Chapter VI: Part 6

'_Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call!_' he repeated to himself as he marched along the moorland road; for what would they do without some one to guard, and some one to watch for, and some one to listen for, in the first awakening of the dawn? Glasgow--the great and grimy city--that would be a strange sort of guardian, in the young Spring days that were coming, for this fair Sutherland flower. And yet might not some appeal be made even there--some summons of attention, as it were?

_O Glasgow town, how little you know_
_That Meenie has wandered in_
_To the very heart of your darkened streets,_
_Through all the bustle and din._

_A Sutherland blossom shining fair_
_Amid all your dismal haze,_
_Forfeiting the breath of the summer hills,_
_And the blue of the northern days._

_From Dixon's fire-wreaths to Rollox stalk,_
_Blow, south wind, and clear the sky,_
_Till she think of Ben Clebrig's sunny slopes,_
_Where the basking red-deer lie._

_Blow, south wind, and show her a glimpse of blue_
_Through the pall of dusky brown;_
_And see that you guard her and tend her well,_
_You, fortunate Glasgow town!_

But then--but then--that strange, impossible time--during which there would be no Meenie visible anywhere along the mountain roads; and Mudal Water would go by unheeded; and there would be no careless, clear-singing girl's voice along Loch Naver's shores--that strange time would surely come to an end, and he could look forward and see how the ending of it would be:

_The clouds lay heavy on Clebrig's crest,_
_For days and weeks together;_
_The shepherds along Strath-Terry's side_
_Cursed at the rainy weather;_
_They scarce could get a favouring day_
_For the burning of the heather._

_When sudden the clouds were rent in twain_
_And the hill laughed out to the sun;_
_And the hinds stole up, with wondering eyes,_
_To the far slopes yellow and dun;_
_And the birds were singing in every bush_
_As at spring anew begun,_

_O Clebrig, what is it that makes you glad,_
_And whither is gone your frown?_
_Are you looking afar into the south,_
_The long, wide strath adown?_
_And see you that Meenie is coming back--_
_Love Meenie, from Glasgow town!_

He laughed. Not yet was Love Meenie taken away from them all. And if in the unknown future the Stuarts of Glengask and Orosay were to carry her off and make a great lady of her, and take her to see strange places, and perhaps marry her to some noble person, at least in the meantime Ben Clebrig and Ben Loyal and the wide straths between knew that they still held in the mighty hollow of their hand this sweet flower of Sutherlandshire, and that the world and the skies and the woods and lakes seemed fairer because of her presence. And as regarded himself, and his relations with her? Well, what must be must. Only he hoped--and there was surely no great vanity nor self-love nor jealousy in so modest a hope--that the change of her manner towards him was due to the counsels of her mother rather than to anything he had unwittingly said or done. Rose Meenie--Love Meenie--he had called her in verses; but always he had been most respectful to herself; and he could not believe that she thought him capable of doing anything to offend her.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*A NEW ARRIVAL.*

Very early one Sunday morning, while as yet all the world seemed asleep, a young lady stole out from the little hotel at Lairg, and wandered down by herself to the silent and beautiful shores of Loch Shin. The middle of March it was now, and yet the scene around her was quite summer-like; and she was a stranger from very far climes indeed, who had ventured into the Highlands at this ordinarily untoward time of the year; so that there was wonder as well as joy in her heart as she regarded the fairyland before her, for it was certainly not what she had been taught to expect. There was not a ripple on the glassy surface of the lake; every feature of the sleeping and faintly sunlit world was reflected accurately on the perfect mirror: the browns and yellows of the lower moorland; the faint purple of the birch-woods; the aerial blues of the distant hills, with here and there a patch of snow; and the fleecy white masses of the motionless clouds. It was a kind of dream-world--soft-toned and placid and still, the only sharp bit of colour being the scarlet-painted lines of a boat that floated double on that sea of glass. There was not a sound anywhere but the twittering of small birds; nor any movement but the slow rising into the air of a tiny column of blue smoke from a distant cottage; summer seemed to be here already, as the first light airs of the morning--fresh and clear and sweet--came stealing along the silver surface of the water, and only troubling the magic picture here and there in long trembling swathes.

The young lady was of middle height, but looked taller than that by reason of her slight and graceful form; she was pale, almost sallow, of face, with fine features and a pretty smile; her hair was of a lustrous black; and so, too, were her eyes--which were large and soft and attractive. Very foreign she looked as she stood by the shores of this Highland loch; her figure and complexion and beautiful opaque soft dark eyes perhaps suggesting more than anything else the Spanish type of the Southern American woman; but there was nothing foreign about her attire; she had taken care about that; and if her jet-black hair and pale cheek had prompted her to choose unusual tones of colour, at all events the articles of her costume were all correct--the warm and serviceable ulster of some roughish yellow and gray material, the buff-coloured, gauntleted gloves, and the orange-hued Tam o' Shanter which she wore quite as one to the manner born. For the rest, one could easily see that she was of a cheerful temperament; pleased with herself; not over shy, perhaps; and very straightforward in her look.

However, the best description of this young lady was the invention of an ingenious youth dwelling on the southern shores of Lake Michigan.--'Carry Hodson,' he observed on one occasion, 'is just a real good fellow, that's what she is.' It was a happy phrase, and it soon became popular among the young gentlemen who wore English hats and vied with each other in driving phantom vehicles behind long-stepping horses. 'Carry Hodson?--she's just the best fellow going,' they would assure you. And how better can one describe her? There was a kind of frank _camaraderie_ about her; and she liked amusement, and was easily amused; and she laboured under no desire at all of showing herself 'bright'--which chiefly reveals itself in impertinence; but, above all, there was in her composition not a trace of alarm over her relations, however frank and friendly, with the other sex; she could talk to any man--old or young, married or single--positively without wondering when he was about to begin to make love to her. For one thing, she was quite capable of looking after herself; for another, the very charm of her manner--the delightful openness and straightforwardness of it--seemed to drive flirtation and sham sentiment forthwith out of court. And if, when those young gentlemen in Chicago called Miss Carry Hodson 'a real good fellow,' they could not help remembering at the same time that she was an exceedingly pretty girl, perhaps they appreciated so highly the privilege of being on good-comrade terms with her that they were content to remain there rather than risk everything by seeking for more. However, that need not be discussed further here. People did say, indeed, that Mr. John C. Huysen, the editor of the _Chicago Citizen_, was more than likely to carry off the pretty heiress; if there was any truth in the rumour, at all events Miss Carry Hodson remained just as frank and free and agreeable with everybody--especially with young men who could propose expeditions and amusements.

Now there was only one subject capable of entirely upsetting this young lady's equanimity; and it is almost a pity to have to introduce it here; for the confession must be made that, on this one subject, she was in the habit of using very reprehensible language. Where, indeed, she had picked up so much steamboat and backwoods slang--unless through the reading of _Texas Siftings_--it is impossible to say; but her father, who was about the sole recipient of these outbursts, could object with but little show of authority, for he was himself exceedingly fond, not exactly of slang, but of those odd phrases, sometimes half-humorous, that the Americans invent from day to day to vary the monotony of ordinary speech. These phrases are like getting off the car and running alongside a little bit; you reach your journey's end--the meaning of the sentence--all the same. However, the chief bugbear and grievance of Miss Carry Hodson's life was the Boston girl as displayed to us in fiction; and so violent became her detestation of that remarkable young person that it was very nearly interfering with her coming to Europe.

'But, pappa, dear,' she would say, regarding the book before her with some amazement, 'will the people in Europe think I am like _that_?'

'They won't think anything about you,' he would say roughly.

'What a shame--what a shame--to say American girls are like _that_!' she would continue vehemently. 'The self-conscious little beasts--with their chatter about tone, and touch, and culture! And the men--my gracious, pappa, do the people in England think that our young fellows talk like _that_? "Analyse me; formulate me!" he cries to the girl; "can't you imagine my environment by the aid of your own intuitions?"--I'd analyse him if he came to me; I'd analyse him fast enough: Nine different sorts of a born fool; and the rest imitation English prig. I'd formulate him if he came to me with his pretentious idiotcy; I'd show him the kind of chipmunk I am.'

'You are improving, Miss Carry,' her father would say resignedly. 'You are certainly acquiring force in your language; and sooner or later you will be coming out with some of it when you least expect it; and then whether it's you or the other people that will get fits I don't know. You'll make them jump.'

'No, no, pappa, dear,' she would answer good-naturedly; for her vehemence was never of long duration. 'I have my company manners when it is necessary. Don't I know what I am? Oh yes, I do. I'm a real high-toned North Side society lady; and can behave as sich--when there's anybody present. But when it's only you and me, pappa, I like to wave the banner a little--that's all.'

This phrase of hers, about waving the banner, had come to mean so many different things that her father could not follow half of them, and so it was handy in winding up a discussion; and he could only remark, with regard to her going to Europe, and her dread lest she should be suspected of resembling one of the imaginary beings for whom she had conceived so strong a detestation, that really people in Europe were as busy as people elsewhere, and might not show too absorbing an interest in declaring what she was like; that perhaps their knowledge of the Boston young lady of fiction was limited, and the matter not one of deep concern; and that the best thing she could do was to remember that she was an American girl, and that she had as good a right to dress in her own way and speak in her own way and conduct herself in her own way as any French, or German, or English, or Italian person she might meet. All of which Miss Carry received with much submission--except about dress: she hoped to be able to study that subject, with a little attention, in Paris.

Well, she was standing there looking abroad on the fairy-like picture of lake and wood and mountain--and rather annoyed, too, that, now she was actually in the midst of scenes that she had prepared herself for by reading, she could recollect none of the reading at all, but was wholly and simply interested in the obvious beauty of the place itself--when she became conscious of a slow and stealthy footstep behind her, and, instantly turning, she discovered that a great dun-coloured dog, no doubt belonging to the hotel, had come down to make her acquaintance. He said as much by a brief and heavy gambol, a slow wagging of his mighty tail, and the upturned glance of his small, flat, leonine eyes.

'Well,' she said, 'who are you? Would you like to go for a walk?'

Whether he understood her or no he distinctly led the way--taking the path leading along the shores of the loch towards Inver-shin; and as there did not seem to be any sign yet of anybody moving about the hotel, she thought she might just as well take advantage of this volunteered escort. Not that the mastiff was over communicative in his friendliness; he would occasionally turn round to see if she was following; and if she called to him and spoke to him, he would merely make another heavy effort at a gambol and go on again with his slow-moving pace. Now and again a shepherd's collie would come charging down on him from the hillside, or two or three small terriers, keeping sentry at the door of a cottage, would suddenly break the stillness of the Sunday morning by the most ferocious barking at his approach; but he took no heed of one or the other.

'Do you know that you are an amiable dog--but not amusing?' she said to him, when he had to wait for her to let him get through a swinging stile. 'I've got a dog at home not a quarter as big as you, and he can talk twice as much. I suppose your thoughts are important, though. What do they call you? Dr. Johnson?'

He looked at her with the clear, lionlike eyes, but only for a second; seemed to think it futile trying to understand her; and then went on again with his heavy, shambling waddle. And she liked the freshness of the morning, and the novelty of being all alone by herself in the Scottish Highlands, and of going forward as a kind of pioneer and discoverer; and so she walked on in much delight, listening to the birds, looking at the sheep, and thinking nothing at all of breakfast, and the long day's drive before her father and herself.

And then a sudden conviction was flashed on her mind that something was wrong. There was a man coming rushing along the road after her--with neither coat nor cap on--and as he drew near she could hear him say--

'Ah, you rascal! you rascal! Bolted again?'

He seemed to pay no attention to her; he ran past her and made straight for the mastiff; and in a couple of minutes had a muzzle securely fastened on the beast, and was leading him back with an iron chain.

'Surely that is not a ferocious dog?' said she, as they came up--and perhaps she was curious to know whether she had run any chance of being eaten.

'The master had to pay five pounds last year for his worrying sheep--the rascal,' said the man; and the great dog wagged his tail as if in approval.

'Why, he seems a most gentle creature,' she said, walking on with the man.

'Ay, and so he is, miss--most times. But he's barely three years old, and already he's killed two collies and a terrier, and worried three sheep.'

'Killed other dogs? Oh, Dr. Johnson!' she exclaimed.

'He's sweirt[#] to begin, miss; but when he does begin he _maun_ kill--there's no stopping him. The rascal! he likes fine to get slippin' away wi' one of the gentlefolks, if he's let off the chain for a few minutes--it's a God's mercy he has done no harm this morning--it was the ostler let him off the chain--and he'd have lost his place if there had been ony mair worrying.'

[#] _Sweirt_, reluctant.

'No, no, no, he would not,' she said confidently. 'I took the dog away. If any mischief had been done, I would have paid--why, of course.'

'_Why, of cois_' was what she really said; but all the man knew was that this American young lady spoke with a very pleasant voice; and seemed good-natured; and was well-meaning, too, for she would not have had the ostler suffer. Anyway, the mastiff, with as much dignity as was compatible with a muzzle and an iron chain, was conducted back to his kennel; and Miss Hodson went into the hotel, and expressed her profound sorrow that she had kept breakfast waiting; but explained to her father that it was not every morning she had the chance of exploring the Highlands all by herself--or rather accompanied by a huge creature apparently of amiable nature, but with really dark possibilities attached.

In due course of time the waggonette and horses were brought round to the door of the little hotel; their baggage was put in; and presently they had set forth on their drive through the still, sunlit, solitary country. But this was a far more pleasant journey than his first venturing into these wilds. He had been warning his daughter of the bleak and savage solitude she would have to encounter; but now it appeared quite cheerful--in a subdued kind of way, as if a sort of Sunday silence hung over the landscape. The pale blue waters of Loch Shin, the beech-woods, the russet slopes of heather, the snow-touched azure hills along the horizon--all these looked pretty and were peacefully shining on this fair morning; and even after they had got away from the last trace of human habitation, and were monotonously driving through mile after mile of the wide, boggy, hopeless peatland, the winter colours were really brighter than those of summer, and the desolation far from overpowering. If they met with no human beings, there were other living objects to attract the eye. A golden plover--standing on a hillock not half a dozen yards off, would be calling to his mate; a wild duck would go whirring by; a red-plumed grouse-cock would cease dusting himself in the road, and would be off into the heather as they came along, standing and looking at them as they passed. And so on and on they went, mile after mile, along the fair shining Strath-Terry; the morning air blowing freshly about them; the sunlight lying placidly on those wide stretches of russet and golden bogland; and now and again a flash of dark blue showing where some mountain-tarn lay silent amid the moors.

'And you thought I should be disappointed, pappa dear?' said Miss Carry, 'or frightened by the loneliness? Why, it's just too beautiful for anything! And so this is where the Clan Mackay lived in former days?'

'Is it?' said her father. 'I wonder what they lived on. I don't think we'd give much for that land in Illinois. Give for it? You couldn't get a white man to trade for that sort of land; we'd have to ask Wisconsin to take it and hide it away somewhere.'

'What are those things for?' she asked, indicating certain tall poles that stood at intervals along the roadside.

'Why, don't you know? These are poles to tell them where the road is in snow time.'

'Then it is not always May in these happy latitudes?' she observed shrewdly.

He laughed.

'I heard some dreadful stories when I was here in January--but I don't believe much in weather stories. Anyhow, we've got to take what comes now; and so far there is not much to howl about.'

And at last they came in sight of the ruffled blue waters of Loch Naver; and the long yellow promontories running out into the lake; and the scant birch-woods fringing here and there the rocky shore; with the little hamlet of Inver-Mudal nestling down there in the hollow; and far away in the north the mountain-masses of Ben Hope and Ben Loyal struck white with snow. And she was very curious to see the kind of people who lived in these remote solitudes; and the pretty sloe-black eyes were all alert as the waggonette rattled along towards the two or three scattered houses; and perhaps, as they drove up to the inn, she was wondering whether Ronald the gamekeeper, of whom she had heard so much, would be anywhere visible. But there was scarcely any one there. The Sabbath quiet lay over the little hamlet. Mr. Murray appeared, however,--in his Sunday costume, of course,--and an ostler; and presently Miss Carry and her father were in the sitting-room that had been prepared for them--a great mass of peats cheerfully blazing in the capacious fireplace, and the white-covered table furnished with a substantial luncheon.

'And what do you think of your future maid?' her father asked, when the pretty Nelly had left the room.

'Well, I think she has the softest voice I ever heard a woman speak with,' was the immediate answer. 'And such a pretty way of talking--and looking at you--very gentle and friendly. But she won't do for my maid, pappa; she's too tall; I should want to put a string round her neck and lead her about like a giraffe.'

However, she was pleased with the appearance and manner of the girl, and that was something; for, oddly enough, Mr. Hodson seemed to imagine that he had discovered this remote hamlet, and was responsible for it, and anxious that his daughter should think well of it, and of the people she might meet in it. He called her attention to the scent of the peat; to the neatness with which the joints on the table had been decorated with little paper frills; to the snugness and quiet of the sitting-room; to the spacious character of the views from the windows--one taking in Clebrig and the loch, the other reaching away up to Ben Loyal. All these things he had provided for her, as it were; and it must be said that she was a most excellent travelling-companion, always content, easily interested, never out of humour. So, when he proposed, after luncheon, that they should go along and call on Ronald Strang, she readily consented; no doubt a keeper's dwelling in these wilds would be something curious--perhaps of a wigwam character, and of course filled with all kinds of trophies of his hunting.

Well, they went along to the cottage, and Mr. Hodson knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer. He rapped a little more loudly; then they heard some one within; and presently the door was thrown open, and Ronald stood before them--a book in one hand, a pipe in the other, no jacket covering his shirt-sleeves, and the absence of any necktie showing a little more than was necessary of the firm set of his sun-tanned throat. He had been caught unawares--as his startled eyes proclaimed; in fact, he had been reading _Paradise Regained_, and manfully resisting the temptation to slip on to the gracious melody of _L'Allegro_, and _Il Penseroso_, and _Lycidas_; and when he heard the tapping he fancied it was merely one of the lads come for a chat or the last newspaper, and had made no preparations for the reception of visitors.

'How are you, Ronald?' said Mr. Hodson. 'I have brought my daughter to see you.'

'Will ye step in, sir?' said Ronald hastily, and with a terrible consciousness of his untidy appearance. 'Ay, in there--will ye sit down for a few minutes--and will ye excuse me--I thought you werena coming till to-morrow----'

'Well, I thought they might object to driving me on a Sunday. I can't make it out. Perhaps what I have read about Scotland is not true. Or perhaps they have altered of late years. Anyhow they made no objection, and here I am.'

In the midst of these brief sentences--each pronounced with a little rising inflexion at the end--Ronald managed to slip away and get himself made a little more presentable. When he returned the apparent excuse for his absence was that he brought in some glasses and water and a bottle of whisky; and then he went to a little mahogany sideboard and brought out a tin case of biscuits.

'You need not trouble about these things for us; we have just had lunch,' Mr. Hodson said.

'Perhaps the young lady----?' said Ronald timidly, and even nervously, for there was no plate handy, and he did not know how to offer her the biscuits.

'Oh no, I thank you,' she said, with a pretty and gracious smile; and he happened to meet her eyes just at that time; and instantly became aware that they were curiously scrutinising and observant, despite their apparent softness and lustrous blackness.

Now Miss Carry Hodson had an abundance of shrewd feminine perception, and it was easy for her to see that this handsome and stalwart young fellow had been grievously disturbed, and was even now unnerved, through his having been caught in disarray on the occasion of a young lady visiting him; and accordingly, to allow him to recover, she deliberately effaced herself; saying not a word, nor even listening, while her father and he proceeded to talk about the salmon-fishing, and about the distressingly fine weather that threatened to interfere with that pursuit. She sate silent, allowing those observant eyes of hers to roam freely round the room, and indeed wondering how a man of his occupations could so have contrived to rob his home of all distinctive character and to render it so clearly common-place. There was nothing wild or savage about it; not the skin of any beast, nor the plumage of any bird; everything was of a bourgeois neatness and respectability--the ornaments on the mantel-shelf conspicuously so; and what was strangest of all--though this will scarcely be believed--the two roebucks' heads that adorned the wall, in a country where roe abound, were earthenware casts, and very bad casts too, obviously hailing from Germany. She observed, however, that there were a good many books about--some of them even piled in obscure corners; and to judge by the sober character of their cloth binding she guessed them to be of a rather superior class. The pictures on the walls were some cheap reprints of Landseer; a portrait of the Duke of Sutherland, in Highland garb; a view of Dunrobin Castle; and a photograph of Mr. Millais' 'Order of Release.'

After a while she began to know (without looking) that the young man had assumed sufficient courage to glance at her from time to time; and she allowed him to do that; for she considered that the people in Regent Street had fitted her out in Highland fashion in a sufficiently accurate way. But it soon appeared that he was talking about her; and what was this wild proposal?

'It seems a pity,' he was saying, 'if the fish are taking, not to have two boats at the work. And there's that big rod o' yours, sir--you could use that for the trolling; and let the young lady have one o' your grilse rods. Then there's mine--she can have that and welcome----'

'Yes, but the gillies----'

'Oh, I'll take a turn myself; I'm no so busy the now. And I can get one o' the lads to lend a hand.'

'Do you hear this, Carry?' her father said.

'What, pappa?'

'Ronald wants you to start off salmon-fishing to-morrow, in a boat all to yourself--

'Alone?'

'Why, no! He says he will go with you, and one of the lads; and you will have all the best advice and experience--I don't think it's fair, myself--but it's very good-natured anyhow----'

'And do you think there's a chance of my catching a salmon?' she said eagerly, and she turned her eloquent black eyes, all lit up with pleasure, full upon him.

'Oh yes, indeed,' said he, looking down, 'and many and many a one, I am sure, if we could only get a little wet weather.'

'My!' she exclaimed. 'If I caught a salmon, I'd have it stuffed right away----'

'With sage and onions, I suppose,' her father said severely.

'And we begin to-morrow? Why, it's just too delightful--I was looking forward to days and days indoors, with nothing but books. And I shall really have a chance?----'

'I think you might as well thank Ronald for his offer,' her father said. 'I should never have thought of it.'

Well, she hesitated; for it is a difficult thing to make a formal little speech when it is asked for by a third person; but the young keeper quickly laughed away her embarrassment.

'No, no, sir; we'll wait for that till we see how our luck turns out. And we'll have the Duke's boat, mind, that Duncan says is the lucky one; you'll have to look sharp, sir, or we'll have the biggest show on the grass at the end of the day.'

Mr. Hodson now rose to take his leave, for he wanted his daughter to walk down to the shores of the loch where they were next day to begin their labours. And thus it was that Miss Carry--who had looked forward at the most to sitting in the boat with her father and looking on--found herself pledged to a course of salmon-fishing, under the immediate guidance and instruction of the young keeper; and she had noticed that he had already talked of the occupants of the Duke's boat as 'we'--assuming that he and she were in a sort of partnership, and pitted against the others. Well, it would be amusing, she thought. She also considered that he was very good-looking; and that it would be pleasanter to have a companion of that kind than a surly old boatman. She imagined they might easily become excellent friends--at least, she was willing enough; and he seemed civil and good-humoured and modest; and altogether the arrangement promised to work very well.

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*'ABOUT ILLINOIS.'*

There was a good deal of bustle in the inn next morning; Ronald busy with the fishing-tackle for the second boat; luncheon being got ready for six; and the gillies fighting as to which party should have the landing-net and which the clip. In the midst of all this Miss Carry--looking very smart in her Highland costume, Tam o' Shanter and all--came placidly in to breakfast, and as she sate down she said--

'Pappa dear, I met such a pretty girl.'

'Have you been out?' he asked.

'Only as far as the bridge. I met her as I was coming back. And she looked so pretty and shy that I spoke to her; I think she was a little frightened at first; but anyway I got to know who she is--the Doctor's daughter. Oh, you should hear her speak--the accent is so pretty and gentle. Well, it's all settled, pappa; I'm just in love with the Highland people, from this out.'

'There's safety in numbers,' observed her father grimly; and then he proceeded to explore the contents of the covers.

When they were ready to go down to the loch they found that the men had already set out--all but Ronald, who had remained behind to see if there was nothing further he could carry for the young lady. So these three started together; and of course all the talk was about the far too fine weather, and the chances of getting a fish or two in spite of it, and the betting on the rival boats. Miss Carry listened in silence; so far she had heard or seen nothing very remarkable about the handsome young keeper who had so impressed her father. He spoke frankly and freely enough, it is true (when he was not speaking to her), and he was recounting with some quiet sarcasm certain superstitious beliefs and practices of the people about there; but, apart from the keen look of his eyes, and the manly ring of his voice, and the easy swing of the well-built figure, there was nothing, as she considered, very noticeable about him. She thought his keeper's costume rather picturesque, and weather-worn into harmonious colour; and wondered how men in towns had come to wear the unsightly garments of these present days. And so at last they arrived at the loch; and found that the gillies had got the rods fixed and everything ready; and presently the black boat, with Mr. Hodson and his two gillies, was shoved off, and Ronald, before asking the young lady to step into the green boat--the Duke's boat--was showing her what she should do if a salmon should attach itself to either of the lines.

'I don't feel like catching a salmon somehow,' she remarked. 'I don't think it can be true. Anyway you'll see I shan't scream.'

She stepped into the boat and took her seat; the rods were placed for her; the coble was shoved farther into the water, and then Ronald and the young lad got in and took to the oars. Miss Carry was bidden to pay out one of the lines slowly as they moved away from the bank; and in due course she had both lines out and the two rods fixed at the proper angle, and the reels free. She obeyed all his instructions without haste or confusion. She was a promising pupil. And he wondered what nerve she would show when the crisis came.

Now it may be explained for the benefit of those inexperienced in such things that these fishing cobles have a cross bench placed about midway between the stern and the thwart occupied by the stroke oar; and the usual custom is for the fisherman to sit on this bench facing the stern, so that he can see both rods and be ready for the first shaking of the top. But Miss Carry did not understand this at all. In entering the coble she naturally took her place right astern, facing the rowers. It never entered her head to be guilty of the discourtesy of turning her back on them; besides, Ronald was directing her with his eyes as much as with his speech, and she must be able to see him; moreover he did not tell her she was sitting the wrong way; and then again was not the first signal to be the shrieking of the reel?--and both reels were now under her observation, so that she could snatch at either rod in a second. The consequence of all this was that she and Ronald sate face to face--not more than a yard and a half between them--their eyes exactly on a level--and when they spoke to each other, it was very distinctly _unter vier Augen_, for the boy at the bow was mostly hidden.

'Pappa dear,' she said to her father that evening, 'he is a very nervous man.'

'Who?'

'Ronald.'

'Nonsense. He is hard as nails. He don't know what nerves mean.'

'He is a very nervous man,' she insisted (and had she not been studying him for a whole day?). 'His eyes throb when you meet them suddenly. Or rather he seems to know they are very powerful and penetrating--and he does not like to stare at you--so you can see there is a tremor of the lid sometimes as he looks up--as if he would partly veil his eyes. It's very curious. He's shy--like a wild animal almost. And that pretty girl I met this morning has something of that look too.'

'Perhaps they're not used to having the cold gaze of science turned on them,' her father remarked drily.

'Is that me?'

'You may take it that way.'

'Then you're quite wrong. It isn't science at all. It is an active and benevolent sympathy; I am going to make friends with every one of them. Ronald says her name is Miss Douglas--and I mean to call.'

'Very well, then,' said her father, who left this young lady pretty much the mistress of her own actions.

However, to return to the fishing: the morning did not promise well, the weather being too bright and clear, though there was a very fair breeze--of a curious sultry character for the middle of March--blowing up from the south and making a good ripple on the loch. Again and again the two boats crossed each other; and the invariable cry was--

'Nothing yet?'

And the answer--

'Not a touch.'

By this time Miss Carry had got to know a good deal about the young keeper whose eyes were so directly on a level with hers. He had been to Aberdeen, and to Glasgow, and to Edinburgh; but never out of Scotland?--no. Had he no wish to see London and Paris? Had he no wish to see America?--why, if he came over, her father would arrange to have him put in the way of seeing everything. And perhaps he might be tempted to stay?--there were such opportunities for young men, especially in the west. As for her, she was most communicative about herself; and apparently she had been everywhere and seen everything--except Stratford-on-Avon: that was to be the climax; that was to be the last thing they should visit in Europe--and then on to Liverpool and home. She had been a great deal longer in Europe than her father, she said. Her mother was an invalid and could not travel; her brother George (Joidge, she called him) was at school; so she and a schoolfellow of hers had set out for Europe, accompanied by a maid and a courier, and had 'seen most everything' from St. Petersburg to Wady Halfa. And all this and more she told him with the black soft eyes regarding him openly; and the pale, foreign, tea-rose tinted face full of a friendly interest; and the pretty, white, delicate small fingers idly intertwisting the buff-coloured gloves that she had taken off at his request. Inver-Mudal, Clebrig, Ben Loyal, the straths and woods around looked to him small and confined on this quiet morning. She seemed to have brought with her a wider atmosphere, a larger air. And for a young girl like this to know so much--to have seen so much--and to talk so simply and naturally of going here, there, or anywhere, as if distance were nothing, and time nothing, and money nothing; all this puzzled him not a little. She must have courage, then, and daring, and endurance, despite the pale face and the slender figure, and the small, white, blue-veined hands? Why, she spoke of running over to Paris, in about a fortnight's time, to be present at the wedding of a friend, just as any one about here would speak of driving on to Tongue and returning by the mail-cart next day.

Suddenly there was a quick, half-suppressed exclamation.

'There he is!--there he is!'

And all in a second, as it seemed, Ronald had flung his oar back to the lad behind, seized one of the rods and raised it and put it in her hands, and himself got hold of the other, and was rapidly reeling in the line. What was happening she could hardly tell--she was so bewildered. The rod that she painfully held upright was being violently shaken--now and again there was a loud, long whirr of the reel--and Ronald was by her shoulder, she knew, but not speaking a word--and she was wildly endeavouring to recall all that he had told her. Then there was a sudden slackening of the line--what was this?

'All right,' said he, very quietly. 'Reel in now--as quick as ye can, please.'

Well, she was reeling in as hard as her small and delicate wrist was able to do--and in truth she was too bewildered to feel excited; and above all other earthly things was she anxious that she shouldn't show herself a fool, or scream, or let the thing go--when all at once the handle of the reel seemed to be whipped from her grasp; there was a long whirring shriek of the line; she could hear somewhere a mighty splash (though she dared not look at anything but what was in her hands), and at the same moment she fancied Ronald said, with a quiet laugh--

'We've beat them this time--a clean fish!'

'Do you think we'll get him?' she said breathlessly.

'We'll hold on to him as long as he holds on to us,' Ronald said; and she heard him add to himself, 'I would rather than five shillings we got the first fish!'

'But this thing is so heavy!' she pleaded.

'Never mind--that's right--that's right--keep a good strain on him--we'll soon bring him to his senses.'

Again there was a sudden slackening of the line; and this time she actually saw the animal as it sprang into the air--a white gleaming curved thing--but instantly her attention was on the reel.

'That's it--you're doing fine,' he said, with an intentional quietude of tone, so that she might not get over-nervous and make a mistake.

Then he made her stand up, and fortunately the coble was rocking but little; and he moved her left hand a little higher up the rod, so that she should have better leverage; and she did all that she was bid mutely and meekly, though her arm was already beginning to feel the heavy strain. She vowed to herself that so long as she could draw a breath she would not give in.

The other boat was passing--but of course at a respectful distance.

'Hold on to him, Carry!' her father called.

She paid no heed. She dared not even look in his direction. The fish seemed to be following up the coble now, and it was all that the slender wrist could do to get in the line so as to keep the prescribed curve on the rod. And then she had to give way again; for the salmon went steadily and slowly down--boring and sulking--and they pulled the boat away a bit, lest he should suddenly come to the surface and be after some dangerous cantrip. She took advantage of this period of quiet to pass the rod from her left hand to her right; and that relieved her arm a little; and she even ventured to say--

'How long is he going on like this?'

'We'll give him his own time, Miss,' Ronald said.

'Don't call me Miss,' she said, with a little vexation.

'I--I beg your pardon--what then?'

'Oh, anything you like. Mind you catch me if I fall into the water.'

The truth was she was a little bit excited, and desperately anxious that her strength should hold out; and even permitting herself an occasional gleam of hope and joy and triumph. Her first salmon? Here would be tidings for the girls at home! If only the beast would do something--or show signs of yielding--anything rather than she should have to give in, and weakly resign the rod to Ronald! As for him, he stood almost touching her shoulder.

'No, no,' said he, 'there's no fear o' your falling into the water. We've got to get this gentleman out first.'

And then her feeble efforts at talking (meant to show that she was not excited, but having exactly the contrary effect) all went by the board. Something was happening--she knew not what--something wild, terrifying, violent, desperate--and apparently quite near--and all the line was slack now--and the handle of the reel stuck in her frantic efforts to turn it with an impossible quickness--and her heart was choking with fright. For why would this beast spring, and splash, and churn the water, while the line seemed to go all wrong and everything become mixed? But her trembling fingers got the reel to work at last; and she wound as quickly as she could; and by this time the salmon had disappeared again, and was bearing an even, dead strain on the rod, but not so heavily as before.

'My gracious!' she said--she was quite breathless.

'It's all right,' he said quietly; but he had been pretty breathless too, and for several seconds in blank despair.

The fish began to show signs of yielding--that last fierce thrashing of the water had weakened him. She got in more and more line--Ronald's instructions being of the briefest and quietest--and presently they could see a faint gleam in the water as the big fish sailed this way or that. But still, she knew not what he might not do. That terrible time had been altogether unexpected. And yet she knew--and her left arm was gratefully conscious--that the strain was not so heavy now; the line was quite short; and she became aware that she was exercising more and more power over her captive and could force him to stop his brief and ineffectual rushes.

Once or twice he had come quite near the boat--sailing in on his side, as it were--and then sheering off again at the sight of them; but these efforts to get away were growing more and more feeble; and at last Ronald called--

'We'll try him this time--give him the butt well--that's right--lift his head--now----' and then there was a quick stroke of the clip, and the great monster was in the boat, and she sank down on to the bench, her arms limp and trembling, but her hand still grasping the rod. And she felt a little inclined to laugh and to cry; and she wondered where her father was; and she looked on in a dazed way as they killed the fish, and got the phantom-minnow out of its mouth, and proceeded to the weighing of the prize.

'Eleven pounds and a half--well done the Duke's boat!' Ronald cried. 'Is it your first salmon, Miss Hodson?'

'Why, certainly.'

'You'll have to drink its health, or there'll be no more luck for you this season,' said he, and he reached back for a pocket-flask.

'But where is my father?' she said--she was anxious he should hear the news.

'Oh,' said he coolly, 'they've been into a fish for the last ten minutes; I wouldna tell ye, in case it might distract ye.'

'Have they got one?' she cried.

'They've got something--and I dinna think it's a kelt from the way they're working.'

She clapped her hands in delight. Yes, and that involuntary little action revealed to her what she had not known before--that one of her fingers was pretty badly cut, and bleeding.

'What's this?' she said, but she did not heed much--now that the great beautiful gleaming fish lay in the bottom of the boat.

Ronald cared a great deal more. He threw aside the flask. A cut?--it was his own stupidity was the cause of it; he ought to have known that her delicate fingers could not withstand the whirring out of the line; he should have allowed her to keep on her gloves. And nothing would do but that she must carefully bathe the wound in the fresh water of the loch; and he produced a piece of plaster; and then he cut a strip off her handkerchief, and bound up the finger so.

'What do I care?' she said--pointing to the salmon.

And then he begged her to drink a little whisky and water--for luck's sake--though he had been rather scornful about these customs in the morning; and she complied--smiling towards him as the Netherby bride may have looked at Young Lochinvar; but yet he would not drink in her presence; he put the flask aside; and presently they were at their work again, both lines out, and the southerly breeze still keeping up.

They passed the other boat.

'What weight?' was the cry.

'Eleven and a half. Have you got one?'

'Yes.'

'How much?'

'Just over seven.'

'Duncan will be a savage man,' said Ronald, with a laugh. 'It's all the bad luck of his boat, he'll be saying; though it's good enough luck for the two first fish to be clean fish and no kelt.'

However, the Duke's boat fell away from its auspicious beginning that morning. When lunch time arrived, and both cobles landed at a part of the shore agreed upon, where there was a large rock for shelter, and a good ledge for a seat, Miss Carry had but the one fish to be taken out and placed on the grass, while her father had two--respectively seven and thirteen pounds. And very picturesque, indeed, it was to see those white gleaming creatures lying there; and the two boats drawn up on the shore, with the long rods out at the stern; and the gillies forming a group at some distance off under the shelter of the stone dyke; and the wide waters of the lake all a breezy blue in the cup of the encircling sunlit hills. Ronald got out the luncheon, for he had seen to the packing of it--and he knew more about table-napkins and things of that sort than those men; and then, when he had made everything right, and brought ashore a cushion for Miss Carry to sit upon, and so forth, he went away.

'Ronald,' Mr. Hodson called to him, 'ain't you going to have some lunch?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Come along, then; there's plenty of room right here.'

'Thank ye, sir; I know where they've put my little parcel,' said he--and he went and sate down with the gillies; and soon there was enough talking and laughing amongst them--faintly heard across the wind.

'Well?' said her father, when they were left alone.

'Oh, it's just too delightful for anything.'

This was her summing up of the whole situation. And then she added--

'Pappa, may I send my salmon to Lily Selden?'

'I wouldn't call it kindness,' said he. 'Looks more like boasting. And what's the good, since she is staying at a hotel?'

'Oh, she will be as glad as I am even to see it. But can't they cook it at a hotel anyway? I want to be even with Lily about that balloon. I don't see much myself in going up in a balloon. I would just like to have Lily here now--think she wouldn't fall down and worship those beautiful creatures?'

'Well, you may send her yours, if you like,' her father said. 'But you needn't dawdle so over your luncheon. These days are short; and I want to see what we can do on our first trial.'

'I'm ready now, if it comes to that,' said she placidly; and she put a couple of sweet biscuits in her pocket, to guard against emergency.

And soon they were afloat again. But what was this that was coming over the brief winter afternoon? The sultry south wind did not die away, nor yet did any manifest clouds appear in the heavens, but a strange gloom began to fill the skies, obscuring the sun, and gradually becoming darker and darker. It was very strange; for, while the skies overhead were thus unnaturally black, and the lapping water around the boats similarly livid, the low-lying hills at the horizon were singularly keen and intense in colour. The air was hot and close, though the breeze still came blowing up Strath-Terry. There was a feeling as if thunder were imminent, though there were no clouds anywhere gathering along the purple mountain-tops.