THE LIBRARY OF SIR WILLIAM OSLER,Bart. OXFORD 0 r feS 7 ■ * ^ S J . ^ . [TODD (Margaret)] ‘ Graham Travers 1859- 1918. 5521. Mona Maclean, Medical Student. A novel. By Graham Travers. In 3 vols. 8®. Edinb.y 1892. MONA MACLEAN MONA MACLEAN MEDICAL STDDENT A NO VEL BY Gr.AH AM TKAVEES IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. 1. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON M D C C C X C 1 1 CONTENTS OF THE ElKST VOLUME. CHAP. I. IN THE GARDEN, • • • • PAGE 1 II. THE LISTS, • • • • 12 III. “adolescent insanity,’^ 17 IV. SIR DOUGLAS, • 25 V. “an agate knife-edge,’' 46 VI. THE NiERODAL, . • 53 VII. A SON OF ANAK, • 70 VIII. BONS CAMARADES, • 87 IX. DORIS, • 118 X. BORROWNESS, • 142 XI. THE SHOP, • 157 XII. CASTLE MACLEAN, • 173 XIII. THE CHAPEL, • 191 XIV. REACTION, . • 202 XV. THE BOTANISTS, . • 213 XVI. “JOHN HOGg’s machine,” 222 XVII. AUNTIE BELL, • 235 XVIII. A SILHOUETTE, . • • • • • 242 XIX. “leaves of grass,” • • • • • 254 MONA MACLEAN, MEDICAL STUDEXT. CHAPTEI! I. IN THE GARDEN. “ I WISH I were dead ! ” “ H’m. You look like it.” There was no reply for a second or two. The first speaker was carefully extricating her- self from the hammock in which she had been idly swinging under the shade of a smoke- begrimed lime-tree. “ No,” she said at last, shaking out the folds of her dainty blue gown, “ I flatter myself that I do not look like it. I have often told you, VOL. I. A 2 MONA MACLEAN. my dear Mona, that from the point of view of success in practice, the art of dressing ones hair is at least as important as the art of dissecting.’’ She gave an adjusting toucli to her dark-red curls and drew herself to her full heiglit, as though she were defying the severest critic to say that she did not live up to her principles. Presently her whole bearing collapsed, so to speak, into abject despair, half real, half as- sumed. But I do wish I were dead, all the same,” she said. ‘‘Well, I don’t see why you should make me wish it too. Why don’t you go on with your book ? ” “ Go on with it ! I like that ! I never began. I have not turned a page for the last half-hour. That’s all the credit I get for my self-repression ! What time is it ? ” “ A quarter past twelve. “ Is that all ? iVnd the lists won’t be up till two. When shall we start '? ” “ About three, if we are wise — when the crush is over.” “Thank you ! I mean to be there when the clock strikes two. There won’t be any crush. Its not like the Matric ; and besides, every one IN THE GAEDEN. o lias gone clown. I am sure I wish I had ! A teleoTain ^ strikes home/ but the slow torture of wacliim throimh those lists ! '' O O She broke off abruptly, and Mona returned to her book, but before she had read half-a-dozen lines a parasol was inserted between her eyes and the page. It will be a treat, won't it ? — wiring to the other students that everybody has passed but me ! " Lucy, you are intolerable. Have you finished packing ? ” Practically." Do you mean to travel half the night in that gown ? " Not being a millionaire like you, I do not. You little know the havoc this frock has to work yet. But I presume you would not have me walk down to Burlington House in my old O 1} serge ( Why not ? You say everybody is out of town." ‘‘ Precisely. Therefore we, the exceptions, will be all the more en ch'idence. I don't mean to be taken for an ‘ advanced woman.' Some of the Barts, men will be there, and " 4 MONA MACLEAN. But Mona was not listening. She had risen from tlie cushions on which slie had Ijeen lounging, and was pacing np and down the grass. “You know, jMona, you may say what you please, but you are rather white about the gills yourself, and you have no cause to be.” Mona stopped and shot a level glance at her companion. “ Why not ? ” she said. “ Because T have been ploughed once already, and so should be used to skinning like the eels ? ” “ Nonsense ! How you contrived to fail once neither I nor any one else can pretend to ex- plain, but certain it is that, with the best of will, you won’t achieve the feat a second time. You will be in the Honours list, of course.” Mona shrugged her shoulders. “ Possibly,” she said quietly, “ if I pass. But the question is, shall I pass ? “ ‘ Oh the little more, and how much it is ! And the little less, and what worlds away ! ’ ” They were walking up and down together now. “And even if you don’t — it will be a disgrace to the examiners, of course, and a frightful fag. IN THE GARDEN. 5 but beyond that I don’t see that it matters. There is no one to care.” Mona’s cheek flushed. She raised her eye- brows, and turned her head very slowly towards her companion, with a glance of inquiry. “ I mean,” Lucy said, hastily, “ you are — that is to say, you are not a country clergyman’s daughter like me. If I fail, it will be the talk of the parish. The grocer will condole with me over the counter, the postman will carry the news on his rounds, and the farmers will hear all about it when they come in to market next Wednesday. It will be awfully hard on the Pater ; he ” From what 1 know of him, I think he will be able to hold up his head in spite of it.” They both laughed. ‘^By the way, that reminds me” — and Lucy produced a letter from her pocket — he is awfully anxious that you should come to us for a few weeks tliis vacation. You have no idea what a conrjuest you liavc made in that quarter. In fact I have Ijccn shining with reflected lustre ever since he met you. He thinks there must be something in me after all, since I have had the sense to appreciate you.” 6 MONA MACLEAN. '' I wonder wherein the attrcaction between ns lies/’ Mona said, reflectively. I suppose I ' am really less grave than I appear, and you. on the whole are less of a flibbertigibbet tlian the world takes you to be. So we meet on some- thing of a common ground. I see in you a side of my nature which in the ordinary course of events I don’t find it easy to express, and pos- sibly you see something of the same sort in me. Each of us relieves the other of the necessity ” “ Don’t prose, please ! ” interrupted Lucy. '' I never yet found the smallest difficulty in ex- pressing myself, and — the saints be praised ! — you are not always quite so dull as you are to-day. I suppose you Avon’t come ? Wliat arc tennis-parties and picnics to a Wandering Jew like you ? ” '' It is awfully kind of your father. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate his goodness ; but I am afraid I can’t come.” I thouglit so. Is it the North Pole or the wilds of Arabia tliis time '? ” Mona laughed. To tell the truth,” slie said, ‘‘ I must have a day with my accounts and in*y bank-book before I stir from Gower Street.” IN THE GAKDEN. 7 What ! you^ Croosus ? The reproach is deserved, whether you meant it for one or not. I have been spending too much. What with extra laboratory work in winter, and coaching last term “ And all those pretty dresses.’^ “ And all those pretty dresses,’’ repeated Mona, with the air of one who is making a deliberate confession. “ x4nd nice damp uncut volumes.” Not too many of those,” with a defiant little nod of self-defence. “And divers charities.” “ Nay, alas ! My bank-book has not suflfered much from them.” “ And concert tickets, and gloves for impecu- nious friends, not to say a couple of excellent stalls from time to time ” “ Nonsense, Lucy ! Considering how hard we have worked, I don’t think you and I have been at all extravagant in our amusements. No, no, I ought to be able to afford all that. J\ly father left me three hundred a-year, more or less.” “Good heavens!” If Mona had added a cipher, the sum could scarcely have impressed her companion more. 8 MONA MACLEAN. “ There ! that is so like you schoolgirls ” “ Schoolgirls, indeed ! ” “ You have your allowance of thirty or forty pounds, and you flatter yourselves that you dress on it, travel on it, amuse yourselves on it, and surreptitiously feed on it. You never notice the countless things that come to you from your parents, as naturally as the air you breathe. You go with your mother to her cup- boards and store closets, or with your father to town, and all the time you are absorbing money or money’s worth. Then you get into debt ; there is a scene, a few tears, and your father’s hand goes into his pocket, and you find your- self with your debts paid, and one or two pounds to the good. I know all about it. Your allowance is the sheerest farce. Cut off all those chances and possibilities, banish the very conception of elasticity from your mind, before you judge of my income.” Lucy’s eyes had been fixed on the ground. She raised them now, and said very slowly, with a trick of manner she had cauoht from her o friend — I don’t think I ever heard such a one-sided statement in my life.” IN THE GARDEN. 9 Moua lauglied. Every revolution and ref- ormation the world has seen has been the fruit of a one-sided statement.” I have already asked you not to prose. Besides, your good seed has fallen on stony ground for once. Please don^t attempt to revolutionise or reform me ! ” “ My dear, if you indulge in the pedantry of quotation from ancient Jewish literature, pray show some familiarity with the matter of it. Although, as you remind me, I am not a country clergyman’s daughter, you will allow me to remind you that the seed on the stony ground did spring up.” “ Bother the seed on stony ground I You said your income was three hundred a-year.” ‘‘ More or less. This year it happens to be less, and I have a strong suspicion that I am in shallow water. If, as I fervently hope, my suspicion is incorrect, I mean to have a fort- night’s walking in Skye. In any case, I have promised to spend a month on the cast coast of Scotland with a cousin of my fathers.” I thought you had no cousins ? ” No more I have — to call cousins. 1 never saw this one, and I don’t suppose 1 should ever 10 MONA MACLEAN. have heard of her if she liad not written to borrow twenty pounds from me a few years ago. She is quite comfortably off now, Init she can- not get over lier gratitude. I don’t suppose she is exactly what you would call a lady. My grandfather was'the successful man of the fam- ily in his generation, and my father was the same in the next ; so it is my fault if cousin Eachel and I have not ‘ gone off on difterent lines.’" But why do )mu go to her ? ’’ I don’t know. It is an old promise — in fact, she wants me to live with her altogether — and I am curious to see my ‘ ancestral towers.’ ” And have you no other relatives 'I ’’ Mona laughed. My mother’s sister has just come home from India with her husband, but we are just as far apart as when continents and oceans divided us. I don’t think my mother and she quite hit it off. Besides, I can imagine her opinion of medical women, and I don’t suppose she ever heard of blessed Bloomsbury.’’ Wait a little,’’ said Ijucy. When you arc a famous physician ’’ '' I know — bowling along on C springs ’’ IN THE GAllDEN. 11 “ Drawn by a pair of prancing, liigli-stopping greys ” “ Leanino- back on the luxurious cushions ” o AYrapt to the ears in priceless sables ” “My waiting - room crowded with patient Duchesses. Y^es, of course, she will be sorry then. I suppose she will have an illness, some ‘ obscure internal lesion ’ which will puzzle all the London doctors. x\s a last resource she will apply to me. I wave my wand. Hey, presto ! she is cured ! But you can’t expect her to foresee all that. It would argue more than averasfe intelli2:ence, and besides, it would spoil the story.” 12 CHAPTER 11. THE LISTS. There was no doubt about it. The lists were up. As the girls passed tlirougli the bar from Vigo Street, they could see a little knot of men, silent and eager, gathered on the steps in front of the notice-case. Those who had secured a good position were leisurely entering sundry jottings in their note-books ; those behind were straining their eyes, straining every muscle in their bodies, in the endeavour to ascertain the one all-important fact. I told you we should have waited,’^ Mona said, cpiietly, striving to make the most of a somewhat limited stock of breath. ‘Mf you tell me the name of the jierson you are interested in, perhaps I can help you,’^ said a tall man who was standing beside them. THE LISTS. 1 lo “ Oh, thank you,” Mona smiled pleasantly. “We can wait. We — are interested in — in several people.” He stood aside to let them pass in front of him, and in a few minutes their turn came. “Second Division!” ejaculated Lucy, in mingled relief and disgust, as she came to her own name. “ Thank heaven even for that ! Just let me take a note of the others. Now for the Honours list, and Mona Maclean ! ” The Honours list was all too short, and a few seconds were sufficient to convince them “ Oh ! ” burst involuntarily from Lucy’s lips, as the truth forced itself upon her. “ Hush ! ” said ilona, hastily, in a low voice. “ It is all right. Come along.” She hurried Lucy down the steps, past the post-office, and into Regent Street. “ You know, dear, there are those confound- ed telegrams to be sent off,” said Lucy, depre- catingly. “Yes, yes, I know. There is no hurry. Let me think.” They strolled along in the bright sunshine, but Mona felt as cold as lead. She did not believe that she had failed. There must be 14 MONA MACLEAN. some mistake. They had misspelt her name, perhaps, or possibly omitted it l.)y accident. They AA'ould correct the mistake to-morrow. It could not be that .she had really failed again. After all, was she sure that her name was not there ? “ Lucy,” she said at last, “ do you mind going back with me to the University, and glancing over the lists again ? ” “ Yes, do. AVe must have made a mistake. It is simply ridiculous.” But in her heart of hearts she knew that they had not made a mistake. The little crowd had almost dispersed when they returned, and there was nothing to prevent a quiet and thorough study of the lists. “It is infamous,” said Lucy, “.simply in- famous ! Small credit it is to me to have passed when that is all the examiners know of their work ! ” “Nonsense ! It’s all right. You know I had my weak subject. Come.” “AVill you wait here while I send off the telegrams ? ” “ No, I will come with you.” They passed out of the heat and glare into THE LISTS. 15 the dusty little shop, and Mona leaned her elbow wearily on the counter. She had hegun to believe it now, but not to realise it in the least. “ How horribly I shall be suft’ering to- morrow ! ” she thought, with a shiver of dread. “ Weal and woe ! ” she said, smiling, as she read the telegrams Lncy had scribbled. “ Two women shall be grinding at the mill ; the one shall be taken and the other left.” “ Don’t,” said Lucy, with a little stamp of her foot. For the moment she was sufiering more than Mona. They walked home in silence to the house in Gower Street. “Come in to tea? No? Well, good-bye, deal*. Take care of yourself. .My love and duty to )mur father and mother. AYrite to me here.” She nodded brightly, opened the door with her latch-key, and entered the cool dark house. Very slowly she dragged herself up to her pretty sitting-room, and shut the door. She winced as her eye fell on the old familiar sights — Quain, and Foster, and ilitchell Bruce, the Leitz under its glass shade, and the box of what she was jileased to dub ‘ivory toys.’ Then her eye fell on her own reflection in the 16 MONA MACLEAN. draped mirror, and she walked straiglit up to the white, strong, sensitive face. “ Who cares ? ” she said, defiantly. “ Not you nor 1 ! What does it matter 1 de mi ! What does anything mean ? What is success or failure after all ? ” From which soliloquy you will be able to form a pretty definite idea of my heroine’s age. 17 CHAPTER HI. “ ADOLESCENT INSANITY.” “ Rather than go through all that strain again,” said Mona the next morning, “ I would throw up the whole thing and emigrate.” She was leaning back on the pillows, her hair all tumbled into curls after a restless nio-ht, her hands playing absently with the lace on her morning wrapper. “Why doesn’t the coffee come ? ” As she spoke, the maid came in with a tempting little tray. JMona was a lodger worth having. “You look ill, miss,” said the girl. “No. Only a headache. I am not going out this morning. Bring the hot water in half an hour.” “ AVhat do people do when they emigrate 1 ” VOL. I. B 18 MONA MACLEAN. she went on, when the maid had gone. ^^They start off with tin pots and pans, but what do they do when they arrive? I wonder what sort of farmer I should make ? There must be plenty of good old yeoman blood in my veins. ‘Two men I honour and no third’ — but the feminine of digging and delving, I suppose, is baking and mending. Heigh-ho ! this can scarcely be checkmate at my time of life, but it looks uncommonly like it.” An hour later she was deep in her accounts ; the table before her littered with manuscript books and disjointed scraps of addition and subtraction. The furrow on her brow gradually deepened. “ Shallow water ! ” she said at last, very slowly, raising her head and folding her arms as she spoke ; “ shallow water was a euphemism. It seems to me, my dear Lucy, that your friend is on the rocks.” She sat for a long time in silence, and then ran her eye quickly over a pile of unanswered letters. She extracted one, leaned back in her chair, and looked at the envelojre critically. “ Not strictly what one would call a gentle- woman s letter,” she said ; “in fact, a sneerino’ 19 “adolescent insanity.” outsider might be tempted to use the word illiterate. Well, what then ? ” She took out the enclosure and read it through very carefully. She had tossed it aside thoughtlessly enough when it had found her, a fortnight before, in all the excitement of the examination ; but now the utterances of the Delphic oracle could not have been studied with closer attention. “ My dear Cousin, — Yours safely to hand this morning, and very glad 1 was to get it. I am afraid you will find us dull company here after London, hut we will do our best.” (“ H’m,” said ]\Ioua. “ That means tea-par- ties — cookies and shortbread — a flower-show or two in the grounds of the Towers, no doubt, — possibly even a soiree in the chapel. Wild excitement ! ”) “ Nobody here knows anything about your meaning to be a doctor, and what we don’t know does us no harm. They would think it a queer kind of notion in these parts, as you know I do myself, and keep hoping you will find some nice Gentleman ” o {''Gentleman!” groaned ]\Iona.) 20 MONA MACLEAN. “ who will put the idea out of your head. My niece, who ha.s been living with me for yeans, has just sailed for America to be married. You are almost the only friend I have now in the country, and I wdsh you could see your way to staying with me till you get married yourself. It would do no harm to save your owm money a bit ; your company would be gain enough to me. I must look out for some one at once, and it would make a great difference in my life to have you. Blood’s thicker than water, you know.” (“That I don’t,” said Mona. “My dear woman, any chance advertiser in to-day’s paper would probably suit you better than I. It is as bad as adopting a foundling.”) “ Write me a line when to expect you. “Your affectionate cousin, “ Rachel Simpson.” Mona folded the letter thoughtfully, and returned it to its envelope. Then she rose from her writing-table, threw herself into a rocking-chair, and clasped her hands behind her head. Many a perplexing problem had been solved to the rhythm of that pleasant motion, but “adolescent insanity.” 21 to-day the physical exercise was insufficient. She got up impatiently and paced the room. From time to time she stopped at the window, and gazed half absently at the lu ggage-laclen hansoms hurrying to and from the stations. “ Shooting, and fishing, and sketching, and climbing,'^ she thought to herself. Why am I so out of it all '? If there was a corner of the earth to which I really cared to go, I would undertake to raise the money, but there is not a wish in my heart. I scarcely even wish I had passed my examination.’^ She returned at last to the writing-table, took pen and paper, and wrote hastily witliout stop- ping to think. She was in the mood in which people rush at decisions which may make or mar a life. ''My dear Cousin Eachel, — I was very busy and preoccupied when your letter reached me, or it would have been answered before now. " I don’t wonder that you see no need for women doctors — living as you do in a healthy country village, where I suppose no one is ever 22 MONA MACLEAN. ill unless from old age, a fever, or a broken leg. Perhaps if you saw something of hospital work here, you would think differently ; but we can discuss that question Avhen we meet. Whether I personally am qualified for the life I have chosen, is a quite separate cj[uestion. About that, no doubt, there might be two unprejudiced opinions. I have not been very successful of late, although I am convinced that I have done good work ; and 1 have been spending more money than I ought to have done. For these reasons, and for others which it is not so easy to put into words, I am anxious to escape for a time from the noise and bustle and excitement of London. I should like to be in some country place where I could think, and read, and live quietly, and if possible be of some little use to somebody. You are kind enough — not knowing Avhat an unamiable, self-centred person I am — to offer me a home with you for an indefinite period ; so, if you really care to purchase ‘ a pig in a poke,’ I will come to you for six months. By the end of that time you will have discovered most of my faults, and will have found some one who Avould suit you a great deal better. I will pay you whatever you consider the equivalent of 23 ‘'adolescent insanity/' my board, and if I can be of use to yon in any way I shall be only too glad. " Believe me always " Your affectionate cousin, "Mona Maclean." Lunch was on the table before she had finished writing. She lifted the cover and looked at the nicely cooked dish with irrepressible disgust, then helped herself, and — fell a-dreaming. " Mona, my dear, this will never do," she said, rousing herself with an effort. "Checkmate or no checkmate, I can't have you fading away like a lovely fiower. What is the use of this Niersteinev if it does not make you eat Horst chi ivohl?^' She made a heroic attempt if not a very successful one, and then proceeded to read over critically the letter she had just written. She shrugged her shoulders as she closed the OO envelope. " Adolescent insanity ! " she exclaimed cyni- cally. "Well, why not? Some of us are adolescent, I suppose, and most of us are insane." She put on her hat and strolled down towards Oxford Street to post the letter. It suited her ■24 MONA MACLEAN. mood to drop it into the letter-box with her own hands, and besides, she was rarely so depressed as not to be amused by the shop-windows. To- day, however, as she wandered aimlessly on, the gay shows in Regent Street fell upon eyes that saw not. “ If I had only passed,” she said, “how happy I should bo!” She turned wearily homewards, and was met in the hall by the maid. “ If you please, miss, two ladies called while you were out. They were in a carriage, and they left this card.” Mona went up-stairs as she read it. “ Lady Munro ” was the name on the card ; an address in Gloucester Place, Portman Scpiare, was scrawled in the corner ; and on the back in pencil — “ So sorry to miss you. You must dine with us without fail on Friday at eight. No refusal.” A pleased smile crossed Mona s face. “ She is spoiling the story,” she said. Then the smile was chased away by a frown. “ If only the story had not spoiled itself ! ” And then she bethought herself of the letter she had posted. 25 CHAPTER IV. SIR DOUGLAS. When Friday evening came, Mona took a curious pleasure in making the very most of herself. She knew, as well as any outsider could have told her, that her present depression and apathy were but the measure of the passionate enthusiasm with which she had lived the life of her choice ; and yet it was inevitable that for the time she should look at life wholly on the shadowed side. Past and future seemed alike gloomy and forbidding — “ Grau, grcm, gleichgiiltig grcm ” — and the eager, unconscious protest of youth against such a destiny, took the form of a resolution to enjoy to the utmost this glimpse of brightness and colour. She would forget all but the present ; new sur- 26 MONA MACLEAN. roundings should find her for the moment a new being. When she reached Gloucester Place, Lady Munro and her daughter were alone in the drawinef-room. O Lady Munro was one of those people who make a marked impress on their material surroundings. The rooms in wdiich she lived quickly became, as it were, a part of herself, which her friends could not fail to I’ecoo'nise O as such. Eastern rugs and draperies clothed the con- ventional London sitting - room ; luxuriant, tropical - looking plants were grouped in cor- ners, great sensuous roses lolled in Indian bowls, and a few rich quaint lamps cast a mellow glow across the twilight of the room. “ Why, Mona, can it really be you ?” Lady Munro rose from her lounge, and kissed her niece affectionately on both cheeks. For a moment Mona could scarcely find words. She was keenly suscejDtible at all times to the beauty of luxury, and the very atmosj^here of this room called up with irresistible force for- gotten memories of childhood. The touch of this gracious woman’s lips, the sound of her SIR DOUGLAS. 27 voice, the soft frou-frou of her goAvn, all gave Mona a sense of exquisite physical pleasure. Lady Munro was not, strictly speaking, a beautiful woman ; but a subtle grace, a subtle fascination, a subtle perfume were part of her very being. She was worshipped by all the men who knew her, but the most cynical of her husband^s friends could not deny that she was no whit less charmino; in her intercourse with her own sex than she was with them. She was not brilliant ; she was not fast ; she was simply herself. This is my daughter Evelyn,’’ she said ; and she laid her hand on a sweet, quiet, overgrown English schoolgirl — one of those curious chry- salis beings whom a few months of Anglo- Indian society transforms from a child into a finished woman of the world. ‘‘ I expect my husband every moment. He is longing to meet you.” Evelyn slowly raised her blue eyes, looked quietly at her mother for a moment, and let them fall again without the smallest change of expression. In fact. Lady jMunro’s remark was a graceful modification of the truth. Sir Dougrlas i\Iunro was nothing if not a man of 28 MONA MACLEAN. tho world. Ho know tho points of n wino, and lie knew the points of a horse ; but above all he flattered himself that he knew the points of a woman. He had made a study of them all his life, and he believed, perhaps rightly, that he could read them like an open book. “ Sweet seventeen ” was at a cruel disadvantage in his hands, if indeed he exerted himself to speak to her at all. The genus Medical Woman was not as yet included in his collection, but he had heard of it, and had classified it in his own mind as a useful but uninteresting hybrid, which could not strictly be called a woman at all. In the sense, therefore, in which a luke- warm entomologist “ longs to meet ” the rare but ugly beetle wliicli he believes will complete his cabinet. Sir Douglas Munro was “longing^’ to make the acquaintance of Mona Maclean. The new beetle certainly took him by surprise when he came in a minute later. ‘‘Mona!” he replied to his wife’s introduction; “ Mona Maclean — the doctor ?” Mona laughed as she rose, and took his proffered hand. “Far from it,” she said. “In the vacation I try to forget that I am even the makings of one.” SIR DOUGLAS. 29 She looked almost handsome as she stood there in the soft light of the room. Lady Muuro forgot that her niece was a medical student, and experienced a distinct sense of pride and proprietorship. No ordinary modiste, she felt sure, had arranged those folds of soft grey crape, and the dash of glowing crimson geraniums on the shoulder was the touch of an artist. “ Mona is the image of her mother,” she said. “ Ye-e-s,” said Sir Douglas, availing himself of his wife’s relationship to look at Mona very frankly. “ She reminds me a good deal of what you were at her age.” “Nonsense!” said Mona, hastily. “Eemember I am not used to flatter}".” “ To receiving or to paying it ?” “To neither;” and she turned a look of very honest and almost child-like admiration on her aunt. Sir Douglas looked pleased, although he him- self had long ceased to pay his wife compli- ments. “ There’s a great deal of your father in your face, too,” he said. “ You have got his mouth. Ah, he was a good fellow ! I could tell you 30 MOXA MACLEAN. many a story of our Indian life — a man in a thousand !” “ You could tell me nothing I should more dearly like to hear,” said Mona, with eager interest. “Ah, well — some day, some day.” A native servant announced dinner, and Sir Douglas gave Mona his arm. “ What ! another scene from the ‘ Arabian Nights’?” she said as they entered the dining- room. “ It is clear that a very wonderful genius presides over your household.” “You are going to have an Indian dinner, too,” said Lady Munro. “Nuhboo makes all the entrees and soups and sauces. He is worth half-a-dozeu English servaut.s.” Mona looked up at the dark bearded face under the voluminous white turban, but she could not tell whether Nuhboo had heard the remark. All the philosophy of Buddh might lie behind those sad impenetrable eyes, or he might be thinking merely of the entrees ; it was impossible to say. If the whole occasion had not seemed to her, as she said, a bit out of the ‘ Arabian Nights,’ she would have thought it sacrilege that a man with such a face should be SIR DOUGLAS. 31 employed in so trivial an occupation as waiting at table. ‘‘ When I look at Nubboo I can almost believe myself a baby again/' she said. ''He seems like a bit of my dream-world." The feeblest ghost of a smile flitted across the man's face, as he moved noiselessly from place to place. " It must be a dream-world," laughed her aunt. "You cannot remember much of that !" "I don't:" and Mona smhed. ^ O Lady Munro and Mona kept the ball going between them during dinner. Evelyn only spoke now and then, to water down one of her mother's most piquant and highly seasoned re- marks ; and she did this with a hidden sense of humour which never rose to the surface in her face. Sir Douglas spoke as much as cour- tesy absolutely demanded, but no more. The new beetle was evidently perplexing him pro- foundly. Lady Munro's feeliug for her niece was one of mingled pride, afiection, disgust, and fear — disgust for the life-work she had chosen, fear of her sujjpbsed " cleverness." Lady Munro despised learned women, but she was not at all o o MONA MACLEAN. willing that they should despise her. She exerted herself to talk well, but even Mona’s evident admiration could not put her quite at her ease. “How is it Ave have seen so little of you, Mona?” she said, when they had left Sir Douglas to his Avine. “ AVhere were you Avhen Ave Averc last at home ? ” “ In Germany, I suppose. I Avent there for three years after I left school. “To study music?” “Both music and painting in a small Avay.” “You Avonderful girl! Then you are a musician ? ” “ Gott bewakre ! ” burst from Mona in- voluntarily. “ My musical friends thought me a Turner, and my artistic friends thought me a Rubinstein ; from Avhich you may gather the truth, that I had no real gift for either.” “ So you say ! I expect you are an ‘ Ad- mirable Crichton.’” “If that be a euphemism for ‘ Jack-of-all- trades and master of none,’ I suppose I am — alas ! ” “ And does Homer never nod ? Do you neA'er amuse yourself like other girls ? ” SIR DOUGLAS. 33 ‘‘ I am afraid I must not allow yon to call me a girl. I believe you have my grandmother's family Bible. Yes, indeed, Homer nods a great deal more than is consistent with his lofty calliug. I am an epicure in frivolling." “ In what ? " Forgive my school slang! It means that I indulge quite freely enough in concerts, theatres, and in picture-galleries — not to say shoj)-win- dows." You don't mean to say that you care for shop - windows ? " and again Lady Munro's glance rested with satisfaction on Mona's pretty gown, although she was half afraid her niece was lauorhino' at her. O O Oh, don't I 'i You little know ! " Pictures, I suppose, and old china and furni- ture and that sort of thing," said Lady Munro, treading cautiously. Yes, I like all those, but I like pretty bon- nets too, and tea-gowns and laces and note-paper and — every kind of arrant frivolity and baga- telle. But they must be pretty, you know. I am not caught with absolute chafl*." You don't care about fashion, you mean." Mona drew down her brows in deep thought. VOL. I. c 34 MONA MACLEAN. Clearly she was talking honestly, then she shook her head with a light langh. I am getting into deep water/’ she said. ‘‘ I am afraid I do care about fashion, fashion (jiid fashion, fashion pure and simple.” '' Not if it is ugly ? ” questioned Evelyn Not if it is ugly, surely ; but I question if it often is ugly in the hands of the artists among dressmakers. It is just as unfair to judge of a fashion as it issues from the hands of a mere seamstress, as it is to judge of an air from its rendering on a barrel-organ or a penny trumpet.” Lady Munro laughed. shall tell my hus- band that,” she said. “Douglas ” — as he entered the room — “ you have no idea of the heresies Mona has been confessing. She cares as much about new gowns and bonnets as anybody.” Sir Douglas looked at Mona very gravely. Either he had not heard the remark, or he was striving to adapt it to his mental sketch of her character. He seated himself on the sofa beside her, and turned towards her as thou2fh he meant to O exclude his wife and dauo'hter from the con- O versation. SIR DOUGLAS. 35 Have you seriously taken up the study of medicine ? ” he asked. “Now for it ! ” thought Mona. She took for granted that he was a decided enemy of the “ movement,” and although at the moment she was in little humour for the old battle, she was bound to be true to her colours. So she donned her armour wearily. “ I certainly have,” she said, quietly. “ And you mean to practise ? ” “ Assuredly.” The examination and its concomitant sorrows were forgotten. She answered the question as she would have answered it at any time in the last three or four years. “ Are you much interested in the work ? ” “ Very much,” she said, Avarinly. “ I am sure you need scarcely ask that,” said Lady Munro, with a kind smile. “ One does not undertake that sort of thing s’amuser I ” there are other motives,” he said, looking severely at his wife. “There is ambition.” This was shrewdly said, and IMona’s respect for her opponent rose. A fit of coughing had inter- rupted him. His wife looked at him anxiously. “ I wish 36 MONA MACLEAN. you would prescribe for my husband,” she said, smiling. “ Don't ! ” ejaculated Sir Douglas, fiercely, before the cough gave him breath to speak. At this moment Nubboo announced a visitor, a cousin of Sir Douglas’, and the latter seemed glad of an interruption which allowed him to have Mona entirely to himself. He shook hands with his visitor, and then, returning to Mona’s side, sat in silence for a few moments as if trying to collect his thoughts. “The fact is,” he broke out impulsively at last, “ I am torn asunder on this subject of women doctors — torn asunder-. There is a terrible necessity for them — terrible — and yet, what a sacrifice ! ” Mona could scarcely believe her ears. This was very different from the direct, brutal attack she had anticipated. Instinctively she laid down her armour, and left herself at his mercy. “ I think you are unusually liberal to admit the necessity,” she said, but her sweet earnest face said much more for her than her words. “Liberal!” he said. “What man can live and not admit it ? It makes me mad to think SIR DOUGLAS. 37 how a woman can allow herself to be pulled about by a man. Fifty years hence no woman will have the courage to own that it ever happened to her. But the sacrifice is a fearful one. Picture my allowing Evelyn to go through what you are going through ! ” And his glance rested fondly on his daughter’s fair head. “ I agree with you so far,” said ]\Iona, “ that no woman should undertake such work under the age of twenty-three.” “ Twenty-three ! ” he repeated. “ It is bad for a man, but a man has some virtues which remain untouched by it. A woman loses everything that makes womanhood fair and attractive. You must be becoming hard and blunted ? ” He looked at her as if demandinof an answer. o “ I hope not,” said iMona, quietly, and her eyes met his. “ You hope not ! ” He dashed back her words with all the vehemence of an evangelical preacher who receives them in answer to his all- important question. You hope not ! Is that all you can say ? You are not sure ? ” It is difficult to judge of one's self," said Mona, thoughtfully, turning her face full to his pierc- ing gaze ; ‘‘ and one's own opinion would not be 38 MONA MACLEAN. worth having. I believe I am not becoming hard- ened. I am sure my friends would .say I am not.” She felt as if he were reading her inmost soul, and for the moment .she was willing that he should. No other argument would be of any weight in sueh a discussion as this. He dropped his eyes, half ashamed of his vehemence. ‘^No need to tell me that,” he said, hurriedly. “ I am used to reading women's faces. I have been searching yours all evening for the hard lines that must be there, but there is not a trace that is not perfectly womanly. And yet I cannot understand it I From the very nature of your work you must revel in scenes of liorror.” That I am sure we don't ! ” said Mona, warmly. She would have laughed if they had both been less in earnest. You don't say that of all the noble nurses who have had to face scenes of horror.” ''But you must become blunted, if you are to be of any use.” " I don't think blunted is the word. It is extremely true, as some one says, that pity be- comes transformed from a blind impulse into a motive.” SIR DOUGLAS. 39 He seemed to be weisbinji tbis. o o “ You dissect ? ” he said presently. ii '\T >> les. Think of that alone ! It is human butch- ery. “ Of course you must know that I do not look upon it in that light.” But a sense of hopelessness came upon her, as she realised how she was handicapped in this discussion. She must either be silent or speak in an unknown tongue. How could she ex- plain to this man the wonder and the beauty of the work that he dismissed in a brutal phrase ? How could she talk of that ever-new field for observation, corroboration, and discovery ; that unlimited scope for the keen eye, the skilful hand, the thinking brain, the mature judgment? How could she describe those exquisite mechan- isms and traceries, those variations of a common type, developing in accordance with fixed law, and yet with a perfectness of adaptation that a priori would have seemed like an impossible fairy tale ? How cruelly she would be mis- understood if she talked here of the passionate delight of discovery, of the enthusiasm that had often made her foritetful of time and of all other o 40 MONA MACLEAN. claims ? “ To be a true anatomist,” she thought with glowing face, “ one would need to be a mechanician and a scientist, an artist and a philosopher. He who is not something of all these must be content to learn his work as a trade.” Sir Douglas was looking at her intently. As a medical student she had got beyond his range. As a woman, for the moment, she was beautiful. Such a light is only seen in the eyes of those who can see the ideal in the actual. But he had not finished his study. He must bring her down to earth again. “ Do you remember your first day in the dissecting-room 1 ” o “ Yes,” said Mona. She sighed deeply, and the light died out of her eyes. “ A ghastly experience ! ” “ Yes.” “ And yet you say you have not become blunted ? ” “ I do not think,” said Mona, trying hard with a woman’s instinct to avoid the least suspicion of dogmatism — “ I do not think that one becomes blunted when one ceases to look at the garbage side of a subject. Every subject, I SIR DOUGLAS. 41 suppose, has its garbage side, if one is on tlie look-out for it ; and in anatomy, unfortunately, that is the side that strikes one first, and conse- quently the only one outsiders ever see. It is difl&cult to discuss the question with one who is not a doctor” (“nor a scientist,” she added inwardly) ; “ but if you had pursued the study, I think you would see that one must, in time, lose sight of all but the wonder and the beauty of it.” There was a long pause. “ AVhen you are qualified,” he said at last, “ you only mean to attend your own sex 1 ” “ Oh, of course,” said Mona, warmly. He seemed relieved. “ That was why my wife made me angry by suggesting, even in play, that you should pre- scribe for me. You women are — with or with- out conscious sacrifice — wading through seas of blood to right a terrible evil that has hitherto been an inevitable one. If you deliberately and gratuitously repeat that evil by extending your services to men, the sacrifice has all been for nothing, and less than nothing.” He spoke with his old vehemence, and then relapsed into silence. 42 MONA MACLEAN. His next remark sounded curiously irrelevant. “ How long do you remain here ? ” “ In London ? I don’t quite know. I am going to visit a cousin in ten days or so.” Sir Douglas took advantage of a pause in the conversation between his wife and their visitor. “Bruce,” he said, “let me introduce you to my niece. Miss Maclean.” “ That,” he continued to his wife, with a movement of his head in Mona’s direction, “ is a great medical light.” % Mona laughed. “ I am sure of it,” said Lady Munro, with her irresistible smile. “ As for me, I would as soon have a woman doctor as a man.” Sir Douglas threw back his head and clapped his hands, with a harsh laugh. “ Well,” he said, “ when you come to say that — the skies will fall.” . “ Douglas, Avhat do you mean ? ” She looked anno'yed. At the moment she really believed that she had been an advocate of women doctors all her life. Sir Douglas seated himself on a low chair beside her, and began to play with her embroidery silks. SIR DOUGLAS. 43 When Mona rose to go, a little later, Lady Munro took her hand affectionately. “ Mona,^’ she said, I told you we were start- • iug on Monday morning for a short tour in Norway. My husband and I should be so pleased if you would go with us.” Monas cheek flushed. ‘’How very kind!” she said. “ I am so sorry it is impossible.” “Why'?” said Sir Douglas, quickly. “You don’t need to go to your cousin till the end of the month.” Mona s colour deepened. “ There is no use in beating about the bush,” she said. “ The fact is, I am engaged in the interesting occupa- tion of retrenching just now. You know” — as Sir DouQ^las looked daggers — “ I have not the o oo smallest claim on you.” He lauo-hed, and laid bis band on ber sboulder. “Don’t be afraid, Mona,” he said. “We are not trying to establish a claim on you. The great medical light shall go in and out as here- tofore, without let or hindrance. Give us your society for a fortnight, and we shall be only too much your debtors.” “ It will make the greatest difference to all of us 1 ” said Lady j\Iunro, warmly. 44 MONA MACLEAN. And Evelyn, with the facile friend-ship of a schoolgirl, slipped her arm caressingly round her cousin’s waist. And so it was arranged. “Shall Nnhboo call you a hansom?” said Lady Munro. “ She doesn’t want a hansom,” said Sir Douglas. “ Throw your gown over your arm, and put on a cloak, and I will see you home.” It was a beautiful summer night; the air was soft and pleasant after the burning heat of the day. It was natural that Sir Douglas should be curious to see the habitat of his new beetle, and after all, he was practically her uncle ; but she held out her hand, meeting his eyes with a frank smile. “ You have been very kind to me,” she said. “ Good night.” “ I am afraid Lucy would say I had not ‘ stood up ’ to him enough,” she thought. “ But all he wanted was to dissect me, and I hope he has done it satisfactorily. AVhat a curious man he is ! I wonder if any one ever took quite that view of the subject before? Not at all the view of a Sir Galahad, I fancy ” — and she SIR DOUGLAS. 45 thought of a passage that had puzzled her in ‘ Ehoda Fleming’ — “but he was kind to me, and honest with me, and I like him. I must try very hard not to become unconsciously ‘ blunted ’ as he calls it.” Her eye fell on a letter from her cousin, and she sat down in her rocking-chair, cast a re- gretful glance at the withered maidenhairs on her shoulder, and tore open the envelope. “My dear Cousin, — Your letter has just come in, and very good news it is. All the world looks brighter since I read it. I will do my best to make you happy, and although you will have plenty of time to yourself, you will be* of the neatest use to me. Both in the house O and in the shop ” “ Good God ! ” said Mona ; and letting the letter fall, she buried her face in her hands. 46 CHAPTER V. “an agate knife-edge.” It is doubtful Avhetlier Mona had ever received such a shock in the whole course of her life. She had always been told, and she had gloried in the knowledfie, that her father’s father was a self-made mai] ; but the very fact that she did thus glory was a proof, perhaps in more ways than one, that the process of making^’ had been a very complete one. She vaguely knew, but she did not in the least realise, what people may be before they are ‘‘ made.^^ She had taken for granted, as she told Lucy, that her cousin Eachel was “ not exactly what one would call a lady ; but she had unconsciously pictured to herself a pretty cottage embowered in roses, a simple primitive life, early dinners, occasional afternoon calls, rare tea-parties, and ‘‘an agate knife-edge/’ 47 abundant leisure for walking, reading, tliinking, and dreaminoj on the rocks. Her love for the sea, and especially for the wild east coast, amounted almost to a passion, which hitherto she had had but little ojDportunity of gratifying ; and this love, perhaps, had weighed with her as much as anything else, in the decision she had made. She had talked with pride of the “good old yeoman blood ” in her veins, but principle and dainty nurture shrank alike from the idea of the middleman — the shop. She did not dream of withdrawino' from the O rashly concluded bargain. That simple way out of the difficulty never suggested itself to her mind. “ After all, could I have done any better'? ’’she said. “Even if Sir Doimlas and O my aunt took more than a passing interest in me, should I be content to devote my life to them '? Nay, verily ! ” But all her philosophy could not save her from a mauvais (juart cVheure — nor from a restless wakeful niglit — after she had read the letter. And yet the situation appealed irresistibly to her sense of humour. “ If only Lucy were here to enjoy it ! ” she 48 MONA MACLEAN. said. And slie found tlie necessary relief to her feelings in a long letter to her friend. - “ I can see you turn pale at the word shop," she wrote, “as I confess I did myself ; but I suppose your youthful and untrammelled imag- ination has taken flight at once to Parkins & Gotto or hlarshall & Snelgrove. My dear, let me inform you at once that the town contains less than two thousand inhabitants ; and now, will you kindly reflect on the number of cubic feet which the Parkins & Gotto and hlarshall & Snelgrove of such a place would find ample for the bestowal of their wares. My own impression is, that my sitting-room would afford sufficient accommodation for both, and I am not sure that there would not be room for Fortnum & Mason to boot. “ If I only knew what I am to sell, it would be some relief. Tobacco was my first thought, but the place is not big enough to support a tobacconist. At whisky I draw the line — and yet, on second thoughts, I don’t. If it is tobacco or whisky — behold my life-work ! But if it is toffee and ginger-bread horses, and those ghastly blue balls— what are they for, by the 49 '' AN AGATE KNIFE-EDGE.'' way ? — may tlie Lord have mercy upon my soul ! " She mentioned her meeting with the Munros, and the projected trip to Norway, and then — I hope the grocer duly congratulated you over the counter," she concluded. I take a fraternal interest in his behaviour now, and with characteristic catholicity I have gone farther afield, and have imagined the very words in which the postman delivered his tit- bit of inform atioD. I have even pictured the farmers forgetting the price of hay, and the state of the crops, in the all-absorbing topic of the hour. Your aflfectionate friend, Mona Maclean. “And now," she said to herself, as she sur- veyed the alarming array of trunks and packing- cases which the servants had placed in the room, — now I am in the position commonly described as having my work cut out for me ! The valise must do for Norway, that trunk and hat-box for Borrowness, and all the rest must be warehoused at Tilbury s." The consideration of her wardrobe provided VOL. I. D 50 MONA MACLEAN. food for some rcHection and a good deal of amusement. “ Pity there is no time to write to the ‘Queen’ for information as to outfit de,sirable for six months in a small shop at Borrowmess ! ” she thought. Finally, she decided on a plain tailor-made tweed, a dark-coloured silk, a couple of pretty cotton morning-gowns, and a simple evening- dress, “in case of emergency,” she said, but she knew in her heart that no such emergency would arise. “ The good folks will think those sweetly simple, and befitting the state of life to which it has pleased Providence to call me,” she said. “ They would stare a little if they knew what I had paid for them, I fancy. Borrowness ‘ versteht so tvas 7iicht,’ as my dear old Frau used to say of Pauline and the asparagus.” In the midst of her work Sir Douglas and Evelyn came in on some mythical errand. Lady Munro would have come herself, but she teas so busy. Sir Douglas was in higli spirits. It really Avas true of him, what Lady hlunro had graciously said of all of them, that Mona’s going made the greatest difi'erence in the 51 ‘'an agate knife-edge/' pleasure of the tour. From the point of view of personal companionship he had long since exhausted his wife, and Evelyn was still too crude and insipid to be thought of in that capacity. To his peculiar, and possibly morbid, taste, Mona s society had all the piquancy which was as desirable to his mind as were Nubboo's curries to his jaded Anglo-Indian palate. It was sad work that packing. Many a bright hope and lofty ambition was buried with the books and instruments in the great wooden cases ; and who could tell whether there would be any resurrection ? Mona felt that another fortnio'ht of life would brino' her to the end of o o all thiims. “A world of failure and blighted o o enthusiasm behind," she said, “a wild waste of vulgarity and mediocrity in front ; and here I stand for an instant poised on an ‘ agate knife- edge' of fashion and luxury and popularity. Carpe diem ! " “And I'm sure, miss, if you'll give me what notice you can. I'll do my very best to have the rooms vacant again," said the good-hearted Irish landlady, who kept dropping in at the most inconvenient moments to offer assistance and shed a few tears. “ It's little trouble you've 52 MONA MACLEAN. given, and many’s the time it’s done me good to meet your bright face on the stair.” You may be quite sure that if I am ever in London for any length of time, I shall try very hard to secure my old quarters,” said Mona, cordially ; but it is impossible to tell what the future may bring ; ” and she sighed. If lodgfers could be made to order, Mrs O O’Connor would fain have had hers a little more communicative. She was thirsting for an ex- planation of the fine carriage that had driven up to the door on Wednesday afternoon, and of the beautiful lady who had seemed so disap- pointed to find Miss Maclean out. When the same equij)age disappeared with Mona on Monday morning, and Mrs O’Connor had leisure to refiect on the apparent finality of this departure, in the light of the alternate high spirits and profound depression which had not altogether escaped her observation, she came to the conclusion that Miss Maclean was meditat- ing a good match, but that she did not quite know her own mind. 53 CHAPTER VI. THE N.ERODAL. “Don’t talk to me of ‘kariols’ and ‘stol- kjaerres,”’ said Sir Douglas, kotly. “I never ' got such an infernal shaking in my life.” Mona laughed. “ Do you know,” she said, “I imagine that ‘kariols’ and ‘ stolkjaerres ’ have done more to make or mar Norway than all its mountains and fjords. They are so picturesque and characteristic, and they make up so neatly into wooden toys and silver orna- ments. Scenery and sunsets are all very well, but it is amazing how' grown-up children love to carry home a piece of cake from the party, and in this case the piece of cake serves as an excellent advertisement.” “Fill your pockets with cake by all means, but let us have more substantial diet while we 54 MONA MACLEAN. cir6 licrc. You girls niQ;y do us you like , foi tli6 future, ]\Iuud uiid I truvcl in u culusli. They were all sitting on tiic grassy niouiuls and hillocks near the edge of tlic precipice, above the Nierodal at Stalheim. The air was full of the fragrance of spicy herbs and shrubs, and the ceaseless buzz of insects in the mellow sunshine could be heard above the distant unvarying roar of the waterfalls. In front lay the “ narrow valley,” bounded on either side by a range of barren, precipitous hills, half lost in shadow, lialf glowing in purple and o-old. Some thousand feet below, like a white scar, lay the river, spanned by tiny bridges over which horses and vehicles crawled like flies. Behind, the pretty, gimcrack hotel raised its insolent little gables in the midst of the great solitude ; and beyond that, hills and mountains rose and fell like an endless series of mighty billows. Lady Munro was leaning back in a hammock- chair, half asleep over her novel ; Sir Douglas puffed at his fragrant cigar, and protested intermittently against all the hardships lie had been called upon to endure ; Evelyn, with the THE N.'ERODAL. conscieiitiousness of an intelligent schoolo'irl. was sketching the Naeroclal ; and ]\Iona leaned idly against a hillock, her hands clasped behind her head, her face for the moment a picture of absolute rest and satisfaction. “ hy don’t they bring the coffee ? ” said Lady Munro, stifling a yawn. “Evelyn, do go and inquire about it, do ! ” “ It has not been served on the verandah yet,” said Evelyn, without looking up from her work, “and you know they are not likely to neglect us.” o “ No, indeed,” said IMona. “ I can assure you it is a great privilege to poor little insig- nificant me to travel in such company. I have long known that the god of hotel-keepers all over the world is the hot-tempered, exacting, free-handed Englishman. I used to think it a base superstition, but now that I have all the privileges of a satellite, I see that it is a wise and beneficent Avorship.” “ You pert little minx ! ” said Sir Douglas, trying to control the twitching at the corners of his mouth. “ And I have also learned,” continued IMona, unabashed, looking at her aunt, “ that a fasci- 56 MONA MACLEAN. nating manner of languid dignity, mingled with a subtle Anglo-Indian imperiousness, is worth a whole fortune in ‘ tips.’ I mean to cultivate a far-off imitation of it.” “ Mona, you are too bad ! ” Lady Munro had become much attached to her niece, but she never felt quite sure of her even now. “ My own belief is,” said Evelyn, dreamily, “ that the respect with which we are treated is due entirely to Nubboo.” “ AVell, he does give an air of distinction to the party, I confess,” Mona amswered. “ When he is on the box of the calash I shall feel that nothing more is required of me.” At this moment a stolid, fair-haired girl, in picturescj^ue Norwegian dress, appeared with a tray of cups and saucers, and Nubboo followed with the coffee. There was a perpetual dispute between them as to who should perform this office. Each considered the other a most offi- cious meddler, and they ended, not very ami- cably, by sharing the duty between them. “ What a jumble you are making of the world ! ” laughed Mona, as she watched the retreating figures. “ How do you reconcile it with your sense of the fitting to bring together THE N^RODAL. 57 types like those? A century hence there will be no black, no white ; humanity will all be uni- forml)', hideously, commonplacely yellow ! ” “God forbid!” ejaculated Sir Douglas, with orthodox social horror of the half-caste. “ Who the deuce taught these people to make coffee ? ” “ I am sure we have reason to know,” sighed his wife, “ that it is impossible to teac/i people to make coffee.” “ Nascihir non Jit ? I suppose so, but it is curious — in a savage nation ; ” and he drank the coffee slowly and appreciatively, with the air of a professional wine-taster. Mona rose, put her cup on the rustic table, and looked at Evelyn’s painting. “ Wie geht’s she said, laying her hand caressingly on the girl’s shoulder. o “ If only the shadows would stand still ! Mona, you are very lazy. Do come and draw. See, I’ve two sketch -blocks, and no end of brushes.” “ Ah ! ” said ]\Iona. “ Let me really succeed with a Dies Iroe, or a Transfiguration, and then I shall think of attacking the Nmrodal.” Evelyn raised her blue eyes. “ Don’t be cutting, please,” she said, quietly. 58 MONA MACLEAN. “And why not, pray, if it amuses me and does you no liarm ? In the insolent superiority of youtli, must you needs doek one of the few privileges of crabbed age ? My dear,” she went on, seating herself again, “ when I had reached the mature age of twelve I planned a great historic painting. The Death of William 11. I took a pillow, tied a string some inehes from one end, and round the kingly neck, thus roughly indicated, I fastened my own babyish merino cape, which was to do duty for the regal mantle. I threw my model violently on the floor to make the folds of the cape fall hap- hazard, and then with inflnite pains I proceeded to make them a great deal more haphazard than the fall had done. To tell the truth, the size and cut of the garment were sueh that I misfht almost as well have tried to Qct folds in o o a collar.” “No great feat,” said Sir Douglas, ruefully, “ if it came from a Norwegian laundrv ! Well ? ” Mona laughed sympathetically. “ On the same principle I studiously arranged my head and arms on the dressing-table before the glass o o to look as if I had fallen from my horse, and I THE N.ERODAL. 59 studied the attitude till I flattered myself that I could draw it from, memory. But the legs and the nether garments — there lay the rub ! Heigh-ho, Evelyn ! you need not grudge me my cheap cynicism as a solatium for the loss of the excitement that kept me awake making plans for hours at night, and the passionate eagerness with which I prosecuted my researches by day — between the boards of Collier’s ^ British History’ !” “ But the picture,” asked Sir Douglas ; does it survive ? ” ‘‘ Alas, no ! Not even as an unfinished frag- ment. A laburnum-tree and two rose-bushes in the garden represented the New Forest, and I never watched any one leave the room with- out making a mental study of Wat Tyler disappearing among the trees. But the royal legs and nether garments were too great a responsibility.” Why on earth didn’t you get some one to lie on the floor as a model ? ” Mona’s face assumed an expression of horror. “You don’t suppose I spoke to any one of my picture ! I was worlds too shy. Is that all you know of the diffidence of genius '? ” 60 MONA MACLEAN. “ I expect it was a very clever picture,” said Lady Munro, admiringly. “My dear aunt, I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye now, and although ‘the past will always win a glory from its being far,’ I cannot flatter myself that there is an atom of talent in that picture. There is not a strong line in it. I had plenty of resource, but no facility.” “ It must have been a great disappointment to you to leave it unfinished at last.” “ Oh dear, no ! I believe the difficulty of the legs would have been surmounted in the long-run somehow, but I suddenly discovered that the true secret of happiness lay in novel- writing. I spent the one penny I possessed at the moment on a note-book, and set to work.” “ AVhat was the title ? ” asked Evelyn, who had some thoughts of writing a novel herself. ^Jack’s First Sixpence/’’ said Mona, solemnly. ‘‘ And the plot ? ” asked Sir Douglas. narrows itself naturally, as you will see, to what he did with the sixpence. I believe” — Mona’s lips quivered, and her eyes brimmed over with laughter, but she still spoke with great solemnity — ‘‘that after much re- flection he deposited it in the missionary-box. THE NaERODAL. 61 I clearly see, on looking back, that my budding originality found more congenial scope in art than in literature.’’ ‘‘And did that get finished?” asked Evelyn. “It did — in the lonD;-run; but it had a narrow escape. I had written some twelve pages, when I suddenly thought of a title for a new story. My next penny went on another note-book, and I wrote on the first 'page — ‘ The Bantam Code and the Spedded Hen : A Story, By Mona Maclean! It looked verv well, but for the life of me I could get no further. To this day I have never had one idea in my head on the subject of that bantam cock and speckled hen. So I was forced to return to commonplace Jack ; and a year later, when I went to school, the second note -book was filled up with four hundred dates, which I duly committed to memory. What a orlorious thing education is ! ” o o She sprang to her feet, ashamed of having talked so much, and was glad that the tardy arrival of the post from Vossevangen formed a 62 MONA MACLEAN. natural interruption to her reminiscences. The 2)ortiev brought out a bundle of Indian letters and papers for Sir Douglas, and a letter for Mona in Lucy’s handwriting. It brought her down to earth with a run,” as she candidly informed the Avriter a fortnight later, and she put it in her pocket with a frown. It AA'as not pleasant to be reminded of a commonplace, sneering, workaday world beyond the hills and the sunshine. “ Nothing for me ! ” exclaimed Evelyn. “ Maria and Annette promised faithfully to answer my letters by return.” “ I don’t think they’ve had time even for that,” said Mona. “ The Norwegians pride themseh'es on their facilities for posting letters, but you must not expect a reply ! ” Sir Douglas went indoors to read and answer o his letters in comfort, Evelyn proceeded dili- gently with her painting, and Mona announced her intention of going for a walk. o o I cannot rest/^ she said, till I have explored that path that runs like a belt round the hills to the Jordalsnut. I sliall be back in plenty of time for supper/’ '' My dear Mona ! ” exclaimed her aunt, ‘‘ it THE N^RODAL. 63 looks dreadfully dangerous. You must not tliink of it. A footpath half-way down a precipice ! ‘^It must he a horse-track/’ said Mona, ^‘or we should not see it so distinctly from here. Certainly the least I owe you is not to run into any unnecessary danger ; and I assure you, )mu may trust me. Do you see that cottage at the end of the path close to the Jordalsnut? AVhen I get there, I will wave my large silk handker- chief. Perhaps you will see it if you are still here. Aii revoir!^^ She kissed her aunt’s dainty ringed hand, and set off* at a good walk- ing pace. She had already made inquiry respecting the shortest way to the Jordalsnut, and she found it now without much difficulty. For half a mile or so it lav aloncf the beaten road, and then turned off into the fields. From these, she passed into a straggling copse of stunted trees and tangled undergrowth, and emerged suddenly and unexpectedly on the brink of a deep gorge. Away down below, brawled and tumbled a foaming swollen tributary of the river, and Mona saw, with some uneasiness, that a plank without any kind of handrail did duty for a bridge. 64 MONA MACLEAN. “Now’s your chance, my clear girl,” she said ; “ if you mean to keep your lieacl in a case of life and death, or in a big operation — keep it now ! ” She gave herself a second to make up her mind — not another in which to tliiiik better of it — and then walked steadily across. “ After all, there was no danger for anybody one degree removed from an idiot,” she said, with characteristic contempt for an achievement the moment it had passed from the region of iwsse into that of esse. But it was with renewed ener’gy that she climbed the opf)osite side of the gorge and mounted the steep stony path that brought her out on the open hillside. Now that she was actually among them, the mountains towered about her in awful silence. The sky above and the river belocv seemed alike distant. The sun had gone down, and she stood there all alone in the midst of barren immensity. She took off her hat, tossed back the hair from her heated forehead, and laughed softly. But she was only now at the beginning of the walk she had planned, and there w'as no time to lose. The path w^as, as she had thought, a horse- track, and the walk involved no danger*, so long THE N^RODAL. 65 as one did not too entirely lose sight of ones footing in the grandeur of the surroundings. Once she was almost startled by the sudden appearance of a man a few yards in front of her, a visitor at the hotel, probably, for he lifted his hat as he passed. Of all the hundreds who are passing through Stalheim to-day,” she thought, only one takes the trouble to come along here, out of the eternal rush of kariols. What do they come to Norway for ? ” Every step of the walk was keen enjoyment. She had never allowed herself to get out of touch with nature. Ihe * man shall not * perceive it die away,^ ” she had said in the confidence ot youth. “Nature is jealous, I know, but she shall receive no cause of offence from me. She was my first friend, and she shall be my last. She reached the tiny homestead she had seen from Stalheim, and she waved her handkerchief for some minutes, looking in vain for an answer- ing^ sio'nal. She was very near the Jdrdalsnut now, but to lier great disappointment she found herself separated from it by a yawning valley which it was quite impossible to cross. The path by which she had come was continued VOL. I. ^ 66 MONA MACLEAN. along the hillside into this valley, turning upon itself almost at right angles. '' It's clear I shall get nowhere near the dear old roundhead to-night," she said, but I may be able to see at least how the path reaches it ultimately." She walked on for some time, however, with- out coming to any turning, and her spirits began to flag. The whole scene had changed within the last half-hour. The air was damp ; poor- looking, half-grown trees concealed the view ; and the ground was covered with long, dank grass. “ I suppose I must turn," she said regretfully. I will take five minutes' rest, and then be off home." She seated herself on a great mossy boulder, and suddenly bethought herself of Lucy’s letter. The familiar handwriting and words looked strangely out of place in this dreary solitude. dear Mona, — Perhaps you would like to know what I did when I read your letter. I sat on the floor and howled ! Not with lauoditer, — don't flatter yourself that your witticisms had anything to do with it. They only added insult THE N^EODAL. 67 to injury. Don’t imagine either that I mean to argue with you. It is impossible to influence you when your decision is right ; and when it is ivrong, one might as well reason with a mule. The idea ! I told father you would walk through the examination in January and take )^our final M.B., when I did. It once or twice crossed my mind with horror that you might content your- self with a Scotch ‘Triple/ or even a beggarly L.S.x\. ; but that you would be insane enough to chuck the whole thing, never so much as entered my head. It is too absurd. Because, as you are pleased to say, you have thrown three or four years of your life to the pigs and whistles, is that any reason why you should throw a fifth ? “ And have you really the conceit to suppose that you Avould make a good barmaid — a pro- fession that requires inborn talent and careful cultivation ? Can you flirt a little bit, may I ask ? Could you flirt if your life depended on it? Would anything ever teach you to flirt? Personally I take the liberty of doubting it. 1 suppose you think improving conversation and scientific witticisms will do equally well, or better ? — will amuse the men, and improve them at the same time ? Gott hewahre ! 68 MONA MACLIiAN. “Do you consider yourself even qualified to be a linen-draper’s shop-girl ? Are you in the habit of submitting to the whims and caprices of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who confers on you the favour of bargaining with you for a good penny’s- worth ? Is it possible you do not realise the extent to which you have always been — to use a metaphor of your own — the positively electrified object in the field? — how we have all meekly turned a negative side to you, and have revenged ourselves by being positive to the rest of the world 1 Can you hope to be a comfort even to your cousin ? Do you think she will enjoy being snubbed if she calls things ‘stylish ’ or ‘ genteel ’ ? Do you imagine that ‘ Evenings with the Microscope ’ will fill the place of a comfortable gossip about village nothings and nonentities ? “ Oh Mona, my friend, my wonderful, beauti- ful Mona, don’t be an abject idiot ! Write to your cousin that you have been a fool, and let us see your dear face in October. How is the School to get along without you ? “ In any case, darling, write to me, and that right soon. AVhy did you not tell me more about the hlunros. The idea of dangling such THE NiERODAL. 69 a delicious morsel as Sir Douglas before mj- eyes for a moment, only to withdraw him again ? How eould yon tantalise me so 1 You know hot-tempered, military old Anglo-Indians are my Schivarmerei, See., Sec., Sec.” Mona laughed, but her eyes were full of tears. She was not seriously moved by Lucy’s letter but it depressed her sadly, and suggested food for much reflection. She sat for a long time, her head resting on her hand, her eyes fixed absently on the page before her. Suddenly the sharp rap of a raindrop on the paper brought her to a recollection of her surroundings, and slie started to her feet in alarm. It had nrown O strangely dark. She could see the mist gath- ering even through the trees, and the rain was evidently coming on in earnest. 70 CHAPTER VII. A SON OF ANAK. When she emerged into the comparative light and openness of the Nserodal, she found, as she had feared, that the mist was creeping rapidly down the hillsides. It was raining heavily, and she must soon be enveloped in a thick, wet cloud. I am an abject idiot, as you say, Lucy,'' she said, “ but it was mainly your fault this time." She hurried along in breathless haste, but she was soon obliged to slacken her pace. Although the path was safe enough, it was broken away in some places, and already she could scarcely see a yard in front of her. I don't mind the open hillside," she gasped, but how I am to get across an invisible plank, A SON OF ANAK. 71 with an invisible torrent roarins down below, heaven alone knows ! ” And indeed she did mind the open hillside very much. In the clear daylight she had fancied herself half-way between earth and sky; now she was standing on a single square yard of stony ground in a universe of nothingness. It is simply impossible that I can find my way through that wood/^ she went on, becoming almost calm from very despair. It was a pure chance that I took the right path when the sun was shinino;/’ O She had serious thoughts of deliberately spending the night on the hillside, and even sat down for a few minutes on a dripping stone ; but her clothes were soaked through, and her teeth chattered with cold, so she was forced to go on. Shall I shout ? she thought. No, I never shouted or screamed in my life, and I don’t mean to begin now.” But she knew well that she would have shouted eagerly enough, if there had been the faintest chance of her being heard. It was useless to shout to the mists and the barren hills. Then for the first time it occurred to her that 72 MONA MACLEAN. her uncle would send out a search-party ; but, after the first rush of relief, this seemed the worst fate of all. Anything would be better than all that fuss and disturbance. It would be too humiliating to provide food for days of ex- aggerated gossip in the hotel, to be constrained with much penitence to* curtail or forego her solitary walks. And it might all have been so easily avoided if she had had her wits about her. ‘‘ Oh Lucy, I am an abject idiot ! ’’ she groaned. At this moment she fancied she heard a step on the stones some distance behind her. Yes, there was no doubt of it. Some one was com- ing. Uncertain whether to be relieved or more alarmed than before, she stood still, her heart beating fast. The steps drew nearer and nearer. It was horrible to feel a presence so close at hand, and to strain her ej^es in vain. In another moment a broad, ruddy, reassuring ’face looked down at her like the sum through the mist, and she drew a long breath of relief. Bless my soul ! the owner of the face ex- claimed, aghast at finding a young girl in such a dangerous situation, you donT mean to say vou are alone ? t/ A SON OF ANAK. 73 “ Yes,” laughed Mona. But the laugh was a very uucertain one, and revealed much that she would rather have kept to herself. “ YYll, I am glad I have found you/’ he went on, shaking a shower of water from his dripping straw hat. I shouldn’t like to think my sister Avas out here alone on a night like this. Won’t you take my arm ? I’m afraid you are very tired, and it can’t be easy to walk with your dress clinging to you so.” Mona’s check flushed, but she Avas Had to take his arm. His tall, sturdy, tweeded figure belied the bo3dsh, beardless face, and seemed like a tower of streinrth. You have had a soaking,” he went on, Avitli a sort of brotherly frankness AA^hich it aauis im- possible to resent. ‘SSo liaA^e'!, but knicker- bockers adapt themselves better to untoAA^ard circumstances than your thino-s. Am I AA^alkiim too fast ? ” Not a bit. I need not tell you that I shall be Had to oret home.” O O They both laughed at the equivocal com- pliment. Were you afraid ? ” he asked presently. Dreadfully,” said Mona, simply. In fact,” 74 MONA MACLEAN. she added after a pause, “ I am ashamed now to think how unnerved I allowed myself to get.” “ Why — you had some cause. Few men would have strictly enjoyed the situation. How far had you gone ? ” “ I don’t quite know. About a mile round the corner, I think. I was among the trees and did not notice the mist. By the way — did you "et to the Jordalsnut 1 ” o “ No : I left my portmanteau at the inn, and started with that intention ; but I went in for a bit of scrambling on this side of the valley, and then the mist drove me home. I am very o’lad it drove me to vour assistance — not but o ^ what you would have got on all right without me. “ I can’t tell you how glad / am. I really don’t know what I should have done,” and she raised her eyes to his with a frank look of gratitude. He started, almost imperceptibly. There was a curious charm in that honest un-selfconscious glance, but there was something more than that. '' You are not travelling alone, are you ? '' he asked, cafter a minute's silence. A SON OF ANAK. 75 No, I am with my uncle and aunt. Sir Doug — my uncle usually walks with me, — not that I think a chance accident like this is any argument against my going about alone if T choose.'' There was no answer. He was looking at her in an interested way, as if meditating the question profoundly. Please don't tell any one you found me in extremis” she went on ; ‘‘ it would be too great a disappointment to be obliged to give up my solitary walks." How can I tell any one what is not true ? " he said, recovering himself. ‘‘ I did not find you in extremis at all. I did not even know you were fris^htened till you laughed. You looked at me with such dio'uified self-assurance when O I hove in sight that I was more than half inclined to lift my hat and pass on." IMona laughed incredulously. They trudged on for a time in silence. Once she looked up and found Ijis eyes fixed on her face with an expression of amusement. “ It is very odd," he said, finding himself caught. ‘^What is?" ‘‘ Oh, T don't know — the whole tliingr/' 76 MONA MACLEAN. He broke into a quiet laugli, and Mona joined in it from symj)athy. He was a curious creature, this son of Anak, whose broad, glistening face gleamed at her so benevolently through the mist. Have you been long at Stalheim ? '' he asked. Only a few days.’’ Is the hotel good ? ” “ Ye-e-s. This part of Norway is in an awk- ward transition stage between the primitive inn and the cosmopolitan hotel.” “ Are there many tourists ? ” “ Oh yes ! They go rushing through by hun- dreds every day. They stop to smoke a cigar, eat a dinner, or sleep for a night, and then join the mad chase of kariols again. They are noisy, too ; my uncle gets quite indignant at the way they clatter about the wooden floors in their heavy boots, and shout their private affairs up-stairs and down-stairs, or from the verandah to the road.” “ I suppose he does,” and the son of Anak laughed again. The mist was beginning to clear by slow degrees when they came to the crest of the abrupt descent that led to the torrent. A SON OF ANAK. 11 “ I cau’fc tell you Low I was dreadiuo- this J O part of the way,” said Monn. ‘'Were you? Well, I must say it is a case where two are better tlian one. See, I will go first and hold out my hands behind me.” They got across in safety, and in a wonder- fully short time found themselves on the road. “ DonT you find it very dull here in the evening ? ” he asked. “No. But I can imagine any one would who was accustomed to beino’ amused.” O “ You sit on the verandah, I suppose ?” “ Not on the one overlookino' the Nmrodal. O There is such a crowd there. We o'et one of O the others to ourselves, and enjoy a cup of coffee, and a chat, or a quiet rubber.” “Now do get off those wet things instantly,” he said as they drew near the house, “ and promise me that you will have a glass of hot toddy or something equivalent. That’s right I ” — interrupting her thanks — “ don’t stand there for a moment. I shall take the liberty of pre- senting myself on the verandah after supper.” Mona ran up-stairs with a smile, but his last words had caused her some alarm. What sort of reception might he look for on the verandah ? 78 MONA MACLEAN. Lady Mudio was considered extremely ex- clusive ; and as for Sir Douglas, he classified the male tourists broadly as ‘‘counter-jumpers/’ and was indignant if they so much as looked at his niece and daurfiter. If her friend a chance to speak for himself, nobody could fail to see that he was a gentleman, and in that case all would be well : but Sir Doudas was ^ O hasty, and not likely to welcome advances from a comj)lete stranger. “The fact is, I ought not to have hob-a- nobbed with him so,” she said. “ I need not have let my gratitude and relief run away with me. It is all my own hiult. Yes, Lucy, I am an abject idiot ! ” “ Oh, I am so glad to see you ! ” cried Evelyn as Mona entered the room the cousins shared ; “ in another minute I should have told Mother.” “ Where is aunt Maud ? ” “ She came in not long after you left, and has been asleep all the afternoon, so there was no one to tell Father. I should have o-oue o to him in another minute. I have been so miserable.” “ Plucky little soul ! And she has actually had the stove lighted ! I shall be dry in no A OF AXAK. 79 time. Luckily, the mist is cleariug every minute.^’ '' My Etna will be boiling directly, and I have got wine to make you some negus. Oh, Mona, do make haste ! What a state you are in ! Mona hastily exchanged her dripj)ing clothes for a comfortable dressino' - crown, and after wringing out lier long hair, she seated her- self by the stove, sipping her negus. “ You must have been in fearful dauger : I have imagined such things ! ” “ Not a bit. A sou of Anak came to my rescue ; but more of that auon. Get me out some clean things, like a darling.” O' o ‘‘ AVhat dress will you wear ? “ \Miich of my evening gowns has my maid laid outV laughed Mona. ''Ah, the delaine. Curious the partiality she shows for that delaine! Now tell me exactly how much time I have. I don’t want to lose a moment of this dolce far niente, but I must not be late for supper, whatever hajDpens.” She was not late. The bell rang just as she was fastening her brooch. " Got back, Mona ? ” said Lady Munro, emerging fresh and fragrant from her room. 80 MONA MACLEAN. ‘‘ Yes, tliank you.’' But before Mona bad time to say more, Lady Munro turned to speak to Sir Douglas. It was impossible to begin a long story then. The* sudden change in the weather had in- duced many of the tourists to stay on, so the large dining-room was crowded. Mona just caught a glimpse of the son of Anak at the opposite end of another table, and she attempted once more to give a modified account of her afternoons adventure. But the Fates \vere against her. A well-known Edinburgh professor was sitting opposite Sir Douglas, and the con- versation became general. “ Let us hope he will give me five minutes’ grace on the verandah,” she said resignedly ; but she had just remarked, by way of intro- duction, that the mist had almost entirely cleared, and Sir Douglas was in the act of lighting his first cigar, when the door opened, and her friend strode in with an air of infinite assurance. ‘^Aunt Maud,” she began, but her voice was drowned in a general exclamation. ‘'Why, Sahib!” “Dickinson Sahib! Where on earth did you drop from ? ” “ What a de- A SON OF ANAK. 81 liglitful surprise ! Who would have thought of seeing you here ? Sit down and tell us all about it. Oh, I forgot — Mr Dickinson, my niece, Miss Maclean.” I was sure of it,” exclaimed the new-comer, shaking hands cordially with the astonished Mona. ‘Mf I had met her in the wilds of Arabia, I could have sworn that she was a relative of Lady Munro’s.” And then the whole story came out, with modifications. AVell, I must say,” said Mona, when the questioning and explanations were over, ‘‘that you have treated me extremely badly.” He laughed like a schoolboy. “ I am sure you don’t grudge me my very small joke.” “ No — especially as it makes us quits. Now we can begin a new page.” “ I hope it may prove as pleasant as the first.” “ Prettily said. Sahib,” said Lady ]\Iunro. “ Now, be sensible and give us an account of your eccentric movements.” “ Eccentric ! ” he said, meditating a far-fetched compliment, but he was a sensible man and he thought better of it. “ That’s easily done. One of my Scotch visits fell through — a death F VOL. I. 82 MONA MACLEAN. in the house — so I ran over here for a few clays. I thought I should probably run against you, — they say people always do meet in Norway. Of course, I knew you had sailed to Bergen.'' ‘‘ And what is your route now ? " Is it for you to ask me that, as the filing said to the magnet ? " Sir Douglas went in search of maps and guide-books, and Mr Dickinson took a low chair beside Lady Munro. “ I need not ask if you are enjoying your tour," he said. You are looking famously." ‘‘ Oh yes, I think this primitive world Cjuite charming, and the air is so bracing ! You have no idea what a pedestrian I have become. When Mona and my husband go off on break- neck excursions, Evelvn and I walk for hours — the whole day long nearly." Mona looked up hastily. She had never heard of these wonderful walks ; but her eyes met Evelyn s, and her c[uestion died on her lips. And Sir Douglas ? " asked Mr Dickinson. Lady Munro laughed, a low sweet laugh. “ Oh, of course, he always grumbles ; he says he has lived on roast leather and boiled flannel ever since we came. But he is enjoying himself A SON OF ANAK. immensel}^ It is a great thing for him to have Monas company, as indeed it is for all of ns. 1 am afraid she finds ns dreadfully stupid. You have no idea what books she reads.” At the present moment,” said Mona, grave- ly, I am reading 2Ioths.'' Everybody laughed. ‘'Then you are meditating a cutting criticpie,” said her aunt. “ I am reading the book simply and entirely for amusement,” said Mona. “ I am getting a little tired of ormolu and marqueterie, but one canT have everything one wants.” “ But you don’t really care for Ouida ? ” said the Sahib, seriously. Mona sighed. “If you force me to be critical,” she said, “I do prefer sunlight, moonlight, or even glaring gaslight. Ouida takes one into a dark room, and, through a hole in the shutter, she flashes a brilliant Meam of liMit that never o o was on sea or land. But what then ? She is a very clever woman, and she knows how to set about telling a story. One admires her power and esprit, one skips her vulgar descriptions, and one lets her morality alone.” Lady Munro laughed rather uneasily. She 84 MONA MACOEAN. would not have owned to any man that she read Ouida, and Mona puzzled her. “After all, the child has been so buried in her studies,” she thought, “ that she knows nothin" of the Avorld. She will learn not to o say risque things to men, and, fortunately, it is only the Sahib/' Sir Douglas returned, and the conversation resolved itself into a discussion of routes and steamers. I will not sleep again at that horrid noisy Voss,^' he said. We must lunch and change liorses there, and get on to Eide the same nigh t.^^ Can you be ready to start at eight ? ’’ said the Sahib to Lady Munro. Oh dear, yes ! I am up every morning hours before that.'' Sir Douglas laughed cynically. “Who is Mr Dickinson 1" said Mona, when she and Evelyn had retired to their room. “ Deputy-Commissioner of — I always forget the name of the place." “Never mind. TBoggley Wallah will do equally well for me. And why do they call him Sahib ? I thought everybody Sahib ? " was a A SON OF ANAK. 85 “ His family call him that for a joke, and it has stuck somehow. It was because he was very young when he got some appointment or other.” “ He looks a mere boy now.” “ I think he is thirty-three.” “ I wish you would not tell him that I am a medical student; I don^’t feel that I have done credit to my cloth. I should not like him to think medical women were muffs.” “ Oh, Mona, I do wish you would not be a medical woman, as you call it. Why don’t you marry ? ” “ ‘ Nobody axed me, sir, she said.’ At least nobody that I call anybody.” “ If you would go out to India, somebody would ask you every week of your life.” “ Thanks. Even that is not absolutely my ideal of blessedness.” “ But you don’t want to be an old maid ? ” “ That expression is never heard now outside the walls of a ladies’ boarding-school,” said Mona, severely. “ Oh, my dear, at the romantic age of seventeen you cannot even imagine how much I prize my liberty ; how many plans I have in my head that no married woman could 86 MONA MACLEAN. carry out. It seems to me that the unmarried woman is distinctly having her innings just now. She has all the advantages of being a woman, and most of the advantages of being a man. I don’t see how it can last. Let her make hay while the sun shines. ‘Ergreifc die Gelegenlieit ! Sie kchret iiiemals wieder.’ ” “ Well, I know I should be very disappointed, if I thouQfht I should never have little children o of my own/^ 0 J\Iaternity, Avhat crimes are perpetrated ill tliy name ! Mothering is woman's work without a doubt, but she does not need to have children of her own in order to do it. You dear little soul ! Never mind me. I wish you as many as you will wish for yourself when the time comes, and a sweet little mother they will have ! " 87 CHAPTEE VIIL BOKS CAMAEADES. '' Nonsense ! ’’ ‘‘ Fact, my dear fellow ! I knew it before I knew her, or I simply should never have believed it. It’s an awful shock to one’s theories, don’t you know ? — one’s views of womanliness and all that sort of thing. 1 have thought about it till I am tired, and I can’t make it out ; but upon my soul, Dickinson, you may say what you like, the girl’s a brick.” I’m quite sure of that already, and I’m sure she’s clever enough for anything.” Oh — clever, yes ! But clever women don’t need to — but there! I can’t go into all that again. I simply give the subject up. Don’t mention it to me again.” '' But vou know I am a staunch believer in 88 MONA MACLEAN. women doctors. When my sister was so ill, the doctor at the station said she would be an invalid for life, and a staff surgeon who was passing through said the same. As a last resource I got a woman doctor to come a hundred miles to see her, and she brought Lena round in a few Aveeks. She knew her business, but — she was very different from Miss Maclean.’' AVasn’t she? That’s just it! Oh, I know they’re a necessary evil. I should like to see a man doctor look at my Evelyn, except for a sore throat or a cut finger ! I have always upheld the principle, in spite of the sacrifice involved ; but how could I tell that any of my own womankind would take it up ? You see, she was left so much to her own resources, poor child ! There was no one to warn her of what it all meant. I reproach myself now for not having looked after her more ; but how on earth could I know that she was going to turn out anything in particular ? Gad ! Dickin- son, Avhen I think of all that girl must know, it makes me sick — sick; but when I am speaking to her — upon my soul, I don’t believe it has done her a bit of harm ! ” BOKS CAMABADES. 89 The entrance of Mona and Evelyn into the sunny breakfast -room interrupted the conver- sation for a moment, and it was presently re- sumed in a lio-hter and more frivolous vein over o the trout and the coffee. Oh, trout, yes ! ” said Sir Douglas. I never said anything against the trout. If it were not for that, we should all be reduced to skin and bone. Evelyn, where is your mother ? It was eio:ht o'clock, and the calash stood at the door, when Lady Munro appeared, serene and smiling ; and then Evelyn and Mona had to hurry away and pack her valise for her. You know I've been up for hours," she said, with a charming^ nod to the Sahib, as she seated herself at the table, “ but I began to write some letters ” ■ “ Humph ! ” said Sir Douglas, and shrugging his shoulders, he abruptly left the room. When the tardy valise was at last roped on to the calash, and the portiev was opening the door, the young Norwegian landlady came up shyly to Lady Munro. “Will you baf?” she said in her j^retty 90 MONA MACLEAN. broken English, holding out a large photo- graph of the hotel, with its staff on the door- step. Never had Lady Munro smiled more sweetly. “ Is that really for me ? How very kind ! I cannot tell you how much I shall prize it as a memento of a charming visit. Why, I can recognise all of you ! ” and she looked round at the worshipping servants. A minute later they drove off in state, with Nubboo enthroned on the box in front, and Dickinson Sahib following on in a kariol be- hind. It was a clorious summer mornino'. Not a o o trace of mist or cloud lingered about the hill- sides ; tlie Nmrodal was once more asleep in sunshine and shadow. “ Well, I am sure we shall not soon forget Stalheim,” said Lady Munro. It has been quite a new experience.” Quite,” agreed Sir Douglas. ‘‘ It has been an absolutely new experience to me to see a hard-worked horse go up a hen’s ladder to bed, with only a bundle of hay for siq^per, and never a touch from his groom. It is astonishing what O O plucky little beasts they are in spite of it.” BOXS CA.VABADES. 91 “Now don’t enjoy tbe scenery too much,” said the Sahib, driving up alongside. “You have been over this ground before, and human nature cannot go on enjoying keenly all day loug. Save yourselves for the afternoon. The drive from Voss to Eide is one of the finest thiuo-s o in Norwa}"/^ And so it proved. For the first few miles after they left Vossevaugen, they drove through pine-Avoods and dripping cliffs, where eA^ery tiny ledge had its own tuft of luxuriant mosses ; and then suddenly, at full speed, they began the descent to the sea-level. ‘'Hoav dreadfully dangerous!’’ exclaimed Lady Munro. As good as a switchback,” laughed EATlyn. ‘‘ What eno'ineers those felloAA^s must be ! ” O said Sir Douglas admiringly, as every turn brouo’ht them in sight of the two great water- falls, and their faces Avere drenched with spray. ‘‘ It is like going round and round the inside of a mighty clialice,” said ]\Iona. And so it was ; but the sides of the chalice were one living mass of the most glorious green, almost every square yai’cl of which would have made a picture by itself 92 MONA MACLEAN. When they reached the bottom, the driver suddenly dismounted, and proceeded to occupy himself with a piece of string and the weather- beaten straps that did duty for traces. '' Harness — broke ! '' he said calmly. ^^The deuce it has ! exclaimed Sir Douglas. I think you might have found that out at the top of the hill. Do you suppose our necks are of no more value than your own ? Nubboo, just see that it is all right now.'^ How horrible !” and Lady Munro shuddered. Nubboo delivered a lengthy report in his native language, and Sir Douglas shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “ We must just chance it,’’ he said. I dare- say it will be all right.” ‘Hdow Jiorrible!” repeated Lady JMunro. But they reached Eide without further acci- dent, although rain fell steadily during the last hour of the drive. It is the pleasant and primitive practice at Eide, especially in rainy weather, for the visitors to assemble in the large entrance - hall and verandah to watch the arrival of new-comers. If the show had been got up expressly for their benefit, and they had duly paid for BOA^S CAMAEADES. 93 tlieir seats, they could not stare more frankly, could they 1 ” laughed the Sahib, as he helped the ladies out of the calash. “ There is not an atom of concealment about it.” “ Great privilege for us, upon my soul, to aftord so much entertainment ! ” o-rowled Sir o Douglas. Won’t you come for a turn in the garden before you go up-stairs ? ” the *Saliib asked Mona, when tlie question of rooms had been settled. "‘We have five minutes to spare before supper, and there is a fine view of tlic fjord.” “Ikit alack! what a change after dear, rugged old Stalheim ! ” she said, as they strolled down to the water s edgre. “ This mig^ht almost O O be an Interlaken grarden.” O “ Quite tropical, isn’t it ? But look at the fjord ! ” It sj)read out before them in a soft, hazy golden light, and the tiny waves broke gently on the ste23s at their feet. Mona’s face kindled. She did not think it necessary to speak. “And yet,” she said a minute later, “it is a cruel fjord. It is going to take us back to 94 MONA MAOLHAN. civilisution agaiu.” And then she could scareely repress a laugh. “ Civilisation, indeed ! Civi- lisation in a small shop at Borrowness.” He looked at her quickly. Did she repent of the life-work she had cliosen 1 “ In the stores of your knowledge,” he asked presently, his eyes on the hills, “ do you include geology ? ” “Among the rags and tags of my informa- tion,” she replied, “ I do not.” “ Oh, Sir Douglas, Sir Douglas,” she thought, “ you faithless knight ! ” ‘‘ I seem to have put my foot in it” he thought vaguely, ‘‘ but I cannot imagine how” And so he proceeded to do it again. “They have a lot of quaint old silver rings at the hotel,’" he said, as they turned back, “ and other ancient Norwegian curios. I should like your opinion of them. Are you an authority on the subject ? ” “Far from it,” she said. “But I should like very much to see them, and to compare the things I like with the things I ought to like. Pray,” she added, with an expression of almost childlike entreaty, “ don’t let any one persuade you that I am a learned woman. I DONS CAilAlUDES. 95 wish with all my heart that I were, but I’m uot, aud I ean’t bear to feel like a hypocrite.” “I don’t think any one will ever take you for that,” he said, smiling. “I suppose it must be my own fault,” she went on, with curious impulsiveness, not heed- ing his remark. “ I suppose my manner is dogmatic and priggish. But what can I do ? AVhen I am interested in a subject, I can’t stop to think about my manner.” “ If I might venture to advise,” he said, “ I should certainly say, ‘ Don’t attempt it.’ ” The next day they sailed for Odde. Tlie fjord was smooth as glass, and every hamlet and tree on the peaceful hillsides was reflected in the water. It was a day for dreaming rather than for talking, and they scarcely spoke, save when each bay and gorge brought into view a fresh spur of the mighty glacier. Early in the afternoon they reached Odde, beautiful Odde ! — lying close to the edge of the fjord, embraced by the wooded hills, Avith pretty yachts and steamers at anchor in its bay, and the glacier looking coldly down from the great ice-sea above. 96 MONA MACLEAN. We might almost be in England again/ said Lady Munro, as they sat at luneh in the dining-room of the Hardanger. ‘‘ Yes, indeed/^ said Sir Douglas. Civilised notions, half-a-dozen people in the place that one knows, two — actually two — shops, and dinners ! Evelyn, you had better take a kariol and a tiger, and go shopping on the Boulevard ! ” ‘‘ I was just going to ask for your purse,’’ said Evelyn, calmly ; there are no end of things that I Avant to buy.” Finally, they betook themselves to the shops en famille, and a scene of reckless expenditure ensued. Sir Douglas heaped presents on the “ girls,” as he called Mona and Evelyn, and Lady Munro seemed to be in a fair Avay to buy up the Avhole shop. '' These old sih^er things are so pretty,” she said, childishly. ^Wnd, at worst, they will do for bazaars,” added Evelyn. The saleswoman became more and more gra- cious. She had considerable experience in serv- ing tourists who, Avith reminiscences of a previous summer in SAvitzerland or Italy, offered her a BONS CAMARADES. 97 pound for the lot ” and her manner had acquired some asperity in consequence ; but she quickly adapted herself to the people with whom she had to deal. Mona watched her with a curious interest and fellow-feeling. ought to be picking up hiiits/^ she thought, with a smile. I certainly mio;ht have a much worse teacher.’' Let me see. That’s eleven and a half kroner,” said a showy-looking man, taking a handful of gold and silver from his pocket. 'M’ll give you ten shillings.” No answer. Will you take ten shillings ? ” No, sir,” very quietly. He frowned. “ Eleven shillings ? ” '' No, sir.” What do you throw ofl*? ” ‘‘ Not — anything, sir,” in slow but very un- mistakable English. He flounced out of the shop, leaving the things lying on the counter. Not a muscle of the young woman’s face changed, as she quietly returned the pretty toys to their place on the shelves. Brava!” said Mona to herself. VOL. I. Gr 98 MONA MACLEAN. A penny for your thoughts, Mona clear,” said Evelyn’s quiet voice a minute later. Mr Dickinson has asked you twice how you like this old chatelaine. He wants to buy it for his sister.” Mona lauMied and blushed. o “My thoughts are worth more than a penny,” she said, — “to me at least.” In point of fact, she was wondering whether it would be a part of her duty to say “ Sir ” and “ Madam ” to her customers at Borrowness. In the course of the afternoon the Munros met a number of friends and accjuaintances, and the next few days passed gaily away in excur- sions of all kinds. Night after night the party came home, sunburnt and stiff, but not too tired to enjoy a bright discussion across the pleasant dinner-table. There was nothing very profound about these conversations. Everybody had toiled and climbed enough during the day. Now they were content to fly lightly from crag to crag over a towering difficulty, or to cross a yawning problem on a rainbow bridge. But after all, they were happy, and the world was not waiting in suspense for their conclu- sions. BONS CAMABJJDES. 99 • Sunday morning came round all too sooi], and on Monday tlie [Munros were to sail for Bergen. Mona was sittincy alone on the veranda!], watcli- ing the people coming to church. The fjord lay sparkling in the sunshine, and from every hamlet and homestead along the coast, as far as the eye could reach, boats were setting out for Odde. As they drew in to the pier, the volu- minous white sleeves, stiff halo-like caps, and brilliant scarlet bodices, made a pretty fore- ground of light and colour in the landscape. But in the midst of her enjoyment Mona drew a long, deep, heartfelt sigh. A little later Evelyn joined her. I have been looking for you everywhere, Mona,’’ she said. ''Mr Dickinson has set his heart on going to the Buarbrae glacier to-day. The others all went before we came, and I think it would be insane to tire ourselves the last day. Father says he has not got over that 'Ske- daddle’ waterfall yet. You don’t care to go, do you ? ” Mona’s eyes were still fixed on the fjord. " Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,” she said, half absently. " 1 will go with all the pleasure in life.” 100 MONA MACLEAN. Don’t be profane, Mona. You are the queerest, cleverest girl that ever lived.” Mona lauo'hed. I don’t consider that I am O queer,” she said ; I have good reason to know that I’m not clever ; and all the world can see that I am not a girl. Otherwise, your description is correct. My compliments to the Sahib, and, if it please his Majesty to take me, I shall be only too glad to go.” No doubt it will please his Majesty. You should hear how he speaks to Mother about you. You will soon be on a par with that wonderful sister of his. I think he talks too much about his sister, don’t you ? ” No. He is among friends. I don’t suppose he would do it in a scoffing world. Evelyn, dear, there is no use telling you not to grow cynical. We all do in this used-up age. Cheap, shallow, cynical talk is the shibboleth of the moment, and if we are at all sensitive, it is a necessary armour. But don’t carry it into your immediate circle. In heaven’s name, let us live frankly and simply at home, or life will indeed be apples of Sodom.” Evelyn looked rather blank. She did not know very well what all this meant, and still SONS CAMAIiADES. 101 less could she see what it had to do with Mr Dickinson’s sister. But she felt rebuked, and the words lingered in her memoiy. In five minutes more the Sahib and Mona set olF. “ What magnificent training you are in ! ” he said admiringly, as he watched her lithe young figure mount the hill at his side. “ Your walk- ing has improved immensely in the last week.” “ Yes ; one does get rather flabby towards the end of term, in spite of such specifics as tennis. But I don’t think the circumstances of our first meeting were very conducive to a just estimate of my powers.” They both laughed at tlie recollection. “ What an age asjo that seems ! ” he said. o o “ I am sorry the time has dragged so heavily.” “ Nay. The difficulty is to believe that ten days ago I did not know you. Now turn and look behind.” The village had .sunk picturesquely into the perspective of the landscape. Beside them the river surged down over the rocks and boulders to the fjord, and the sound of church bells came through the still summer air. “ This is better than being in church,” he said. 102 MONA MACLEAN. ‘'Much; — especially when one understands nothing of wdiat is going on. But I am glad I have seen a Norwegian service. It is so sim- ple and primitive, and besides — she laughed — “I have a mental picture now of Kjclland’s • Morten Kruse.” “I do go to church as a rule,” he said. “ In India I consider it a duty.” Mona raised her eyebrows. “ I go to church as a rule, too,” she said. “ But it never occurred to me to look upon it in the light of a duty.” “ Don’t you think tliat in that, as in other things, one has to tliink of one’s neighbours?” “ I can’t bear the word ‘ duty ’ in such a con- nection. It seems to me, too, that the Spirit of Praise and Prayer bloweth where it listeth. One cannot command it with mathematical precision at eleven o’clock on Sunday morning. The Spirit of Praise comes when one is alone in a world like this. I think we lose our indi- viduality when there is nothing human near to remind us of it, and become as much a part of this great throbbing glorying Nature as the trees and the grass are.” “ And the Spirit of Prayer ? ” Mona smiled. BONS CAMARADES. 103 The story of that,” she said, is written on each mans white stone.” “And yet, if most people act on that prin- ciple,” he said, “ they are a little apt to lose the Spirit of Praise and Prayer altogether. Don't you think so ? ” ]\rona did not answer the question for a mo- ment. Then she met the eyes that were fixed on her face. “Yes,” she said frankly, “I do.” They walked on for a few miuutes in silence. “ And may I ask what you do go to church for V he said at last. “Don't answer if I take a liberty in asking.” “You don't at all ; but it is a little difficult to say. I believe I go to church in order to get some one to think beautiful thoughts for me. When one's life is busy with work that takes all one's brain-power, there is little energy left with which to think beautiful thoimbts. One loses sio^ht of the ideal in the actual. I cro to church in order to keep hold of it. If I were a seamstress I should probably go out among the hills on Sunday morning and think my beauti- ful thoughts for myself.” “You make it, in fact, a question of the divi- sion of labour. We are to buy our beautiful 104 MONA MACLEAN. tliouglits ready - made as we buy our boots, because a complicated state of society leaves us no time to make them.” '' Precisely ; and yet we are not exactly to buy them ready-made. I think it is Ptobertson who says that a thought is of no use to us, however beautiful, unless it is in a sense our own, — unless it makes us feel that we have been groping round it unconsciously, and all but grasping it. We cry ‘ Eureka ! ’ when a beautiful thought strikes home, and w^e become aware for the first time that we have been in search of something. The moral of all this is, that our priest or preacher must be a man with a mind akin to our own, moving on the same plane, but if possible with a wider radius. This granted, his sect and creed are matters of in- finitely little moment.” But it seems to me that books would serve your purpose as well as sermons ? ” '' They serve the same purpose,” she said ; '‘but I am a strong believer in mesmeric in- fluence, in the force of personality. Other things being equal, a voice impresses me much # more than a printed page. Oli, I don’t place sermons in a unique j)osition by any means, t BONS CAMARADES. 105 or even sermons and books. It is veiy much a question of keeping ‘ a border of pinks round the potato-patch.' All the endless things that open up our horizon might be classed together ; the}" would differ only as to the direction in which they open up the horizon. It is quite true in one sense that I go to church for the same reason that I go to the theatre — to keep myself from getting worldly ; but a good ser- mon — I say a good sermon — has a more direct bearing on the ordinary affairs of life. In fact, it helps us to see not only the ideal, but, as I said before, the ideal in the actual." I think I see what you mean, although theatres are not commonly supposed to serve the jDurpose of keeping one unspotted from the world." “ It seems to me that one can get worldly over anything, from ballet-dancing to sweeping a room, if one does not see beyond it. There is another side to the ‘ trivial round, the com- mon task ' question, true and beautiful as Ke- ble's poem is. Worldliness seems to me to be entirely a question of getting into a rut." All you say is very fine," he said ; but, with the curious provincialism of a Londoner — seen 106 MONA MACLEAN. from the Anglo-Indian point of view — yon are assumino- that one has an unlimited number o of preachers from Avliom to choose. What would you do if you Avere thrown back on one poor specimen of tlie ' fag end of the clergy ' ? ’’ Mona raised her eyes in surprise. I should never dream of going to church at all/’ she said, unless there was something to be gained from the service.” And suppose you were in India, where the lives of the English do not exactly tend to bear out the teaching of the missionaries ? ” I should remember that it must be very poor teaching which would be borne out by hypocrisy on my part.” ‘‘You would not go for the sake of example ? ” “ Most assuredly not. I don’t believe in conscious influence.” They had come in sight of the Sandven-vand, and the little steamer stood at the pier. There were several other passengers on deck, so further conversation was impossible till they reached the other side. Then they made their way through the quaint, old village, and up the bank of the river towards the glacier. Already it was in full view. Wooded hills closed in the SONS OAilARADES. 107 valley on either side, and right in front of them the outlet was blocked, as it were, by a glowing, dazzlino; mountain of ice, snow-white under the cloudless blue sky. ‘'Ob, I am so glad we came ! ’’ And all the light from sky and glacier seemed reflected in Monads face. Nicht tvaJir ! he said, well pleased. “I Avas sure it would be worth while.’’ Presently the view was hidden, as they passed under .the trees that overarched the river. “ In fact,” he said suddenly, as if the con- versation had neA^er been interrupted, “ you don’t believe in letting your light shiue before O men f “ That I do ! ” she answered, warmly. “ I believe in letting a clear, steady, unvarying light fall alike on the evil and the good. I do not believe in running hysterically round Avith a farthing dip into every nook and cranny Avherc we think some one may be guided by it.” “You are severe,” he said, quietly. “ Foroive me ! ” said Mona. “ In truth, it is the metaphor that is too heavy for me : Fools and firearms — ‘the proverb is something musty.’ 108 MONA MACLEAN. Let me choose a weapon that I can use, and you will see what I mean. “ Let us say that each man’s life is a garden, which he is called upon to cultivate to the best of his ability. Which do you think will do it best, — the man who, regardless of how his garden looks from the road, works honestly and systematically, taking each bed in its turn ; or the man who constantly says, ‘ A. will be coming down the highroad to-day ; I must see that the rose-bed is in good condition : or, B. will be looking over the hedge, I must get that turnip-patch weeded,’ — and so on ? ” It was some time before he answered. “ I think you are a little one-sided, if you will excuse my saying so.” “ Please don’t talk like that. How could I ' help being grateful for an honest opinion ? — the more unlike my own, the better for me. Was I doo'matic aa:ain ? Please remember that, whatever I say, I am feeling after the truth all the time/’ He looked at her, smiling. “ But such as your metaphor is, let us carry it a little bit farther. Let us suppose that your garden is laid out in a land where the soil is BONS CAMABADJES. 109 poor aiicl the people are starving. You know of a vegetable which would abundantly repay the trouble of cultivation, and would make all the difference between starvation and com- parative comfort ; but no one will believe in it. We will suppose that you yourself have ample means of livelihood, and are not depen- dent on any such thing. Would you not, never- theless, sacrifice the symmetry of your flower-beds and grow my imaginary vegetable, if only to convince ‘ A. who comes down the highroad, and B. who looks over the hedge,’ that starva- tion is needless 1 ” Mona smiled and held out her hand. Well said ! ” she cried, cordially. A good answer, and given Avith my own clumsy weapon. I admit that I would try to exercise ‘ conscious influence ’ in the A^ery rare cases in Avhich I felt called upon to be a reformer. But I am glad that is not required of me in the matter of church-o;oinQ;/' O O And the Avhole, wide, puzzling subject of Compromise ? ” he said. ‘‘ Is there nothing in that ? ” Mona’s face became very graA^e. “ Yes,” she said, '' there is a great deal in that — though 110 MONA MACLEAN. I believe, as some one says, that we studiously refrain from hurting people in the first instance, only to hurt them doubly and trebly when the time comes — there is a great deal in the puzzling subject of Compromise ; but it has not come much into my life. There has been no one to care ’’ Suddenly she laughed again and changed the subject abruptly. ‘‘It is so odd,'’ she said, “so natural, so like our liumanity, that we should argue like this — you in favour of conscious infiuence, I against it — and I make not the smallest doubt that your life is incomparably simpler, franker, more straightforward than mine.” “That I do not believe,” he said, emphati- cally. She looked at him with interest. “ I suppose you really don’t. I suppose you are quite unconscious of being a moral Anti- septic 1 ” “ A ivhat ? ” he asked with pretended horror. “ It doesn’t sound very nice.” “Doesn’t it? I should think it must be rather nice to make the world sweeter, sounder, wholesomer, simply by being one’s self.” BONS CAMABADES. Ill Miss Maclean — you are very kind ! “ I wish I could say the same of you ! I call it most unkind to make that conventional remark in response to a simple and candid state- ment of a fact/^ ‘Mt was not conventional. I meant it. It is most kind of a man^s friends to give ex- pression now and then to the good things they think about him. One almost wonders why they do it so seldom. The world is ready enough to give him the other side of the ques- tion. The trutli is — I was thinking how very diflScult it would be to formulate a definition of you.’’ Mona put her fingers in her ears with un- affected alarm. Oh, please don’t,” she said. ‘^That would be a mean reveno’e indeed. It is one thino: to say frankly the thought that is in our mind, and quite another to go afield in search of our opinion of a friend. There is a crude brutality about the latter process.” ‘‘True,” he said. “And I did not mean to attempt it. In fact, I should not dream of pigeon- holing you.” “ You are unkind to-day. Did I deny that 112 MONA MACLEAN. you were fifty other things besides an Anti- septic ? and may not an Antiseptic have fifty other chemical properties even more important than that one ? Who talks oi jyicjeon-lioling?^^ ‘'You must have the last word, I see.’’ “ Womanlike ! ” she said, pretending to sneer. “ Womanlike ! ” he repeated, mischievously. “ And now, pray note that I have presented you with the last word. xVny woman could answer that taunt. Instead, I inquire what that shanty on the hill is ? ” “ That shanty, as you are pleased to call it, is the hotel and restaurant of the place. Shall we have lunch now, or after we have been on the glacier ? ” “ Oh, after ! I cannot rest until I have felt the solid ice under my feet.” This proved to be no very easy achievement ; but after a good deal of climbing, Mona’s ambition was realised. Then they scrambled down to watch the water surmns^ out from under the deep blue arches; and at last, tired and di- shevelled, they betook themselves to the inn. “ I hope you are as hungry as I am,” he said, with the old boyish manner, “and I hope we shall find something we can eat.” BONS CAMAEABES. 113 The shanty was clean and airy, with well- scoured floors, but the remains of lunch on the table certainly did not look very invit- ing, — a few transparent slices of Gruyere cheese, which seemed to have been all holes, some uninteresting-looking biscuits, and doubt- ful sausage. “Have you coflee and eggs?'’ asked the Sahib. “ Ah — that Avill do, won't it ? " “ Coffee and eggs are food for the gods," said Mona. “ Or would be, if they did not spoil their appetites with nectar and ambrosia," lie cor- rected ; and they laughed and talked over the impromptu meal like a couple of children. “ How many ladies are there studying medi- cine just now ? " asked the Sahib as they walked slowly homewards. “Women? I don't quite know. About a hundred in the country, I should think." “ And what do the — I am afraid I had almost said the stronger sex — say to this infringement of their imagined ri gilts ? " Mona looked at his stalwart, athletic figure. “ Pray don't apologise for calling them the stronger sex to me," she said, laughing. “ I VOL. T. H 114 MONA xMAOLEAN. am not at all disposed to try my strength against yours. Ob, of course there was im- mense opposition at first. That is matter of history now. But it would be difficult to exaggerate the kindness and helpfulness of most of the younger men ; and a few of the older ones have been heroes all along.’^ ‘‘That is a ‘good hearing.’ Then do you think it could all have been managed without opposition, by dint of a little waiting ? ” “ That I don’t ! ” she answered, warmly. “ The first women, who were determined not merely to creep in themselves but to open up the way for others, must have suffered obloquy and persecution from all but the very few, at any time. If the lives of a little band of women — I had almost said if the life of one woman — could be blotted out, I wonder how many of us would have the couraofe to stand where we now do ? It is a pretty and a wonderful sight, perhaps, to see a band of young girls treading the uphill path and singing as they go. ‘ How easy it is,’ they say, ‘ and how sweet we make it with our flowers ! ’ No doubt they do, and heaven bless them for it ! But it lias always seemed BO^^S CAilABADES. 115 to me that the bit of eternal work was the making of the road.” She spoke with so mnch earnestness that the Sahib was almost uneasj\ ■ “ That is more than true,” he said, warmly. “ It is the working of a universal principle. You know,” he added shyly, “ if you were going to take to a public life, I wonder you did not think of the platform.” “ The platform ! ” Llona laughed merrily. “ If you put me on the platform with an audience in front of me, I should do what a fellow-student tells me she did on receipt of my last letter — ‘sit on the floor and howl ’ ! ” They both laughed. This anti - climax brought them comfortably down to everyday life again, and they talked about pleasant nothings for the rest of the way. “ Look here, Dickinson,” said Sir Doimlas, when they entered the hotel ; ‘‘I won't have you walking off with Mona for a whole clay together. She is my property. Do you hear ? " I am sure it was I who discovered her on the hillside." 116 MONA MACLEAN. Mona held up her finger protestingly. Oh, I am Sir Douglas's invention, without a doubt," she said, putting her hand affection- ately within her uncle's arm ; you only re- discovered me accidentally. What a pity it is that every great invention cannot speak for itself and oive honest men their due ! " O The Sahib was very silent as he sat in the smoking-room that evening. He held a news- o o paper before him, for he did not wish to be disturbed ; but he was not reading. In India he was looked upon almost as a woman-hater, so little did he care for the society of the young girls who came out there ; and Mona's ‘‘cleverness" and culture, her earnest views of life, and the indefinable charm of manner which reminded him of Lady Munro, had all combined to make his short friendship with her a very genuine pleasure. Already he found himself thinking half-a-dozen times a-day, “ I wonder what Miss Maclean would say about this," or “ I shall ask Miss Maclean her opinion of that ; " and yet what a curious girl she was ! It was a new experience to him to be told by an attractive young woman that he was a “ moral Antiseptic " ; and, in short, she puzzled BONS CAMAEADES. 117 him. Women always are a terra incognita to men, as men are to women, as indeed every individual soul is to every other ; but it might have been well for both of them if the Sahib could have read Mona at that moment even as well as she read him. He would have seen that she looked upon him precisely as she looked upon the women who were her friends ; that it never occurred to her that he was man, and she woman, and that nothing more was required for the enaction of the time - worn drama ; that, although she had taken no school- girl vow against matrimony, the idea of it had never seriously occupied her mind, so full was that mind of other thoughts and plans. He would have seen that tlie excitement and en- thusiasm of adolescence had taken with her the form of an earnest determination to live to some good purpose ; and that the thousand tastes and fancies, which had grouped them- selves around this central determination, were not allowed seriously to usurp its place for a moment. But he did not see. He could only infer, and guess, and wonder. 118 CHAPTER IX. DORIS. The steamer was fast approaching Newcastle. They had had some very rough weather, but now the sea was like a mill-pond, and the whole party was sitting on deck under an awning. O Well, Mona dear,’’ said Lady Munro, I am sure I don’t know how we are to say good-bye to you.” entreated Mona. You make me feel that I must find words in which to thank you, and indeed I can’t ! ” Her sensitive lips quivered, and Sir Douglas uttered a sympathetic griint. ‘Wou really must spend a month with us on the Riviera at Christmas,” went on her aunt. ‘'We will take no refusal.” Doms. 119 ''Do!'' said Evelyn, putting her arm round her cousin s waist. Thank you very much/’ and Mona’s eyes looked eloquent thanks ; but it is quite out of the question.” “ I have put my hand to the plough,” she thought, and I don’t mean to look back. Six months it shall be, at the very least.” And what is a month,” growled Sir Douglas, when we want her altogether ? I am afraid I promised that her incomings and outgoings should be without let or hindrance as hereto- fore — old fool that I was ! — but how could I tell how indispensable she was going to make herself '? ” I loish you would not talk so,” said Mona. I have never in all my life been so disgrace- fully spoilt as during the last fortnight. I should get simply unbearable if I lived with you much longer.” " The fact is,” continued Sir Douglas, look- ing at his wife, ^‘the greatest mistake of our married life has been that Mona did not come to us ten years ago, when your mother died.” ‘‘ I don’t fancy Mona thinks so,” said Lady Munro, smiling at her niece. 120 MONA MACLEAN. No,” said Mona, and the slight flush on her cheek showed that her frankness cost her an effort. It is good for a man to bear the yoke in his youth. If I had not known hardship sometimes, and loneliness often, I could not have appreciated as I have done the infinite enjoyment of the last fortnight.” ‘‘ The fact is, you bear the yoke a deal too much,” said her uncle. Bless my soul ! youTe only a girl yet, and you can only be young once. And now you are going to mope, mope, mope, over your books.” You know I am going to my cousin in the first instance.” Yes — for a few weeks, I suppose ! By the way, can’t you get out of that? I am sure we want you a great deal more than she does.” ‘‘ Oh no,” said Mona, hastily. I can’t get out of that even if I wished to.” If you were cut out for a common drudge, I should not mind,” he went on ; ^‘but with your gifts Do you know, there is nothing to hinder your being a great social success ? ” “ Oh, indeed there is ! ” exclaimed Mona. “ You have made me very happy, and I have shown my gratitude by forgetting my own DORIS. 121 existence, and talking a great deal too much. But when my friends want to show me off, and beo' me to talk — with the best will in the world, O I seem unable to utter a word.” “ No wonder, when you live the life of a hermit. But if you gave your mind to it ” Mona opened her lips to speak, and then thought better of it. There was no need to say that, at the best, social success seemed a poor thins to S'ive one’s mind to ; attractive enough, no doubt, so long as it was unattained ; but when attained, as the sole result of years of effort, nothing but Dead Sea fruit. Sir Douglas got up and offered her his arm without speaking. They walked up and down the deck together. “ Where are your cigars 1 ” she said. “ 1 am sure you want one.” “ I don’t,” he said, irritably. “ I want you.” But he allowed her to get one out of his case for him nevertheless. “ And now, Mona,” he said more amiably, “ I want you to tell me all about your money affairs — what you have got, how it is invested, and who looks after it for you.” “ You are very kind,” she said, gratefully ; 122 MONA MACLEAN. ^^but please don’t suppose I was thinking of money when I talked of hardship. I am quite a Croesus now. I had to be very careful for a year or two, while things were unsettled.” ^^And why the deuce did not you write to me ? What did you suppose you had an uncle for ? What is the use of your coming to us now, when you are quite independent and we can do nothing for you ? ” Mona pressed his hand affectionately in both of hers. The use is problematical from your point of view, I confess, but from mine it is infinite. You have made me fancy myself a girl agrain.” o And what are you but a girl ? But come along, I am to hear all about your money.” And they entered into a long and involved discussion. The Sahib meanwhile was looking on in a- mood as nearly approaching ill-humour as wns possible to him. If Lady Munro and Mona had both been available, he might have been in some doubt as to which he should converse with ; but Sir Douglas had settled the question by monopolising Mona, and she had become DORIS. 123 proportionately desirable in bis eyes. He per- suaded himself that be bad fifty things to say to her on this the last day of their companion- ship, and he considered himself much aggrieved. Moreover, Mona seemed to be submitting to a lecture, and the docile, aflfectionate smile on her face seemed strangely attractive to the neglected man. Every moment his irritation increased, and when at last — with Newcastle well in siglit — Mona left Sir Douglas and began to talk caress- ingly to her aunt and Evelyn, the Sahib rose abruptly from his chair and strode away. Mona did not notice that he had gone. She liked him cordially, but, now that the moment of parting had come, her thoughts were fully occupied with her ‘^own people.’' You will let us know of your safe arrival, won’t you ? ” said Lady Munro. I suppose you will be too busy to write often during the winter, and I am afraid none of us are very great correspondents ; but remember, we tryst you for next summer, if not before.” ‘'You can’t possibly get beyond Edinburgh to-night,” said Sir Douglas, stopping in front of them and looking at his watch. 124 MONA MACLEAN. am afraid not/^ said Mona. But I am very anxious to go straight through, if possible.’’ I do not know why we should not all have gone north together,” he continued, turning to his wife. Cannot we do it still ? Your maid can bring your boxes.” My dear Douglas ! Evelyn and I need no ejid of things before wc can start on a round of visits.” He shrugged his shoulders, and threw up his eyes resignedly. ‘‘Mona cannot possildy spend a night in a hotel alone,” lie said. “ You dear old uncle ! You must remember I have not had you to take care of me all my life. But I am all right to-night. If I sleep in Edinburgh, it shall be with a friend.” “ What friend ? AVho is she ? ” “ She is a grade or two below the rank of a duchess, but I think she will satisfy even you. Doris Colquhoun.” He smiled and nodded. On the whole, he was well satisfied to have a few days at his club, even if everybody was out of town. “Well, I will at least see you safe into the train,” he said. DORIS. 125 Tlie Sahib had expected that this duty would fall to him, and it was with the least possible shade of injured dignity that he took Mona’s proflFered hand. I shall often think of our pleasant walks/’ she said, looking up with the frank, bright smile that made her face beautiful. But he tried in vain to find a suitable answer, and merely bowed over her hand in silence. Now remember, my dear girl,” said Sir Douglas, as he passed the last of a series of periodicals through the window of the railway carriage, ‘‘if you want anything whatever, write to me, or, better still, come. You do not need even to wire unless you want me to meet you at the station. Just get into the first train and walk into our quarters as if they belonged to you. We are rolling stones, but, wherever we are, you will always find a home.” Mona did not answer. Her eyes were brim- ming over with tears. The train glided out of the station, and Sir Douslas watched it till it was out of sight. Then he swore roundly at a small newsboy who was somewhat persistent in the oflfer of his wares, and walked back to the hotel in an 126 MONA MACLEAN. execrable temper towards the world in general, and towards liis wife and daughter in particular. Mona was alone in the carriage, but she did not allow herself for one moment the luxury of dwellinof on the life slie had left behind. She dashed away her tears, and brought all her power of concentration to bear on the heap of magazines at her side. But it was hard work. Visions of sunlight dancing on the rip- pling fjord, of waterfalls plunging from crag to crag, of mountains looming in solemn stillness, of deep blue columns supporting a sea of ice, — all these lingered on the retina of her mind, as the physical image persists after the eye is shut. And with them came the faces — of which she must not allow herself to think. Never, since she was a mere girl, had Mona known any lack of friends, — friends true and devoted ; but, in spite of moments of curious impulsiveness, a proud reserve, which was half sensitiveness, had always kept even the irrepres- sible Lucy more or less at a distance. None of her friends had ever presumed to lay claim to any proprietorship in her, as Sir Douglas now did ; and perhaps because it was something so new and strange, his blunt kindness was more DOEIS. 127 welcome than the refinemeot of tact to her sen- sitive nature. It was growing dark when the train drew in to the Waverley Station. want to go to Borrowness/’ said Mona, hastily. Am I in time for the train ? '' Borrowness/' repeated the porter medita- tively, for the place was not one of European celebrity. Well, ma\im, it’s touch and go. If you have no luggage you might manage it.” '‘You will do nothing of the kind,” said a quiet voice, and a neatly gloved hand was slipped into Mona’s arm. “ I never heard anything more absurd.” "Oh, Doris!” exclaimed Mona. "Why did you come ? I told you I could only come to you if I missed the last train.” " Was not that the more reason why I should come here for a glimpse of you ? I don’t get the chance so often. But if you think you are going on with that tired face, and without any dinner, you are much mistaken. Mona, I am surprised — you of all people ! ” " If you only knew it,” said Mona resignedly, "you are very unkind.” " No, I am not. I will observe your own 128 MONA MACLEAN. conditions, and argue about nothing. Your will shall be law ; I shall not even refer to your last letter unless you do. If you tell me that you are going to fly to the moon from the top of the Scott Monument, I shall merely wish you a pleasant journey. And indeed, dear, I am quite sure your train had gone.'’ AVell, let me telegraph to my cousin," said Mona, with a sigh. Doris Colquhoun was not a little surprised at her easy victory, but in truth her friend was too worn out to argue. ‘^My own ponies shall take you out," said Doris. ‘‘ Yhey are something new since you were here, and they are such beauties. Do not laugh when you see my groom. Father hunted him out for me. He is about the size of a pepper-pot." With a light practised hand she took the reins, the pepper-pot " touched his hat with infinite solemnity, and they bowled away through the town and out into the suburbs. ‘‘ Your pepper-pot is a work of art, without doubt," said Mona, but I fear he would not be of much use in ease of an accident." So Father said. But the ponies are very DORIS. 129 safe, and I don’t know what fear is Avhen I am driving. Father is well content to gratify all my whims, so long as I hold my peace about the one that is more than a whim.” Mona did not answer. Just then they entered the avenue of a brightly lighted house ; and, with a magnificent sweep, Doris brought the ponies to a standstill in front of the steps. Mona knew that here she was a very welcome guest, and when she found herself in the familiar dining-room, with the wood-fire crack- ling in the grate, and father and daughter quietly and unaffectedly enjoying her society, she felt cheered and comforted in spite of herself. Mr Colquhoun was a shrewd, kind-hearted Scotch solicitor, or, to be more exact, a Writer to the Signet. He was a man of much weight in his own profession, and, in addition to that, he dabbled in art, and firmly believed himself to be a brilliant scientist manque. He was a man of a hundred little vanities, but his Q-enuine goodness of heart would have atoned for many more grievous sins. His gentle, strong-willed daughter was the pride of his life. Only once, as she told Mona, had she made a request that VOL. I. I 130 MONA MACLEAN. he refused to grant, and in her devotion to him she wellnish forgave him even that. o o ‘'Miss Maclean looks as if she would be the better of some sparkling wine/^ said Mr Colquhoun, and he gave an order to the footmau. Mona smiled and drew a long breath. “ What a relief it is to be with people who know ones little weaknesses ! ’’ she said. “ What a relief it is to be with people who know one wine from another ! he replied. “Now Doris drinks my Roederer dutifully, but in her heart she prefers ginger-pop ! Doris protested indignantly. “Now don’t pretend that you are a whole- some animal,” said her father, looking at her with infinite pride. “You like horses and dogs, that is the one human thing about you. By the way, did you make any sketches in Norway, Miss Maclean ? ” “ Very few. Norway was too big for me. I did some pretentious genvebilder of women in their native dress, and a hut with a goat browsing at the foot of a tree that grew on the roof.” “ Both goat and tree being on the roof ? ” DOEIS. 131 “ Both goat and tree being on the roof. The tree is a very common feature iii that situation ; the goat was somewhat exceptional.” “ So I should think,” said Doris. “ I should like to see that sketch.” “ Oh, when you want to turn an honest penny,” said Mr Colquhoun, “ I will give you fifty pounds for )mur sketch-book any day.” “ Indeed I am sorely in want of fifty pounds at the present moment,” laughed Mona, “and, regarded as a work of art, you might have the book for sixpence. But there is a sort of indecency in selling one’s diary.” “ It is not as a work of art that I want it,” he said candidly, “ though there is something of that in it too. It is like your father’s colleoc note-books.” He laughed at the recollection. “ You have a knack of knowino- the right thino’ o o to sketch, which is rare among men, and unique among women.” “Thank you very much, but I am afraid I never appreciate a compliment at the expense of my sex.” “ Then you may accept this one with an easy mind,” said Doris. “ The hit is not at the sex, but at my pine-forests and waterfalls.” 132 MONA MACLEAN. ‘‘ Ob, pray do not let ns get on the subject of Doris’s sex,” said Mr Colquhoun. That is our one bone of contention.” One of a very few,” corrected Doris. I think they all reduce themselves to that.” “Perhaps,” she answered gravely. And now I want to know how long you can stay with us, ‘Miss Maclean. You must stay for lunch to-morrow, whatever happens. Some cronies of mine — scientific cronies, you know — are comino' to look at a wonderful O microscope I have been buying. It cost a pretty penny, I assure you. Professor Murray calls it the hundred-ton gun. We should be glad of the opinion of a lady fresh from one of the greatest physiological laboratories in the world.” A courteous refusal was on Mona’s lips, but the description of the microscope sounded suspicious. She had had some experience of Mr Colquhoun’s method of purchasing scien- tific articles, and guessed that he had probably given fifty pounds for a cumbrous antiquated instrument, when he might have got a simpler, more efl&cient one for ten. She was deter- mined that the cronies ” should not lauoli at O Doms. 133 the simple-hearted old man if slie could help it ; and if the opinion of a lady fresh from one of the greatest physiological laboratories in the world carried any weight, surely even a little perjury would be excusable in such a case. I will stay Avith a great deal of pleasure,’’ she said ; “ but, Avhatever happens, I must catch the afternoon train.” When the evening Avas at an end, the two o'irls went too:ether to Mona’s room, and for a time they gossiped about all sorts of trifles. “Well, I see you are very tired,” said Doris at length. “ Good night.” Mona did not answer. “ Are you sure you have got eA^erything you AA^ant ? Let me put that arm-chair under the gas. That’s right. Good night.” Still there Avas no answer. “HaA^e }^ou fallen asleep already, Mona, or do you not mean to say good night \ ” . “.Oh, you old humbug ! ” said Mona suddenly, pushing an arm-chair to the other side of the hearth, and putting her friend unceremoniously into it. “ Fire away, in heaven’s name ! Let me hear all you have to say. Now that I haA^e come, I suppose Ave must thrash the Avhole thing 134 MONA MACLEAN. out. I withdraw all mj conditions. Let us have it out and get it over ! Doris was almost startled at her friend’s vehemence. Well, of course, you know, Mona,” she said hesitatingly, ‘^it was a great disappoint- ment to me.” ‘^My failure? Naturally. I did not find it exactly amusing myself.” I don’t mean that. I do not care a straw about the failure, except in so far as it delays the moment when you can begin to practise. That was the fortune of war. Rut I do think you are doing a very wrong thing now.” In what way ? ” ‘‘ Burying your wonderful powers in the petty life of a village.” ‘‘ Look here, Doris. I mean to give you a fair hearing, though it is too late to change my plans, even if I wished to, which I don’t ; but suppose Ave drop my ‘ wonderful powers ’ ? I fancy that theory is played out.” ‘‘All the examiners in the world could not change my opinion on that score. But we 'will not discuss the point. Taking you as you stand ” DORIS. 135 Five feet five in my stockings ^'Please do not be frivolous. Taking you as you stand — a Avoinan of education, culture, and refinement Youth, beauty, and boundless wealth — go on ! Word-painting is cheap. I thought you were going to give me a fair hearing So I will, dear. Forgive me ! ’’ ‘^It used to be a favourite theory of yours that ‘ every man truly lives so long as he acts himself, or in any way makes good the faculties of himself.’ " ^‘So it is still, now that you remind me of it. Apres ? ” ‘‘ Oh, Mona, you know all I would say. Are you making good the faculties of yourself? With the most glorious life-work in the world opening before you — work that I would give all I possess to be allowed to share — you deliber- ately turn aside and waste six precious months among people who do not understand you, and who won’t appreciate you one bit.” I admire the expression ‘ opening before me,’ when the examiners have twice slammed the door in my face. But, as you say, we won’t 136 MONA MACLEAN. discuss that. You talk as if I were goiug on a mission to the Hottentots. I am only going to my own people. I do not suppose I am any more superior to my cousin Rachel than the Munros are superior to me.^’ Nonsense ! ^^At least you will admit that she is my blood-relation. You can’t deny that claim.” I can’t deny the relationship, distant though it is, but I do distinctly deny the claim. You know, Mona, we all have what are called ^poor relations.’ ” “ I suppose many of us have,” said Mona, meditatively, after a pause. You will scarce- ly believe it, but for the last three weeks I have been fancying that my position is unique.” Of course it is not. We are all in tlie same boat, more or less. My brother Frank says that, after mature consideration on the subject of so-called poor relations, he has come to the conclusion that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, it is better to cut the connection at once and altogether.” Mona raised her eyebrows. Doris Colqu- houn quotes that?” DORIS. 137 The colour rose to Dorises face, but she went on — ^‘Not because of their poverty. I do not need to tell you that. There are people who earn thirty pounds a-year by the sweat of their brow whom one is proud to have at one’s table. It is because they have different ideas, speak a different lano;uao'e, live in a different world. What can one do at the best ? Frank says, Spend a week in the country with them once a- year or so, and invite them to spend a fortnight in town. What is the result ? They feel the difference between themselves and you, they don’t like it, and they call you ‘ snob.’ Suppose you ignore them altogether ? The net result is the same. They call you ^ snob.’ The question is. Is it worth all the trouble and friction ? ” Doris, Doris,” said Mona, that is the sheerest casuistry. You know no power on earth would tempt you to cut j^our own poor relations.” I don’t know. The women all happen to be particularly nice. I should not break my heart if I thought I should never see some of the men aguin.” O 138 MONA MACLEAN. All women are particularly nice, according to you ; no doubt my cousin Eacbel would be included in the number. No, no ; tell all that to the marines ! I know you too well. And pray don’t preach such dangerous doctrine. It would be precisely the people who have risen above their relatives only in the vulgar ex- ternals of life who would be most ready to take advantaofe of it.” ‘^Well, I confess that I always argue the matter with Frank. Personally, I don’t see why one cannot be happy and cordial when one meets one’s relations, without sacrificing one’s self to them as you are doing.” I don’t know that I am sacrificing myself. Perhaps,” she added suddenly with a curious smile, I shall acquire at Borrowness some personal experience in the ' wide, puzzling subject of compromise.’” Compromise ! ” repeated Doris. Please don’t go out of your way for that. The mag- nificent thing about your life is that there is no occasion for compromise in it. That duty is reserved for people with benighted old fathers. Borrowness is somewhere near St Rules, is it not ? ” DOETS. 139 Yes/^ said Mona. There is only the breadth of the county between them.” “ I know some very nice people there. I shall be proud to give you an introduction if you like.” ^‘No, no, no, dear,” said Mona, quickly. My friends must be my cousin’s friends. Thank you very much all the same.” ^‘Biit, Mona, at the end of this miserable six months you will go on, won’t you ? ” Mona frowned. 1 have not the vao^uest idea Avhat I shall do at the end of the six months,” she said. You are taking your books with you ? ” '' Some old classics and German books, iveiter niclitsy ‘‘ No medical books ? ” “ Not one.” Doris sighed deeply. ‘'Don’t be so unhappy, dear. I wish with all my heart you could be a doctor yourself.” “ Oh, don’t talk of that. It is no use. My father never will give his consent. But you know, dear, I am studying by proxy. I am living in your life. You must not fail me.” “You talk as if suffering humanity could 140 MONA MACLEAN. scarcely make shift to get along without me.^^ And that is what I think, in a sense. Oh, Mona ” — she drew a long breath, and her face crimsoned — it is so difficult to talk of it even to you. A young girl in my Bible-class went into the Infirmary a few weeks ago — only one case among many — and you should have heard what she told me ! Of course I know it was only routine treatment. It would have been the same in any hospital ; but that does not make it any better. She said she would rather die than go there again. No fate could have been worse. ^^Dear Doris! don't yoii think I know it all ? But you must not say no fate could have been worse. The worst fate is moral wrong, and there is no moral wrong where our will is not concerned." ‘‘Wrong ! " repeated Doris, scornfully. “ Moral wrong I Is it nothing then for a girl to lose her bloom Her face was burning, and her breath came fast. “Young men," she said, scarcely above a whisper, “and all those stu- dents — mere boys ! It drives me mad 1 " Mona rose and kissed her. DORIS. 141 Dearest/’ slie said, you are the j)rmx chevalier of your sex, and I love you for it with all my heart. I feel the force of what you say, though one learns in time to be silent, and not even to think of it more than need be. But indeed, you make yourself more unhappy than you should. Some of the young men of whom you speak so scornfully are truly scien- tific, and many of them have infinite kindness of heart.” Don’t let us talk of it. I cannot bear it. But oh, Mona, go on with your work — go on ! ” She kissed her friend almost passionately and left the room. ‘‘There goes,” thought Mona, “a woman with a pure passion for an abstract cause — a woman whose shoe-latchets I am not worthy to unloose.” 142 CHAPTER X. BORROWNESS. The next afternoon the grey ponies trotted Mona down to Granton. It was strange to find herself on the deck of a steamer once more ; the same experience as that of yesterday, and yet how different ! Yesterday she had been the centre of her little circle — admired, flattered, indulged by every one ; to-day she was nothing and nobody — a young woman travelling alone. And yester- day, she kept assuring herself, Avas the anom- aly, the exception ; to-day was in the ordinary course of things — a fair average samjDle of life. It would have been strange if her thoughts had been very bright ones, and a heavy ground- swell on the Forth did not tend to make them any brighter. BORROWNESS. 143 It’s a cross- water, ye ken,” an old country- man was explaining to a friend. They say ye might cross the Atlantic, an’ no’ get onything Avaur.” The wind was chill and cutting, and it carried Avith it an easterly haar, that seemed to penetrate to Mona’s very marroAv. She AA^as thankful when they reached Burntisland, and she found herself ensconced in a dirty, uncom- fortable third-class carrias^e. “ If Borrowness is your destination,” Mr Colquhoun had said, “ it is not a question of getting there sooner or later ; it is a question of never ofettino' there at all : ” and so Mona began to think, as the train drew up for an indefinite period at every little station. And yet she Avas not anxious to hasten her arriA^al. The journey from Edinburgh to Borrowness was short and simple, compared Avith that Avhich her mind had to make from the life behind to the life before. have no right to enter upon it in the spirit of a martyr,” she said to herself, eA^en if that would make it any easier. For better or worse it is all my own doing. And I aauII not dream the time aAA^ay in prospects and memories. 144 MONA MACLEAN. I will take up each clay with both hands, and live it with all my might.” The twilio;ht was beginning to gather when at length the guard shouted “ Borrowness ! ” and Mona sprang to her feet and looked out. It was a quiet, dreary, insignificant wayside station. A few men were lounging about — o o fisher-folk chiefly — and one woman. No, that could not be her cousin Eachel. During her life in London, Mona had often met an elderly lady whose dress was sufficiently eccentric to attract attention even in blessed Bloomsbury.’’ A short wincey skirt, a severely uncompromising cloth jacket, and a black mush- room hat, had formed a startling contrast to the frivolities in vogue ; and, by some curious freak of fancy, a mental picture of this quaint old lady had always flashed into Mona’s mind when she thought of her cousin. But the woman on the platform was not like that. Her face was ruddy and good-natured, and her dress was a hideous caricature of the fashion of the year before. Every picturesque puff and characteristic excrescence was bur- lesqued to the last point compatible with rec- ognition. Mona might have met fifty such BORROWNESS. 145 women in the street, and never have noticed their attire ; but the hano- of that skirt, the sliowiness of that bonnet, the general want of cut about every garment, as seen in that first momentary glance, were burnt into her recol- lection for a lifetime. ‘^No doubt, the woman I used to meet in London was a duchess,’^ she thought a little bitterly, but this cannot he my cousin Eachel.’’ She gave an order to the porter, alighted from the carriage, and waited — she scarcely knew for what. She was the only young woman who got out of the train there ; so if Rachel Simpson were anywhere in sight, she must soon identify her cousin by a process of exclusion. And so she did. But she did it very slowly and deliberately, for Mona was looking rather impressive and alarming in her neat travelling dress, not at all unlike some of the young ladies who came to stay at the Towers. The train puffed away out of the station, and then the little woman came up with a curious, coy smile on her ruddy face, her head a little on one side, and an ill-gioved hand extended. VOL. I. K 146 MONA MACLEAN. Mona learned afterwards that this was her cousin’s best company manner. Miss Maclean ? ” slie said, half shyly, half familiarly. Yes ; I am Mona Maclean. I suppose you are my cousin Eachel ? ” They kissed each other, and then there was an awkward silence. Eachel Simpson was thinking involuntarily, with some satisfaction, that she had seen Mona in a third-class carriage. She herself usually travelled second, and the knowledge of this gave her a grateful and much-needed sense of superiority, as regarded that one particular. She wondered vaguely whether Mona would object to having been seen under such disad- vantageous circumstances. suppose my luggage arrived about a fort- night ago ? ” said Mona, forcing herself to speak heartily. You were kind enough to say you would give it house-room. AVhat shall I do about this little valise ? ” Oh, the man will bring it to-]iight. Bill,” she said familiarly to the rough-looking porter, ‘'mind and bring that little trunk when ye o^ano; hame.” O O BORROWNESS. 147 said the man^ without touching his cap. Rachel Simpson was one of the many lower middle-class people in Scotland who talk fairly good English to their equals and superiors, but who, in addressing their inferiors, relapse at once into the vernacular. Mona greatly ad- mired the pure native Scotch, and had looked forward to hearing it spoken ; but her cousin’s tone and accent, as she addressed this man, jarred on her almost unbearably. Mona was striving hard, too, to blot out a mental picture of Lady Munro, as she stood on the platform at Newcastle, giving an order with queenly graciousness to the obsec|uious porter. The two cousins walked home together. The road was very wet with recent rain, and they had to pick their steps in a way that was not conducive to conversation ; but the)^ talked eagerly about the weather, the crojDS, the cross- ing to Burntisland, and everything else tliat was most uninterestinor. ]\[ona had never men- O tioned the j\Iunros nor her visit to Norway. In about five minutes thc}^ reached the liouse, and indeed it was not such a bad little house after all, opening, as it did, on a tiny, well-kept 148 MONA MACLEAN. garden. The two windows on the ground-floor had of course been sacriflced to the exigencies of the ‘"shop”; and as they went in, Mona caught a glimpse of some extraordinary hats and bonnets in one window, and of dusty stationery and sundry small wares in the other. ‘‘ Marshall & Snelgrove and Parkins & Gotto,’’ she said to herself judicially, ^^and I suppose Fortnum & Mason, are represented by those two w^ooden boxes of sweetmeats beside the blotting- books.’’ As they opened the glass door, the automatic shop-bell rang sharply, and an untidy girl looked out from the kitchen. “ IPs you,’’ she said briefly, and disappeared again. Eachel Simpson would never have dreamt of givino* a domestic order in the hearinsf of a visitor, so she went into the kitchen, and a whispered conversation took place while ]\Iona Avaited in the passage. The old-fashioned clock ticked loudly, and the air was close and redo- lent of rose-leaves and mustiness. Evidently open windows were the exception here, not the rule. The house seemed curiously far away BORROWNESS. 149 from the beach, too, consideriDg how small the town was. I can only catch a glimpse of the sea from my bedroom window,’' thought Mona, '' I shall be happy in a garret.” But it was no garret to which her cousin presently conducted her, nor, alas ! did it com- mand a view of the sea. It was a fair-sized room above the kitchen — a room filled up with old-fashioned furniture — and its window overlooked a wide prospect of cabbage-beds. ‘‘Just come into the front parlour when you get off your things,” said Eachel, “and we’ll have a cup of tea.’! “ Thank you,” said Mona pleasantly, and she was left alone. She seated herself absently on a chair, and then sprang suddenly to her feet again. “ Well, you don’t suppose you are going to take stock now” she said to herself savagely. “AVash your hands, and be quick about it!” She took the liberty of opening the window first, however. The upper sash declined to move at all, and the lower one slipped down again as often as she raised it. In vain she 150 MONA MACLEAN. looked about the room for something to sup- port it. “Stay open you shall,” she said, “if I put my own head underneath ! but I will resort to the Family Bible first,” and her eye rested on the substantial volume that surmounted the chest of drawers. Finally, she rolled her travelling cloak into a tight bundle, and propped up the sash with that. “ A little rain will do you no harm,” she said, “ and a little air will do this musty hole a vast deal of wood.” o She looked about for hot water, but there was none, so with a shiver she washed in cold. Then after a glance at the distorting looking- glass, to make sure that her hair was smooth and her expression tolerably amiable, she be- took herself to the front parlour. Tliere Avas no fire in the grate. There never Avas a fire in that grate Avhile the Avhite curtains Avere up from May to October. Eachel often indulged in the luxury of sitting by the kitchen fire A\^hen she AA^as alone on a chilly evening, and had Mona knoAvm this she would thankfully have done the same ; but Racliehs manners ’’ BORROWS ESS. 151 were her strong point, and she would have been hoi’rified at the idea of snsjorestins; such a thins to a comparative stranger. When Mona had really settled down, she could afford to be com- fortable again, to use the old brown teapot, put away the plated spoons, and keep her Sunday bonnet for Sunday. In truth the teapot on the table was a won- derful thing, and Eachel glowed with pride as Mona's eye returned to it incessantly ; but Mona was only thinking vaguely that she had never before seen one single object — and that not a very big one — which so absolutely suc- ceeded in setting at defiance every canon of common decency in art. But all at once she thought of EacheFs affec- tionate letters, and her heart smote her. This woman, with her shop and all her ugly sur- roundings, her kind heart and her vulgar for- malities, seemed to Mona so infinitely pathetic that, tired and overstrained as she was, she bit her lip to keep back a rush of tears. ''Do you know, dear," she said warmly, "it is very kind of you to have me here." " Oh, I'm only too glad to have you, if you can make yourself happy." 152 MONA MACLEAN. fear of that. Give me a clay or two to settle clown, and I shall be as happy as a kino;. o ''Yes, it does just take a while to get used to new ways and new people ; but blood is thicker than water, I say. My niece, now, had settled clown wonderfully. She knew all my ways, and we were so suited to each other. She was a great hand at the millinery, too ; I suppose that’s not much in your line ? ” Mona laughed. " I was going to say, like the Irishman, that I did not know, because I had never tried,” she said ; " but I do trim my own summer hats. I should enjoy it immensely.” "And it will go hard with me,” she added to herself, " but I shall eclipse those productions in the window.” " I am afraid,” said Eachel, uneasily, " we could not sell plain things like you had on. It was very nice and useful and that, of course, but they are all for the feathers and flowers here.” " Oh, I should not attempt a hat like mine. It takes genius to do a really simple thing, don’t you think so ? ” Eachel laughed, uncertain whether to take BOEEOWNESS. 153 the remark in jest or earnest. ‘^Well, you know/’ she said, doubtfully, ‘‘it ts easier to cover a hat up like.” “ Very much,” agreed Mona. “And now you must make a good tea, for I am sure you are hungry after the journey. That’s ham and eggs in front of you, and this is hot buttered toast, — only plain food, you see. I have made your tea nice and strong ; it will do you more good.” “ Farewell, sleep ! ” thought Mona, as she sur- veyed the prospect before her ; and it occurred to her that the sound of champagne, creaming into a shallow glass, was one of the most delight- ful things on earth. She blushed violently when her cousin said a moment later — “ I suppose you are blue-ribbon ? Everybody nearly is nowadays. It is wonderful how many of the gentry have stopped having wine on their tables. Nobody needs to have it now. The one thing is as genteel as the other, and it makes a great difference to the purse.” “ Doesn’t it ? ” said Mona, sympathetically, thankful that no answer had been required to the original question. “ And after all,” she thought, “ when I am living a life like that of 154 MONA MACLEAN. the cabbages at the back, wbat do I want witli the ‘ care-breaking luxury ’ ? ” “ I hope you don’t object to tlie shop,” Rachel went on presently, a 2)ropos apjjarently of the idea of gentility. “ I don’t really need it now, and it never did very much in the way of business at the best ; but I have got used to the people dropping in, and I would miss it. And you know the ladies, the minister’s wife and the doctor’s wife like, they come in some- times and have a cup of tea with me ; they don’t think me any the less genteel for keeping a shop. But 1 always tell everybody that it is not that I require to do it. Everybody in Bor- rowness knows that, and of course it makes a difference.” “ The question of ‘ gentility,’ ” said Mona, with a comical and saving recollection of Lucy’s lettei', “ seems to me to depend entirely on who does a thing, and the spirit in which it is done, not on the thing itself.” “That is just it. They all know me, you see, and they know I am not really caring about the shop at all. Why, they can see that whiles I lock the door behind me and go away for a whole day together.” BORRO\TNESS. 155 Mona bit her lip and did not attempt an answer this time. It was still early when she exeused herself and went to her room. She paced up and down for a time, and then stopped suddenly in front of the looking-glass. It had become a habit with her, in the course of her lonely life, to address her own image as if it were another person. “ It is not that it is terrible,” she said grave- ly; “ I almost wish it were ; it is just that it is all so deadly commonplace. Oh, Lucy, I am an abject idiot ! ” And like the heroines of the good old days, when advanced women were unknown, she threw herself on the great four- post bed and burst into a passion of tears. The torrent was violent but not prolonged. In a few minutes she threw away her hand- kerchief and looked scornfully at her swollen face. “After all,” she said philosophically, “I sup- pose a good howl was the cheapest way of man- affincf the thino- in the long-run. That will be the beginning and the end of it. Horst clu ivolil ? — And if it so please you. Mistress Lucy, I don’t regret what I have done one bit, and 1 would do the same thing to-morrow.” 156 MONA MACLEAN. She curtseyed low to the imaginary Lucy, betook herself to bed, and in spite of grief, excitement, and anxiety, in spite of ham and egg, strong tea and hot buttered toast, she slept like a healthy animal till sunrise. 157 CHAPTER XL THE SHOP. No ; it was clear that nothing could be done with her bedroom. That was a case for pure and unmitigated endurance. Mona felt thank- ful, as she looked round in the morning sunshine, that she had not brought with her any of the pictures and pots and artistic draperies without which young people find it almost impossible to travel nowadays. The heavy cumbrous fur- niture might possibly have been subdued into insignificance ; but any moderately msthetic colour would have been drowned in the harsh dominant note shrieked out by the old-world wall-paper. She adhered rigidly to her resolution that last night’s ‘Miowl” was to be the ‘‘beginning 158 MONA MACIjli