Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 2 of 3)

They moved away.

"Do you think you will know many of the people about here, after so long a time?" asked Mary of her new acquaintance, as they left the quay – the silent, but not unobservant, nor yet unamused, Käthchen accompanying.

"Oh, no, mem," was the answer (but, as she talked, the old woman turned from time to time to see if she could not get some brief further glimpse of her heart's idol) "my people they were all about Dingwall; and it was from Dingwall I came over here to serve with Mrs. Ross. Ah, she was the noble lady, that!" continued the faithful Ann, looking back over many years. "When we heard of her death, it was then, more than ever, that I thought I must go away to Lochgarra, to see the young master. For she was so careful of his upbringing; and they were just constant companions; and he was always the little gentleman, and polite to everyone – except when Mrs. Ross had a headache – and then he would come down stairs, ay, into the servants' hall, or even to the door of the kitchen – and proud and fierce, as if he would kill some one, and he would say 'What is this noise? I order you to be quiet, when my mamma is asleep!' And you would have heard a pin drop after that, mem. Rather too fond of books he was," continued the silver-haired old dame, whose newly-found happiness had made her excitedly talkative, "and rather delicate in health; and then Mrs. Ross would be talking to him in different languages, neither the Gaelic nor the English, and he would be answering her as well as he could – the little gentleman! – when they were sitting at the table. Indeed, now, that was making the old Admiral – that was Mrs. Ross's uncle – very angry; and he was swearing, and saying there was no use for any language but the English language; and many's and many's the time he was taking young Donald away with him in his yacht, and saying he would make a sailor and a man of him. Well, well, now, who would think the young master had ever been delicate like that, and fond of books – so fine and handsome he has grown – and the laugh he has – ay, a laugh that carries a good story of health and happiness with it!"

"No, he does not look as if he had ever been very delicate," said Mary, absently. "Perhaps the rough life out there on that island was the very best thing for him."

When they got to the house, Mary escorted her guest up to the drawing-room in the tower, and was most assiduous in her pretty little attentions, and had wine and biscuits brought in, for Mrs. Armour (as the old woman's name turned out to be) had breakfasted early on board the steamer. And Mrs. Armour repaid these kindnesses by eagerly talking about young Donald and nothing else; she seemed to think that the two young ladies were as interested as herself in that wonderful subject; and here was the very house in which she had lived to suggest innumerable reminiscences. She did not say anything about Miss Stanley's occupation of the house; nor did she ask how it came about that Donald Ross was now living on the island they could see from this room: no doubt she had heard something, in her remote Canadian home, of the misfortunes that had befallen the old family. But even while she talked her eyes would go wandering to the window that commanded a view of the village; it was like a girl of eighteen watching for her first sweetheart: she was talking to these very kind ladies – but it was young Donald of Heimra that her heart was thinking of all the time.

Then the welcome summons came, and away she went with Coinneach Breac. The two girls watched them go along to the boat in which 'the young master' was waiting; then the men took to the oars, and made for the yacht. The mainsail and jib of the Sirène had already been hoisted; very soon the anchor was got up; and with a light southerly breeze favouring them they had set out for the solitary island that was now Donald Ross's home.

"Well, Mamie," said Käthchen, who was still standing at the window and looking at the gradually receding yacht, "that is a very strange young man. I have been a spectator this morning; and I have been interested. I have seen a young man approached by a beautiful young woman – a damsel in distress, you might almost say – who condescends to appeal to him; and in return he is barely civil – oh, yes, let us say civil – and even polite, but in a curiously stand-off manner. And then an old Highland servant appears; and behold! his face lights up with pleasure; and he is as kind as kind can be, and affectionate; he puts his hand on her shoulder as if she were some old school-mate, and nothing will do but that she must go away out to see his home. To tell you the truth, I did not think he had so much human nature in him. I thought living in that lonely island would have made him a misanthrope. But I shall never forget the expression of his face when he recognised the old woman that had been his mother's servant."

Mary Stanley was silent for a little while; then she said —

"It is a wonderful thing, the affection and devotion that could bring an old woman like that all the way across the Atlantic for a glimpse of one she had known only as a child. And it seems to be a thing you cannot purchase with money, nor yet with good intentions, nor by anything you can do, however hard you may try." She turned away from the window. "But – but I haven't given up yet, Käthchen."

"You never will give up, Mamie," said her friend; and then she added complacently: "For you don't know how."

CHAPTER II

A DEFORCEMENT

But wonders will never cease. It was a couple of days after these occurrences, and Mary Stanley and Kate Glendinning were just about to sit down to lunch, when the Highland maid Barbara came into the room, with a curious expression on her face. And it was in almost awe-stricken tones that she spoke:

"It's Mr. Ross, mem," said she – her pretty, soft, shy eyes now full of a vague astonishment.

"Mr. Ross? – Mr. Ross of Heimra? Well, what about him?" Mary demanded, little guessing at the true state of affairs.

"He's in the hall, mem," said the startled Barbara. "He says would Miss Stanley speak with him for a moment, and he would not keep you more than a moment, mem."

The blood rushed to Mary's forehead, and for a second she was embarrassed and speechless; then, with a certain impatience of her own confusion, she said —

"Well, ask Mr. Ross to go into the drawing-room, Barbara – and tell him I will be there directly."

She turned quickly to her friend. "Käthchen, would you mind going and speaking to him? – I shall be down in a minute."

Possibly Käthchen did not quite like this commission; but then she was in the habit of reflecting that as a salaried companion she had duties to perform; and so with much good nature she went away into the drawing-room, to receive this unexpected visitor. It was some minutes before Mary reappeared. The male eye could not have detected any difference between the Mary Stanley of the dining-room and the Mary Stanley of the drawing-room; but Käthchen instantly perceived the minute alteration. Mary had whipped off to her room to exchange the stiff linen collar that she wore for a piece of soft frilling – a more feminine adornment. Moreover, she came into the room, not radiant in her beauty and self-possessed as was her wont, but with a kind of timid, modest, almost shamefaced gratitude for this act of neighbourliness, and in her clear eyes a manifest pleasure shone. Käthchen, now relieved of her duties, and become a mere onlooker, said to herself: "I don't know what Mamie means; but that young man had better take care."

He, on his side, certainly showed no lack of self-possession – though he still remained standing, his yachting cap in his hand.

"I hope I am not inconveniencing you," said he to Miss Stanley. "The fact is, we got becalmed just outside the bay – "

"But won't you be seated?" said she, and she herself took a chair. Käthchen retired to one of the windows – not to look out, however.

"First of all, I wish to thank you for your kindness to Mrs. Armour," said he. "She is very grateful to you; for of course it was pleasant to the old dame to have a friendly hand held out to her, when she was rather frightened she might be coming back among strangers."

"Oh, that is nothing," said Mary; and then she was emboldened to add, "The wonderful thing was to find anyone connected with this place who would accept of any civility. But then she has been away a long time."

If this was a taunt, unintentional or otherwise, he took no heed of it.

"What I really wished to see you about, however, was this," he went on. "It was only last night that I heard of the sheriff's judgment in the case of James Macdonald – James Macdonald, the crofter, at Cruagan – "

"I know him," said Mary. "But what case? I never heard of it!"

"An action brought by Mr. Purdie on your behalf," he answered briefly.

"Why was I not told of this?" she said.

"The proceedings began some little time ago," he said. "And, indeed, Miss Stanley, I must apologise to you for seeming to interfere. I do not wish to interfere in any way whatever; it would be most impertinent on my part; and besides – besides, I have no desire to interfere. But in this particular case I think you should know what is going on, for Macdonald is a determined man; and if the sheriff's officer and his concurrents come out this afternoon by the mail-car, as they are likely to do, I'm afraid there will be trouble. The sheriff has granted a decree of removal; but I don't think Macdonald will go; while it is just possible the other crofters may back him up. I thought if you would go along and ask the sheriff's officer to stay proceedings until Macdonald could be talked to by his own friends – "

"Well, of course I will!" said she, instantly. "But I want to know what this action is all about! It seems to me that I ought to be consulted before Mr. Purdie takes to evicting any of the tenants."

There was a curious, covert gleam of satisfaction in the young man's lustrous black eyes; but he went on to say very quietly —

"I am afraid Macdonald has put himself entirely in the wrong. For one thing, he is over two years in arrear with his rent; and that of itself, according to the Crofters Holding Act, forfeits his tenancy. And then, again, he refuses to pay because of reasons that won't hold water. He claims compensation for improvements – "

"Why not?" said she – promptly taking the side of the tenant, and talking to young Ross as if he were advocating the landlord's interest.

"Well," said Young Donald, "he has cut a few drains and covered them in; but the sheriff found that this was counterbalanced by his neglect of other parts of the croft, and that there was no just claim. His other reason for refusal was that he wanted an allowance made to him for Mr. Watson's sheep being permitted to graze over the Cruagan crofts after the crops were reaped."

"And why not?" said Mary again. "Why should Mr. Watson's sheep graze over the crofts? That seems to me a great injustice – unless compensation is given."

"Well, it is a practice of long standing," said the young man (and Käthchen, who cared very little about rents and holdings and drains, nevertheless thought he had so agreeable a voice that it was quite a pleasure to listen to him). "The crofters took the crofts knowing of this condition, and the rents were fixed accordingly. However, this is the present state of affairs, that the sheriff-substitute has decided against Macdonald – as he was bound to do, I admit. He has found him liable for arrears of rent, with interest and costs; and he has granted a warrant to turn him out. Now Macdonald is a stiff-necked man, a difficult man to deal with; and he doesn't know much English; it will be no use for the sheriff-officer to argue, and say he is only doing his duty – "

"I disapprove of the whole proceedings," said Mary, with decision. "Mr. Purdie had no right to go to such extremes without consulting me – and I will take care that it does not happen again. By the mail-car, did you say? Well, that won't be coming by Cruagan before half-past two; and I can be there by then. The sheriff's officer and his – his what did you call them?"

"His concurrents – assistants."

"They must wait for further instructions; and I will inquire into the matter myself."

He rose.

"I hope you will forgive me, Miss Stanley," said he, as he had said before, "for seeming to interfere. I have no wish to do anything of the kind. But I thought you ought to know in case there might be any trouble – which you could prevent."

"Mr. Ross," said she, "I am very much obliged to you. I – I don't get very much help – and – and I want to do what little I can for the people."

"Good morning!" said he; and he bowed to Kate Glendinning: he was going away without so much as shaking hands with either of them, so distant and respectful was his manner. But Mary, in a confused kind of fashion, did not seem to think this was right. She accompanied him to the door; and that she left open; then she went out with him into the hall.

"I cannot believe that James Macdonald should have any serious grudge against me," she said, "for I told Mr. Purdie to tell him that the tax for the dyke was abolished, and also that fifteen years of it was to be given back. And, besides that, I said to Macdonald myself that thirty shillings an acre was too much for that land; and I propose to have it reduced to a pound an acre when I have all the rents of the estate looked into."

"Do you think Purdie did tell him?" young Donald Ross asked coldly.

"If he has not!" said Mary … "But I am almost sure he did – I spoke to Macdonald myself almost immediately afterwards. And – and I wished to tell you, Mr. Ross," she continued (as if she were rather pleading for favour, or at least expecting approval), "that I have been down to the stranger fishermen at Ru-Minard, and I think it is all settled, and that they are going away peaceably. I am paying them for the lobster-traps that were burned – and perhaps a little more; and they understand that the Vagrant Act can be brought to bear on any others who may think of coming."

"Oh, they are going away?" said he.

"Yes."

"Mr. Purdie will be sorry for that."

"Why?"

"He could have had them removed, if he had wanted; but so long as they were an annoyance and vexation to the people here, he allowed them to remain – naturally."

These accents of contemptuous scorn: she was sorry to hear them somehow; and yet perhaps they were justified – she did not know.

"Good-bye," said she, at the hall door, and she held out her hand. "I am so much obliged to you."

And then of course he did shake hands with her in bidding her farewell – and raised his cap – and was gone.

Mary returned to the dining-room.

"Well, Mamie," said Käthchen, with a demure smile, "that is about the most extraordinary interview I ever heard of. A most handsome young gentleman calls upon a young lady – his first visit – and there is nothing talked of on either side but sheriff officers and summonses, rent, compensation, drains, crofts, grazing, and Acts of Parliament. Of course he was quite as bad as you; but all the same, you might at least have asked the poor man to stay to lunch."

"Oh, Käthchen!" Mary exclaimed, starting to her feet, her face on fire. "Shall I send Barbara after him? I never thought of it! How frightfully rude of me – and he has come all the way over from Heimra to tell me about this eviction. What shall I do? Shall I send after him?"

"I don't think you can," said Käthchen; "it would make the little oversight all the more marked. You'd better ask him the next time you see him – if you have forgotten certain warnings."

"What warnings?"

"Why, about his general character and his occupations," said Kate Glendinning, regarding her friend.

Mary was silent for a moment or two; then she said —

"We need not believe the worst of any one; and when you think of that old woman coming all the way from Canada to see him, that of itself is a testimonial to character that not many could bring forward – "

"But you must remember," said Käthchen, "the young master was a little boy of ten when Mrs. Armour left; and little boys of ten haven't had time to develop into dangerous criminals."

"Dangerous criminal?" said Mary, rather sharply; "that is hardly the – the proper phrase to use – with regard to – to a stranger. However, it is not of much consequence. Käthchen, are you going to drive with me to Cruagan to get that sheriff's officer and his men sent back?"

"Yes, certainly," said Käthchen, in her usual business-like fashion, "as soon as we have had lunch. And remember, Mamie, it wasn't I who forgot to ask him to stay."

Luncheon did not detain them long, and immediately thereafter they got into the waggonette that was waiting for them, and drove off. But it was not of the eviction and the possibility of another riot that Mary was mostly thinking; something very different was weighing, and weighing heavily, on her mind. They drove through the village in silence; they crossed the bridge; and they had begun the ascent of the steep hill before she spoke.

"The more I consider it," she said, "the more ashamed I am."

"Consider what?" said Käthchen.

"Why, neglecting to ask him to stay to lunch," she made answer – for this was what she had been brooding over.

"Why should you worry about such a trifle!" Käthchen protested.

"It isn't a trifle – in a Highlander's estimation, as you know well enough. They pride themselves on their hospitality; and they judge others by their own standards; so that I cannot but keep wondering what he must be thinking of me at this moment. Remember, Käthchen, when we went over to Heimra, even the old housekeeper entertained us, and did her best for us, in that out-of-the-world place; and here he comes to Lochgarra House – his first visit – he comes to do me a kindness – he comes to prevent mischief – and comes into the house that once was his own – and I don't offer him even a biscuit and a glass of sherry – "

"Really, Mary, you needn't worry about such a mere trifle!" Käthchen protested again.

"But I do worry!" she said. "I can imagine what he thought of me as he went away. For you must not forget this, Käthchen: it was a very awkward position he put himself into in order to do me a good turn. Think of his coming to the house, that ought to be his own – asking the servants if he might be admitted – sending up his name as a stranger – then he remains standing in the drawing-room – and he is for going away without shaking hands – as if he were hardly to be considered one's fellow-creature." She was silent for a second or two; then she said, with a sudden touch of asperity: "At the same time there is this to be remembered, that the pride that apes humility is the very worst kind of pride. Often it simply means that the person is inordinately vain."

"Poor young man!" said Käthchen, with a sigh. "He is always in the wrong. But I'm sure I did not object to his manner when he showed us the way out of the Meall-na-Fearn bog."

About a couple of hundred yards on the Lochgarra side of Cruagan they met the mail-car; and when, a minute or two thereafter, they came in sight of the scattered crofts, it was obvious from the prevailing commotion that the sheriff's officer and his assistants had arrived. Indeed, when Mary and Käthchen descended from the waggonette and walked up to James Macdonald's cottage, the business of getting out the few poor sticks of furniture had already begun – the only onlooker being an old white-haired man, Macdonald's father, who was standing there dazed and bewildered, as if he did not understand what was going forward. Just as Mary got up, one of the concurrents brought out a spinning-wheel and put it on the ground.

"Here – what are you doing?" she said, angrily, to the man who appeared to be the chief officer. "Leave that spinning-wheel alone: that is the very thing I want to see in every cottage!"

"I've got the sheriff's warrant, ma'am," said the man, civilly enough. "And we must get everything out and take possession."

"Oh, no, you mustn't!" she said. "This man Macdonald claims compensation – the case must be inquired into – "

"I have nothing to do wi' that, ma'am," said the officer, who seemed a respectable, quiet-spoken, quiet-mannered kind of a person. "I'm bound to carry out the warrant – that's all I've to heed."

"But surely I can say whether I want the man turned out or not?" she protested. "He is my tenant. It is to me he owes the money. Surely, if I am satisfied, you can leave the man alone. But where is he? Where is Macdonald?"

"As for that, ma'am," said the officer, "he is away down the road, and he says he is going to fetch a gun. Very well. If he presents a gun at either me or my concurrents I will declare myself deforced, and he will have to answer for it before the sheriff."

"A gun?" said Mary, rather faintly. "Do you mean to drive the poor man to desperation?"

But there was a more immediate danger to be considered. As the two girls had driven up they had heard a good deal of shrill calling from croft to croft and from house to house; and now there had assembled a crowd of women – a crowd hostile and menacing – that came swarming up, uttering all sorts of angry and reproachful cries. Each time that the sheriff's officer's assistants appeared at the door of the cottage there was another outburst of hooting and groaning; while here and there a bare-armed virago had furnished herself with an apron-full of rubbish – potato-peelings, cabbage-stalks, stale fish, and the like – and these unsavoury missiles began to hurtle through the air, though for the most part they were badly aimed. The sheriff's officer affected to pay no heed. He calmly watched the proceedings of his men; the rubbish flew past him unregarded; and the women had not yet taken to stones.

But Käthchen beheld this advancing crowd with undisguised alarm.

"Mary," she said, hurriedly, "don't you think we should go back to the waggonette? Those people think it is you who are setting the sheriff's officers on – they are hooting at us as well – "

There could be no doubt of the fact; and the infuriated women were drawing nearer and nearer; while, if their taunts and epithets were to her unintelligible, their wrathful glances and threatening gestures were unmistakeable. Mary Stanley found herself helpless. She could not explain to them. She had not the self-possession with which to address this exasperated mob, even if she knew the language in which alone it was possible to appeal to them. Nor dared she retreat, for would not that be simply inviting a general attack? So she was standing, irresolute and bewildered, when there was a new diversion of interest: the man Macdonald made his appearance. She looked at him; she hardly recognised him – so ashen-grey had his cheeks become with excitement and wrath. One trembling hand held a gun; the other he clenched and shook in the face of the officer as he went up to him.

"I – not owing any money!" said the Russian-looking crofter, and his features were working with passion, and his eyes were filled with a baleful light under his shaggy eyebrows. "No – no – God's curse to me if I pay money when I not owing any money! Go away, now – go away back to Dingwall – or it is murder there will be – "

Mary was very pale; but she went forward to him all the same.

"Put away that gun," she said, and she spoke with firmness, though her lips had lost their natural colour. "Put away that gun! These men are doing their duty – you have brought it on yourself."

He turned upon her savagely.

"You – it's not you – my laird – Ross of Heimra, he my laird – you come here, ay, to steal the land – and – and put me from my croft – ay – will you be putting me from my croft?"

In his fury he could find no more English; but he advanced towards her, his clenched fist raised; and here it was that Käthchen (though her heart was beating wildly) thrust herself forward between them.

"How dare you!" she said, indignantly. "Stand back! How dare you!"

For an instant the man's eyes glared at her – as if in his indescribable rage he knew neither what to do or say; but just at this moment his attention was drawn else-whither; a volley of groans and yells from the crowd had greeted the reappearance of the assistants. At sight of these enemies bringing out his poor bits of things, Macdonald's wrath was turned in a new direction; he made a dash for the cottage – managed to get inside – and the next second the two men were flung headlong out, while the door was instantly slammed to behind them. A great shout of triumph and laughter arose from the crowd, while the discomfited officers picked themselves up and gazed blankly at the barred way.