
 ' What mean ye ? ' asked the king, with 
 a suspicious frown. 
 
 ' Dule to the day she cam' awa frae her 
 ain country, where her ain kinsmen are like 
 her nainsell. Dule, dule ! swear that ye' 11 
 no' take her life if she tells ye the truth. 
 Swear ye'll hae mercy on a puir mitherless 
 
124 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 lad wi' the curse o' the Hielans on her 
 Hi elan shouthers ! ' 
 
 ' Speak, Donald Mactavish ! ' said the 
 king, sternly. ' We will be merciful ! ' 
 
 Donald clasped his hands, and raised his 
 eyes upward with a look of mock appeal. 
 
 ' She's a puir Hielanman, and ane wha's 
 travelled far kens what the Hielans are 
 famed for forbye whisky ? Och, ish, O ! 
 och, ish, O ! Dinna be hard upon her, for as 
 sure as she's a puir Hielan piper, she's got 
 the Hielan .' Without finishing the sen- 
 tence, he clasped his hands, and significantly 
 scratched the back of the one with the 
 fingers of the other. 
 
 Awful was the consternation, the anger, 
 the horror depicted on the countenance of 
 the king of the Ayfoos. He called in a loud 
 voice to the assembled dwarfs, who answered 
 the call with one weird shriek of rage and 
 terror, and then, clenching his hands and 
 grinding his teeth, he was about to rush 
 on the terror-stricken mortal. On second 
 thoughts, however, he sprang back, shudder- 
 ing, far out of the range of the piper's person. 
 
LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 125 
 
 The next moment Donald, who had fallen 
 on his knees, received a blow from behind, 
 which deprived him of all sense. He did 
 not recover until he found himself, to his 
 amaze, stuck in the middle of the wheat- 
 sheaf, and gazing on the amazed reapers. 
 He must have been conveyed upward, while 
 insensible, through some mysterious hole in 
 the earth, the presence of his person, dead 
 or living, among the Ayfoos being held, 
 perhaps, dangerous and abominable. 
 
 Such was the story related by the Mys- 
 terious Piper, and I leave the reader to put 
 upon it what construction he pleases. I have 
 only a few more words to add. Some hours 
 after the reapers had left the Piper with the 
 minister, the latter ran down into the village, 
 inquiring for his late companion,, who had 
 suddenly run away. But no one had seen 
 the fugitive, and all search for him was un- 
 availing. The Reverend Solomon, after 
 fruitlessly examining the harvest-field in 
 search of any inlet to the under-earth, made 
 a pilgrimage to Glasgow, and sought in vain 
 
126 LEGEND OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIPER 
 
 to discover Donald or his cronies. All he 
 succeeded in ascertaining was that one Alis- 
 ter Macdonald, twenty years before, had 
 been sexton of the cathedral ; of Jeanie 
 Mactavish, or of the Souter, he could find no 
 
 traces. On returning to , he made the 
 
 whole account - public, and was immensely 
 laughed at by the wiseacres. Some of the 
 credulous, however, believed the story, and 
 held it a striking sermon on the evils of in- 
 temperance. 
 
 What was the opinion of Solomon him- 
 self it is difficult to tell ; but he was heard 
 once to observe, that the man might or 
 might not have been an impostor, yet there 
 were more things in earth, and under the 
 earth, than many dreamed of, and verily, 
 whisky was a feckless thing ; yet if Donald, 
 poor body, was an inventor, he was a genius 
 in his way, to whom might be applied a 
 parody of the words of Horatius, Non tu 
 corptis eras — sine spiritu. 
 
TH^: BROKEN TRYST 
 
 ' I. 
 
 i 
 
 HIS ae night, this ae night, 
 
 Every night and all. 
 Remember me, my heart's delight, 
 Now Christ receives my saul.' 
 
 on her bed of death she lay 
 'As white and still as snow, 
 Wearily, dimly, in her eyes 
 I The light of life burned low. 
 
 Jbadly she keek'd into my face 
 f And sighed her last farewell ; 
 ;And all around God's snow lay deep 
 f On mountain and in dell. 
 
 /' O Marjorie ! — my Marjorie — 
 
 / I'm weeping for thy sake. 
 
 I Without thy love the world is dark, 
 
 / And my poor heart must break ! 
 
128 I THE BROKEJ^ TJ^ST 
 
 rm^s 
 
 / 
 The wind roared shrill ; the lonely bield 
 
 Shook like a stormtost tree, 
 
 But gently as a sleeping bai 
 
 My true-love smiled on m 
 
 ' This ae night, this ae night, 
 Every night and all, 
 Remennber me, my heart's deli|tht. 
 Now Christ receives my saulA 
 
 ' Remember that I loved thee desir, 
 And loved nae man but thee. 
 Remember most when Death co^nes near 
 To set thy spirit free. 
 
 ' Lift up thy head, my own true love. 
 And dinna weep for me ; ' 
 
 In yonder land beyond the grave 
 Our trysting-place shall be. 
 
 ' The Lord has whispered in my ear 
 Of that sweet promised land ; \ 
 There thou shalt keek into my face 
 And take me by the hand. 
 
 ' There, where the skies are ever clear, 
 And falls nae snaw or rain, 
 I'll keep the tryst I gave thee here. 
 And kiss thee once again.' 
 
THE BROKEN TRYST 129 
 
 Weeping, I held unto her lips 
 
 The silver Cross of Christ. 
 She kissed the cross, and as she died 
 
 She sware to keep our tryst. 
 
 II. 
 
 Silent she slept upon her bed, 
 
 Done with all human care ; 
 We held the mirror to her mouth — 
 
 No touch of breath was there. 
 
 We wrapped her in her shroud, and placed 
 
 Her hands upon her breast, 
 And then the lyke-wake dirge was sung 
 
 About her bed of rest. 
 
 ' This ae night, this ae night. 
 Every night and all. 
 Fire and salt and candlelight. 
 And Christ receive thy saul ! ' 
 
 Heavily, heavily beat my heart 
 
 Beneath its load of pain ; 
 But I remembered while I wept 
 
 Our tryst to meet again. 
 
 I listened to the grey-hair'd priest 
 Who knelt and prayed with me — 
 
 God shrive his soul ! By Christ his Cross 
 He swore that tryst should be ! 
 
 K 
 
130 THE BROKEN TRYST 
 
 And when across the white, white snow 
 They bore the light, light bier, 
 
 I followed slowly in a dream 
 And didna shed a tear. 
 
 And when upon the coffin-lid 
 They shook the cruel clay, 
 
 Although my heart was torn in twain 
 My soul was far away. 
 
 My soul was thinking of its tryst 
 In that fair promised land — 
 
 I saw my true-love waiting there, 
 A lily in her hand. 
 
 ' O Marjorie ! sweet Marjorie ! — 
 My own dear Marjorie ! 
 'Tis only for a little while, 
 And I shall come to thee ! ' 
 
 I blest the promise of the priest 
 I blest the Cross of Christ ; 
 
 And day and night, in weal or woe, 
 I thought of that last tryst. 
 
 III. 
 
 Winds of the world, how bleak ye blew 
 
 About my feeble form ! 
 Snows of the world, how oft I bent 
 
 Beneath your wintry storm ! 
 
THE BROKEN TRYST 131 
 
 Yet even when the strife was worst 
 
 I fought and rose upright, 
 Beyond the darkness of the storm 
 
 I saw a heavenly light. 
 
 It beckoned me from far away, 
 
 And shrove my soul from sin ; 
 The lattices of Heaven blew wide 
 
 To show that light within. 
 
 What reck'd I of the daily strife, 
 
 The hourly pain and care .? 
 Boldly I met the storms of life, 
 
 Because my tryst was there. 
 
 As one who flies to meet his love, 
 
 Despite the wintry blast. 
 Patient and strong, because he knows 
 
 That they must meet at last — 
 
 That softly on his aching heart 
 
 Her cheek will pillow'd be ; 
 That from the spell of Love's despair 
 
 Her kiss will set him free — 
 
 That lonely in the lonely night 
 
 They two at last will stand, 
 Keeping the tryst with happy tears 
 
 Together, hand in hand. 
 
 K 3 
 
132 THE BROKEN TRYST 
 
 Yet sometimes, as I dreed my weird, 
 
 And knelt to say a prayer, 
 I heard upon the moaning wind 
 
 Faint wailings of despair ! 
 
 Wild voices from the shores of Death 
 Cried, ' Sleep, eternal sleep ! ' 
 
 Wild voices from the depths of Hell 
 Answered like deep to deep. 
 
 And one cried, ' He who promised life 
 Hath given but husks for bread ! 
 
 How should He break the bonds of Death 
 Since He Himself is dead ? ' 
 
 And one cried, ' Cease to wail, since life 
 
 Is but the breaking wave ! ' 
 And one, ' Poor lamp of life blown out 
 
 By winds from the gusty grave ! ' 
 
 I stopt my ears, I didna heed, 
 
 I knelt upon my knee. 
 And swore by Christ to keep my tryst 
 
 Yonder with Marjorie ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Methought, as all alone I sat 
 
 Beside life's surging sea, 
 Death pluck'd me by the sleeve, and said, 
 
 ' Rise up, and come with me ! ' 
 
THE BROKEN TRYST 133 
 
 Shrouded in white from head to foot, 
 
 He walked from field to field ; 
 And lo ! I followed him until 
 
 He stopped at mine own bield. 
 
 He raised the latch and let me in. 
 
 ' 'Tis time to sleep,' he said. 
 And took me in his lean old arms 
 
 And laid me on my bed. 
 
 And weary of the storm and strife. 
 
 The sleep-stoure blinding me, 
 I calmly looked into his face 
 
 And thought of Marjorie. 
 
 He waved his thin hands o'er me thrice ; 
 
 I didna moan or weep, 
 But peacefully I closed my een 
 
 And sank to my last sleep. 
 
 V. 
 
 ' This ae night, this ae night. 
 Every night and all. 
 Fire and salt and candlelight, 
 And Christ receive his saul.' 
 
 I heard the sound as in a dream 
 
 Blown on the wind to me. 
 While 'midst the wintry wold I walk'd 
 
 To my tryst with Marjorie. 
 
134 THE BROKEN TRYST 
 
 Swiftly I walked in my winding-sheet, 
 
 Living though I had died ; 
 In a waste of weariful snow I walked, 
 
 With the angel Death for guide. 
 
 But as I walked the wold grew light, 
 And the frosty stars shone clear. 
 
 And the land I saw grew like the land 
 I had kenn'd for many a year. 
 
 Across the little bridge we passed 
 
 With still and soundless tread. 
 And a light was burning at our backs 
 
 In the bield where I lay dead. 
 
 And up above the windy hill 
 
 There came a siller fire. 
 And the moon rose up like a great white moth 
 
 Above the black kirk-spire. 
 
 And I kenn'd the kirkyard by the wood 
 Where they laid my Marjorie doon. 
 
 And the wintry wold was white below, 
 And the heavens were bright aboon. 
 
 ' O Death, our tryst was far away. 
 In a sunny promised land ! ' 
 And Death was dumb, but walk'd before 
 And beckon'd with his hand. 
 
THE BROKEN TRYST 135 
 
 We stood alone in the white kirkyard, 
 
 Under the black yew-tree, 
 And I saw her grave and the grey gravestane 
 
 With the name of Marjorie. 
 
 And the place was dim with weary ghaists 
 
 Who wandered to and fro, 
 And the moon shone through their shapes, 
 that cast 
 
 Nae shade upon the snow. 
 
 ' O Marjorie ! — my Marjorie ! — 
 If this be our trysting-place. 
 Arise, dear love, out of thy grave. 
 And let me see thy face ! ' 
 
 And the voice of Death, like a voice in sleep. 
 Spake up and answer'd me : 
 ' The sleep-stoure fills her eyes and ears 
 That neither hear nor see. 
 
 ' Never again the sun or moon 
 Shall shine on Marjorie — 
 Never again shall thy true-love rise 
 To keep her tryst with thee ! 
 
 ' He lied who swore by Christ His Cross 
 That you should meet again ! 
 Lie down, lie down, and hush thy moans, 
 For all thy quest is vain ! 
 
136 THE BROKEN TRYST 
 
 ' But yonder lies the open grave 
 That they have dug for thee ; 
 As sound as hers for evermore 
 Thy sleep shall surely be ! 
 
 ' This ae night, this ae night, 
 Every night and all. 
 Fire and salt and candlelight, 
 And Death to keep thy saul ! ' 
 
 I faded away beneath his touch 
 
 Under the pale moonbeam, 
 And with a waeful cry I woke, 
 
 And lo ! it was a dream ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 A dream ! and leaping from my bed 
 
 I saw the light o' day. 
 And the Sabbath bells were ringing loud, 
 
 And folk flocked forth to pray. 
 
 I wandered to the old kirkyard. 
 And 'neath the dark yew-tree 
 
 I saw the grave and the white gravestane 
 With the name of Marjorie ! 
 
 And by the little grave I bent 
 And sighed the much-loved name 
 
 And on my brow, like blessed dew 
 The Sabbath music came. 
 
THE BROKEN TRYST 137 
 
 ' O Death ! ' I cried, ' whose cruel hand 
 Hath my dear Marjorie ta'en, 
 Whene'er my heart is faint with fear 
 Send me that dream again ! 
 
 ' Teach me how wae the world would be 
 If that sad dream were true ! ' — 
 The kirkbells rang, and overhead 
 The skies were bonnie and blue ! 
 
 ' Not here — not here — but far away 
 Our trysting-place shall be ; 
 There, with a lily in her hand. 
 Still waits my Marjorie ! ' 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY ^ 
 
 PART I 
 
 Y father — Edward Hayman, Esq., at 
 the post office, but more familiarly 
 called the Squire — lived with my 
 mother and myself at the little 
 Scotch village of Ivihaugh. Our house, with 
 its grounds, lay in the immediate vicinity of 
 the village, and not far from the parish- 
 church. The country for many miles around 
 was low and marshy ; but our house, being 
 slightly elevated above the plain, was not 
 unhealthy. It was a lonely house, and had 
 
 ' Founded on papers and letters in the possession of the 
 Rev. Solomon Habbielove, sometime minister of Ivihaugh. 
 
140 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 been occupied hundreds of years before by- 
 some tilting baron and his proud-faced dame. 
 In summer, the marshes around looked green 
 and monotonous, sunny, and without a tree. 
 In winter, when the snow fell and the wind 
 blew, the old house shook, and the white 
 plains around changed their hues quickly 
 and trancedly, like the face of a dying man. 
 
 My father was an English gentleman of 
 liberal means, and liked his dull acres better 
 than brilliant streets ; but he laid no claim to 
 the popular and much-misunderstood title of 
 old English gentleman. He ate and drank 
 sparingly ; he never swore. Sedentary 
 habits, contracted in early life, made him 
 regard out-of-door exertion as a bore. A 
 listless and tasteful reader, he busied himself 
 chiefly in the recesses of a small and prettily- 
 lined bandbox, which we called his study. 
 
 , He was a literary idler, not a bookworm. 
 
 / My mother (whom a matrimonial creed of 
 
 submission rendered pious) made him the 
 
 : small god of the household ; for, like many 
 other women, she regarded a domesticity 
 which arose from idleness as a delicate com- 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 141 
 
 pliment to herself. So, like many other lazy 
 domestic men, my father was stubbornly 
 good-natured, and laid down the law absolute 
 to us weak women. 
 
 I was an only child. I had been spoilt 
 by my mother before she became a fidget, 
 and by my father before he became domestic. 
 When I attained my eighteenth year, how- 
 ever, I found that neither position nor edu- 
 cation could do more for me ; and you will 
 be surprised to hear that I was unhappy. 
 Why? 
 
 I was ' plain.' 
 
 Of all innocently miserable human beings, 
 your ' plain ' girl is, to my thinking, most 
 entitled to pity. She sits unnoticed in her 
 corner, while her handsome sisters waltz and 
 coquet under the chandeliers. If good, she 
 is pitied. If ill-natured, she has no power to 
 conceal her defect by awakening the senti- 
 ment of beauty. She suffers in silence, not 
 always patiently, — for neglect is not always 
 productive of pleasant emotions. Alas, for 
 the plain spinster and for the plain wife ! If 
 they do marry, plain girls often become 
 
142 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 unhappy wives. Either they feel for their 
 husbands a gratitude in proportion to their 
 own personal defects, and are consequently 
 deficient in self-dignity ; or having previously 
 been rendered cholical by repeated disap- 
 pointments, they degenerate into careless 
 slatterns or jealous scolds. 
 
 For myself, I became moody and sus- 
 picious. I felt in secret the indescribable 
 feminine yearning for a bosom, alien from 
 my own, into which, as into a mould, my 
 young emotions might pour themselves, and 
 form into a purely grateful and happy 
 character. I experienced all the day-dreams 
 peculiar to young women. But — I was 
 ' plain.' Conscious of this fact, and too 
 proud to unburden my heart through my 
 tongue or eyes, I became moody and sus- 
 picious, and was, as a consequence, con- 
 sidered unamiable. 
 
 My father was not a sociable man, and 
 we saw few visitors. I had made some few 
 acquaintances at a boarding-school in the 
 south ; but the girls, old schoolmates, whom 
 I had occasionally invited to see me, disliked 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 143 
 
 our dull home, and soon hastened to depart 
 from it. Once gone, they seldom returned 
 again. Thus I was gradually left without 
 companions of my own age, and the result 
 was just what any woman wiser than my 
 mother would have anticipated. Mamma 
 thought that I was growing domesticated ; 
 but in point of fact I was fast becoming 
 morbid. Habitual isolation from men and 
 things had not rendered my father much 
 sharper-sighted. 
 
 Accustomed to study minutely the in- 
 dividuality of the few people I sometimes 
 met, I began to esteem myself a physiogno- 
 mist. So confident, indeed, was I in the 
 acuteness of my penetration, that I fancied I 
 was able to read the characters of people at 
 a glance. I had Physiognomy to thank for 
 making me fond of the society of the Rev. 
 Mr. Macbraith, the minister of Ivihaugh 
 Church. 
 
 For personal appearance, the Rev. Mr. 
 Macbraith was spare, tall, and large of bone ; 
 his complexion was olive, and his hair was 
 deep black. His lank and cleanly-shaven 
 
144 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 face owed its charm to the eyes, which, 
 although deep-set, were bright and piercing, 
 and beamed with mingled sagacity and 
 human kindness. A stranger, passing him 
 in a crowded street, could not have failed to 
 recognise in him a man eccentric and above 
 the common. The tall, sinewy frame, the 
 raven-black and curlless hair, the pensive 
 countenance, formed only a portion of his 
 eccentric figure. For he was accustomed to 
 wear a long, old-fashioned cloak, fastened at 
 the throat by metallic clasps, and a hat such 
 as Guy Fawkes wore, but without the feather. 
 He was younger than either his looks or his 
 dress. He was only thirty-five years old 
 when I first found a friend in him. 
 
 As a pastor, Mr. Macbraith was generally 
 liked by his parishioners, however much their 
 canny Scotch heads distrusted his eccen- 
 tricities. One or two of the gentry, how- 
 ever, opposed him. A hater of cant in any 
 shape, he had been accustomed to express 
 opinions which these gentry pronounced 
 heterodox. But. at the houses of the poor 
 he was a constant visitor, he led a quiet, 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 145 ' 
 
 blameless, almost ascetic life ; and his 
 enemies, who could find no vulnerable point 
 in his character, covertly attacked his 
 opinions. By my father he was especially y 
 disliked. It was well that my father was not 
 a church-going man, as he and the minister 
 avoided each other on all occasions. When 
 they did meet, Mr. Macbraith was not slow 
 to return incivility with scornful coldness. 
 This was not mere natural want of sympathy 
 with one another. I felt persuaded that at 
 the bottom of their antipathy lay causes in 
 their past life of which I knew nothing. 
 They had met before ; and in their previous \ 
 meeting lay the secret of their present 
 coldness. 
 
 Not until I was eighteen years of age did i , 
 the Rev. Mr. Macbraith obtain the Ivihaugh 
 living. When he came first to fulfil his 
 pastoral duties among us, I had only just left 
 a boarding-school, where I had passed three 
 dull years. His predecessor had gone over 
 to the English Church, been serviceable to 
 the Church party as a pamphleteer, and had 
 just received the reward of charlatanism, in 
 
 L 
 
146 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 the shape of a fat living and a vague promise 
 of a future bishopric. 
 
 ' Papa,' I said, as we sat at dinner 
 together, ' have you heard the name of the 
 new minister ? ' 
 
 Papa listlessly lifted up his eyes from the 
 leading article of the ' Times,' and replied in 
 the negative. 
 
 ' The Rev. Mr. Macbraith.' 
 
 I was aghast to see my mother turn 
 snowy pale, and tremble as if about to faint. 
 My father's face grew black with anger or 
 terror, and he dropped the newspaper from 
 his quivering fingers. 
 
 ' Macbraith ! What Macbraith ? ' he 
 gasped, with ah ineffectual effort to appear 
 calm. 
 
 ' The Rev. Richard Macbraith,' I an- 
 swered, with some anxiety. 
 
 At the answer papa rose, and began 
 pacing hurriedly up and down the room, as 
 if unable to control his emotions. He was 
 fearfully agitated, and his face and lips had 
 turned quite white. 
 
 Edward ! ' cried poor mamma, in a 
 querulous tone. 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 147 
 
 He made no answer, but turned to me 
 angrily. 
 
 ' Jean, who told you that this new 
 minister was named Richard Macbraith ? ' 
 
 ' Why, all the village is talking about it ; 
 and he is expected to deliver his first sermon 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 My father was tall and handsome ; but 
 his rage made him shrink like a crouching 
 dog. 
 
 'And after a',' murmured mamma, in the 
 Doric, plaintively, ' it may not be our Richard 
 Macbraith ! ' 
 
 ' Bah ! I am not more certain that I live 
 and breathe than that this is — our curse, our 
 enemy. Oh, it's hard, hard. Why has Fate 
 willed that he and I should again meet face 
 to face, after the long years of ease and 
 safety ? Why isn't he dead ? ' ^ 
 
 ' He canna hairm you, dear,' broke in 
 
 mamma. 
 
 Papa gnashed his teeth together, and 
 
 laughed in hollow mockery as he sneeringly 
 
 answered : ' Cannot harm me ? No. That 
 
 is, he can't go into a witness-box and swear 
 
 L 2 
 
148 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 my life away. He can't rob me of the 
 money I've saved ; and he wouldn't if he 
 could, — curse him, I'll do him that justice. 
 But I'll tell you, my woman, what he can do. 
 He can creep about with his Infernal tales, 
 libel me, and rob me of my good name. He 
 can make the very shopmen turn their backs 
 
 upon me. He can ' here his eye fell 
 
 suddenly upon me, and he recollected him- 
 self — ' Jean, leave the room.' 
 
 He waved me away angrily, and I obeyed. 
 By-and-by mamma came out of the room. 
 I had gone to my bedchamber, and there she 
 found me. Her eyes were red with weeping, 
 and her voice was fretful ; but it was her 
 frightened and scared manner that most 
 appalled me. 
 
 ' It's vera hard indeed, exceedingly hard,' 
 she sobbed, ' that your puir faither is to be 
 plagued in this way by the man he hates 
 and fears maist. And, Jean, ye are to 
 avoid Mr. Macbraith as much as possible ; 
 but tak' care no' to offend him. Dear me, I 
 kent him when I was no aulder than you ; 
 and before I met your puir father, Richard 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 149 
 
 Macbraith was only a wean then. He is a 
 vera, vera, bad man ; and I would hae gien 
 the warl' rather than that your puir faither 
 should hae met him again.' 
 
 And mamma went on to say, tearfully, 
 that papa was determined to hear the new 
 minister on the following day, in order to be 
 sure that it was the same person ; and that 
 she had tried in vain to persuade him to stop 
 at home. But my father was peremptory, 
 and brooked no advisers. It was arranged 
 that we were all to go to church in company, 
 ostensibly out of the curiosity to see and 
 hear a new preacher. 
 
 Confident of my powers as a physiogno- 
 mist, I was all curiosity to see the man of 
 whom my father and mother stood in such 
 unwholesome dread. I saw him. He was 
 such as I have already described him ; but 
 probably for the reason that my mind had 
 been prejudiced against him beforehand, my 
 first impression of him was not a favourable 
 one. I fancied, somehow, that he had a 
 sinister look ; that he was not only unamiable, 
 but sly and secret. 
 
ISO MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 He preached a forcible, but slightly trans- 
 cendental, sermon, some parts of which were 
 too involved for our simple comprehension. 
 He appeared to wander a good deal in 
 imagination, and to possess a lofty contempt 
 for trifles. Strange to say, my home educa- 
 tion considered, I was of an essentially prac- 
 tical turn of mind. I did not dream. I acted 
 always on fixed principles. If I erred, it 
 was because the principles themselves were 
 erroneous. 
 
 I must not forget to state that Mr. Mac- 
 braith, shortly after entering the pulpit, 
 turned very pale, and seemed violently 
 agitated, on perceiving my father and mother. 
 It was some minutes before he spoke coolly 
 or clearly ; but the congregation attributed 
 his agitation to diffidence. Our pew was 
 situated quite close to the pulpit ; and I could 
 not help remarking that, throughout the 
 sermon, an inner and irreligious strife was 
 going on in the preacher's bosom. Once or 
 twice his eye fell upon me — sorrowfully, as I 
 could not help fancying. 
 
 Mr. Macbraith called upon most of his 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 151 
 
 parishioners, to introduce himself; but he 
 came not near our house. 
 
 ' I know him of old,' I heard my father 
 say. ' He is plotting, plotting.' 
 
 But we never visited the kirk again. 
 My mother and I walked five miles every 
 Sunday to a neighbouring village, and at- 
 tended service there. My father grumbled 
 at home, and, in his dislike of one man, 
 libelled the clergy generally. Once or twice 
 he met Mr. Macbraith by accident, and 
 gave him a bow, which was half a scowl. 
 On one of these occasions, I saw the lips 
 of the minister curl scornfully, as a dark 
 cloud crept suddenly across his thoughtful 
 features. 
 
 Months passed on. The servants told 
 me strange stories about the minister's lonely 
 life. He lived alone in the Manse, attended 
 by an old woman, his housekeeper ; and 
 performed the duties of his vocation metho- 
 dically and successfully. 
 
 All at once I began to be interested in 
 him ; his animosity to my father, and his 
 lonely life, awakened my curiosity ; his prac- 
 
152 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 tical kindness, of which I heard much, 
 awakened my esteem. I found myself argu- 
 ing his blameless character and his pensive 
 aspect against the angry words of my father. 
 Surely he could not be a bad man. A strict, 
 severe man, perhaps, but not a bad man. 
 Might not my father, who was hot and head- 
 strong, himself be the wrong-doer ? Might 
 not their coldness have arisen from a quarrel, 
 of which my father's hot temper had been 
 the cause ? So much for physiognomy. I 
 began to question my own penetration. 
 
 It was in one of my rural wanderings 
 that Mr. Macbraith and I first met and ex- 
 changed words. It was in summer-time. I 
 was loitering down one of the green country 
 lanes, when I saw him approaching me, with 
 a book in his hand. Before I could avoid 
 him we met face to face. He turned alter- 
 nately red and pale. Then he took off his 
 hat, and bowed. 
 
 ' Miss Hayman ? ' he inquired, with a 
 half-smile of encouragement. 
 
 I bowed in the affirmative. He went on 
 quietly — 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 153 
 
 ' I have had the pleasure of seeing you, 
 on one occasion, at church.' 
 
 Here it was my turn to blush, for I 
 remembered that we had only paid his 
 church one visit. Embarrassed and vexed, 
 I unconsciously became rude, and tried to 
 push past him. He did not attempt to 
 detain me. I paused unaware. 
 
 ' I sincerely trust,' he said, ' that this is 
 only the beginning of a long and mutually 
 beneficial intercourse. May I hope to have 
 the pleasure of meeting Miss Hayman 
 again ? ' 
 
 ' I am sorry,' I stammered, blushing, 
 ' that my father ' — I paused timidly, and he 
 bit his lips with an appearance of deep 
 chagrin — 
 
 ' Is unfortunately prejudiced against me. 
 Well, he has his reasons, of which you 
 happily know nothing.' And he added, 
 more impatiently, ' Miss Hayman,. has your 
 father forbidden you to treat me with less 
 than common civility ? ' 
 
 ' I am not aware, sir,' I said coldly, ' that 
 my conduct has been uncivil.' 
 
154 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 He broke out passionately — ' It has 
 not. Nevertheless, Miss Hayman, I conjure 
 you to think better of me than to suppose 
 I am your father's enemy or that I de- 
 serve his enmity. I do not. Unwillingly, 
 Heaven knows, I have been his opponent ; 
 but my opposition has been that of 
 one deeply wronged. I am now more 
 anxious than ever that this breach should be 
 healed.' 
 
 He was gone in a moment, with a wave 
 of the hand. Short as that interview was, 
 it awakened a new interest in my bosom. I 
 was certain in my own mind that Mr. Mac- 
 braith was to be sympathised with and pitied. 
 If he had sinned, he was evidently desirous 
 of atoning for his sin. But his own words 
 directly contradicted the supposition that he 
 was the blamable party. What could it all 
 mean } I was afraid to speak to my father 
 about the matter. I knew his violent temper 
 would not admit of an allusion to the subject. 
 He evidently feared, as much as he disliked, 
 the Rev. Mr. Macbraith. 
 
 ' I know him of old,' he would say again 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 155 
 
 and again ; ' he is plotting against me, plot- 
 ting." 
 
 In the mean time the antagonism be- 
 tween my father and Mr. Macbraith was 
 talked over and commented on, with original 
 exaggerations, by the gossips, and some 
 particular friend let the Presbytery hear of 
 it. The Presbytery, who had a respect for 
 Mr. Macbraith, wrote to inquire into the 
 affair. I suppose the answer was satisfac- 
 tory, for they made no more inquiries. But 
 my father was greatly to blame. He abused 
 the minister publicly, on all possible occa- 
 sions ; and thus gave a colour to the tittle- 
 tattle. Of these attacks the minister took 
 no notice. 
 
 Fortunately or unfortunately, fate or 
 chance or accident made me meet with Mr. 
 Macbraith again, and again, and again. We 
 met in the broad daylight, with a conscious- 
 ness (on one side, at least) that we erred in 
 so doing. We became intimate friends. 
 Friends } yes, close and dear friends. The 
 society of the minister had a strange, sad 
 charm for me, and it was even salted and 
 
 v/ 
 
156 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 seasoned by fear lest my father should be- 
 come aware of the intercourse. 
 
 We met in the green lanes, always acci- 
 dentally, out of the reach of prying eyes. 
 We read books together ; we compared 
 impressions. Coupled with a subtle im- 
 agination, he possessed the shrewd Scotch 
 reasoning faculties ; while he charmed me 
 with his ingenuity, he flattered me by his 
 common sense. Say what you please, there 
 is no individual more calculated to please us 
 wise little women than your educated Scotch- 
 man, whom society has robbed of the native 
 unwieldiness of mind, and whose penetration 
 has been polished to good manners by con- 
 tact with men and women. Good breeding 
 has been described as the 'graceful recog- 
 nition of the rights of others.' If this 
 description be true, Scotland abounds in 
 well-bred gentlemen. 
 
 Day by day I found some new trait to 
 admire in Mr. Macbraith. His lofty thought, 
 his kindness to the poor, his deference to 
 myself, and even his eccentricity, all charmed 
 me. 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 157 
 
 Once or twice I laughed at him for in- 
 dulging in quaint apparel, and pointed out 
 the absurdity of the great cloak and the 
 Guy-Fawkes hat. But he had a Scotch 
 argument wherewith to defend himself 
 The age, he put it, was one, not of indi- 
 viduals, but of classes. Individual life had 
 died out with Toryism and the Reform Bill 
 of 1830; and society, since the advent of 
 the fourth estate, had become impersonal. 
 He defended the eccentricity of some 
 modern litterateurs. Eccentricity, he said, 
 was simply the outburst of the impersonal 
 spirit in its unconscious struggles for indi- 
 vidualism. On that understanding, he re- 
 spected the man who wore a cropped poll. 
 The cropped poll distinguished him from 
 the crowd, and induced self-consciousness. 
 And self-consciousness was an essential 
 element in morals as well as in literature. 
 
 Arguments like these, discussed in a 
 laughing manner, -pleased us both, and gave 
 us a pretext for seeking each other's society. 
 Now, quite certain that Mr. Macbraith was 
 a man of blameless life, I prayed fervently 
 
158 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 that he might be reconciled to my father. 
 Why conceal the truth any longer ? Let 
 me hasten to the conclusion : I loved Mr. 
 Macbraith. He was seventeen years older 
 than I ; but I loved him. With my whole 
 undivided heart, with the fullest spirit of 
 feminine self-sacrifice, I loved him. I would 
 have given away my life to save him a pang. 
 His superior years gave him a strange power 
 over me. I was spell-bound, as it were : 
 struggle as I might, I could not shake off 
 his bewitching influence. I was drawn to 
 him by something beyond myself 
 
 But I was plain. My ill-favour now be- 
 came a bitter source of annoyance to me. 
 Could it be possible that Mr. Macbraith 
 bestowed any serious affection on one so 
 unattractive ? It seemed improbable. His 
 manner towards me was sympathetic and 
 father-like. He knew nothing of the great 
 chaos of passions struggling within me, and 
 struggling into form of a love which inten- 
 sified my whole being ! I was mistaken. 
 Mr. Macbraith was a man who knew the 
 world. He understood me. 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 159 
 
 He was the first man who had paid me 
 any attention ; how strange that he was the 
 last man to whom, if I obeyed the parental 
 mandate, I should have given my serious 
 affection ! But, as I have said, I tried to 
 resist him in vain. His abilities quickened 
 my enthusiasm ; his high principles awakened 
 my emulation ; his personal attractions — by 
 which I do not mean his mere physical 
 attractions — inflamed my sympathy. I was 
 absorbed out of myself, as it were, and had 
 no individual being. Alone, I felt compe- 
 tent to resist him. In his presence, I was 
 as helpless to resist him as a little child. 
 
 One day I ascertained that- my inter- 
 course with Mr. Macbraith had not passed 
 wholly unnoticed. I was walking in the 
 garden, when I heard two of the servants 
 talking together — the cook and the house- 
 maid. 
 
 ' Ye ken the minister. Mistress Agnes ? ' 
 said Maggie, the housemaid. 
 
 ' Is it Mr. Macbraith ye mean .■* ' said 
 Agnes. ' Och ! ay, I ken him weel. He's 
 a braw preacher ; but the maister and him 
 
i6o MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 hae their wee bit bone to pick thegither ; 
 and there' d be the deil to pay if he kent we 
 gangit to his kirk.' 
 
 ' That's just it ! There'll be gran' goings 
 on, you maun be sure, if the maister kens 
 that my young lady, his dochter, and the 
 minister are thick wi' ane anither. But it's 
 true. Mistress Agnes. Miss Jean and Mr. 
 Macbraith hae been seen thegither mair nor 
 ance ; and the folk say their company-keepin' 
 will end in a loup i' the blanket and a wed- 
 ding tocher.' 
 
 ' I canna believe 't, woman,' said Agnes. 
 ' The minister's no' that daft ; he wadna 
 commeet himsel' with a puir wean like Miss 
 Jean. He's aulder than her a heap. Wha 
 tauld ye ? ' 
 
 ' Mistress Henderson, o' the post-office,' 
 answered Maggie. 
 
 ' And what does Mistress Henderson ken 
 o' it ? Havers, Maggie.' 
 
 ' Her sister Jean saw them alane, by 
 Rab Gibson's Dyke, a week syne gin Satur- 
 day.' 
 
 I had heard quite enough. I walked 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY i6i 
 
 away, and left the women to speculate about 
 the matter at their leisure. 
 
 Rab Gibson's Dyke, as it was called, 
 was a straggling square of stones in the 
 midst of the marshes, and just below our 
 house. It formed the wall of an unfinished 
 sheepfold, which (tradition had it) had been 
 left uncompleted by one Robert Gibson, a 
 villager, who had been found on the s-pot 
 murdered and robbed. It was a lonely, un- 
 frequented spot, and for that reason Mr. 
 Macbraith and I often chose it as our place 
 of meeting. Far around it stretched the 
 marshes, covered in summer-time by a thin 
 silver scarf of cobweb-mist. The effect of a 
 sunset seen from this spot was superb. In 
 the background lay a line of purple hills. 
 
 Two days after I had overheard the 
 above conversation I went to Rab Gibson's 
 Dyke, and near that spot met Mr. Mac- 
 braith. It was early evening, and every- 
 thing looked sad in the twilight. After 
 some general conversation, the minister said 
 abruptly, ' I am in trouble, Jean.' 
 
 M 
 
162 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 He was accustomed now to call me by 
 my Christian name. 
 
 ' In trouble, Mr. Macbraith ! ' 
 /^ ' I have a brother, Jean, whom Heaven 
 has visited with the curse of a weak mind. 
 In stronger words, he is a harmless imbecile ; 
 but we have always strongly combated his 
 entrance into an asylum. He has, for the 
 last two years, been staying with some rela- 
 tions, where he has received every attention. 
 The departure of those relations for Australia 
 rendered his return to me inevitable.' 
 
 ' I am deeply concerned. Indeed, I feel 
 for you in your unpleasant position.' 
 
 ' I have sworn, Jean, that he shall never 
 run the risk of ill-treatment at an asylum. 
 There was a time, my dear friend, when 
 Alexander — yes, that is his name — was not 
 what he is now ; and at that time he was 
 a good and kind brother to me. He loves 
 me, and clings to me still. I have not the 
 heart to cast him off.' 
 
 ' Where is he now ? ' I asked with anxiety. 
 
 ' At the Manse, here.' 
 
 He was very calm and decided. I felt 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 163 
 
 that he had more to say, and looked into his 
 face questioningly. 
 
 ' Jean, I have only one real friend in 
 this village, — yourself. Will you do me a 
 favour ? ' 
 
 I answered him with my eyes. Perhaps 
 they said too much ; for they seemed to 
 embarrass him. 
 
 ' I want you to come with me to the 
 Manse, and see my brother Alexander.' 
 ' This evening ? ' 
 
 ' This evening. I have particular reasons, 
 which I cannot at present explain. Will 
 you come ? ' 
 
 ' If you think we shall be unobserved, 
 Mr. Macbraith, I will— I will.' 
 
 He thanked me warmly for acceding to 
 his strange wish so easily. 
 
 ' Come, then,' he said ; and we walked on 
 side by side. 
 
 The shades of dusk thickened around us 
 as we walked, choosing the least frequented 
 paths. I was silent ; for I was arguing in 
 my own mind the folly or wisdom of disobey- 
 
 M 2 
 
i64 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 ing SO readily my father's peremptorily 
 expressed wishes. 
 
 The Manse was a dark and gloomy old 
 house, and stood, with its garden, about a 
 quarter of a mile from the village-church. 
 You gained the entrance by little shady lanes, 
 that, being full of flowers in summer, pre- 
 sented a sweet contrast to the minister's 
 abode. I had never visited the Manse be- 
 fore ; but often enough I had watched it from 
 the distance, and thought how gloomy it 
 seemed. It was distinctly visible from Rab 
 Gibson's Dyke. 
 
 As we walked through the carelessly-kept 
 garden, I asked myself what possible object 
 the minister could have in inviting me to his 
 lonely home : and, being unable to answer 
 my own question satisfactorily, I felt rather 
 timid. 
 
 The door was opened to us by an elderly 
 woman, who looked clean and good-natured, 
 and who appeared to recognise me as we 
 entered. Pushing unceremoniously past this 
 person, Mr. Macbraith led me into a little 
 plainly-furnished apartment on the ground- 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 165 
 
 floor, where he left me for some minutes. 
 Rejoining me, he beckoned me to follow him. 
 
 ' Come,' he said in a whisper, leading the 
 way upstairs. 
 
 I followed him, with a nervous beating of 
 the heart. We crept upstairs on tiptoe, and 
 halted at the door of a small room, which was 
 furnished like a study. The door stood half 
 open, so that the interior of the room was 
 quite visible. 
 
 Seated at the table, with his profile 
 towards us, was a powerful-looking man, of 
 about forty years of age. His lower limbs 
 were short and sturdy, and his chest was 
 broad and muscular. He was dressed in a 
 complete suit of black, cut after the most 
 genteel fashion, but worn and seedy. At a 
 first glance I saw nothing remarkable in his 
 personal appearance, save its indication of 
 great strength. Another look at the dark 
 shaven face, and into the bright but vacant 
 eyes, convinced me that I was in the presence 
 of an imbecile. 
 
 The man did not hear us. He was in- 
 tent on a strange occupation ; he was playing 
 
i66 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 cards with an imaginary opponent, and all 
 his soul seemed centred on the game. We 
 entered the apartment with some noise ; still 
 he did not hear us. 
 
 ' Sandie,' said the deep voice of Mr. 
 Macbraith. The man started up hastily, 
 thrust the greasy pack of cards into his 
 bosom, and stood looking at us in a timid, 
 appealing way. ' Sandie, this is a lady who 
 has come to pay you a visit. Why don't you 
 shake hands with her, and say you're glad to 
 see her ? ' 
 
 Sandie chuckled to himself in a wicked 
 way, and looked keenly into my face. ' She's 
 no' that bonnie, man,' he muttered, shaking 
 his head. ' Hoot, toot ! bid her gang awa'.' 
 
 ' Sandie, be polite. Shake hands with 
 the lady.' 
 
 The man placed a hot and heavy hand in 
 mine, with an air of great affectation. 
 
 ' Sandie here,' said the minister, ' is 
 quite a lady's man.' 
 
 Sandie, apparently delighted with this 
 compliment, rubbed his hands together, and 
 laughed. ' Ay, ay ! Sandie here is a leddy's 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 167 
 
 man,' said the man. ' I hae seen the time 
 when bonnier lassies nor this ane would hae 
 loup'd i' their shoon to hae Sandie. But na, 
 na, na ! I hae shairp een in my head.' 
 
 ' Well, the lady must leave you, Sandie,' 
 said Mr. Macbraith. ' Shake hands again 
 with her.' 
 
 But when I placed my hand in his again, 
 he clasped it like a vice, and looked keenly 
 into my face. 
 
 ' I hae seen that wean's face langsyne,' 
 he muttered. ' I ken the fause een, and the 
 sour lines i' the lips. But the face I kent 
 was a bonnier ane. It had the een o' the 
 deil himsel'.' 
 
 He released me, and I shrunk away 
 timidly to the lower room, where Mr. 
 Macbraith soon joined me. 
 
 ' And that man,' I said hastily, ' is your 
 unhappy brother ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Jean. You have now penetrated 
 to the blackest sorrow of my heart. And 
 there is no sorrow in the world without sin. 
 He has been a sinner, and he suffers.' 
 
 The manner of the minister was solemnly 
 
l68 M/SS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 sad. He went on to explain to me some of 
 the secrets of his brother's past Hfe. 
 
 ' Jean,' he said calmly, ' I have my own 
 reasons for proving to you that the unfortu- 
 nate quarrel between your father and myself 
 is none of my making. Promise to hear me 
 to the end.' 
 
 ' I promise.' 
 
 ' Years ago, when you were a very little 
 girl, your father and my brother Alexander 
 were thrown into contact with each other in 
 London. Your father was at that time a 
 young man of fortune, and, like many other 
 persons in his position, he was drawn into 
 many of the dissipations of the great city. 
 Greatest of all your father's follies was one 
 into which he was led by evil associates. He 
 gambled.' 
 
 I made an involuntary movement of 
 surprise and protestation. 
 
 ' Hear me out. />He fell among sharpers, 
 who speedily inoculated him with their own 
 greedy thirst for gain. He had principles ; 
 but they succumbed to his passions. He 
 gambled, Jean, and stood before the jaws of 
 
MTSS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 169 
 
 ruin. Helpless and hopeless, he joined his 
 base companions in a plot to ruin a poor 
 weal^-witted Scot, who had some property, 
 and he succeeded. The victim was my 
 brother Alexander.' 
 
 ' Mr. Macbraith ! ' 
 
 ' Hush ! I call God to witness that I speak 
 the whole truth. My brother Alexander was 
 not then what he 's now ; but, if you under- 
 stand me, he was never strong-minded. He 
 was fond of vain frivolities, gay dresses, and 
 personal ornaments. Moreover, he had no 
 control over his evil passions. Once sucked 
 into the vortex of gambling, he became the 
 merest slave of the game. Night after night 
 he haunted the gambling-hell, and night 
 after night he returned more impoverished. 
 In vain I, who was sent from Scotland to 
 join him, tried to save him. He was ruined 
 by your father and his companions.' 
 
 ' Have pity, Mr. Macbraith ; have pity ! ' 
 
 ' Then the poor Scot, mad with his 
 reverses, began to wash them down with 
 brandy. Night after night he gambled, blind 
 with the alcohol. One night, Jean, chance 
 
\^o MISS JEAN S LOVE STORY 
 
 convinced even hirs weak mind that he was a 
 miserable dupe, and that he was the victim 
 of unprincipled swindlers.' 
 
 The voice of the minister had risen in 
 volume, and his face was now black Avith rage. 
 
 'Well, there is little more to tell. 
 Alexander taxed the men with their crime. 
 They laughed at him ; he made a violent 
 attack upon your father, whom he would have 
 murdered, had not one of the rascals split 
 open my brother's skull with a champagne- 
 bottle. With the greatest difficulty I got 
 him out of London. It's an old story, Jean, 
 but it's a sad one notwithstanding. He was 
 never himself after that The injury he had 
 received in the brawl, added to perpetual 
 indulgence in spirits, completed his over- 
 throw, and he is — what you now see him.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Macbraith, why did you tell me 
 this horrible tale ? ' 
 
 He now continued calmly, without noti- 
 cing my question — ' A peculiar feature of his 
 case is, that, with the change 1 have spoken 
 of, a strange alteration has passed o^er his 
 language and ideas. He formerly expressed 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 171 
 
 himself in the common Enghsh. When his 
 brain turned, his tongue went back to the 
 vernacular of his Scotch nursery.' 
 
 There was a long painful pause, during 
 which I hid my face in my hands, and sobbed 
 violently. At last I rose up hurriedly, and 
 tried to push past him. ' Let me go ! ' I cried ; 
 ' I cannot remain any longer under this roof. 
 Let me go ! ' 
 
 ' Stop ! ' said the minister, in a tone of 
 mingled entreaty and command. 
 
 I stopped unconsciously, and sank back 
 into my chair, trembling violently. 
 
 ' Jean Hay man,' continued the minister, 
 in low searching tones, ' I am a priest of God, 
 but, do what I may, I cannot crush the black 
 humanity out of me. Listen ! years ago, I 
 swore an oath to avenge my brother's wrongs 
 on the head of your father, their chief cause. 
 Again and again have I tried to struggle 
 against Satan, but in vain. I have still 
 hoarded up the hope of retribution. But 
 Providence, as if in pity for my wrath, has 
 interposed your young life between my anger 
 and its object.' 
 
172 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 ' Let me go ; I cannot understand you.' 
 
 ' I love you.' 
 
 He spoke in a cold matter-of-fact way, 
 with a grim smile on his thoughtful face. 
 
 ' I love you ; wretch that I am, I love 
 you ; while yonder poor idiot calls upon me 
 to hate you. You have not captivated me in_ 
 the usual way, but I burn to possess you. It 
 is a madness full of meaning. If you are 
 wise, if you are pitiful, Jean Hayman, if 
 you love your father and his house, be my 
 wife ! ' 
 
 ' Your wife ! ' I screamed, starting up 
 wildly. ' Vour wife ! Oh, Mr. Macbraith, let 
 me pass.' 
 
 ' Be my wife ! ' he said firmly and methodi- 
 cally. ' Marry me, Jean ; sit at my board ; 
 sleep under my roof; and endeavour, by 
 making the future days of that madman 
 happy, to atone for your father's crime. I 
 have said that I love you. Heaven forgive 
 me for loving you ! I make you the offer in 
 pity. I have black blood in me, which only 
 your influence can calm down. Marry me, 
 and save your father.' 
 
^f/SS JEAA^'S LOVE STORY 173 
 
 ' You are mad ! ' I cried. 
 
 I rushed swiftly to the door ; as I reached 
 it, I saw a dark figure creep away upstairs. 
 
 ' Stop, woman ! ' cried the minister. 
 ' Stop, and beware ! ' 
 
 But swift as thought I gained the Manse 
 door, and rushed into the open air. It was 
 still early evening. I ran hastily along the 
 green lanes, and staggered as I ran. When 
 I partly recovered my composure, I walked 
 along, not heeding whither, — afraid to ven- 
 ture home until my agitation had calmed 
 down. Then I fancied that I heard foot- 
 steps behind me, and I began to run again. 
 The footsteps came closer and closer, and I 
 was certain that 1 was being pursued. At 
 last, breathless and tired out, I stood still to 
 listen, at Rab Gibson's Dyke. I was not 
 mistaken. A dark figure passed from the 
 highway on to the marshes, and came towards 
 the Dyke. I crouched down behind the 
 stone wall, hoping to pass unseen. The 
 figure came nearer and nearer. I recognised 
 the face and form of the imbecile, Alexander 
 Macbraith. He was bare-headed, and looked 
 
174 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 white in the moon. He caught sight of 
 me in a moment, and came towards me, 
 chuckhng. 
 
 ' Hoch, my fine leddy ! dinna be sae 
 proud and stiltit. You're no' sae bonnie, 
 but I maun e'en put up wi' your company 
 for a wee short hour. Come, sit ye down, 
 Jean Hayman, the minister's wife that is 
 ne'er to be, and we'll hae a look at the deil's 
 picture-book.' 
 
 So saying, he held close to my face his 
 dirty pack of playing-cards. I tried to pass 
 by him ; but he gripped my arm firmly, and 
 whispered between his clenched teeth : ' If 
 ye dinna sit doun, my leddy, I'll throttle the 
 life out o' ye ! ' 
 
 He pressed me down upon the broken 
 wall, and sat down close by me, leaving a 
 small space between us. I was quite numb 
 with fear. He began to shuffle the cards. 
 
 ' Yonder's the mune glowerin' at us. 
 The licht o' the mune is better nor lamps 
 and siclike. Are ye cauld, woman, that ye 
 sit shiverin' there ? Toot, it's warm, warm.' 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 175 
 
 ' Some other night, Alexander,' I stam- 
 mered, coaxingly. ' Let me go to-night.' 
 
 ' Sit ye doun ! ' he growled fiercely ; ' I 
 haena had any ane to play wi' for simmers 
 past. Eh, we'll hae a roaring game this 
 nicht, woman, till cock-craw.' 
 
 I heard and saw no more. My agitation 
 overpowered me, and I fainted away. When 
 I recovered, I found myself lying in the arms ' 
 of Mr. Macbraith. Sandie stood by, chuck- /- 
 ling, and shuffling the cards. 
 
 ' Take me home ! ' I murmured ; ' take 
 me home ! ' 
 
 Our house stood close by. I rose to my 
 feet with a great effort, and felt quite strong. 
 The minister did not offer to touch me. He 
 stood by, frowning darkly. 
 
 ' Yonder lies your home, young lady,' 
 he said sternly. ' I am sorry for what has 
 occurred to-night, deeply sorry. But again, 
 to-night, in the presence of my brother, I 
 repeat my former offer. \M11 you be my 
 wife ? ' 
 
 ' No,' I said firmly, and moved away. 
 
176 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 The minister folded his arms, and bit his 
 lips. 
 
 ' Then farewell, Miss Hayman. There 
 was a black devil in me which you might 
 have quelled. Would that I could die to- 
 night. It would be better for all of us. 
 Come, Sandie.' 
 
 I passed away without a word. The 
 minister patted the idiot coaxingly on the 
 shoulder, and took his arm. Then, waving 
 his hand to me, he led him away in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 Bewildered and confused by what I had 
 seen and heard, I hurried home. The twi- 
 light, like a silver veil, had fallen quickly 
 from the hills, and I saw the tall figures of 
 Sandie and the minister pass like shadows 
 over the misty marshes. As I entered the 
 house, the domestics stared in surprise at 
 my pale, haggard face. My mother, ob- 
 viously alarmed, led me to my bedchamber. 
 Her kind motherly company overpowered 
 me, and I burst into bitter tears. When I 
 became calm, I determined to tell her all. 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 177 
 
 ' Mother,' I said firmly, 'I've been taking 
 a walk with the minister.' 
 
 She lifted up her hands, and raised her 
 eyes in positive horror. 
 
 ' And, mother, I love him, and he wanted 
 me to marry him.' 
 
 She was silent. I told her all that had 
 occurred. Sinking into a chair, she began 
 to sob and moan. 
 
 'Oh, Jean, Jean, if your pair faither 
 kent this, he'd 'gang out o' his wits wi' 
 anger. It's a sair, sair day for this house, 
 lassie ; a sair, sair day ! He'll gang daft ! 
 The minister, o' a' the men i' the warld ! Oh, 
 my wean, my wean, your faither will gang 
 daft ! ' 
 
 She thought only of my father, and took 
 no note of my bitter grief Poor mother ! it 
 was no fault of hers if she could not forget 
 her idol. 
 
 N 
 
178 MISS JEAN S LOVE STORY 
 
 PART II 
 
 ' My father shall know all,' I said to myself, 
 when the first agony of grief was over. 
 
 But when we met at the breakfast-table 
 next morning, courage failed me. I knew 
 my father's .violent disposition far too well 
 to venture further in the course which I had 
 marked out for myself. A storm in a tea- 
 cup, thanks to my mother's docility and my 
 father's temper, was a storm indeed. The 
 quiet submission of the lady of the household 
 only served to aggravate the violence of its 
 lord, when his hot blood was aroused. No, 
 the secret that stirred in my heart like a 
 snake must be hidden yet a while. I would 
 take time to think and act. 
 
 Disguise it as I might from my own 
 heart, I loved the minister, and I loved him 
 none the less because I pitied his unfortu- 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 179 
 
 nate brother. I was in a painful dilemma. 
 Apart from the circumstances which made a 
 connection with Mr. Macbraith unfilial, I 
 could not help feeling that I was staking my 
 happiness on a dangerous hazard. A gloomy, 
 morbid cloud, unfavourable to the growth of 
 domestic happiness, and fatal to a woman's 
 peace, hung about the lives of the two men 
 with whom I had become so suddenly and 
 strangely associated. I feared the minister 
 in his dark moods more than I feared his 
 brother in his wild moods. He was high- 
 principled, but headstrong and passionate ; 
 and I fancied that he loved me more than 
 he dared or cared to confess. 
 
 With my father, so far as his position in 
 relation to Mr. Macbraith was concerned, I 
 had little sympathy. I never for a moment 
 doubted the truth of the dark story I had 
 heard that night in the Manse. 
 
 I did not venture out of doors for some 
 days, for I felt quite worn out with anxiety. 
 My brain was overwrought, my heart ached. 
 The gloomy, fretful cloud on the face of my 
 mother, who dared not expose my position, 
 
1 80 MISS JEA JV'S LOVE STOR Y 
 
 provoked and tortured me ; when our eyes 
 met, there was cunning in mine and spleen- 
 ful reproach in hers. 
 
 The first day I ventured out of doors, I 
 wandered involuntarily over the marshes to 
 Rab Gibson's Dyke. It was a gloomy 
 morning ; the sky was dark and cloudy and 
 threatened rain. The marshy ground was 
 covered by a thin yellow mist, in the midst 
 of which one stray sickly sunbeam went and 
 came fitfully. Close by the Dyke, I came 
 suddenly upon the minister. He was pacing 
 up and down, with a book in his hand ; but 
 I could see that his thoughts did not follow 
 the printed page. When he glanced up and 
 saw me, the blood on his stern face flushed 
 from red-heat to white-heat. I recoiled, half 
 frightened, with a beating heart. He closed 
 his book quietly and came towards me. 
 
 ' I have been waiting for you,' he ex- 
 claimed quietly. 
 
 'Waiting for me, sir,' I murmured, with 
 an appealing look. 
 
 ' Yes, madam. I knew you must venture 
 out sooner or later, and I was sure that 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY i8i 
 
 instinct would lead you to this spot. I have 
 consequently made this place my study for 
 the last few mornings.' 
 
 I stood still, very pale, with my eyes 
 bent upon the ground, and returned no 
 answer. 
 
 ' I desire, madam, to apologise for my 
 brother's violence, and for my own words 
 spoken in the heat of passion.' 
 
 He spoke bitterly, not humbly, and there 
 was a sneer on his face as he spoke. I felt, 
 roused. 
 
 ' Your brother,' I said, ' is dangerous, 
 and ought not to be suffered to go at large.' 
 
 He frowned grimly. He looked very 
 strange in his large eccentric cloak and Guy- 
 Fawkes hat ; he seemed like some ghost of 
 a time and a society long before departed. 
 
 ' Miss Jean Hayman, my brother is 
 dearer to me than life itself, and I have 
 sworn to do my duty by him. Whilst I am 
 able to protect him, he shall never enter an 
 asylum. Shall I add, that you should be the 
 last woman in the world to make such a 
 proposal.' 
 
i82 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 ' Spare your taunts, Mr. Macbraith. If 
 the account you gave me be true ' 
 
 ' 7/" it be true ! ' he cried fiercely. ' Do 
 you doubt it ? Look into your father's face, 
 as you tell him what I have told you, and 
 then doubt it. Enough of this. You have 
 been put to unnecessary pain ; but we also 
 have suffered. Good morning. I have said 
 all I came to say, and will now leave you.' 
 
 He turned on his heel and moved away. 
 My blood rushed up hotly to my face and 
 ears, my head swam. I felt wild and reck- 
 less in my passion. I would sacrifice all for 
 this dark, moody man, who towered so far 
 above me by virtue of his stern strength. 
 
 ' Mr. Macbraith ! ' I cried unaware. 
 
 He turned with a softer look, half pity, 
 half surprise. 
 
 ' Have you a heart ? Have you any 
 pity ? Can you not perceive the bitterness 
 of my position ? ' 
 
 ' I have pity. Miss Jean ; and I pity 
 you. God forgive me ! ' 
 
 The man was a mystery to me. His 
 outer mood changed from storm to calm, as 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 183 
 
 if obeying the motions of an uncontrollable 
 soul. As he spoke, his dark face looked in- 
 expressibly beautiful in its softening charity. 
 Could he, then, be wicked and desperate ? 
 The soft look conquered me, and I burst 
 into tears. He did not move. 
 
 'We live in a hard world, young lady,' 
 he said gently ; ' and blessed are those that 
 are able to weep. There is no sorrow with- 
 out sin ; and sin scorches the sweet tears out 
 of us. Farewell ! ' 
 
 ' Stop ! ' I cried hysterically. 
 
 He turned with a strange look of wonder, 
 and made a sudden step towards me. 
 
 ' Oh, have pity ! have pity ! ' I cried. ' I 
 love you ! ' 
 
 Joy, like a sunbeam, fell luminously on 
 his face, as he caught me in his arms with a 
 cry. 
 
 ' I thought so ; I hoped so ! ' he exclaimed, 
 clasping me in his strong arms. 'It is 
 enough. God forgive me if I sin, dear girl ; 
 but I have not courage to give you up. I 
 am a coward, I say ; but for your sake, Jean, 
 I will sacrifice everything.' 
 
i84 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 I shuddered, in spite of myself, at the 
 confession I had made in my excitement. I 
 was blind with tears as I struggled to escape 
 from his embrace. 
 
 ' Let me go ! ' I cried ; ' if you love me, 
 let me go. I was mad ! ' 
 
 ' Jean ! ' 
 
 In an instant he released me. Drawing 
 back a few feet, he stood looking at me 
 calmly and quietly. But I did not move 
 from the spot. Sadly and nervously I 
 returned his gaze. He approached with 
 bent head, and took my hand. 
 
 ' Do you, then, wish to recall the words 
 spoken to me a few moments ago ? ' 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 ' I insist upon an answer,' he cried. 
 ' Were you trifling with me ? ' 
 
 ' I was not,' I answered firmly, com- 
 pressing my teeth and lips to keep my 
 courage up. 
 
 ' Thanks, thanks ! I am to believe that 
 you love me, Jean .'' ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I err in thanking Heaven that 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 185 
 
 it is SO. I do err, if the love I bear you be 
 a sinful one ; but let us pray that it is not so. 
 What if Fate were to accomplish her ends 
 by your means, and to accomplish them 
 gently ? ' 
 
 I bowed my head and said nothing. H is 
 eyes were fixed on mine with a strange fas- 
 cinating gaze. 
 
 ' And you will marry me, Jean ? You 
 will be mine, dear girl, will you not ? ' 
 
 I trembled in spite of myself; for I saw 
 my father's wrathful face and heard my 
 mother's chiding voice. Whither did my 
 duty urge me ? and would either path lead 
 to peace and happiness ? 
 
 ' You hesitate,' he exclaimed, watching 
 me keenly. ' I perceive your doubts, and 
 they are important ones. Yet, be assured, 
 your marriage with me may or may not cause 
 unpleasantness at first ; but it will eventually 
 produce much good. Remember, Jean, that 
 by marrying me you may atone for great and 
 fearful crime ! ' 
 
 ' Do not name it ! ' I cried, with a 
 shudder. 
 
1 86 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 ' I will not. You will marry me sooner 
 or later, Jean ? ' 
 
 ' Sooner or later, yes.' 
 
 He caught me in his arms, and pressing 
 me closely to his bosom, kissed me tenderly. 
 The morning grew darker and darker around 
 us as he took my arm, and we walked slowly 
 side by side by the path over the marshes. 
 There was a storm brewing ; but we thought 
 only of the storm within, and heeded not. 
 Side by side we walked under the clouds and 
 through the mists. His face was turned to 
 mine, and it wore a glow that might have 
 been triumph and might have been affection ; 
 but in the eyes a deep Indescribable tender- 
 ness, or such it seemed to be, lingered, 
 lingered like the soft halo round a star when 
 it is fading. Both were silent. Our thoughts 
 were too terribly beautiful for utterance. My 
 pulses throbbed thickly with pain and fear 
 that were almost happiness. I could have 
 died for the love of that man, if need be, 
 then and there. The growing clouds, the 
 floating mists, the silver glamour around the 
 far-distant mountains, the solitude of the 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 187 
 
 marshes, were portions of a strange dream, 
 in which I seemed to lose all consciousness 
 of individual being. Never before had I 
 experienced such profound emotion. Yet 
 never, I believe, was my emotion less ap- 
 parent. We went into no visible raptures ; 
 we made no ostentatious display of our love 
 for one another. Our souls mingled in the 
 dreadful silence of their hope. This silence 
 was at last broken by the minister. 
 
 ' Jean,' he said with a sad smile, drawing 
 me close to him, and looking bravely into 
 my eyes, — ' Jean, does it occur to you that 
 ours is a very strange wooing ? ' 
 
 I looked into his face inquiringly. 
 
 ' For myself,' he continued, ' I am unac- 
 customed to strong demonstrations ; but I 
 am seventeen years older than you, dear girl, 
 and that fact may account for my seeming 
 apathy. To you, however, who are young 
 and ignorant of the world, I must seem sadly 
 cold and dull. Tell me, Jean, are you not 
 a little romantic ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all,' was the reply. But he looked 
 incredulous. 
 
i88 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 ' That you are not a novel-reader I am 
 already aware ; and I am also aware that 
 you are free from those foolish heroic notions 
 which so often mislead young women. Per- 
 haps you interpreted my question too nar- 
 rowly. Your romance, if you have any, only 
 assumes a sacrificial form. Perhaps you 
 have exaggerated notions as to the self- 
 sacrifice and resignation necessary to your 
 sex?' 
 
 ' I think not, Richard.' 
 
 He started, colouring slightly. It was 
 the first time that I had ventured to call him 
 by his Christian name. He immediately 
 recovered himself, and gave a light laugh. 
 
 ' Don't think me rude,' he observed. ' It 
 is the first time since I was a boy that a 
 woman has called me by my Christian name, 
 and the word sounded odd in my ear. You 
 are right, Jean ; you only exert your 
 privilege.' 
 
 ' Does the freedom offend you ? ' I asked, 
 with timid coldness. 
 
 ' No ! ' he exclaimed, with a burst of 
 joy. 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 189 
 
 The gleam passed from his face, and he 
 fell into a reverie, from which I, myself full 
 of matter for reflection, did not venture to 
 disturb him. But the clouds increased and 
 darkened, and I at last said, ' Let us turn 
 now, or they will miss me at home.' 
 
 He turned without a word. 
 
 ' We shall have a storm soon,' he ob- 
 served, calmly looking up, after a pause. 
 
 As he spoke, there was a far-distant 
 sound of harsh voices above us, and the air 
 seemed to vibrate with the echo. We 
 hurried on. There was a bright broad flash, 
 which almost blinded us ; and a minute after- 
 wards the thunder groaned terribly, like one 
 of the fallen Titans in pain. He stopped 
 me suddenly. 
 
 ' Storm, storm ! ' he said, in a deep, low 
 voice. ' That has been my life ever since I 
 can remember ; but yonder clouds throw 
 secure darkness over my love for you, and 
 harmonise with the beatings of my heart. 
 Or are they, as I fear, a threat — a warning .'' 
 Do I sin in loving one who, by virtue of her 
 birth, is part of my brother's wrong ? Do I 
 
1 90 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 forfeit my duty to my brother by loving you ? 
 Jean, Jean, answer, — is it so ?' 
 
 ' Richard ! ' I exclaimed imploringly. 
 
 He pressed his lips close to mine, and 
 kissed me passionately. 
 
 ' I love you, I love you,' he murmured 
 without his usual sternness. 
 
 ' If you indeed love me, Richard,— if you 
 love me as you say, — why this dreadful 
 struggle ? Is it not written that love is all- 
 sufficient, that it heals all wounds, that it is 
 all in all to each, — holy, holy ? Oh, Richard 
 dear, if you love me, think that this love is 
 a sacred trust that Heaven has given you ; 
 doubt it not, doubt it not, and all will be 
 well. True, true love is always right ; it 
 cannot err, it cannot stain or injure any one 
 of God's creatures.' 
 
 As I finished the sentence a flash of 
 lightning lit up our faces, and both, I felt, 
 were full of truthful love. I was violently 
 agitated. Had I spoken like a selfish woman, 
 or like a heroine ? Enough that he was 
 satisfied ; for brightness lingered on his face, 
 even when the lightning-flash had died away. 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 191 
 
 ' You are wiser and better than I. Bless- 
 ings upon your true heart, my darling ! 
 Pity me, comfort me. I am a minister of the 
 Gospel ; but there is a darkness on me. Be 
 my teacher.' 
 
 ' Richard ! ' 
 
 Again that trembling appealing cry, 
 which sprang out of the yearning of my 
 heart. 
 
 ' I am only a poor weak girl ; but, oh, I 
 love you dearly ; and, for better for worse, I 
 will be your true and constant wife.' 
 
 The joy of that moment ! We forgot the 
 lightning and the thunder, the fierce para- 
 phernalia of the soul, and stood gazing at 
 each other in our great and strange love, — a 
 love that was never, never to die, even when 
 ' death did us part.' 
 
 ' Jean,' he cried, ' it would be glorious to 
 die now ! ' 
 
 The lightning sprang out from heaven 
 like a fiery sword, rebuking him. We now 
 hurried on. 
 
 ' To die,' I said, ' is less noble than to 
 live. If we have loads to bear, Richard, 
 
192 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 love will give us strength to endure ; but let 
 us not yield till we are crushed by a burden 
 that it is beyond our power to carry further.' 
 
 We were now in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of our house ; I trembled, not at 
 the storm. 
 
 ' Are you afraid, dear girl ? ' said the 
 minister, tenderly. ' Nay, be assured by 
 your own sweet philosophy. Love defies all 
 elements, and is its own talisman against all 
 earthly ills.' 
 
 But the clouds now broke, and the rain 
 fell down in torrents, drenching us to the 
 skin in a moment, and putting an abrupt 
 conclusion to the passionate poetical speech. 
 With the gallantry of a younger man, and, 
 in spite of my remonstrances, he took off his 
 great cloak and flung it over my shoulders. 
 I begged him to proceed with me no further ; 
 but he was excited, and paid no attention to 
 my remonstrances. We hurried along, side 
 by side, and at last we halted before my 
 father's gate. 
 
 We were concealed from the eyes of any 
 inmates of the house by the thick trees in 
 
MIS$ JEAN'S LOVE STORY 193 
 
 the garden. He hurriedly pressed his Hps 
 to mine, and murmured in my ear, ' If pos- 
 sible, be at the Manse this evening. Nay, 
 you can trust me, and I have much to say to 
 you.' 
 
 With a passionate farewell, he left me. 
 Quite bewildered, I ran immediately into the 
 house. 
 
 Soaked to the skin, I was hurrying up- 
 stairs, when I met my father, who had only 
 just arisen. I hardly noticed him in my 
 agitation, and I was passing him with a quiet 
 morning greeting, when he touched me on 
 the shoulder, and commanded me to stop. I 
 stopped, lifting my eyes timidly to his face. 
 To my surprise, he frowned, turned alter- 
 nately red and pale, and seemed violently 
 agitated. I trembled for the first time, fear- 
 ful lest he had discovered my secret. 
 
 ' Where have you been, child ? ' he asked 
 impatiently, with a glance of great suspicion. 
 
 I told the truth, not the whole truth. 
 
 ' I was out for a walk, papa, and was 
 caught in the rain.' 
 
 He was not satisfied. ' Change your 
 
 O 
 
194 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 clothes,' he said with quiet rage, ' and come 
 to me immediately in the study.' 
 
 ' Yes, papa.' 
 
 Once in my bedroom, I forgot my bodily 
 plight, and threw myself down upon the bed. 
 Surely, surely, never was there girl more 
 unlucky than I. The course of my true love 
 ran rough as a torrent in a Highland glen ; 
 now it wavered to the right, now to the left ; 
 but all the time it was unconsciously pre- 
 cipitating itself into irretrievable action. 
 Had my reason convinced me that my love 
 was wrong and unholy, I might have immo- 
 lated this first affection on the cold altar of 
 my home ; but I was far from convinced 
 either that I loved sinfully, or that the man I 
 loved was in error. I had a girlish notion 
 that for him one loves it is our duty to sacri- 
 fice even home and its claims ; and I held 
 true feminine love to be an even more holy 
 sentiment than filial duty. That my own 
 passion was pure in its essence I felt con- 
 vinced ; I loved with an undivided heart, 
 and had no obvious selfish motive to gratify 
 by being undutiful. What course, then, was 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 195 
 
 it my privilege, my necessity, to adopt ? To 
 face my father's wrath with a pure conscience, 
 and to act in direct opposition to my father's 
 will ; or to yield implicit obedience to the 
 letter of the household law, and so to sacrifice 
 all my hopes of mortal love. The struggle 
 was a hard one, a bitter, bitter ' heart- 
 struggle.' Then I recollected the arguments 
 of the minister. Were they admissible, or 
 were they simply the sophisms of a clever 
 mind ? Was it possible that, by throwing 
 off parental control, and consenting to the 
 proposed marriage, I might heal the breach 
 made by sin long before, or avert calamity 
 from the head of my father, or save my lover 
 from the horrors of a life unbecoming the 
 duties of a Christian minister ? ' Proposed 
 marriage ! ' why, had I not sworn to be the 
 wife of Mr. Macbraith, and had I not en- 
 couraged him to believe that he had won my 
 heart ? and would it not be incalculably sin- 
 ful to break the vow I had made, and to 
 deprive him, not only of my love, but of 
 his confidence in my womanly integrity ? 
 Heaven, I reflected, would punish me sorely 
 
 o 2 
 
196 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 if I showed myself insincere, if I seemed 
 unfaithful. For a plain girl to assume the 
 privilege of a coquette was beyond measure 
 contemptible ; and I should despise myself 
 if I laid myself open to the imputation of 
 trifling with a gentleman's feelings. As I 
 have said, I did not doubt for a moment the 
 truth of the story I had heard in the Manse ; 
 for I knew my father's temper, and had once 
 or twice heard unpleasant rumours concerning 
 his past Hfe. 
 
 While I lay, with my head upon a pillow, 
 bathed in tears, the lightning was dying with 
 sudden gleams, and the thunder was growing 
 more distant every moment. The fitful sob- 
 bing of the rain on the window-pane rang in 
 my ears, and the room swam round and 
 round me like a chamber of whirling dark- 
 ness. By-and-by I felt stronger and better : 
 and by this time I had determined that my 
 next conversation with my father should 
 decide my fate once for all. I arose to my 
 feet. I was now satisfied that my fate hung 
 in the balance, and I could wait for the result 
 with patience. 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 197 
 
 Almost unconsciously I walked to the 
 looking-glass. I was wondering what Mr. 
 Macbraith could see in such an insignificant 
 face and person as mine. I started back 
 aghast. It was not the pale plain face, with 
 the hard lines about the mouth ; the slight 
 figure undeveloped in its frail girlhood ; the 
 timid, awkward attitude of the limbs, or the 
 fixed imploring look of the eye, — it was none 
 of these things, all of which were sufficiently 
 familiar, which appalled me. Over my wet 
 and dripping shoulders, down to my soaked 
 feet, I still wore the cloak of the minister ! 
 In my haste, in my blindness of love, I had 
 forgotten to return the cloak to its owner ; 
 and there it lay, when I flung it off, as a 
 witness to my disobedience. I now fully 
 appreciated the meaning of my father's 
 strange manner. He had perceived the 
 cloak, and had identified it as that worn by 
 the minister, with whose person he was 
 familiar. 
 
 Perhaps it was as well that my love no 
 longer assumed the character of an odious 
 secret, and that I should be kept no longer in 
 
198 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 suspense. The necessity for immediate 
 courage recalled me to myself. I made the 
 necessary changes in my attire, and prepared 
 to go down below. When I was ready, I 
 looked into the glass again. Again the pale 
 plain face, but now it wore a quiet glow of 
 resolution. With trembling heart, I de- 
 scended the staircase and knocked at the 
 study door. ' Come in,' said my father's 
 voice, and I entered. Papa was seated at 
 his desk, making a pretence to write ; but he 
 was a poor actor, and I saw through him. I 
 waited for some minutes in great suspense, 
 until, looking up, he made a sudden 
 exclamation. 
 
 ' Jean Hay man,' he cried, with an angry 
 movement, ' this is most cruel, most un- 
 natural ! ' 
 
 'What, papa?' 
 
 ' Do not attempt to misunderstand me. 
 I'm speaking of your conduct. You are 
 directly opposing my wishes ; you have 
 dared to act in opposition to my express 
 desire ; you are holding communication with 
 a scoundrel and a blackguard.' 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 199 
 
 ' Papa ! ' 
 
 ' I'm speaking of that villain Macbraith, 
 who ought to be hung ; yes, hung, and 
 who hates me, and is my worst enemy. 
 I've suspected you for some time ; now 
 I am convinced of your wickedness. That 
 cloak ! ' 
 
 Mean-spirited for the moment, I tried to 
 describe the affair as an accidental meeting, 
 and a simple courtesy. 
 
 ' Do you take me for an idiot ? ' ex- 
 claimed papa, rising. ' Now, be candid, and 
 it will be the better for you. You know this 
 man ?' 
 
 ' I do.' 
 
 ' He has been paying you attentions .-" ' 
 
 ' Yes, papa.' 
 
 ' You^ — hum — love him ? ' 
 
 ' I do.' 
 
 ' And you dare, with that confession on 
 your lips, to sit at my table, and call yourself 
 my daughter. Henceforth undeceive your- 
 self You're no daughter of mine, and my 
 house is not for the friends of my enemies. 
 I renounce you. I'll have nothing more 
 
20O MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 to do with you ; go to your lover, sponge 
 no longer on me and mine. You hear 
 me?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 I spoke quite calmly, although a storm 
 raged within. Papa paused, flashing fire, 
 and seemed astounded at my coolness and 
 audacity. They seemed to take his breath 
 away with surprise. He grew darker and 
 uneasier. 
 
 ' You — ha — don't mean to say that you've 
 any real liking for this fellow ? ' 
 
 I moved to him, and took his hand. 
 
 ' Hear me, papa. Do not judge me 
 harshly, for you know my affection for you. 
 I love Mr. Macbraith ; I have struggled hard 
 against the feeling, but I love him dearly, 
 better even than my own happiness. Do not 
 turn away, but have pity. I do not, cannot 
 believe that he is a bad man ; I prefer think- 
 ing that you are mistaken in him, and that 
 my love may in time reconcile you to one 
 another. I know all. I believe that I may 
 blot out a portion of the past by disobeying 
 you in this matter.' 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 20I 
 
 He turned pale and seemed frightened, 
 but he recovered himself. 
 
 ' So ! ' he murmured between his teeth. 
 ' He has been HbelHng me to my own flesh 
 and blood ; inventing lies to throw a stain on 
 my good name, and turning my daughter's 
 heart against me. I thought so.' 
 
 ' Not so. I beseech you, do not believe 
 that it is so ! Mr. Macbraith is anxious, 
 deeply anxious, that what is done should be 
 set right again, and that he should enable 
 you to meet him on friendly terms. His 
 brother ' 
 
 ' Ha ! what of him ? ' cried papa, with a 
 scared look. 
 
 ' His brother has lost that which it is in 
 the power of no man to restore — his reason ; 
 but something may yet be done for him by 
 careful love and tenderness. That should be 
 my task.' 
 
 ' Where is this brother you speak of?' 
 
 ' Here, at the Manse, a harmless lunatic' 
 
 ' What ! I must inquire into this. Insane, 
 and suffered to go at large ; the nuisance is 
 insufferable, and I shall at once petition the 
 
203 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 authorities. While he is free, none of our 
 lives are safe.' 
 
 I trembled in spite of myself. The 
 minister's tenderest point was that piteous 
 love for his half-witted brother, and any 
 attack in that quarter might lead to terrible 
 results. I trembled now for my father. 
 
 ' Surely, papa, you would not have this 
 unfortunate man consigned to an asylum ? ' 
 
 ' Wouldn't I ? ' he exclaimed, with dark 
 malignity. 'Why not? Hundreds of better 
 men than he have to put up with the cell and 
 the strait-waistcoat, and why not him ? Who 
 is he that he is to put the whole neighbour- 
 hood in jeopardy ? Oh, this comes of the 
 minister's fine teaching. He has been tell- 
 ing you a lot of lying stories about me, and 
 you believe him. Never mind. I'll be re- 
 venged upon him ; I'll show him the end of 
 all his fine plots and counter-plots ; he shall 
 smart for it.' 
 
 Papa had grown very nervous ; and he 
 spoke without his usual air of arbitrary 
 decision. I cannot hardly tell whether I felt 
 pleased or sorrowful, but I was convinced 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 203 
 
 now that I had heard the whole truth from 
 my lover. 
 
 ' Now, look here, girl. If you want to 
 marry this scamp, my deadly enemy, marry 
 him. r sha'n't attempt to prevent you ; you 
 may marry both him and his brother, if you 
 like. But don't expect any help from me or 
 mine when he casts you off. Marry him, I 
 say ; try the experiment, and blame yourself 
 if it fails. Go ! ' 
 
 I was moving towards the door, quite at 
 a loss what to say or do, when he cried, 
 ' Stop ! ' Then I flung myself at his feet. 
 
 ' Oh, papa, dear papa, do not judge hastily 
 in this matter. Give us time, and all will be 
 well. Mr. Macbraith is not the wretch you 
 esteem him. I love him, papa. He is dear 
 to me as life itself; and I know him to be 
 true and noble.' 
 
 I was weeping now, but my father only 
 grew sterner on seeing my weakness. He 
 pushed me from him. 
 
 ' I will wait months, years, any number of 
 years ; only say that you will listen to us, 
 when we attempt to reconcile right and 
 
204 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 wrong in the end. For I love him, papa, I 
 love him so dearly.' 
 
 He seemed to perceive an advantage ; 
 for his face assumed a cunning look, as he 
 said, with assumed carelessness, 
 
 ' Pooh ! the nonsensical ravings of a girl. 
 Once and for all, I don't comprehend this 
 stuff ; it's all unintelligible acting. You hear 
 me. Either renounce this man, or ' 
 
 ' Papa, I cannot.' 
 
 ' Very well,' he cried fiercely. ' I am 
 satisfied. Listen, though, for one moment, 
 lest you rush to too hasty a conclusion. In 
 the first place, girl, you're not a beauty ; your 
 face would not recommend you to any man, 
 or number of men. I say this without pre- 
 judice, although you are my daughter. Very 
 well, then. It's obvious enough that Mac- 
 braith hasn't fallen in love with your face ; 
 and the most probable conclusion is, that he 
 hasn't fallen in love with you at all.' 
 
 I smiled unaware, a sad smile of utter 
 doubt. 
 
 ' Oh, you may smile, but don't be too 
 sure, young lady. If you were a beauty, I 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 205 
 
 might believe he cared for you, for I know 
 his liking for pretty faces. As matters stand, 
 however, I have given my opinion. What 
 then ? Macbraith owes me a grudge, and he 
 is the man to gratify it. He sees you, per- 
 ceives you're a fool, and hopes to gain his 
 ends by your means. His object therefore is 
 to break your heart, or worse, in the hopes of 
 injuring your father ; and as for marrying 
 you, the man knows better than that. He's 
 mistaken, though, in thinking that he can 
 harm me in that way. You're a woman, and 
 if you like to go to the devil with your eyes 
 open, I shan't break my heart. Go ; I am 
 busy.' 
 
 I rushed from the room. Outside the 
 door I met mamma, who had evidently been 
 eavesdropping. She was going to speak ; 
 but, pale and wild, I pushed past her, and 
 went up to my room. I locked the door, 
 and lay down on the bed. 
 
 Oh, those cruel words, his last words ! 
 They ate into my brain like burning fire, 
 and buried themselves there ; they cut into 
 my heart like sharp steel, and blinded me 
 
2o6 MISS JEAN'S LOVE. STORY 
 
 with excess of pain. Do what I could, I 
 coulJ not deprive them of their terrible 
 significance. They seemed so plausible, so 
 horribly probable. My only vulnerable point 
 had been assailed, and I was left without the 
 means of resistance. Could it be true that 
 Macbraith was indeed the villain papa had 
 described, and that he was endeavouring to 
 accomplish his revenge by means of my 
 misery or my dishonour ? Oh, no, no, no ! 
 He was far too noble and true for that. Yet 
 how true it was that I was without those 
 attractions which win the hearts of men ; and 
 how suddenly had the minister seemed to 
 become my admirer ! Then I thought of the 
 man's dark moods, full of fierce wrath and 
 doubt, of his great wrong, ever present before 
 him in the flesh, and of his threats. Confi- 
 dent as I was of the integrity of my resolu- 
 tions, I was a young girl, ignorant of the 
 world, easily deceived ; and I felt that it 
 would be easy for a man of the world to blind 
 and mislead me on a subject so eminently 
 attractive as that of love. I was now pro- 
 foundly miserable, and more bewildered than 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 207 
 
 ever. I could not shake off the dark doubt 
 that I was in danger. Again, if Macbraith 
 were indeed a villain, and I were to yield to 
 him, how trebly bitter and sinful would 
 appear my disregard of filial duty and obedi- 
 ence ! My father's wrath would then appear 
 just, albeit a little headstrong. He had 
 warned me, he had exposed the man, and 
 had done all obstinacy can bring itself to do 
 in order to avert the catastrophe. Oh, my 
 bitter, bitter heart struggle ! 
 
 Are we women generally sharper-sighted 
 than the other sex, or do we take too wide 
 a scope of men and things to see aught 
 clearly ? We are blamed for brooding over 
 finical detail. No complaint is more plausible 
 or more unjust ; for even in the estimate of 
 each other's dresses we always generalise. 
 A wise thinker, a chivalric admirer of women, 
 once argued to me that women, from that 
 delicacy of organisation which extends from 
 their noblest sentiment to the remotest fibre 
 of their body, were enabled to grasp and 
 appreciate the very loftiest ideal of the 
 male sex, while they were perfectly unable 
 
2o8 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 to sound the depths of vileness and mean- 
 ness of which a strong man, less delicately 
 organised, is capable. Thus it would follow 
 that women are apt to put the finest con- 
 struction on the actions of a man, however 
 base. Certain it is that women are seldom 
 capable of a depth of error fully equal to 
 man's capacity for evil until they have fallen 
 to that stage when the female body has lost 
 all its finer organism, and is reft of that 
 delicate physical harmony which, from time 
 immemorial, has coloured the aesthetics of 
 manners and society. 
 
 Did I hold the nobility of Mr. Macbraith 
 at too high a value } Was mine merely a 
 girlish enthusiasm ? Was I blinded by the 
 compliment of so superior a man's esteem ? 
 These were the questions I had to answer. 
 I can answer some of them now in three 
 little words. I loved him, really loved him. 
 
 By and by mamma brought me up a cup 
 of tea, which I drank carelessly. She was 
 really scared by my pale face and wild 
 manner, and had not courage to lament in 
 her usual weakly way. She kissed me with 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 209 
 
 a few consoling words, and then left me. I 
 was glad to be alone. I lay in a half- 
 stunned state, with a humming in my ears 
 as of distant voices. I seemed to grow 
 quite stupid with my grief Then I seemed 
 to fall into a swoon, and to forget everything. 
 That day passed. I did not go to the 
 Manse in the evening ; I was too ill to leave 
 home, and I feared the consequences of 
 another scene. I returned the cloak by one 
 of the servants. At breakfast the next 
 morning papa's manner towards me was 
 unusually kind. He chatted in a most lively 
 way on all sorts of subjects ; but I was too 
 dull to follow him. He evidently thought 
 that I had yielded to his persuasions, and 
 discarded what he simply esteemed my girl's 
 folly. He was mistaken. I was still far 
 from a decision, and the struggle of my 
 heart was still going on within. Three days 
 expired, and I had not passed the thres- 
 hold of the house. I could not summon up 
 courage to meet my lover. I would wait 
 for a space, and in the mean time trust to 
 chance. 
 
2IO MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 On the evening of the fourth day I was 
 sewing in the sitting-room, when I heard 
 voices in the direction of papa's study. 
 They were men's voices, and one seemed 
 raised in angry altercation. Surprised, I 
 Hstened attentively. Something in the 
 sound frightened me, and I was soon con- 
 vinced that I had cause to fear. One of 
 the voices I heard was my father's, the 
 other was that of the Rev. Mr. Macbraith. 
 I threw down my sewing, and crept noise- 
 lessly across the lobby. At the study door, 
 which was on the latch, I halted. 
 
 ' Edward Hayman, let bygones be by- 
 gones,' said my lover, in low measured 
 accents. ' I came here to-night to wipe 
 out the remembrance of all that is past. I 
 have told you that I love your daughter.' 
 
 My father laughed. 
 
 ' I dare say ! ' he replied. ' This is not 
 the first time I have heard the story. Well, 
 sir?' 
 
 ' I have nothing more to say. For form's 
 sake I have come here to ask her hand — a 
 hand which she has already promised to give 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 211 
 
 me ; and it is for her sake that I have sacri- 
 ficed my pride in so doing. Consent to our 
 union, and I may take the consent as an 
 equivalent for atonement. I am wilHng so 
 far to cancel our wrongs.' 
 
 ' Bah ! I know you, Macbraith.' 
 
 ' Do you, then, refuse me the hand of 
 your daughter ? ' 
 
 ' I have nothing to say to you ; let that 
 suffice. I believe that you have already 
 heard my opinion on the subject. I'll have 
 nothing to do with you or yours. I know 
 you of old, my man ; so beware ! ' 
 
 ' Do you dare to address me thus ? ' cried 
 the minister. 
 
 Papa laughed mockingly and bitterly. 
 
 ' I'm no coward, Macbraith, and you 
 know it ; and your fine scowling and 
 threatening won't turn my blood cold. You 
 may sneak into my house, man, and libel 
 me ; but you shall do so at your peril. Ay, 
 at your peril, although half-a-dozen more mad 
 brothers were prowling about the country, 
 and trying, with your aid, to escape the 
 necessary surveillance of the lunatic asylum.' 
 
212 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 'You villain!' cried Macbraith, losing 
 self-control. ' Take care how you make light 
 of your own villainy, or I may forget myself.' 
 
 There was a loud derisive laugh, a 
 hurried movement, as I passed into the 
 room. There I saw my father raise his 
 hand and strike Mr. Macbraith, drawing 
 blood from the forehead. 
 
 ' Father ! ' I cried, standing between 
 them. 
 
 He pushed me aside, crying — 
 
 ' That, Macbraith, is my answer. I 
 utterly defy you to injure me or mine. For 
 this girl here, she is my daughter, fool 
 though she is ; and I shall exert my privi- 
 lege over her.' 
 
 I turned to the minister. He was snowy 
 white with rage. Every fibre of his body 
 was shaking ; and he bit his lips till the 
 blood came, in endeavouring to keep calm. 
 He walked over to my father, quiet, stern, 
 dreadful in his anger. 
 
 ' Edward Hayman,' he hissed between 
 his clenched teeth, ' you have done what all 
 who care for you will yet pray on their 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 213 
 
 bended knees, for your sake, to have un- 
 done. You have trebled to-night the 
 horrible sin of long years ago ; and it is not 
 my fault if you suffer for it. For nothing 
 now shall save you from my just hate, my 
 just vengeance. As for the girl, keep her. 
 I almost hate her now because she is a child 
 of yours.' 
 
 'Richard!' I screamed. 'Mr. Mac- 
 braith!' ' 
 
 But he walked swiftly from the room, 
 and out of the house. 
 
 I turned in fierce appeal to my father ; 
 but his lips curled in scorn, and he waved 
 me towards the door. The room seemed 
 to swim around me in a sickening heat, as 
 I moved towards him, and, touching him 
 lightly on the shoulder, looked him plead- 
 ingly in the face. His excitement was 
 fading away from him now, and he quailed. 
 
 ' Papa, what have you done ? ' I cried. 
 ' How can you be so wicked and cruel .■*' 
 
 ' Leave me, you fool ! ' 
 
 I left him, horrified at my own scorn of 
 him ; and mamma immediately J^entered to 
 
214 ^/55 JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 comfort him. All hope was lost, then. Mr. 
 Macbraith did not love me ; otherwise he 
 could never have resigned me so cruelly and 
 so scornfully. That was my first thought. 
 At the second thought, I remembered that 
 he was not himself, that he was nearly mad 
 with rage ; but I also remembered his head- 
 strong passionate nature, and feared for the 
 consequences of my father's insult and vio- 
 lence. My love and sorrow grew quite 
 torpid now. I was lost to outer life, and 
 lived In that world of mental dream which 
 is too often the symptom or precursor of 
 physical decline. I began to feel that 
 between myself and the minister had come 
 a cloud which neither of us could ever cross 
 with safety. We were like woman and man 
 standing distinctly visible to each other on 
 separate banks of a great rushing river, and 
 stretching out pleading hands in vain. 
 What if, in trying to meet, we were to be 
 swept together on the great river's bosom 
 to the lap of an eternal ocean, there to float 
 until the trumpet should stir the dead on the 
 waters into life ? 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 215 
 
 I pass over the occurrences of some 
 weeks, during which I spent all my time 
 between the house and the surrounding 
 garden. My father imposed no physical 
 restraint upon me ; but I did not care to 
 venture away from the door. I heard no- 
 thing of Mr. Macbraith in the interim. Had 
 he renounced me for ever ? 
 
 Not far from the Manse at Ivihaugh was 
 a small plantation of fir trees, adjoining a 
 shady lane, where my father would now and 
 then walk in the evening. The whole extent 
 of the lane was distinctly visible from the 
 windows of the Manse. It was thickly 
 wooded with straggling furze-bushes, and, 
 save for its close vicinity to the Manse, its 
 situation was lonely in the extreme. 
 
 One evening, little less than a month 
 after that dreadful scene between the two 
 gentlemen, papa, as he was often wont to 
 do, strolled out for a walk. It was a very 
 dark evening, but the stars were out ; the 
 wind was high and keen. My father had a 
 habit of taking his exercise in the dark, 
 when there were no eyes to observe him ; 
 
2i6 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 and as mamma, in her timid way, had 
 begged him to alter the direction of his 
 usual walk, he persisted, in his obstinate 
 way, and out of bravado, in disregarding her 
 advice. I myself, being naturally timid, 
 would have preferred his choosing a path 
 where he would be less likely to come in 
 collision with the minister ; and on the par- 
 ticular evening I allude to he stayed out so 
 long that I felt nervous, and determined to 
 follow him. 
 
 It was nine o'clock, and papa had been 
 away more than two hours. So I dressed 
 myself and walked out. 
 
 The lane and the plantation had been 
 christened by one name — the Deil's Heugh ; 
 and they had a bad reputation on account 
 of certain crimes said to have been com- 
 mitted in the neighbourhood long years 
 before. Tradition threw a cloud over them. 
 
 The wind blew in my face, and plucked 
 at me, and dragged me this way and that ; 
 but my state of mind had grown to be such 
 that external sights and sounds had little 
 effect on me. I walked along, in the direc- 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 217 
 
 tion of the Deil's Heugh, in the teeth of the 
 wind, half enjoying the noise in the air, half 
 saddened by the cold pitiless light of the 
 stars. When I gained the nearer end of the 
 lane, I looked towards the Manse. There 
 were no lights visible in the windows ; all 
 were feebly reflecting the sheeny light of 
 heaven. Far down the lane, which was 
 about a quarter of a mile long, I caught 
 sight of a man's figure, which I immediately 
 concluded to be that of papa. Scarcely 
 knowing which course to adopt, but urged 
 on by some irrepressible instinct,- I followed, 
 keeping him still at a distance. He passed 
 round the curve, and I lost sight of him. 
 Walking on, I reached the curve, where the 
 furze-bushes were thickest, and, looking for- 
 ward, I saw him sitting on the low stone 
 wall of the plantation. It was papa. A 
 moment afterwards I became conscious of 
 another dark figure, which moved behind 
 among the trees. Before I could draw a 
 breath, the figure had advanced, stolen sud- 
 denly behind papa, grasped him round the 
 throat, and dragged him backwards. They 
 
2i8 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 fell together, and then arose struggling. I 
 was too frightened to speak. Something 
 glistened and fell ; there was a loud cry for 
 help, and the two rolled over and over on 
 the rough rooted ground. There was a 
 horrid pause of a few seconds. Then one 
 of the dark figures rose, looking wildly 
 around as if in fear. It stooped again, as 
 if to look into the fallen man's face. I could 
 not move from the spot ; my voice failed me, 
 my heart seemed to die out. I crouched 
 behind the bushes, peering wildly, in a 
 fascinated horror, through the prickly 
 branches. Again the figure rose, and 
 stepped over the stone wall into the lane. 
 Here the light of the stars fell full upon it ; 
 and in the pale glamour I recognised a dress 
 I knew full well — the hat and cloak of the 
 minister, my lover. My blood froze to ice, 
 my pulses clenched, as the figure crept off 
 through the darkness in the direction of the 
 Manse. It was the Rev. Mr. Macbraith. 
 
 Heaven for a few moments gave me 
 supernatural strength. I followed the figure 
 with my eye. Assurance was rendered 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 219 
 
 doubly sure — it was indeed my lover. The 
 horrible despair of that moment gave me 
 courage, I walked towards the plantation, 
 and stepped over the stone wall. All was 
 dark. My foot stepped on some soft liquid 
 pool, which I knew by instinct was blood. 
 The next moment I almost tripped over the 
 body. The stars shone in through an open- 
 ing in the trees, and, stooping down, I 
 recognised my father's face. Oh, horrible ! 
 The throat was cut from ear to ear, and in 
 the struggle several gashes had been in- 
 flicted about the body and on the hands. I 
 screamed now, but my voice had lost its 
 power. Then I stooped down, and strove 
 to lift the body, and drag it to the lane. 
 The weight was beyond my strength. 
 Again I screamed, but the wind drowned 
 my voice. I reflected, too, that my cries 
 might bring back the murderer, who would 
 soon make short work of the only witness 
 to his crime. Overcome with the horror of 
 my position, I lost consciousness for an 
 instant. When I recovered, I was still 
 lying on the same spot, and my clothes 
 
220 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 were wet with blood. I felt as if I were 
 mad, and screamed *again wildly. Then I 
 ran shrieking out of the plantation — I 
 know not in which direction, up or down 
 the lane. Suddenly I saw a light approach- 
 ing from the distance. I made for it hastily. 
 It came nearer and nearer — a man with a 
 lantern. I rushed forward wildly ; and in 
 a moment afterwards fell shuddering and 
 screaming at the feet of the minister, who 
 was without his cloak, and bareheaded. At 
 sight of him I swooned away once more. 
 
 When I recovered, I was lying in his 
 arms, and the light of the lantern was 
 thrown upon his face. 
 
 ' Jean ! Jean ! ' he was exclaiming ; 
 ' speak ! What is the meaning of this ? 
 Who has done this ? ' 
 
 I glanced wildly up into his pale, fierce 
 face, and it seemed lit with a horrible deathly 
 suspicion that I was cognisant of his crime. 
 Should he suspect me, my life would not be 
 worth a straw. I made a great and violent 
 effort, clinging to him, and conquering my 
 loathing for him. With a dreadful cunning, 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 221 
 
 I thought I could persuade him that I was 
 ignorant of what he had done. 
 
 ' Help ! help ! ' I cried. ' Oh, Mr. Mac- 
 braith, fly for assistance. My poor father 
 has been murdered.' 
 
 ' Murdered ! ' he exclaimed ; ' and this i* — ' 
 he touched my wet hand. 
 
 ' Is blood — his blood,' I murmured. 
 'Go.' 
 
 No wonder that the wretch shuddered. 
 How poorly he seemed to act his loathsome 
 part! 
 
 ' Let me go, I beg you,' I whispered. 
 ' Fly for assistance ! I will wait here.' 
 ' How did this happen ? ' 
 ' Not now, I cannot speak now. You 
 shall hear all at another time. Yet, stay. I 
 was passing along the highway, when I 
 heard screams, and knowing this to be a 
 favourite walk of my father's, I ran hither. 
 When I reached this spot, all was still ; but 
 suddenly a groan fell upon my ear. Follow- 
 ing the sound, I passed over among the 
 trees, and found him lying yonder, dead.' 
 The minister placed me hastily down, 
 
222 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 and ran swiftly along the lane to the plan- 
 tation. In a minute he returned. His face 
 was snow-white, he trembled visibly, and 
 his whole manner was full of suspicion and 
 terror. 
 
 'This is dreadful,' he said gloomily. 
 ' Stay here, Jean, until I awaken the vil- 
 lage. Your father was no friend of mine ; 
 but his murderer shall not escape, if I can 
 help it.' 
 
 ' He shall not,' I said to myself, with a 
 cold icy determination to do my duty at all 
 hazards. 
 
 He ran swiftly up the lane and along 
 the highway. I could hear his footsteps die 
 away on the hard road. Suddenly I lost all 
 petty fear, and sat in a blank despair, look- 
 ing at the blood upon my hands. Then I 
 heard voices In the distance, and knew that 
 help was nigh. The voices grew louder and 
 louder. Soon I saw a dark crowd, with the 
 minister at its head, and armed with pitch- 
 forks, sticks, and lanterns, come running 
 down the lane. I was lifted to my feet and 
 supported by two strong peasants. Led by 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 223 
 
 Macbraith, we moved along to the planta- 
 tion. Cries of horror and fear crept through 
 the crowd as the light fell upon the dead 
 man's ghastly bloody face and upturned 
 dissevered throat. He was lifted up by 
 shuddering hands, and laid across a bier of 
 sticks placed crosswise. Now was the time 
 to speak. Releasing myself from my sup- 
 porters, I crept up to Mr. Macbraith, who 
 was directing the rest. I put my arms 
 around his neck and pressed him close to 
 me ; my finger-nails seemed to sink into his 
 flesh ; my wild eyes burned into his with a 
 fierce and fascinating horror. 
 
 ' Comfort ; have no fear,' he whispered, 
 thinking I was afraid ; and (horror of 
 horrors !) he kissed me. With a shudder I 
 crept closer to him, and cried out to the 
 men — 
 
 ' Seize this man ! Secure him ! He is 
 the murderer of my father ! ' 
 
 He tried to shake me off, but in vain. 
 
 ' The minister ! ' they all cried, in doubt 
 and terror. 
 
 ' Yes, the minister ! ' I screamed, holding 
 
224 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 him fast. ' Seize him, all of you ! He has 
 murdered my father. I saw the murder with 
 my own eyes.' 
 
 Pale, and quivering in every limb, he 
 struggled to shake me off ; for I was choking 
 him. After pausing for a moment, the 
 villagers tore him away from me, and 
 secured him. 
 
 ' She is mad ! ' he cried. 
 
 I gazed wildly at him for a moment ; the 
 air swooned around me, and I was again 
 deaf to sound. 
 
 Hours passed before I was again myself. 
 I opened my eyes in a cottage, and I was 
 lying dressed on the bed. I had been care- 
 fully washed during my trance, that the 
 stains of blood might not appal me on 
 awakening. With a leaden, deadly weight 
 at my heart, and a seeming calm that arose 
 from utter despair, I looked around me. 
 Then I became conscious that my mother 
 was seated by my bed, with her head on the 
 coverlid, moaning and sobbing. She flung 
 her arms around my neck, and cried out 
 blindly and bitterly — 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 225 
 
 ' Oh, Jean, Jean, my wilfu' bairn, ye 
 hae brought us to this. Didna I ken 
 Richard Macbraith lang syne ? and wasna 
 his brither Sandie ane o' the mony that 
 wanted to be marryit till me ? And didna 
 Macbraith vow vengeance ower and ower 
 again on the heid o' your puir faither ? and 
 noo it's dune, dune. The minister has 
 murderit your faither, and ye the lo'ed ane 
 o' the minister. I shall dee !^I shall 
 dee !' 
 
 I tried to comfort her, but she was in- 
 consolable. Well, her grief was wild and 
 violent, and I knew enough of human nature 
 to feel that such grief soon exhausted itself 
 in tears. Those are the bitterest hearts 
 which grow stone-dry in their sorrow, and 
 beat leadenly, without relief and without 
 demonstration. 
 
 ' What has been done ? ' I cried, starting 
 up, and suddenly recollecting all that had 
 passed. 
 
 ' Oh, my bairn ! Jean, your faither is 
 lyin' cauld ben the cottage next door. 
 Mistress Stewart's ; and the minister is in 
 
 Q 
 
226 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 the hail's o' the men. They hae him fast, 
 fast, in our ain house, and are waiting gin 
 the police come doun frae Meiklegude. 
 Tam Howieson has ridden awa' to fetch 
 them twa hours syne, and they'll be doun 
 at ance.' 
 
 I hid my face in my hands, terrified at 
 my ow'n cruel strength. Well, I had a duty 
 to do, and I would go through with it. I 
 had been trifled with, trampled upon, by a 
 villain — that was all. Ah, how bitterly did 
 I reproach myself for not having listened to 
 the warning of my poor dear father, of whose 
 death I had been partly the cause. It was 
 now clear to me that he had estimated Mac- 
 braith aright, and that I had been blinded 
 wholly by my youth and inexperience. My 
 struggle was over at last, and it had left a 
 long weary blank of utter despair. 
 
 I got up from the bed and walked to 
 the cottage door. The moon was low, there 
 were faint bright streaks in the east, and 
 the stars were fading. There was a clatter 
 of hoofs, and immediately afterwards two of 
 the county constabulary, with the villager 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 227 
 
 Howleson on horseback, drove up in their 
 dog-cart. 
 
 ' Stop ! ' cried Howieson ; and they all 
 reined up at the door of the cottage. 
 
 They followed me indoors, and ques- 
 tioned me about the murder. After passing 
 into the neighbouring cottage and looking at 
 the body, they rejoined us. My mother was 
 wild in her grief and protestations, and to 
 her the constables soon ceased to pay any 
 attention. Having heard me out, they asked 
 for the prisoner, and we informed them of 
 his whereabouts. My mother stayed at the 
 cottage ; but I insisted on accompanying 
 them to our house. Arrived there, we found 
 all in a state of strange commotion. The 
 street door was open, and a throng of vil- 
 lagers were assembled on the door-steps and 
 in the lobby. The constables elbowed their 
 way into the house, and I followed. At the 
 door of the study we found three stalwart 
 men, and were informed that the prisoner 
 was within that room. The constables 
 entered boldly, and I peered in timidly. 
 The lamp was lit, and my father's papers 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 and books were scattered on the table and 
 about the room, just as he had left them. 
 Macbraith was seated in my father's chair, 
 with his head between his hands. He 
 looked up as they entered, and caught a 
 glimpse of me, whereon I entered firmly. 
 Never shall I forget the wild, grieved ex- 
 pression of his stern and contorted features. 
 He looked at me more sorrowfully than 
 angrily, and then arose sternly. 
 
 ' Is this the prisoner?' asked one of the 
 constables. 
 
 ' That is the man,' I said. 
 
 ' There must be some mistake here,' 
 quoth the other constable. ' I know this 
 gentleman well. He is the minister of the 
 parish.' And he touched his hat respect- 
 fully, and nudged his companion. 
 
 ' There is no mistake,' I cried, inter- 
 posing. ' You will release this prisoner at 
 your peril ; for, as I have already stated, 1 
 myself was witness to the act.' 
 
 ' May there not be some mistake ? ' he 
 asked doubtfully. 
 
 ' Yes, miss ; may there not be a mis- 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 229 
 
 take ? ' said the other. ' How do you identify 
 your prisoner ? ' 
 
 ' By his attire ; but not that which he 
 now wears. He had upon him at the time 
 a cloak and hat which are familiar to every 
 one in the village, and which any one may 
 identify as his property.' 
 
 Macbraith lifted up his head with a 
 strange look of meaning. 
 
 ' I see it all ! I see it all ! ' he said. 
 
 ' Humph ! ' said the constable who had 
 first spoken. ' That's a very different story. 
 Stop, though ! What has become of the 
 clothes you speak of ? ' 
 
 ' Immediately after the murder, the 
 prisoner ran off in the direction of the 
 Manse, whence he soon after returned, as if 
 called forth by my cries. The Manse should 
 at once be searched.' 
 
 The minister started at my last words, 
 and looked at me almost vindictively. Then 
 he said between his teeth — 
 
 ' I have to thank my fair accuser for her 
 praiseworthy desire to get me punished ; 
 yet she should reflect a little. There are 
 
230 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 reasons why a visit to the Manse might be 
 dangerous.' 
 
 The poHcemen looked at each other 
 doubtfully ; but I turned to them impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 ' Do your duty,' I said ; ' and do not heed 
 this man's threats.' 
 
 ' I was not threatening, young lady,' ob- 
 served the minister. 
 
 The constables were now convinced that 
 there was a strong case against the prisoner. 
 With a muttered apology, they handcuffed 
 him. He did not attempt to make the 
 slightest resistance. He seemed quite stu- 
 pefied with the suddenness of his arrest, and 
 scarcely realised the profound terrors of his 
 position. For myself, I was calm by this 
 time. I felt that I had a holy task to per- 
 form, and I was ready to go through with 
 it ; though I persuaded myself in the mean 
 time that, for justice' sake, I was making a 
 terrible sacrifice. Did I pity the man ? 
 Perhaps no ; perhaps yes. I only saw the 
 blood of my father on his soul, and was too 
 confused to make an analysis of my emotions 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 231 
 
 towards him. My love for him seemed to 
 die away Hke a hollow music that has haunted 
 a long night of stars. The morn had arisen, 
 dazzling me ; showing me my error in all its 
 nakedness, and stripping the man of all that 
 superiority over myself which first made me 
 love him. 
 
 They led him from the house, I keeping 
 by their side ; and the hushed crowd followed 
 with their lanterns. On reaching the Manse, 
 we knocked loudly at the hall door. There 
 was a long pause. 
 
 ' Wha's there ? ' asked a voice, that of a 
 woman. 
 
 ' Open the door, Elsie,' cried the minister 
 calmly. 
 
 The door was opened, and we entered 
 with a rush. The middle-aged woman I had 
 seen on my former visit started back with a 
 cry as we entered, and lifted up her hands in 
 surprise. The crowd drew back. 
 
 ' Hush, Elsie ! ' said the minister. ' Do 
 not be alarmed. Where is my brother — 
 Alexander ? ' 
 
 ' Upstairs in his ain room ; and awfu'. 
 
232 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 awfu' dementit. But what dae a' these folks 
 want here the noo ? ' 
 
 One of the constables here stepped for- 
 ward, and whispered in the woman's ear. 
 She gave a slight scream of terror, and 
 glanced timidly at her master. He stood in a 
 gloomy attitude, and paid no attention to her. 
 
 ' I thocht as muckle,' cried the woman. 
 ' Eh, Mr. Macbraith, what did I tell ye it 
 wad come tae ? I kent there was something 
 wrang the nicht when he slipt awa' and cam' 
 back — ye ken how.' 
 
 ' Not a word, Elsie. I must convince 
 these good people and this young lady, who 
 is my accuser, that there is a mistake some- 
 where. Not a word, I say ! Gentlemen, be 
 good enough to make your search.' 
 
 They searched high and low, but found 
 nothing, the minister lending them cold 
 assistance all the while. At the very top of 
 the house we halted at last before the door 
 of a small room. On trying the door, we 
 found that it was locked. 
 
 'Have you a key?' asked a constable; 
 ' or must we force the door ? ' 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 233 
 
 ' Elsie, give these gentlemen the key of 
 this apartment' 
 
 The woman did as desired ; and we un- 
 locked the door. We were entering the 
 room, with lighted candles in our hands, 
 when Alexander Macbraith walked to the 
 threshold and confronted us. He was 
 dressed in the same suit of dingy black, the 
 wrists of his shirt were bloody ; and in his 
 hand he held a large carving-knife, with 
 which he was cutting bread. It was then 
 that the truth flashed upon me for the first 
 time. Alexander was chuckling to himself, 
 but he was very pale. When he saw us, 
 he would have sprung over to attack us, 
 had not the minister interposed and motioned 
 him back. He obeyed ; but as we entered, 
 he crept close to his brother. 
 
 ' I hae dune it, man, I hae dune it ! ' he^ 
 whispered. ' Dead men tell nae tales, ye ken ; 
 I hae dune it wi' this!' He flourished the 
 carving-knife. ' I crept ahint him on tiptae, 
 an' grippit him by the hair o' his held, and 
 pu'd him doun, and then it was owre wi' him. 
 He was walking yonner amang trees and 
 
234 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 whins, and I was keeking out, and I saw him, 
 and I crept awa' frae the house and did it. 
 The deil o' a woman yonner ' — he pointed to 
 the servant, of whom he seemed to stand in 
 awe — ' didna see me, and I cam' ben again ; 
 •and she was nane the wiser. Is it no' 
 gran ? ' 
 
 We had entered the room. It was a 
 small square apartment, containing a bed 
 and one or two chairs. There was no fire- 
 place, and the window was closely barred. 
 Several frightened rustics followed in our 
 track, and we all stood gazing at the 
 brothers. 
 
 ' Drop that knife, Sandie,' said the 
 minister sternly. The imbecile obeyed. 
 The knife was picked up by the servant, 
 who turned into a corner with a steady 
 mesmeric gaze of both eyes. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' said the minister, ' permit 
 me to introduce you to Mr. Alexander Mac- 
 braith, my brother.' 
 
 Alexander bowed grotesquely, placed his 
 hand upon his heart, and seemed highly 
 flattered. 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 235 
 
 ' Ye are welcome, ane an' a',' he said 
 simperingly ; ' and we'll hae a rousing game 
 the nicht at the cards.' 
 
 Here his eye fell suddenly on me, and he 
 seemed kindled into fury. He leapt at me 
 with a scream, and I drew back terrified. 
 The constables and rustics sprang upon him. 
 There was a brief struggle, and at last he 
 was held writhing on the ground. One of 
 the men fetched a rope ; and the imbecile 
 was soon firmly bound. 
 
 ' Well, gentlemen ? ' said the minister, 
 turning with a fierce and mocking smile to 
 his escort. They said nothing, but made a 
 vigorous search through the apartment. 
 Their search was at last rewarded. Poked 
 hurriedly under the bedclothes, and begrimed 
 with mud and blood, they found the hat and 
 cloak of Mr. Macbraith. 
 
 ' We're getting wind of the business at 
 last,' grunted one of the constables with 
 satisfaction. 
 
 ' And what do you purpose doing, gentle- 
 men, at this juncture ? ' asked Macbraith 
 with stern calmness. 
 
236 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 ' Doing ! ' exclaimed the other constable 
 roughly; 'why, doing our duty, to be sure, 
 and bringing both you and the madman here 
 at once before the authorities. In the mean 
 time, we arrest you both on a charge of 
 wilful murder.' 
 
 I have little more to add. 
 
 It was satisfactorily proved at the trial 
 that Alexander Macbraith had been the 
 assassin, and that the minister was entirely 
 innocent. The tale I had heard in the 
 Manse was true ; and Alexander, cunning 
 and revengeful in some things, although 
 harmless in the main, had not forgotten his 
 persecutor. He had watched him again and 
 again by daylight, walking in the lane below 
 the Manse ; and on the night in question, 
 having caught glimpses of a dark figure, he 
 seized an opportunity to slip out disguised in 
 his brother's clothes, and perpetrated the 
 dreadful deed. 
 
 The minister was severely reprimanded 
 for having suffered his brother to remain 
 comparatively free, and thus having given 
 
MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 237 
 
 him an opportunity to commit the crime. It 
 was proved that he was allowed to roam 
 freely about the house, being perfectly under 
 the control of his brother and of the house- 
 keeper, who had once held office in a lunatic 
 asylum. Macbraith, in defence, asserted 
 that he had believed his brother quite harm- 
 less, and that he had no suspicion that he 
 was strong-minded enough to be capable of 
 such memory and such resentment. The 
 affair ended by the committal of Alexander 
 to the lunatic asylum, formerly his brother's 
 terror. 
 
 I was right. My poor mother recovered 
 herself in time, but she never managed to 
 get married again. 
 
 That I did not marry the minister, you 
 have already guessed. Indeed, such a 
 marriage was rendered a moral impossibility. 
 Some weeks after the trial, I received the 
 following note in a rugged scrawl : 
 
 ' Miss Jean Hayman, — 
 
 ' I regret the sorrow of you 
 and yours, for I — loved you ! I love you 
 
338 MISS JEAN'S LOVE STORY 
 
 even now ; but I am not too blind to see that 
 the gulf between us is impassable. You will 
 always be a strange portion of my dark life, 
 for (I repeat it) I love you. Why, I know 
 not ; you did not conquer me in the usual 
 way. But farewell ; I leave England to- 
 morrow, never to return. 
 
 ' Richard Macbraith.' 
 
 He spoke wisely. The gulf between us 
 was never to be passed. But I often think 
 of the minister, now in my old age ; and the 
 bitter, bitter heart-struggle, returning again, 
 lasted so long, that I had grown old and 
 weak before I knew that it was too late to 
 love again. 
 
THE DUMB BAIRN 
 
 Y tale is brief yet strange (the Elder said) ; 
 Altho' the days of miracles are fled, 
 Hear it and mark, all ye who smile at 
 
 prayer 
 
 John Sutherland, a Minister of Ayr, 
 
 Stern and unbending, yet a man of worth, 
 
 Had one weak child, who, deaf and dumb from 
 
 birth. 
 Had never spoke a word or heard a sound. 
 The mother, with her wild arms folded round 
 The breathing babe, and eyes upraised to see 
 Her husband's face set hard in agony. 
 Had blest them both, the father and the child. 
 And sank to slumber, even as she smiled 
 That last farewell, and tryst to meet again 
 Beyond earth's clouds of cruelty and pain. 
 Thus was the weary widower left alone 
 To keep sad watch o'er his afflicted son. 
 
240 THE DUMB BAIRN 
 
 A tiny tender waif of feeble breath, 
 Wordless and still, a thing of life-in-death. 
 
 Now God, who to this little child forbad 
 The pretty speech that makes a parent glad. 
 Who shut the tender doorways of his head. 
 Closing his soul in silence deep and dread. 
 Had made him very beautiful and bright, 
 With golden hair and eyes of heavenly light, 
 As sweet and bright a bairn in sooth was he 
 As ever crowed upon a father's knee ; 
 And lo ! the father loved him with a love 
 Passing the love of women, and above 
 All dreams of men more lonely and more blest. 
 Fondly he reared him, sleeping and at rest, 
 And ever as he grew more strong and fair 
 Watching him with a haggard eye of care. 
 And so, though in that lonely house was heard 
 No baby prattling and no half-lisp'd word 
 To show the little spirit was astir, 
 The child became a silent messenger 
 Of love and blessing to the afflicted man ; 
 And after, when the little one began 
 To move upon its feet, and when it knew 
 The joy of life as happier children do. 
 The Minister thanked God that it was sent 
 To be his loving comfort and content. 
 
 But ever in his hour of happiness 
 
 One thought to this good man brought dire distress, 
 
THE DUMB BAIRN 241 
 
 Exceeding pity, and a nameless fear, 
 'Twas that the little one could never hear 
 The living voice of prayer, — nor understand 
 The Book of blessing writ by God's own hand. 
 How, then, since our salvation we must reach 
 Only by what the holy gospels teach 
 (Nay, smile not, for his faith was absolute !) 
 Could that afflicted stem bear heavenly fruit ? 
 How, never having even heard Christ's name. 
 And how to atone for Adam's fall He came, 
 Could this poor child be saved} 
 
 In secret fear 
 He watched the child grow on from year to year, 
 Till it was four years old ; and then at length. 
 Having in secret prayed with all his strength. 
 He said, ' The bairn shall not forsaken be 
 Through any lack of fitting faith in me, 
 But daily in his presence I will read 
 A chapter of the Holy Book, and plead 
 That God, who works all wonders, may convey 
 The message to his soul in some strange way 
 I comprehend not.' 
 
 Ever after that 
 Each day with book in hand the father sat, 
 Reading a portion of the Holy Word 
 To his beloved, who neither spoke nor heard, 
 But ever with a silent sweet distress. 
 Shut in his little cloud of silentness, 
 
 R 
 
242 THE DUMB BAIRN 
 
 Seem'd trying prettily to understand ; 
 
 And sometimes he would stretch his tiny hand 
 
 And lay it softly on the leaves, meanwhile 
 
 Uplooking with a bright and heavenly smile. 
 
 And presently this time to read and pray 
 
 Became so loved a duty of the day 
 
 Ev'n to the child, that oft the little one, 
 
 Eager to see the silent service done, 
 
 Would run and lift the great book merrily. 
 
 And setting it upon his father's knee, 
 
 Look up, and wait, with sweet expectant gaze. 
 
 And ever after, on the Sabbath days 
 
 When in the church the father preached and taught. 
 
 Thither the little silent one was brought, 
 
 And while the deep hymn rose, or from above 
 
 The good man preached of God's great strength 
 
 and love, 
 (Nay, very often, if the truth be told, 
 Of God's avenging judgments manifold — ■ 
 For the man's creed was gloomy enough and 
 
 sad) 
 Below him, looking round with glances glad 
 Out of his cloud of silence, the pale boy 
 Beheld the service with mysterious joy, 
 Smiled, while the light on painted windows played, 
 Watch'd while the black-robed preacher preached 
 
 and prayed. 
 Saw the folk rise and fall like waves of the sea. 
 Standing erect or kneeling on the knee, 
 
THE DUMB BAIRN 243 
 
 And mimick'd dumbly what he saw them do, 
 Knelt when they knelt, and seemed to hearken too ! 
 Ah, oftentimes the preacher from his place 
 Looking with blinding tears upon his face, 
 Seeing his darling listening as it were. 
 Quickened his cry of agony and despair. 
 And as he blest his congregation, blest 
 The little silent form o'er all the rest ! 
 
 Thus over father and child the seasons rolled 
 
 Until the little one was seven years old. 
 
 When suddenly, with some obscure disease 
 
 That wastes the tender blood by slow degrees. 
 
 The boy fell sick, and feebly, without pain. 
 
 The rosy light of life began to wane. 
 
 Doctors were called ; they came with solemn tread 
 
 And coldly went. ' He was not strong,' they said. 
 
 ' Nay, 'twas a miracle that one so frail 
 
 Had lived so long and scarcely seemed to ail. 
 
 But now the end of all was surely nigh. 
 
 And in a little while the. child must die.' 
 
 The father heard, and darkening in despair 
 
 Wrestled with God in agonies of prayer. 
 
 Then with the strength of loving faith moaned low, 
 
 ' My God knows best, maybe 'tis better so. 
 
 And in the air of heaven more sweet and clear 
 
 My bairn at last shall find a tongue, and hear 
 
 A music more divine than ours below ! ' 
 
 Thenceforward, grim as death, his hair like snow, 
 
 R 2 
 
244 THE DUMB BAIRN 
 
 His body bent, with heavy hanging head, 
 He sat for hours beside the child and read 
 Out of the Holy Book ! As the days passed 
 His hope grew stronger and less overcast. 
 And with a stronger voice of faith he poured 
 His soul forth, that his boy might know the Lord. 
 But ever when the seventh day came, alas, 
 Wearily to the pulpit would he pass. 
 And as he preached the news of heavenly grace 
 Look down and miss the upturn'd and smiling 
 
 face, 
 The little kneeling form that once knelt there, 
 The tiny hands clasp'd tight in mimic prayer. 
 And oft his strong soul shook, his head was bowed, 
 And in the people's sight he sobbed aloud ! 
 
 At last one quiet Sabbath eventide, 
 
 When home he hastened to the bairn's bedside, 
 
 He found him lying very wan and white, 
 
 His face illumed by the red sunset light 
 
 That crept across the pane, and on the bed 
 
 Like roses bright was luminously shed. 
 
 His eyes were closed, and on his face there fell 
 
 The shadow of some peace ineffable, 
 
 And very softly, thinking that he slept, 
 
 The father by the bedside knelt, and wept. 
 
 But suddenly the piteous eyes of azure 
 
 Were opened with a heavenly look of pleasure, 
 
 The little arms upreach'd, the pale face yearned, 
 
 The soft mouth pouting for a kiss upturned, 
 
THE DUMB BAIRN 245 
 
 And while the strong man in his anguish shook, 
 The sick bairn smiled, and pointing to the Book, 
 Which lay by open, made a sign he knew 
 That he should read as he was wont to do. 
 He took the Book, and on it fixed his eyes. 
 And choking down the tears that still would rise, 
 Read in a broken voice that chapter blest 
 Which tells of ' Quiet Waters,' peace, and rest, 
 Where all the weary shall have comforting. 
 
 Now, mark what followed ; — I but tell this thing. 
 
 As it was told to me, by one who heard 
 
 The very man relate it word by word. 
 
 Even as he sat and read, and seem'd to hear 
 
 Those heavenly waters softly murmuring near. 
 
 There came a cry, and startled at the sound 
 
 He raised his eyes and saw with glory crowned 
 
 The child's seraphic face ; and lo ! he heard. 
 
 With all his being mystically stirred, 
 
 The dumb lips speak ! Yea, on his ears there fell 
 
 A faint last cry of rapture and farewell ; 
 
 The bairn stretched out his little arms and cried, 
 
 ' Yes, papa I — quiet waters! ' — smiled, and died ! . . , 
 
 O faith divine of days ere faith was fled ! 
 Light of a creed once quick that now is dead ! 
 Was it reality or but a dream ? 
 Did the voice call indeed, or only seem ? 
 
246 THE DUMB BAIRN 
 
 Who knows? and who can tell which most doth 
 
 prove, — 
 A miracle of fact or one of Love ? 
 Yet this is sure — could such deep faith have seat 
 Again in some few hearts of all that beat, 
 Mammon and Antichrist would cease to reign. 
 Doubts die, and miracles be wrought again ! 
 
SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 A VIGNETTE IN PROSE 
 
 True 
 
 IT was my privilege during the last 
 days of his strangely prosperous 
 career, to see a good deal of the 
 late Mr. Thomas Ereildoune — 
 Thomas,' as he was affectionately 
 called by the generation to whom he told so 
 many grim truths. I had gone to him as 
 a literary aspirant — one of the many who, 
 coming up from Scotland to fight for fortune, 
 carried letters of introduction to the great 
 man. The nation delighted to honour him, 
 and despite his dislike of the literary class 
 'generally, he never failed to say a kind word 
 to any young brother Scot who sought his 
 
248 SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 advice. For some reason or other, he took 
 to me, and though so many years his junior, 
 I became a frequent visitor at his house, and 
 received a great deal of his confidence. It 
 was one winter evening, as we sat alone 
 together in his study — that study which was 
 a very Mecca to literary pilgrims of all 
 nations — that he made the singular con- 
 fession which I am about to place on record. 
 There he sat, aged, honoured, famous, 
 the leading man of letters, perhaps, of his 
 generation ; an old dressing gown wrapt 
 around him, slippers on his feet, his face 
 grim as granite (just as it appears in 
 Woodman's bust), and his eyes with that sad 
 prophetic gaze which is reproduced in all the 
 photographs. On the bookshelves close 
 round him were well-thumbed volumes, 
 nearly all of them presentation copies, with 
 the autographs of their mighty authors, chief 
 among them a set of Goethe, with notes in 
 the poet's own handwriting. On the wall, 
 over the mantelpiece, was a scroll in vellum, 
 given to Ercildoune by the savants of 
 Germany on the occasion of his sixtieth 
 
SANDIE MACPHERSON 249 
 
 birthday, and his reception of the Grand 
 Cross of the Legion of Sauerkraut, from the 
 hands of the King of Thuringia. In the 
 desk at his elbow was a precious corre- 
 spondence — signed by such names as Heine, 
 Thiers, Balzac, Hartmann, Darwin, Macau- 
 lay, Coleridge, Dickens. Only the day 
 before Ercildoune had been sent for by the 
 Queen of England, as one of the two or 
 three great men it behoved her to know and 
 honour ; and, having spent several hours of 
 conversation with her, he had pronounced 
 her a ' nice homely body, just like scores of 
 farmers' wives he had met in Allandale.' 
 Certainly, he was one to whom the world 
 did homage — kings might have envied his 
 authoritative position. It was, therefore, 
 with some surprise that I discovered, listen- 
 ing to his confession, that the great man was 
 not altogether contented with his success ; 
 that it had one serious qualification, which 
 had (as he himself expressed- it) cost him 
 many a sleepless night. 
 
 Let me explain the matter, as far as 
 possible, in his own words. I despair of 
 
250 SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 reproducing the peculiar accent and the deep 
 pathetic ' burr ' of his voice — which he 
 preserved to the last, as well as certain 
 eccentricities of pronunciation, which I shall 
 not imitate. 
 
 ' You think me a successful man, and 
 such, I allow, is the popular opinion. Well, 
 maybe, I have been successful beyond my 
 merits, which are small enough, Lord 
 knows ; but lest I should grow daft with my 
 own self-conceit, the Lord sent Sandie Mac- 
 pherson to keep me humble ! 
 
 ' It is a humiliating confession to make, 
 but almost at any point of my long career, 
 from the very beginning, the thought of 
 having converted Sandie would have been 
 more precious to me than the admiration of 
 all the rest of the world. Sandie, however, 
 never believed in me from the first. When 
 I published my first book, my chief thought 
 was, " What will Sandie Macpherson think 
 of this ? " and when I heard the criticisms, 
 which cut me up like a haggis right and left, 
 I could have borne everything but the 
 thought of how he would gloat over them, 
 
SANDIE MACPHERSON 251 
 
 down yonder in Scotland. I was somewhat 
 consoled, and a wee bit hopeful, when, some 
 years afterwards, I published my " History 
 of the Renaissance in Thuringia ; " for the 
 critics, knowing nothing of the subject, 
 praised it to a man, and talked havers^ 
 about my industry, my originality, and my 
 erudition. I cared nothing for the critics, 
 but I said to myself with a smile, " That's 
 one for Sandie Macpherson, at last ! " 
 
 ' Perhaps you will be asking who Sandie 
 Macpherson is, that I set such store by his 
 good opinion ? Well, up till a few months 
 ago you might have seen his name — 
 "Alexander Macpherson," as it was given 
 baptismally — over the front of a small 
 grocer's shop in the Gallowgate of Glasgow. 
 
 ' Sandie and I were schoolfellows. 
 
 'We first met in the Rev. Mr. Mac- 
 indow's seminary, out beyond the Cow- 
 caddens, and afterwards we attended Mr. 
 Parallel's Mathematical and Dr. Skelpum's 
 Latin classes, in the High School. As I 
 mind Sandie now, he was a wee, smug- 
 
 ' Nonsense. 
 
252 SANDIE MACPHBRSON 
 
 mouthed, black-aveezed laddie, with eyes 
 like a hawk, and a stoop in the shoulders. 
 From first to last he was ever at the top 
 of the class. He carried away all the prizes 
 at the Rev. Mr. Macindow's, and when he 
 came to the High School, among lads twice 
 his size, he was "dux" of the class. Such 
 a memory as he had ! It was wonderful, 
 wonderful ! He could repeat the whole 
 Latin Delectus with his eyes shut, and he 
 knew the whole of Euclid, when we were 
 peching^ over the " Pons Asinorum." Dr. 
 Skelpum himself was afraid of him. As for 
 me, where he was dux I was dunce. I had 
 the taws^ nearly every day from the Doctor, 
 and ever and aye, while I writhed in my 
 corner, I could hear the cry, "Alexander 
 Macpherson, tell Tammas Ercildoune how 
 to construe" this or that passage in the 
 " Metamorphoses." Sometimes, just to 
 shame us, he was put at the very bottom 
 of the class, and then — Lord, to see him 
 
 ' Breathing hard. 
 
 ^ An instrument of torture applied to the hands in 
 Scotch schools. 
 
SANDIE MACPHERSON 253 
 
 louping from place to place, like one running 
 up a brae, and then standing, flushed and 
 triumphant, in his old place, at the very top ! 
 ' Sandie's father was a small tradesman 
 in Glasgow, and you may be sure he was 
 proud enough of his son. Sandie was ever 
 spick and span, had the best of clothes, and 
 a silver watch and chain given to him by his 
 aunt on his birthday. His books were like 
 himself — clean, white, and neat, with no 
 thumb-marks or dog's-leaves to disfigure the 
 pages. He wrote a beautiful hand, like 
 copperplate, and in the writing class, as well 
 as the rest, he was facile princeps. Well 
 might he look with scorn on my slovenly 
 dress, my books all thumbed and torn, and 
 on my handwriting, which was ill to make 
 out as heathen Greek. Well might he be 
 held up to me, as he was, for a shining light 
 and an example. " Tammas Ercildoune, go 
 out and wash your face ; when will ye learn 
 to be tidy, like Alexander Macpherson ? " 
 " Tammas, your books are a disgrace ; do 
 ye no' think shame when ye see the books of 
 Alexander Macpherson?" "For shame. 
 
254 SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 Tammas, for shame ; do you ever see 
 Alexander Macpherson sucking black man^ 
 in the midst o' school ? " " Tammas, your 
 handwriting is abomination ; Alexander, set 
 him a copy yoursel', to show him how a lad 
 should write." These were the cries ringing 
 for ever in my ears. What wonder if I 
 grew to look on Sandie as a superior being — 
 to be gazed at with admiration and envy, to 
 be imitated with awe and fear ? 
 
 ' It was just the same story when we 
 went to college. 
 
 ' We met there on our former footing ; 
 that is to say, he distinguished himself as 
 usual, while I watched him from a respectful 
 distance. Few words ever passed between 
 us, for we had never been on speaking terms 
 — either in or out of school. But the 
 relationship between us was clearly under- 
 stood. Sometimes, as he passed me in the 
 street, wearing grandly his red college gown 
 and his college hat, while I crept along with 
 my gown on my arm, he would give me a 
 patronising nod, that was all. We began 
 ' A species of Scotch sweetmeat, 
 
SANDIE MACPHERSON 255 
 
 Greek together under Whiteland, and moral 
 philosophy under old Dr. Plainstanes. It 
 was the old story. He was the pet pupil 
 of both professors. He drank in learning 
 like his mother's milk. From the first 
 Greek to the second and third I followed 
 him laboriously — as a clumsy fledgeling fol- 
 lows the flight of some splendid eagle, whom 
 it seeks to emulate in vain. 
 
 ' After we left college, I lost sight of him 
 for some years. I believe he might have 
 received a bursary and gone to Oxford, but 
 his father, proud as he was of his attainments, 
 did not want to spoil him for trade, and 
 withdrew him before he had completed his 
 course. I myself took to pupil teaching, 
 having not yet decided to try my fortune in 
 literature. 
 
 ' But one day, fired by sudden enthusiasm, 
 I wrote a long letter to the " Glasgow Herald " 
 on some question of the day. It was printed 
 next morning in all the glory of large type, 
 and signed " Thomas Ercildoune." It was 
 the proudest day of my life, but, alas ! it was 
 destined to be overclouded. Towards after- 
 
256 SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 noon I entered a coffee shop, and saw, in the 
 compartment next to me, his head buried in 
 the paper, a human figure. The paper was 
 the " Herald," open at the page containing 
 my letter. I sat, blushing with all the pride 
 of fresh-blown authorship. Presently the 
 face looked up, and I saw, to my surprise, my 
 old schoolfellow, Sandie Macpherson. Our 
 eyes met, but his stony orbs gave no sign 
 of recognition. Then he turned the paper 
 again, and smiled! Yes, he was reading my 
 letter. It might astonish the public, but it 
 could not impose upon hiTn. There were 
 Latin and Greek quotations in it, and frag- 
 ments of moral philosophy ; how ashamed I 
 felt of them, as I saw them come under his 
 baleful eye ! He smiled again, placed down 
 the paper, paid his reckoning, and walked 
 out of the shop without a word. I went 
 home a miserable man. I might put on 
 grand airs before the public, but one man 
 knew my measure, and that man was Sandie 
 Macpherson. 
 
 ' It was no use arguing with myself that 
 the man was an idiot ; that although he was 
 
SANDIE MACPHERSON 257 
 
 glib at uptaking what was taught him, he 
 had neither talent nor originahty. The 
 memory of those early days haunted me 
 like a shadow. 
 
 ' I am not going to weary you — and myself 
 — with a history of my literary struggles, til,l 
 I conquered the book taster, the magazine 
 editor, and the publisher, and became a 
 recognised producer of the popular literary 
 article. Years passed away. In the course 
 of years I emigrated to London, on the 
 invitation of John Still, the philosopher. 
 Then I published my first book, and, as I have 
 told you, it was a failure. I retrieved myself 
 by my second, which was about half as good, 
 and not near so earnest, as the first. I still 
 had Glasgow and Sandie Macpherson in my 
 mind when I failed or succeeded, but in 
 course of time the impression grew dimmer 
 and dimmer. It was one fine day that John 
 Still, returning from the north, where he had 
 been lecturing on some political subject, 
 spoke to me as follows : 
 
 ' " By the way, Ercildoune, I met an old 
 schoolfellow of yours in Glasgow." 
 
258 SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 ' " Ay, indeed ?" I said, feeling the blood 
 mount to my face in a moment. 
 
 ' " A man named Macpherson, a small 
 tradesman, and a member of the local club 
 which took me down. A prosy fellow, and 
 very sarcastic. He amused me very much 
 with his dry reminiscences of your school days, 
 and seemed greatly astonished that you had 
 made any mark in the world." 
 
 ' I forced a laugh, but I felt hot and cold 
 all over. 
 
 ' " Do you remember him ? " proceeded 
 Still. " He remembers you wonderfully !" 
 
 ' " I'm not sure," I returned with care- 
 lessness. " I believe there was a lad of that 
 name in the class with me, but I've almost 
 forgotten him. It's — it's a long time ago ! " 
 
 ' Hypocrite that I was ! Did John Still 
 know that I was lying ? He looked at me for 
 some moments with an amused smile, as if he 
 were calling up some queer reminiscence ; 
 and I — I could have brained him. Some 
 little time after that John Still and I fell out. 
 He wrote a criticism of Suckle's " History of 
 Civilisation," and published it in the radical 
 
SANDIE MACPHERSON 259 
 
 " Lambeth Review." I handled the same book 
 next quarter in the " Caledonian," and turned 
 Still's arguments inside out in no very com- 
 plimentary fashion. Still was a sensitive 
 man, and a while after that, he cut me dead in 
 the street. We made it up afterwards, but 
 were never the same as before. Till the 
 day of his death I never gave him any ex- 
 planation. I cared no more for Suckle or 
 his arguments than for that fly on the wall ! 
 Suckle, indeed — the poor, silly, overcrammed 
 Cockney gowk ! The real cause of my attack 
 on John Still was anger and irritation. Sandie 
 Macpherson, again, was at the bottom of it 
 all! 
 
 ' A year or so after this I went down to 
 Glasgow on business. By that time I had 
 made a name for myself, and my visit caused 
 a stir in the city. I stayed with Sir Robert 
 Mungo, the Lord Provost — a silly man, with 
 a sniggering taste for philosophy. After a 
 few days I grew very weary of being lionised ; 
 for nearly every day there was a grand dinner, 
 and I was bored to death with the admiration 
 
 of daft folk of both sexes. One forenoon, as 
 
 s 2 
 
26o SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 I was wandering about the streets, looking at 
 the old houses, and calling to mind the places 
 I had known when a lad, I passed down the 
 Gallowgate, and saw the name of " Alexander 
 Macpherson " over a small grocer's shop. 
 Now, I was in a sympathetic mood that day ; 
 the contemplation of old scenes, and the 
 thought of the kindness of my countrymen, 
 had touched my heart, and it melted suddenly 
 at the name of my old schoolfellow. Could 
 it possibly be the same ? Before I knew 
 what I was doing, I had entered the shop. 
 
 ' Yes, I was right. There, standing 
 behind the covmter, was Sandie himself, 
 older, grimmer, but neat and clean as usual.- 
 As I entered in, he was measuring out a 
 pound of moist sugar for a barefooted 
 servant lassie, in petticoat and short gown. 
 
 '"Mr. Macpherson?" I said, when he 
 had done. 
 
 ' He looked up, and our eyes met. I 
 saw in a moment that he recognised me, but 
 his face remained grim as granite, and his 
 eye was cold as ice. 
 
 ' " That's my name," he replied. 
 
SAND IE MACPHERSON 261 
 
 ' I smiled, and prepared to hold out my 
 hand. 
 
 ' " I think we were schoolmates together. 
 My name is Ercildoune, Thomas Ercil- 
 doune. Do you mind^ me ? " 
 
 ' He looked at me from head to foot. 
 His eye rested on my old cloak, my broad- 
 brimmed hat, and he nodded darkly, as he 
 replied : 
 
 ' " I mind ye well enough. Can I serve 
 ye with anything? " 
 
 ' " Nothing, thanks ; only — I was pass- 
 ing, and I thought I should like to remind 
 you of our old acquaintanceship." 
 
 ' As I spoke, Sandie proceeded leisurely 
 with his business behind the counter — 
 opened his till and looked into it ; took 
 down a piece of loaf sugar, and began 
 breaking it into small portions. He gave 
 a sort of grunt as I finished my address 
 to him, and nodded again ; then, after a 
 pause, while I stood hesitating, he observed 
 quietly, surveying me critically from head 
 to foot : 
 
 ' Remember 
 
262 SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 ' " You're staying up in London, I 
 hear ? " 
 
 ' " Yes." 
 
 ' " You're what they call a leeterary man, 
 noo ? " 
 
 '"Just so," I replied, smiling good- 
 naturedly, but feeling rather ashamed. 
 
 ' " Atweel," said Sandie, reflectively, as 
 he swept up his pieces of sugar, and put 
 them into a large jar, " atweel, London's a 
 big place, and they call it the centre of 
 ceevilisation ; but " — here he shut the lid of 
 the jar sharply — " mony things please the 
 folk in London that wouldna gang doon in 
 Glesgow ! " 
 
 ' What he meant I could hardly gather ; 
 it was a mere general reflection, but I felt 
 somehow that it had a personal application. 
 A long pause ensued. I stood awkwardly 
 waiting in front of the counter, but Sandie 
 did not seem inclined for further conversa- 
 tion. At last, feeling rather uncomfortable, 
 I determined to put an end to the interview. 
 
 ' " Well, I'll wish you good morning," I 
 said, moving to the shop door. 
 
SAN DIE MACPHERSON 263 
 
 ' " Good morning," grunted Sandie, not 
 raising his eyes from his desk and ledger, to 
 which he had just gone, 
 
 ' I walked out of the shop, indignant at 
 the man's imperturbability. Glancing back 
 from the pavement, I saw Sandie's face 
 quietly regarding me over his ledger — and 
 smiling — just as it had smiled when I saw 
 him reading my first effort in literature. He 
 was certainly quite irreconcilable. 
 
 ' About this period of my career, as you 
 may remember, I was particularly severe in 
 my writings on the British Philistine, and on 
 the sordid, self-conceited, money-grubbing 
 secularity of the trading classes in this 
 country. I denounced the hypocrisies of 
 Sodom and the fleshpots of Gomorrah. The 
 press took up my cry, and Philistinism had a 
 bad time of it. Poor idiots, they thought 
 that I had a grievance against society. 
 Nothing of the kind. I was only trying to 
 have my revenge on Sandie Macpherson ! 
 
 ' For, wrestle as I might against him, the 
 man had mastered me. Folk might compare 
 me to John the Baptist preaching in the 
 
264 SAND IE MACPHERSON 
 
 wilderness, they might say that I had come 
 to preach honesty and independence, pure 
 living and high thinking, to a rotten genera- 
 tion, but Sandie Macpherson knew better. 
 Sandie saw through me. It was no use 
 posing as a great thinker and teacher before 
 him. I minded his words, " Mony things 
 please the folk in London that wouldna gang 
 doon in Glesgow." It was humiliating, to 
 say the least of it. Much as I despised the 
 fellow, his attitude of invincible stupidity 
 was something Titanic. To the bedside of 
 the heathen emperor a slave used to come 
 each morning, saying, " Philip, remember 
 you must die ! " To my bedside, for many 
 a day, came the spirit of Sandie, saying, 
 " Thomas Ercildoune, remember you're a 
 poor creature ; and I know it ! " 
 
 ' I thought- to have my revenge on 
 Sandie at last, the day they made me Lord 
 Rector of the University of Glasgow. 
 
 ' More proud and exultant than you can 
 think, I went down to my natal city to 
 deliver the rectorial address. I was an old 
 man by this time, and had a great narne all 
 
SAND IE MACPHERSON 265 
 
 over the world. Such a reception as they 
 gave me ! As I stood in the large hall, with 
 the professors and citizens around me, the 
 students in their thousands cheering me, fine 
 ladies in the galleries smiling down upon me, 
 I felt that I had reached the height of my 
 ambition. I addressed them like a man 
 inspired. I spoke of my early days, my 
 struggles, my fondness for the country of my 
 birth, and I was in the middle of a splendid 
 peroration, when all of a sudden I became 
 conscious of a man's face looking quietly up 
 at me. One man's face, in all that sea of 
 faces ! But I knew it only too well — grim, 
 cold, hard as granite, yet with a kind of 
 pitying smile upon it— whose face could it 
 be but the one I had dreaded all my life ? 
 The words went out of my head, and I 
 ended feebly, sitting down into my chair 
 with a sigh of relief when I had finished. . . . 
 The next day there were columns in the 
 papers, and in the course of the long report 
 something to this effect: "At this point of 
 his discourse, alluding to his early days in 
 this city, Mr. Ercildoune was visibly affected, 
 
266 SANDIE MACPHERSON 
 
 His emotion was touching to witness, and 
 he almost broke down ; but amidst the loud 
 cheering of his enormous audience, he at last 
 concluded his magnificent address." "Visibly 
 affected," indeed! — and "touching emotion!" 
 They little knew that my speech was nearly 
 ruined by the sinister influence of Sandie 
 Macpherson 1 ' 
 
 The great man paused, half amused, half 
 angry, at the remembrance of his odd experi- 
 ence. Reaching out his hand, he took down 
 a pipe from the mantelpiece, filled and lit it, 
 and smoked for some minutes in silence, 
 with his sad eyes fixed upon the fire. I sat 
 watching him, reverently and wonderingly. 
 At last he broke the silence : 
 
 ' I never saw Sandie again after that. 
 
 'About a year ago, however, an old 
 friend, a minister of the Kirk, coming on a 
 visit from Glasgow, informed me that my 
 former schoolfellow, who was one of his 
 congregation, had recently died. My friend 
 had been with him frequently during his last 
 
SAND IE MACPHERSON 267 
 
 illness. I asked, not without anxiety, if the 
 poor fellow had still remembered me ? 
 
 ' My friend smiled. 
 
 ' " Oh, yes, he remembered you well," he 
 replied, "and only a few days before his 
 death he spoke about you." 
 
 '"Indeed! and what did he say?" I 
 said, carelessly. 
 
 ' " Shall I give you his very words ? " 
 asked my friend, laughing merrily. 
 
 ' " Certainly." 
 
 ' " They're telling me," he said, " that 
 Ercildoune has just written another book. 
 Lord, minister, surely the world is gone 
 clean daft ! What can folk see in such a 
 silly sumph-^ as yon ? " 
 
 ' So Sandie passed away,' concluded the 
 old philosopher, ' and now, whatever happens 
 to me, I know that my career must be con- 
 sidered a failure ; for the one dream of my 
 existence, to make an impression on Sandie 
 Macpherson, has been rendered impossible 
 for ever.' 
 
 ' A fool ; a soft, silly creature. 
 
L'ENVOI 
 CALEDONIA 
 
 f^OD bless thee, dear old Godmother 1 
 T ho' far I fare from thee, 
 
 I see thee yet, among thy hills. 
 Thine eyes on the gray Sea ! 
 
 Thy white hair, that was golden once. 
 Blown by the mountain storm. 
 
 The ragged tartan of the clans 
 Folded around thy form I 
 
 ' Tis ragged, dear old Godmother, 
 That brave old tartan plaid. 
 The form it wraps is bent and old. 
 But on thy face burns bright and bold 
 A love that cannot fade I 
 
270 L'ENVOT 
 
 Thou thinkest of thy many sons 
 
 Scatter' d in many lands, 
 Thou nam'st them o'er, thou blessest them 
 
 With trembling outstretch' d hands. 
 
 They harry earth from east to west. 
 These rievers born of thee, 
 
 And they forget tJiee sitting lone 
 Beside the norland Sea ! 
 
 II 
 
 Blood of thy veins runs on in mine. 
 Flesh of thy flesh am I, 
 
 Breath of thy nostrils filleih mine 
 Where'er my feet may fly ! 
 
 Above my cradle bent thy face, 
 Kindly yet grim and stern. 
 
 Thy mouth made mountain melodic 
 To soothe the savage bairn. 
 
 Thy music ivas of Trolls and Fays 
 A nd all the Elfin throng — 
 
 Thy glamour slid into my Soul 
 Out of that cradle-song ! 
 
 And fierce and wild my nature grezi. 
 
 Yet kindly, like thine own. 
 When out into the world I fared. 
 
 To dree my weird, alone. 
 
n ENVOI 271 
 
 Tho' I forgot thee for a time, 
 
 Gray Spirit of the Free, 
 My Soul was haunted night and day 
 
 By that first glamourie ! 
 
 And when the foeman's dirk was drawn 
 
 To stab me as I slept. 
 Wounded and weak, yet unafraid. 
 
 Back to thine arms I crept ! 
 
 Again I heard thy cradle-song 
 
 Soothing and blessing me ! 
 Again I saw, with sadder eyes. 
 
 Thy Mountains and thy Sea ! 
 
 Thine arms were round me, while I set 
 
 My head upon thy breast — 
 The dear old Godmother was true, 
 
 Tho' false were all the rest ! 
 
 The riever's blood is in my veins, 
 
 Thy blood! — and here I stand 
 Alone ^mong strangers, haunted still 
 By thine old Fairyland ! 
 
 Tho' in my heart there leaps the flame 
 That keeps thee strong and stern. 
 
 Low in mine ear thy Fays still call 
 As when I was d bairn ! 
 
272 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 God bless thee, dear old Godi'nother ! 
 
 God bless thee evermore I 
 When life runs low, when night is near 
 
 Croon to me as of yore ! 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON 
 
 I 
 
\LPHABET1CAL CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 
 IN 
 
 GENERAL LITERATURE AND FICTION 
 
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