LI B RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 82-3 
 C5352r
 
 // 
 
 7-/7
 
 (.
 
 EOBIN GEAY. 
 
 A NOVEL.
 
 KOBIN GRAY. 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 CHAELES GIBBON 
 
 AXJTHOR OF "dangerous CONNKXIONS." 
 
 Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly, 
 Never met— or never parted, 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted." 
 
 — Burns. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 BLACKIE & SON, PATERNOSTER ROW; 
 
 AND GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH. 
 
 1869. 
 
 [All Rights Reserved.']
 
 GLASGOW : 
 
 W. G. BLACKIE AND CO. , PRINTEES, 
 
 VILLAIIELD.
 
 ?55 
 
 • .. . INSCEIBED TO 
 
 ) JAMES HENDEESON, ESQ., 
 
 OF ADON MOUNT, DULWICH, 
 IN TOKEN OF 
 
 ? A TRIED FRIENDSHIP. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Laird o' Clashgiex, 1 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 A Paetixg, 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 At the Port^ 34 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Forebodings, 48 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The FAEiiEE of Caiexiefoed, QQ 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 Foes in the Dark, 81 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Fate of the "Colin," 95 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 The Xews Brought Home, 117 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A Romance of the Middle Age, 135
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A Heakt Stkuggle, 154 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 A Wedding and a Home-coming, . . . .172 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A Calm befoee the Stokm, 190 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Ekom the Sea, 202 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Last Hope, 225 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Bkoken Heakts, 243 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Pawky Reynakd, 263 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Doubts, 284 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 Plating with Fiee, 301 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ASKAIG, 311
 
 EOBIN GEAY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LAIRD o' CLASHGIRN. 
 
 ' The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great, 
 His mind is ta'en up wi' affairs o' the state." 
 
 NicoL McWhapple, with a startled expres- 
 sion on his sharp, hawkish features, sat in his 
 chair, clutching his silver snufF-box tightly 
 with one hand, whilst the other was arrested 
 midway between the box and his nose with 
 a pinch of the pungent dust. 
 
 He stared searchingly at the frank, good- 
 natured face of the young man who was 
 standing on the hearth. Presently the look 
 of alarm faded, and the face assumed its 
 ordinary stolid and expressionless cast, as
 
 2 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 tlie hand continued its journey to tlie nose, 
 and thrust the snufF up the nostrils energeti- 
 cally. Then he closed the box with a vigor- 
 ous snap. 
 
 It was something to have made Nicol 
 McWhapple angry, for it was the boast of 
 the Laird of Clashgirn that he never lost 
 command of his temper. It was still more 
 to have brought an expression — and especi- 
 ally an expression of alarm — to his visage; 
 for it was a by-word amongst some of the 
 folk in Portlappoch that " ye could nae mair 
 ken what the Laird was thinking by his face 
 than ye could tell what he was gaun to do 
 by what he said." 
 
 It was a keen face running from the high 
 cheek-bones to a sharp point at the clean- 
 shaven chin. The complexion sallow, with 
 a sandyish reflection from the thin, short 
 whiskers, and the thin, yellowish hair. When 
 in conversation the face had always a quiet 
 pawky smile, suggestive of how much more
 
 THE LAIBD 0* CLASHGIRX. 3 
 
 he knew of tlie circumstances concerning 
 which one might be speaking than the speaker 
 did, and what a deal of information he coukl 
 give if he thought it necessary. At the same 
 time he had a Avay of drooping the lids over 
 his small, pale, ferrety eyes, and occasionally 
 giving his head a jerk forward like a hawk 
 dabbing at its prey. 
 
 Placid, pawky, cunning, with a small 
 shrunken body and a lame leg, he had fought 
 his way to wealth, and such respect as a 
 certain dcOTce of sanctimonious conduct and 
 
 o 
 
 successful trading always command. 
 
 So, it was a feat to have moved such a 
 personage as this, and possibly the conse- 
 quences to the performer of the feat would 
 be all the more serious on account of the 
 speed with which the apparent effect was 
 dispelled 
 
 "Do ye mean to sa^^ Jeamie, that I 
 would be guilty o' ony thing dishonourable, 
 or in contravention o' the law of the land,"
 
 4 ROBIN GRAY, 
 
 said the Laird, witli his pawky smile, and 
 one of his hawkish dabs, whilst he tapped 
 the lid of his snuff-box pla}^fully. 
 
 " I'm no to say onything unless you pro- 
 voke me. Laird, and then it would only be to 
 yoursel'. I'm no a ganger, thank goodness, 
 nor a messenger- at-arms either, and you've 
 been my frien'," was the answer of James 
 Falcon, a stalwart young fellow in loose 
 rough garments, partaking in character as 
 much of the fisherman as the plough- 
 man. 
 
 A bright, dark-eyed fellow, with crisp 
 black hair, open, honest countenance, and 
 broad chest. Whilst he acted as grieve on 
 Clashgirn, he was frequently out with the 
 herring-fishers, so that he had learned to 
 handle the small craft with as much skill as 
 lie guided a plough or a horse, and he 
 knew every sounding from Portlappoch to 
 Islay. 
 
 "Aye, jist so," commented the Laird, "only
 
 THE LAIRD 0' CLASHGIRN. 5 
 
 to mysel'. Weel, are you trying to threaten 
 me into submission to your wishes? Is that 
 what you re driving at?" 
 
 "Threaten!" and Jeamie laughed loudly; 
 " hoots man, what's the use o' takino; it that 
 way. This is just the long and the short o't. 
 I come to you and tell you I want to get 
 married, and you see no objection to that. 
 Then I mind you that you promised to let 
 me have the farm o' Askaig some day." 
 
 "111 say that yet (benignantly), and I 
 never break my word." 
 
 " Well, I tell you I want it now, and you 
 answer me by asking what siller I liae to 
 stock it. But you ken well enough that I 
 hav'nae a penny. You have never given me 
 a wage for my work; you have scarcely given 
 me a shilling to let me ken the road to my 
 pouch; and when I tell you that I hav^e 
 nothing, you baud up your hands, and gic 
 me a sermon about extravagance and riotous 
 livinQ:."
 
 6 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " In the which I was but doing my duty 
 as an elder o' the kirk, and as your friend." 
 
 Jeamie laughed again, but with a shade of 
 contempt on his honest face this time. 
 
 " May be so, Laird, as an elder it might be 
 your duty to preach ; but as my friend you 
 ken'd that I never had a chance of being 
 a wastrail. You ken'd that the Laird o' 
 Clashgirn was profiting by my management 
 o' the farm, and has profited for the last five 
 year better than he's ever likely to do again 
 wi' the same place. Weel, in return for the 
 work I have given you without a grumble 
 and without a fee, I ask you noo to let me 
 have the farm, and give me two years' credit 
 for the stock." 
 
 "Which is a very modest demand in your 
 estimation, nae doot" (tapping the snuff- 
 box). 
 
 "Modest enough, considerin' that I have 
 never had a ploughman's wages for doing the 
 work o' three, and for brincring a guid few
 
 THE LAIRD 0' CLASHGIRN. 7 
 
 hunners into your purse that would never 
 have been there without me. But you ken 
 that I am asking nothing from you that I 
 will not repay with whatever interest you 
 want; only you think that you made more 
 out of me on the old terms. And so you 
 would, if it did not happen that the old 
 terms are at an end. I am going to be 
 married, and I must have the means to keep 
 my wife." 
 
 "A very sensible determination, Jeamie; I 
 commend your forethocht in looking out for 
 the meal afore ye bring a hungry mou to 
 the parritch pot. That's an excellent prin- 
 ciple to observe." 
 
 "Thank you for discovering so much good 
 in me. But when you answered me wi' a 
 screed o' texts about ingratitude and self- 
 seeking, and that while I ken'd that you 
 were calculating how many pounds sterling 
 you would lose by the change, I could not 
 help letting you feel that I ken d whar a
 
 8 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 part o' your siller cam frae, and lioo it was 
 gotten." 
 
 "Ye mean, of course, your ain sus23icion, 
 whicli is no wortli a bodle in a court o' law. 
 If I looked ony way queer when ye men- 
 tioned the matter, it was just the natural 
 surprise o' a man in my position and o' my 
 character even being suspecket o' dealing 
 unfairly wi' the fortune o' a friend, and espe- 
 cially an unlucky ane. But we'll set that 
 aside for the present, and if ye please we'll 
 look at your ain particular affairs." 
 
 "That's more to my liking." 
 
 "Very weel: ye hae stated your case, and 
 I'm no saying but that ye hae put it wi' as 
 muckle ability as lawyer Carnegie could hae 
 done himsel'. Now let me state mine." 
 
 " Out wi't." 
 
 "Very weel: just look round ye. This is 
 a cosy bit parlour, an' there's no muckle 
 wrong wi' the house. Onyway there's aye 
 plenty meat and drink in it, and that's a
 
 THE LAIRD 0' CLASHGIRX. 9 
 
 blessing everybody has nae got. Everything 
 has been at your command; ye hae never 
 wanted bite nor sup for fifteen year. Ye 
 hae been treated just as though ye had been 
 a bairn o' my ain, and I'm no saying but I 
 may hae had thoughts o' leaving ye a bit 
 siller when the time cam' for my savings to 
 be distributed. But a while before that 
 time, ye come and make a demand upon me, 
 just as though ye had the richt to demand, 
 and that gars me think ye hae forgotten that 
 ye are neither kith nor kin to me." 
 
 There was a shadow deepening on Jcamie's 
 face. 
 
 " No, Laird," he said in a low voice, and 
 giving his shoulders a rough twist, "I hae 
 forgotten naething." 
 
 " Aye, weel, it does nae harm to mind ye 
 that fifteen year syne, a woman wi' a laddie 
 about six year auld cam' to this house. She 
 was footsore and hungry, puu^ body, and I 
 took pity on her. I gied her meat and drink
 
 10 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 and a bed to lie on. Folk said I ousflit to 
 
 o 
 
 hae sent lier to the poorliouse; but slie was 
 nae weel, and I let her bide here twa or 
 three days " 
 
 "Aye, but folk said and say you had other 
 reasons than charity for keeping her here, 
 where naebody could learn what she might 
 hae had to say about hersel' or her bairn/' 
 interrupted Falcon, with an angry flush. 
 
 The Laird's eyelids drooped; he smiled 
 as if pitying the young man's ignorance 
 and passion. Then he took another pinch 
 of snuff, made another hawkish dab, and 
 proceeded : 
 
 " She died here, and I buried her at my 
 ain cost in the auld kirkyard. Ye ken the 
 place." 
 
 The rough sleeve of Jeamie's coat was 
 shading his eyes at that moment. He was 
 choking, and made no answer, for he was 
 thinking how often he had stood staring at 
 the slab of stone which covered the grave.
 
 THE LAIRD 0' CLASHGIBX. 11 
 
 and how cold and silent it had ahvays been 
 to his eager questioning al.^ont the unhappy 
 mother whose image was only a shadoA^^ 
 memory to him, but whose love was always 
 with him. 
 
 "Mair than that," the Laird continued, 
 " her laddie, wha had nae friens that ony- 
 body hereabout ken'd o', would hae had 
 to gang to the poorhouse; but instead o' 
 that I kept him here, gied him a decent 
 education, and brought him up in a Chris- 
 tian way. If he worked for me, and if he 
 was obedient to me, it was nae mair than 
 I had a richt to expeck after a' I had done 
 for him. Lastly, I think that before he 
 speaks o' settin' up for himsel', and asking 
 me for the loan o' the necessary capital, he 
 ought to think o' repaying me the outlay 
 I hae been at on his account." 
 
 " So be it, then," said Falcon impetuously, 
 "Lll pay you every farthing of it if I live, 
 but ril work no more for you. What is the
 
 12 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 sum you demand, in addition to the work 
 you have abeady had?" 
 
 " I couldna just exactly tell ye at a minute's 
 notice, but I'll mak up the account." 
 
 " And I'll pay it, if I live. But let there 
 be no more talk of gratitude between us, see- 
 ing that I know enough to hang you if I 
 cared to follow up the clue." 
 
 A second time the expression of alarm 
 flitted across Nicol McWhapple's visage, and 
 again it disappeared under the influence of 
 a vigorous pinch of snuff. As James Falcon 
 was striding to the door, he called to him in 
 his pawky tone, 
 
 "Bide a wee, Jeamie, lad, bide a wee. 
 Although ye hae lost your temper, and con- 
 sequently your common sense, I hae nae. 
 Ye hae scarcely a bawbee in your pouch, 
 and yet ye're talking o' repaying me maybe 
 a hunner pounds just as though ye had a 
 bag o' gowd. I'll no press ye for my account, 
 ye ken, but what are ye to do for a living?
 
 THE LAIRD 0' CLA^HGIRN. 13 
 
 Fee yoursel'? — 111 gie ye a recommenda- 
 tion." 
 
 "No, I'll not fee." 
 
 "Maybe ye would like to turn sailor?" 
 
 "That is what I mean to do. A sailor has 
 better wages than a ploughman, and mair 
 chance of making money, and I must get 
 money." 
 
 "Just so. Then if ye like I'll speak to 
 Ivan Carrach. His brig is to sail the morn, 
 and maybe he'll gie ye a berth if I ask him." 
 
 Falcon hesitated, then with sudden resolu- 
 tion : 
 
 " I'll accept this service from you, because 
 it'll help me to pay your clebt the sooner." 
 
 And without a word of thanks he went 
 out. 
 
 The Laird sat with his chin sunk on his 
 breast, and his ferrety eyes twinkling at the 
 fire. He was thinking of the ingratitude of 
 his species, no doubt, and especially of this 
 youth, whom he had fed and clothed, and
 
 14 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 wlio had now, like the serpent, stung the 
 bosom to which he had been metaphorically 
 pressed. He was thinking of the fellow's 
 boldness and heartlessness, which had dared 
 to impugn his respectability. What would 
 the members of the kirk say, what would the 
 minister say, if that story at which Falcon 
 had hinted were revived amongst them? 
 
 It had given him trouble enough years 
 ago; it had cost him more than twenty 
 years of sanctimonious hypocrisy to over- 
 come the doubts of his honesty which were 
 abroad. He had succeeded at last; as wit- 
 ness the fact that he had been elected elder 
 of the kirk and a' mao^istrate of the buro^h. 
 He had as great a craving for respectability 
 as a pretty woman has for flattery. And he 
 had obtained it. He had made " siller," and 
 he had become known to the great families 
 of the county; he had even been privileged 
 to obtain an audience with the Duke of 
 Argyle on one occasion.
 
 THE LAIRD 0' CLASHGIRX. 15 
 
 All that lie had craved he had won; and 
 now — the breath of one man threatened to 
 blow down the house of cards he had been at 
 so much pains to build. That man, too, was 
 the one who had helped to build the house; 
 for Nicol McWhapple's charity in first suc- 
 courino' the strano;e woman from the storm 
 and starvation, and then adopting her child 
 into his house, had been the prime cause 
 of his elevation to favour in the eyes of the 
 folk of Portlappoch. 
 
 The story which placed him in this pre- 
 dicament was a simple one, so far as it w^as 
 known. Hugh Sutherland, the former pro- 
 prietor of the lands whereof McWhapple 
 was the present laird, had been known to his 
 friends and neighbours as a timid man — one 
 more likely to tremble at the suggestion of a 
 conspiracy than to join it. Yet suddenly it 
 was made known that he had become in- 
 volved in one of those wretched conspiracies 
 for the overthrow of the government which
 
 16 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 the Frencli Eevolution engendered in Bri- 
 tain. 
 
 Everybody who had any acquaintance with 
 the man was astounded; more at the idea of 
 such a man falling into such an error than 
 at the error itself The rumour, however, 
 was confirmed, for before any open proceed- 
 ings could be taken against him, Mr. Suther- 
 land, to save his estate from confiscation, 
 made it over to Nicol McWhapple, his friend 
 and factor; and to save his head from the 
 penalty of his sin, he escaped to France. 
 
 The last positive news that was heard of 
 him was to the effect that he had married. 
 Afterwards came rumours that he had died 
 in poverty, and had left his wife and a child 
 to the charity of strangers, for she had no 
 relations to assist her. The sorrowful picture 
 which this rumour presented roused the ire 
 of the folk against Nicol, who was reported 
 to have taken advantage of the circumstances 
 under which Sutherland had fled, and to have
 
 THE LAIRD 0' CLASHGIRN. 17 
 
 denied the unfortunate exile and his family 
 the bare means of subsistence out of his own 
 property. 
 
 The statement of McAYhapple, however, 
 was simple, and he produced letters and 
 other documents to verify it. Sutherland 
 had gambled largely at the German Spas: 
 McWhapple as his agent had raised money 
 by mortgage to supply his employer. The 
 latter died in a drunken brawl; and his wife 
 was carried to the same grave six weeks after 
 her husband. They had no children; and 
 according to the will of Sutherland the pro- 
 perty was left — so far as he had power to 
 leave it, and so far as there was anything to 
 leave after the mortsao-es had been redeemed 
 — to Nicol McAYhapple, his faithful friend 
 and factor. 
 
 By dint of saving and successful trading 
 McWhapple was enabled to pay off the mort- 
 gages gradually, and at last to enter into full 
 possession as the Laird of Clashgirn.
 
 18 ROBIN OR AY. 
 
 For some reason known to himself he was 
 troubled in spirit as he ruminated on these 
 matters, and he dipped frequently into his 
 snuff-box, which was always an indication 
 that he was perturl^ed. 
 
 At last he seized his staff, which was 
 almost as stout and big as a crutch, and 
 raised himself to his feet. 
 
 "Aye, I'll see Ivan Carrach and I'll double 
 the insurance," he muttered, "syne if ony- 
 thing should ha]3pen it's a' through his ain 
 thrawnness, and the Lord's will be done." 
 
 Mr. McWhapple limped out to the stable 
 and caused the cattleman to saddle his pony.
 
 CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 A PARTING. 
 
 " The nicht is mirk an' the wind blaws schill, 
 
 An' the white faem weets my bree, 
 An' my mind misjjies me, gay maiden, 
 
 That the land we shall never see." — Wm. Mothericell. 
 
 The Laird had seen James Falcon laugh- 
 ing good-naturedly at the terror his revival 
 of that old story about the Sutherlands, and 
 certain hints anent the character of the Laird's 
 trading had caused; and he had seen him 
 downcast enough when he found that his 
 proposal for the farm was rejected. But he 
 could no more understand the real extent of 
 Falcon's suffering than he could appreciate 
 its source. 
 
 Falcon had been obliged to work hard for 
 the charity Dives had extended to him, and 
 out of which so much capital had been made.
 
 20 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 He had, however, found a friend in the min- 
 ister, Mr. MondufF, and with his assistance 
 he had managed to educate himself to a de- 
 gree much beyond that usually attained by 
 lads of a much higher position. Eough 
 work, rough usage, and rough companions 
 had not extinguished a certain natural re- 
 finement in the lad, for happily his reading 
 and honest heart had counteracted the influ- 
 ences which his position brought to bear 
 upon him. 
 
 He had quitted Clashgirn in a sad humour; 
 but he had little shown the bitter feelings he 
 endured; he had said little of the dream he 
 had been nursing for two years, and which 
 had grown to be the leading influence of his 
 life. 
 
 He felt that he had repaid the Laird trebly 
 for all that he had done for him, and he had 
 expected him to observe the promise he had 
 ofiven him more than once. 
 
 He had a kindly feeling toward the man
 
 A PARTING. 21 
 
 who had been his benefactor, althondi he 
 had long ceased to respect him. 
 
 He conld not shut his ejes to the thou- 
 sand petty hypocrisies of the Laird's charac- 
 ter, and the perception of them was fatal to 
 respect. 
 
 But at the present moment he felt as if 
 even what liking he had for him had been 
 extinguished by this last stroke of utter sel- 
 fishness, as he regarded it. There would 
 have been much bitterness in his heart had 
 not its sense of loss been too oreat for minor 
 
 o 
 
 feelings to obtain much sway. Contempt 
 does not spring up in a day in a generous 
 nature. He was disposed rather to make 
 the best of matters as they stood, and to seek 
 courage in hope than to waste time in useless 
 revilings. 
 
 "For after all," he thought, "I have no 
 right to expect him to make any sacrifice on 
 my account. I can work, and Jeanie will 
 wait."
 
 22 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 He had come to tliat healthy conclusion 
 by the time he reached Portlappoch, which 
 was distant about two miles from Clashgirn. 
 
 The village, or town as the inhabitants in- 
 variably called it, consisted of about a dozen 
 rows of houses running in irregular lines 
 from the shore, half way up a broad hill, 
 which was one of a rano^e stretchino; east and 
 west. The houses were of all sizes and 
 shapes, from the low-built brown thatched 
 cot of the fisher to the two-story sandstone 
 mansion which had been erected for the bank. 
 They were with few exceptions whitewashed, 
 and covered for the most part with red tiles 
 or thatch. They were huddled closely to- 
 gether as if for protection and warmth, 
 consequently the streets or lanes were nar- 
 row and pervaded with the smell and signs 
 of the chief article of trade in the place — 
 fish. Heads, tails, and sometimes whole 
 skeletons of fish of every kind were plenti- 
 fully strewn about, until a shower of rain
 
 A PARTING. 23 
 
 fell and swept the streets clean clown to the 
 shore, where the sea lapping the shingly 
 beach murmured its plaintive song of hope 
 and warning to the wives and bairns of those 
 who were out upon its broad bosom. Boat- 
 building was the next important business of 
 the little place, but that was confined chiefly 
 to the making and repair of the fishermen's 
 smacks, or an occasional job with some of 
 the craft which put in at the port. The 
 coopers did a thriving business; and on mar- 
 ket-days the two inns barely afforded accom- 
 modation for the custom of the farmers and 
 cattle-dealers who gathered on those occa- 
 sions. 
 
 Just outside the village, and overlooking 
 the beach, stood a square whitewashed cot- 
 tage, with blackened thatch, square windows 
 with small diamond-shaped panes, two rough 
 cut fir poles standing as a sort of porch in 
 front of the squat-looking door which opened 
 in halves and admitted one straio^ht to the
 
 24 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 kitchen. Half a dozen oars of various lengths 
 leaning against the porch, the walls hung 
 with nets, an old boat lying bottom upwards, 
 cocks and hens pecking about, a cow grazing 
 on the bit of grass by the roadside, and a 
 general air of cleanliness about everything — 
 such were the chief characteristics of Adam 
 Lindsay's home. Adam himself was seated 
 on the old boat mending a net, and a gnl 
 was standing in the doorway shading the 
 light of the setting sun from her eyes with 
 her hand, and peering down the road. 
 Through the trees, which were just beginning 
 to bud and put on their gay spring dress, 
 she caught a glimpse of James Falcon com- 
 ing along at his swinging pace. 
 
 The hand dropped to her side, and she 
 smiled happily as she retreated into the 
 house and resumed the task she had left for 
 a moment to look for his coming. 
 
 She was a bonnie lass, with fair hair, brown 
 eyes, and brown cheeks. There was a bright
 
 A PARTIXG. 2b 
 
 healthy look on the face always, with its soft 
 impulsive features. She was about twenty 
 years of age, and in her neat short-gown, blue- 
 striped petticoat, and tidy apron, made a 
 prettier picture than if she had been arrayed 
 in all the finery of the city madam. There 
 was nothing at all sentimental about her 
 manner or bearing, although she had from 
 childhood known the difficulties of making 
 both ends meet. She had stout arms and 
 hands, which showed that she was accus- 
 tomed to use them in earnest work. 
 
 She could read the Bible, and she could 
 write a letter with some care ; but that was 
 about the limit of her educational accjuire- 
 ments; for she had been permitted few op- 
 portunities even if she had had the desire to 
 learn more. 
 
 For eight years she had been the house- 
 keeper. She had been compelled to look after 
 the cooking, the cleaning, the hens, and the 
 cow; and she had had to nurse her mother
 
 26 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 who had been stricken with paralysis, and 
 for eight years had scarcely been able to 
 move farther than from the bed to the arm- 
 chair. 
 
 This was more than a young girl's share 
 of responsibilities; but Jeanie submitted to 
 them with a good cheer that made the work 
 seem light and the duty easy to perform. 
 
 Adam was j^i'oud of his daughter, and 
 loved her in his way. He would have risked 
 his life under any circumstances to have 
 saved hers, as indeed he would have risked 
 it to save that of anybody else whom he 
 might have seen in danger. But his was a 
 dry sort of nature, and although in his pride 
 of Jeanie he might boast of her thrift and 
 industry, he did not seem to realize the idea 
 that she was doing any more than she ought 
 to do, or than any other girl would do under 
 similar conditions. 
 
 He was disposed to rule his house with a 
 rod of iron, and exacted strict obedience
 
 A PARTING. 27 
 
 to his slightest command. He had no idea 
 of sympathizing with his daughter, and yet 
 he was not intentionally a hard man either 
 to wife or daughter. He was disposed to be 
 out of humour and sterner than usual when- 
 ever he had had a bad "'take;" but otherwise 
 he was good-tempered enough. 
 
 He was industrious, and although fond of 
 a dram, he did not often get fou'. He went 
 to kirk regularly twice every Sabbath — mak- 
 ing a slight stir perhaps in starting about the 
 dressing of his shirt front and the arrange- 
 ment of his stock; and he spent the after- 
 noon, with brief intervals, during which he 
 went out to look at the weather, in readino- 
 the Bible to his daughter and bed-stricken 
 wife, his favourite chapter being the fifth of 
 Luke, where Simon obtains the miraculous 
 draught of fishes. 
 
 "Weel, Jeames, howl's a' wi' ye?" he said, 
 drawing the net across his knees, and with- 
 out looking up, as Falcon advanced.
 
 28 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 "Is Jeanie in?" was the abrupt response. 
 
 "Aye, she's ben the house" (looking up) ; 
 but what's wrang wi' ye that ye're scoolin' 
 like a fishwife at a bad bawbee?" 
 
 "Everything's wrang, Adam, but ye'll ken 
 about it soon enough. I want to see Jeanie 
 first." 
 
 And he went into the house. 
 
 As he entered Jeanie was baking ban- 
 nocks, with the sleeves of her short-gown 
 rolled up, displayiug the plump rounded arms; 
 and she turned with one of the cakes on her 
 hands to place it on the girdle, giving him a 
 quick bright glance and a smile at the same 
 time. But the smile fled at sight of the 
 trouble on his face. 
 
 All that he had come to tell was soon told. 
 Their marriage must be postponed for a year, 
 may be two years, for the Laird had broken his 
 promise, and he must go work for money to 
 make a house for her. 
 
 He was a little chagrined that she did not
 
 A PARTING. 29 
 
 take the news more to lieart. But slie only 
 looked serious for a moment, and tlien, wiping 
 her hands, she said quietly : 
 
 "Were no that auld but we can wait a 
 year or twa, Jeamie; and maybe it's better 
 sae, for I dinna ken what mither would do if 
 I was oot o' the house." 
 
 "Aye," he said bitterly, but I had hoped to 
 offer your mother a home with us, and now 
 there's no chance of that for a long while, and 
 Lord kens what may happen before then. 
 The outlook is a driech ane for you an' me 
 baith." 
 
 "But we needna mak' it waur nor it is, 
 Jeamie, by frichtenin' oursel's wi' thochts o' 
 brownies and kelpies that may never come 
 near us. The best way is to tak' a stout 
 heart to a stey brae, and, as the minister says, 
 wha kens what fortune we'll find when we 
 win to the tap." 
 
 He took her hands — the meal had been 
 rubbed off them now — and he looked in her
 
 30 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 bonnie bright face, feeling mucli the same as 
 a man miglit who is suddenly brought out of 
 darkness into the sunshine. 
 
 "Ye're a sensible lass," he said, smiling 
 hopefully; ''and you mind me that I didna 
 come here to draw a long face, and bewail 
 my lot, but to tell you that the thocht o' you 
 will put pith into my heart and arms, that 
 for your sake 111 work — aye, and win too." 
 
 "That's mair like yoursel', Jeamie," and 
 there were tears in her eyes as she spoke, for 
 with all the perversity of a woman's nature, 
 as soon as he begun to think cheerfully of the 
 parting, she begun to realize its pain. But 
 they spoke bravely of the future for all that, 
 and with the trust of youth planned what was 
 to be done a year or two years hence with as 
 much confidence as if the period to elapse 
 were only a day. 
 
 Then Adam came in, and the state of 
 affairs was explained to him. He did not 
 see anything to be troubled about, and he
 
 A PA B TING. 31 
 
 ■wished Jeames a guid voyage in just the 
 same tone as he was accnstomed at nights to 
 wish him a safe road hame. 
 
 The three went "butt the house," to the 
 auld wife, a patient, meek-e}'ed woman, who 
 endured her affliction with the cahnness of 
 one whose faith is perfect. 
 
 "The Lord prosper je in the strange paths 
 that lie afore ye, Jeamie," she said kindly, 
 " and dinna forget to read your Bible con- 
 stantly. In the wildest storm ye're as safe 
 on sea as land when ye're in God's care. 
 That thocht has comforted me mony a time 
 when Adam was in danger." 
 
 Jeanie went to the door with him. They 
 lino'ered there listenino; to that strano;e sono- 
 of the sea, which was louder than ever it had 
 been before now, and bore a new meanino-. 
 
 " When I hear it, I'll be thinking o' ye, an 
 prapng for ye," she said, with a subdued sob. 
 
 He husfo'ed her in his 'arms as if he never 
 could part with her. Then with an effort,
 
 32 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 and a stifled husky "Heaven keep ye, my 
 lass," he broke away from her, running down 
 the road toward the town as if afraid to look 
 back. But when he reached the end of the 
 old dyke where he would disappear from her, 
 he turned. 
 
 She was still there. She waved her hand, 
 and he felt that she was trying to give him 
 a last smile of comfort through her tears. 
 
 She was standinsf there lono; after she had 
 lost sight of him, standing there watching 
 the road he had gone by, while the sun was 
 sinking rapidly and the clouds were darken- 
 ing overhead. Her heart was sinking too, 
 for it seemed as if the sun were setting upon 
 her happiness, and those murky clouds up 
 yonder betokened the coming storm. 
 
 She was roused at last by her father s voice 
 bidding her come into the house. She turned 
 to her work with some notion that busy 
 hands soften grief. And she had need to 
 be busy at present, for her mother was worse
 
 A PA B TING. 33 
 
 than usual, and the last had been the worst 
 fishing season her father had ever known. 
 So that he who had prided himself upon 
 owing no man a farthing, was at this time 
 owing several pounds, and that was an enor- 
 mous sum to Adam Lindsay and his daughter. 
 She had not mentioned this to James 
 Falcon, but she had been thinking of it 
 when she had said that perhaps it w^as better 
 their marriage should be delayed a little 
 while yet.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT THE PORT. 
 
 I "To mak' the crown a pound my Jeamie gaed to sea, 
 An' the crown an' the pound they were baith for me.' 
 
 —Tke Ballad. 
 
 Down at the Port amidst barrels and ropes 
 and boat-tackle of all descriptions, a group of 
 men — sailors, fishermen, and ragged hangers- 
 on who eke out a living at all such places by 
 doing odd jobs for anybody who will give 
 them a few pence — were discussing some 
 important topic in which the brig Colin, 
 lying in the port, was interested, as was ap- 
 parent from the frequent curious glances 
 which were cast toward her. 
 
 At the water edge was another group ; but 
 this one consisted of men and women, and
 
 AT THE PORT. 35 
 
 chiefly townsfolk, who were gathered around 
 the owner of a fishing-smack which had just 
 come in. They were haggling about the 
 price of fish, every one keenly alive as to the 
 value of a penny, amidst much jesting and 
 laughing. 
 
 Loudest amongst the higglers was a woman, 
 who was raised above the others by standing 
 up in her cart, to which a shaggy patient- 
 looking donkey was harnessed. The cart was 
 not much bigger than a large-sized barrow, 
 and was a rough-looking affair glistening all 
 over with fish-scales. The body was con- 
 structed of unplaned boards rudely nailed 
 together, and seemed shaky enough. 
 
 Girzie Todd and her cuddy-cart were 
 known all over the country. She bought 
 fish at the Port, and with her cart conveyed 
 it from house to house and from farm to farm, 
 earning a decent livelihood for herself and 
 her son — " a puir demintit creatur', wha had 
 na half the gumption o' his mither's cuddy,"
 
 36 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 as the folk said, pitying tlie mother and ad- 
 miring her brisk industrious ways, wondering 
 often what was to become of the poor natural 
 when her time came. 
 
 She was a woman of about fifty years, but 
 as lithe as a girl of twenty. She was about 
 the average height of women, but with the 
 firm muscles of a man, although there was 
 nothing either coarse or masculine in her 
 figure. She was simply firmly knit as one 
 might say; and her face, brown as an autumn 
 leaf, was lit by two sparkling gray eyes and 
 showed regular features, which indicated that 
 once on a time she had been a braw lass with 
 wooers in plenty. 
 
 She was a sharp, busy woman, with ready 
 hands, quick wit, and quick ears. 
 
 Of the latter faculty she gave an evidence 
 now; for whilst she was bargaining for the 
 fish, one of the men of the first group said 
 excitedly and speaking louder than the 
 others —
 
 AT THE POET. 37 
 
 " He swore Pe-tam she would sail wi' the 
 morn s tide wdiether it was Friday or Satur- 
 day. Fse no gae wd' him ony way, for it's 
 just fleeing in the face o' Providence." 
 
 "Aye, man," cried Girzie turning round, 
 " Ivan Carrach was ay kenned to be ready 
 tae flee in the face o' Providence or ony ither 
 body that w^as in his gate. But there's a 
 storm brewing yonder in the lift that'll may- 
 be gar him be sorry for 't this time." 
 
 Whether she spoke figuratively or not 
 nobody seemed to guess, but all glanced up- 
 wards and shook their heads forebodingly. 
 The bold Highland skipper, who was disposed 
 to sail when he was ready in spite of all the 
 superstition of the seamen against beginning 
 a voyage on a Friday, had no friends there. 
 Two of his hands had openly refused to join 
 him as soon as his intention to sail next day 
 had been made known. 
 
 Girzie was back to her bargaining again 
 in a minute, and so she did not seem to
 
 38 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 observe James Falcon, who came up to the 
 seaman who had declared his resolve not to 
 sail in the Colin, and asked if he knew where 
 Carrach might be found. 
 
 " I saw him up at the Port Inn wi' Clash- 
 girn/' answered another of the men, and 
 Falcon immediately wheeled about. 
 
 The Port Inn was the larger of the two 
 hostelries in the village, and was situated 
 about half-way up the main street. It was 
 squat, old-fashioned, whitewashed, and red- 
 tiled ; surrounded by stables and sheds, and 
 having a large open space in front, which, on 
 market-days, was crowded with carts and 
 gigs. 
 
 The Laird was mounting his Shetland pony, 
 and Carrach was assisting him, as Falcon 
 approached. 
 
 " Ye understand, then, Carrach," McWhap- 
 ple was saying in an undertone, whilst his 
 eyes twinkled on the skipper, " it would be 
 nae great loss to you or me if onything hap-
 
 AT THE PORT. 39 
 
 pened the brig; and the lad's meddlesome and 
 micht do you harm." 
 
 "I'll know all about it," answered Car- 
 rach, slowly, and with a strong Highland 
 twang. 
 
 " Od, it's extraordinar , here's the lad him- 
 sel'," said the Laird, observing Falcon. " I 
 have spoken to Carrach, Jeamie, and arranged 
 everything for you wi' him. But you can 
 speak to him yoursel' now, and I'll see you 
 when you come hame for your claes. Guid 
 day to you, Carrach, and a safe voyage." 
 
 McWhapple's pony moved away with its 
 master at a douce jog-trot pace. 
 
 " So, you are the lad," said Carrach, giving 
 his shaggy red head a jerk, which was in- 
 tended for a nod of recognition. 
 
 He was a broad-built fellow, with fiery 
 red hair, whiskers, and beard, which gave his 
 bovine-like eyes and pug-nose the appearance 
 of features planted in the midst of a huge 
 sunflower.
 
 40 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " I suppose so," answered Falcon, " will I 
 do?'^ 
 
 The calf's eyes of tlie man rolled over him 
 as if measuring his height, weight, and 
 strength. 
 
 "You'll no be feart to sail on a Friday?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then you'll to ; and as I want to clear 
 the port afore twelve if it's possible, shust to 
 quiet thae gomerils wha are feart of the 
 Friday, the sooner you are on poard the 
 petter, — Pe-tam." 
 
 The latter words were the usual termina- 
 tion of any observation the skipper desired 
 to render emphatic. 
 
 The Laird, in his character of generous 
 patron, had evidently arranged matters so 
 completely with Carrach that there remained 
 nothing for the young man himself to do but 
 to get on board. 
 
 It puzzled him for a moment to comprehend 
 why McWhapple should take so much in-
 
 AT THE PORT. 41 
 
 terest in his affairs after what had passed 
 between them, and the unpleasant manner 
 in which they had parted. But the riddle 
 was solved as soon as he remembered that it 
 was the Laird's policy in every unpleasant 
 transaction to do his utmost to bring matters 
 into such a focus as to enable him to play 
 the martyr. Thereby he obtained new credit 
 for his meek, suffering, injured innocence. 
 The whole conduct of the man was plain to 
 Falcon when he recollected that. So he 
 laughed and hurried back to Clashgirn. He 
 made up his clothes in a bundle — he had not 
 many, and he did not take more than he 
 thought he would positively need — and then 
 he proceeded to take his leave of the folk 
 about the place. 
 
 First, there was Mrs. Begg the house- 
 keeper — a buxom widow, who had long 
 lived in the hope of one day becoming Mrs. 
 McWhapple. The dame's breath was taken 
 away by Jeamie's announcement of his de-
 
 42 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 parture; and the next minute slie was filling 
 his pockets with whangs of cheese and farls 
 of oatcake, so that he should not starve on 
 the first stage of his journey at any rate. 
 
 Next, there was the Laird, who played the 
 martyr as Falcon had expected, and even 
 pretended to be deeply affected at the sudden 
 separation, assuring him again and again that 
 it was no desire of his that he should leave 
 the comfortable house in which he had been 
 brought up and tenderly cared for. He was 
 beginning what threatened to be a long lec- 
 ture of paternal counsel, well larded with text, 
 when Jeamie stopped him with an abrupt 
 reminder of their recent conversation. 
 
 "Od, it's extro'rdinar!" exclaimed the Laird, 
 with a sigh of resignation, and taking a pinch 
 of snuff, but not in the least abashed; "aweel, 
 aweel, gang your ain gate, Jeamie lad; but 
 yell travel a day and a nicht afore ye find a 
 hame like the ane you're flinging frae ye." 
 
 "For what you have done. Laird, you have
 
 AT THE PORT. 43 
 
 my thanks," answered Jeamie frankly; "for 
 what you might have done — well, I had no 
 right to expect it." 
 
 And he broke away, the exclamation, "Od, 
 it's extro'rdinar," reaching his ears as he 
 closed the door. 
 
 Next to the byre where the lasses w^ere 
 milking, and then to the stable where the 
 lads had just come in from the fields and 
 were "sorting" their horses for the night. 
 Lasses and lads were astounded and grieved 
 too; for he had been a kindly taskmaster and 
 a true friend to them all. They gave him 
 a hearty good speed when, after shaking 
 hands with the men and — yes, though his 
 heart was full of Jeanie — kissing the lasses, 
 he hurried down the road. All the good 
 qualities he had possessed, and a few he had 
 not possessed, were canvassed regretfully that 
 night in the bothy and the cots. 
 
 By ten o'clock he was at the Port again, 
 and as he was making his way to the brig.
 
 44 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 guided by lier lights, liis arm was suddenly 
 grasped by somebody who darted upon him 
 from the darkness. 
 
 "Holloa, who's that?" 
 
 "Deed an it's just me, Girzie Todd," was 
 the answer in the brisk tones of the fishwife; 
 "an' here hae I been waiting a whale hour 
 this mirk nicht expeckin' ye." 
 
 "Waiting for me! — Why, Girzie?" 
 
 Her hand tightened upon his arm as if she 
 were labouring with some strong emotion. 
 
 "Adam Lindsay tauld me ye were to sail 
 in the Colin." 
 
 "And so I am. I'm going on board now, 
 as she sails to-night. What then?" 
 
 "I wanted to warn ye no to gang with 
 Ivan Carrach," she said, drawing him close 
 to her, and speaking in his ear with a strange 
 earnestness. 
 
 "And why not, for Guid's sake?" 
 
 He was almost inclined to laugh at her 
 singular conduct.
 
 AT THE POET. 45 
 
 "Yell maybe think it's just an aulcl wife's 
 clavers," she answered in the same serious 
 tone, "but tak' tent; ye want to come back 
 an' marry Jeanie, an' ye'll never come back 
 if ye gang in that boat." 
 
 "Toots, Girzie, why should I not go in the 
 Colin as well as any other?" 
 
 "Because the Colin' s doomed!" 
 
 Falcon was not sure whether to laugh out- 
 right or take alarm. Her words were serious, 
 her manner impressive, but he could not 
 throw up his duty for mere words, which 
 might or might not be spoken in jest. 
 
 "How do you happen to ken a' this?" he 
 asked. 
 
 She seemed to divine the incredulence 
 with which her warning had been received, 
 and she flung his arm from her. 
 
 "I canna tell ye ony mair, an' I winna," 
 she answered sharply, drawing her short 
 cloak around her; "if it hadna been for 
 Jeanie's sake, I would na hae said as muckle.
 
 46 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 But gang ye i' the Colin, an' ye'll never be 
 guidman tae Jeanie Lindsay." 
 
 "If any danger threatens the brig that's all 
 the more reason why I should be aboard, for 
 if I can save her it'll maybe repay some of 
 the debt I owe Clashgirn." 
 
 Girzie uttered a low contemptuous laugh. 
 
 "Hae your way; I hae dune a' I can to 
 save ye." 
 
 "Good-bye, Girzie; I'll come back to 
 Jeanie, tell her, whatever befa' the Colin." 
 
 There was no answer. Girzie had moved 
 away before he had finished speaking, and in 
 the darkness had disappeared immediately. 
 
 There was a general bustle and flitting of 
 lights on board when Falcon stepped on the 
 deck. He was set to work at once, and the 
 excitement soon drove Girzie's words out of 
 his mind. 
 
 There was a stifl" breeze in their favour, 
 and the brig was soon out of port. 
 
 "Heave ahead, lads," shouted Carrach
 
 AT THE POET. 47 
 
 hoarsely, "and tarn ta Friday — weVe cheated 
 her this time." 
 
 So they had, for as the sails were filling 
 to the breeze they heard faintly on the waters 
 the bell of the Portlappoch steeple tolling 
 midnight.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FOREBODINGS. 
 
 ■ The gloomy night is gathering fast, 
 Loud roars the wild inconstant blast. 
 
 Yon murky cloud is fotd with rain, 
 I see it driving o'er the plain." — Bums. 
 
 Since early morning the clouds in dense 
 gray masses had been shifting restlessly. 
 Heavy showers had descended at intervals, 
 sweeping the streets of the town, and drench- 
 ing the crowds of farmers and their wives — 
 the latter having skirts carefully tucked up 
 — soaking the groups of grain merchants, 
 farm servants, cattle-dealers, drovers, and the 
 miscellaneous characters with barrowfuls of 
 "sweeties" who usually assembled on the 
 market day. 
 
 Business was dull as the day except at the 
 inns, which were reekino^ with the fumes of
 
 FOREBODINGS. 49 
 
 toddy and tlie steam off tlie wet garments of 
 the customers. Knots of men stood under 
 the shelter of sheds and doorways chaffering, 
 and the cattle stood dripping in the market- 
 place. Men and cattle were "drookit" and 
 uncomfortable. So the necessary business of 
 the day was hurried over, and all who could 
 manage it started early for home. 
 
 Fishermen's wives cast anxious glances 
 toward the glistening sea, which, as if in 
 sympathy with the clouds, rolled and tossed 
 hungrily, heaving up white spiteful foam on 
 the beach and against the stone walls of the 
 quay. 
 
 Jeanie was one of those who looked often 
 and troublously toward the sea, for Adam 
 had gone out before daybreak in spite of the 
 threatening storm. Her mother too seemed 
 to be unusually affected by the weather, for 
 she had one of her "bad turns" in the 
 morning, and she was very weak. 
 
 Frequently she had asked Jeanie if there 
 
 4
 
 50 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 were any signs of her father returning, and 
 Jeanie had ran round to the end of the house 
 to peer across the broad turbulent water. 
 But it was only to go back to her mother 
 with the unsatisfactory tidings that although 
 she saw several boats putting in for the 
 shore, she could not distinguish her father's 
 amongst them. 
 
 As the afternoon advanced, the clouds 
 darkened, and a white rainy mist lowered 
 upon the water, so that she could see nothing 
 beyond the beach. Her mother's uneasiness 
 disturbed her — filled her with strange fears. 
 Her father had been out in many a storm, 
 but she had never experienced such anxiety 
 as on this day. 
 
 Somehow she seemed to have lost courage 
 during the few weeks which had elapsed since 
 James Falcon's departure. At any rate, she 
 was more easily alarmed than formerly at 
 the thought of storms and wrecks. The great 
 rolling ocean seemed to her more callous,
 
 FOREBODINGS. 51 
 
 more resistless, and bigger than it had ever 
 seemed previously. That new meaning which 
 she had obtained from the ceaseless murmur 
 of the waters while standing at the door with 
 Falcon on the evening of his departure was 
 broadening out into new thoughts, new hopes, 
 and fears. 
 
 "Nae sight o' him yet, Jeanie?" queried 
 her mother again, when she saw her lighting 
 the candle and placing it in the window to 
 serve as a feeble beacon to the absent one. 
 
 "He'll be hame the noo, mither," w^as 
 Jeanie's answer, in a tone that she tried to 
 render cheerful; "that is, if he be na to bide 
 ower at the Mull a' nicht.'' 
 
 "Aye, he used to dae that whiles langsyne 
 when it was ower rough to cross," muttered 
 Mrs. Lindsay in the tone of one who tries 
 feebly to unseat a conviction which is obtain- 
 ing a firm place in her mind. 
 
 The thunder of wind and waves rendered 
 the voices of the women scarcely audible to 
 
 UMlVihStTY OF ILLlNOh 
 UBRARV
 
 52 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 eacli other, and a knock at the door had to 
 be repeated two or three times before Jeanie 
 observed it. Then her eyes opened wide, and 
 she glanced nervously toward her mother to 
 see if she had heard the summons. 
 
 She had heard it, and her sad shrunken 
 face wore the expression of one who listens 
 intently for the confirmation of some terror. 
 
 "There's somebody chappin," Jeanie said, 
 with assumed indifference, as she proceeded 
 to answer the knock. 
 
 A fierce gust of wind blew out the candle 
 the moment she opened the door, so that she 
 could not see who was standing without. 
 
 *'Wha's that?" she asked, and her voice 
 trembled with vague fears in spite of the 
 assurance she had tried to force upon herself 
 that this was some one who had missed the 
 road in the darkness, and, seeing the light in 
 the cottage, had stopped to inquire the way. 
 
 "It's me, Jeanie," was the response in a 
 kindly tone. "I want to come ben, an' I'm
 
 FOREBODIXGS. 53 
 
 trying to fasten the bridle o' the powny to 
 the bush here." 
 
 She knew the voice, although there was a 
 strange tone in it to-night — a tone which 
 suddenly gave shape to all those vague fears 
 she had been haunted by. She hastily closed 
 the door of her mother's room, retreated to 
 the kitchen, and lit the candle at the fire. 
 When she turned round the man was stand- 
 ing beside her. 
 
 He was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular 
 man, dressed in garments of rough home-spun 
 tweed, and with an enormous gray plaid 
 drawn tightly across his breast and shoulders. 
 His clothes were soaked with the rain, and 
 as he removed his broad-brimmed bonnet to 
 shake the water from it, a massive head, with 
 thick iron-gray han^ and clear high brow, were 
 revealed. His features were plain, but the 
 light of his deep-set blue eyes was indicative, 
 on close observation, of a strong will under- 
 lying a warm genial nature.
 
 54 EOBIN GRAY. 
 
 He was, in brief, one of those honest com- 
 mon-place farmer-like bodies whom you would 
 meet a dozen times before you became con- 
 scious of anything more than that he pos- 
 sessed a loud friendly voice, a hearty smile 
 and considerable muscular development. He 
 was in age over fifty years, but his ha]e 
 healthy appearance would have suggested 
 that he was scarcely more than forty. 
 
 The moment Jeanie saw his face she knew 
 that there was somethino^ wrono^, and her own 
 became white, for the wind was soughing 
 wildly round the house. 
 
 Usually his greeting was loud and hearty, 
 and his eyes sparkled with good humour. 
 But now he wore a wistful doubting expres- 
 sion in Avhich pity and respect were mingled, 
 Besides, he occupied an unnecessary length 
 of time in shaking his bonnet and uttering 
 fitful ejaculations about the storm and the 
 darkness. 
 
 She noted these things and waited for him
 
 FOREBODINGS. 55 
 
 to speak, but wlien she saw tliat his eyes 
 could not meet liers steadily, she passed 
 quickly to the door without a word. 
 
 She peered down the road and distinguished 
 two lights flickering feebly through the mist 
 and moving toward her; and she experienced 
 a sickening sensation, while the pale lights 
 suddenly began to dance before her fantasti- 
 cally. 
 
 The man had followed her, and his hand 
 was now laid quietly on her arm drawing her 
 from the door. She looked up at him with 
 a white still face, and she was shivering as 
 with intense cold. 
 
 "Ye needna speak. Mister Gray," she whis- 
 pered, glancing affrightedly toward the room 
 in which her mother lay listening. "I ken 
 a'. My faither's drooned." 
 
 "No, no, Jeanie," he interrupted huskily, 
 "it's no sae bad as a' that." 
 
 She gripped his arm quickly, gazing at 
 him beseechingly, as if she thought that with
 
 5Q ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 kindly intent lie might be trying to hide tlie 
 truth. 
 
 "What are the folk bringing here, then?" 
 "Your faither ; but there's no muckle wrang 
 wi' him. He was landin' safe an' sound frae 
 his boat when a muckle wave gied her a wal- 
 lop in the stern, and wi' the lurch she gied 
 your faither tumbled down and hurt himseF 
 a wee. But it's naething particular, the doctor 
 says — a broken arm at the warst." 
 "Are ye — are ye sure it's nae waur?" 
 " Sure as that I'm here telling o't. I was 
 about taking my way hame frae market when 
 I heard that Adam had got himsel' hurt, and 
 I gaed doon to see what was wrang. Syne, 
 after the doctor had sorted him up a wee, we 
 got Girzie Todd's cuddy-cart to bring him 
 hame, and I thocht I would ride on afore the 
 lave, sae that ye might be kind o' prepared 
 to see him carried in. He's weakly wi' the 
 sair faucht he had to cross frae the Mull, and 
 nae wonder, sae that he looks waur nor he is,
 
 FOREBODIXGS. 57 
 
 and is a wee thing insensible. But that's a', 
 ye may be sure." 
 
 "Thank ye, Mister Gray/^ she said, with a 
 big sob of relief, while the tears sprung to 
 her eyes. "I'll gang but and tell mither afore 
 the folk come up." 
 
 Mrs. Lindsay, with a strength that seemed 
 unnatural in one stricken as she was, had 
 raised herself on her elbow and was staring 
 fixedly at the door. 
 
 "What's wrang wi' your faither?" she asked 
 feebly as her daughter appeared. 
 
 "Ye needna be frichted, mither, he's just 
 got himsel' hurt; but Mister Gray, wha's 
 ben the house, says it's naething particular." 
 
 And she briefly repeated his explanation 
 of the event. 
 
 " The Lord's will be dune," exclaimed the 
 mother meekly, and sinking back on her 
 pillows. 
 
 If Jeanie had told her that he was dead 
 she Yv^ould probably have subsided in the same
 
 58 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 placid manner witli the same ejaculation. 
 Not that she was in any way indifferent to 
 him; but simply because her existence for 
 years past had been one of submission to a 
 severe dispensation, and she had learned to 
 accej)t all the good and ill of the life in which 
 she could take no active part with the one 
 salutation, "His will be done." 
 
 Girzie Todd made her appearance with a 
 lantern in one hand, and in the other Adam's 
 jacket, which had been taken off at the 
 doctor's, and which Girzie had carefully 
 brought home. 
 
 " Guid e'en to ye, Meg Lindsay," she said 
 in her abrupt way, and throwing the jacket 
 on a chair. "Here's your man brak his arm; 
 but dinna ye fash about it, for that winna 
 mend it." 
 
 " It's the Lord's will, an' I bow my 
 head." 
 
 " Ay, weel, that's a' that can be expeckit 
 frae ye. But ye can do something mair,
 
 FOREBODINGS. 59 
 
 Jeanie, sae come awa an' let's see whar to 
 put him." 
 
 She spoke in the same quick business-like 
 manner in which she would have clone if she 
 had been delivering a load of fish. Mrs. 
 Lindsay shuddered slightly, not at the dry 
 tone, but at the, to her, implied profanity of 
 Girzie's remark to Jeanie. She had her 
 doubts about Girzie's spiritual welfare, and 
 indeed the woman was not altogether so 
 regular in her attendance at the kirk as she 
 ought to have been. Many a reprimand she 
 had received from the minister in consequence, 
 but it seemed to have little or no effect upon 
 her. 
 
 She bustled out now with Jeanie, and they 
 found the cart drawn close up to the door. 
 One man was holding up a lantern, whilst 
 Gray and another were gently lifting Adam 
 from the bundles of straw on which he had 
 been laid. They carried him into the kitchen 
 and placed him on his daughter s bed. He
 
 60 ROBIN GRAY, 
 
 had recovered consciousness, and was groan- 
 ing witli pain. 
 
 Girzie, in her sharp energetic way, turned 
 the men out of the house, and then, with 
 Jeanie's help, she made the injured man as 
 comfortable as possible under the circum- 
 stances. When she had given him a dose of 
 the mixture the doctor had sent, and given 
 Jeanie all the doctor's instructions as to what 
 she was to do for the patient, with a few of 
 her own directions, she prepared to leave. 
 
 " That's a' we can dae for him enoo, and 
 ye maun just bear up. I'll see how ye're 
 getting on the morn or neist day.'^ 
 
 She was moving to the door, and Jeanie 
 was tearfully trying to thank her. 
 
 But Girzie did not seem to care about 
 thanks, for in response she only muttered a 
 dry, "Oo ay, that's a' riclit," and proceeded to 
 turn her patient cuddy's head to the road. 
 When she had done that, she came suddenly 
 back to Jeanie and held up the lantern so
 
 FOREBODINGS. 61 
 
 that the light shone full upon the girl's 
 face. 
 
 "Ye hae na heard aucht o' Jeames Falcon 
 yet?" she asked. 
 
 Falcon had never been so far from Jeanie's 
 thoucfhts as in that moment of her distress 
 about her father, and the abruptness with 
 which she was brought back to that all im- 
 portant subject, whilst the high wind was 
 fluttering her garments about her, and the 
 loud waves were booming in her ears their 
 dark warnings from the sea, gave her some- 
 thing like a shock, and her countenance 
 changed from the expression of subdued 
 sorrow to one of quick alarm. 
 
 "No yet— hae ye?" 
 
 Girzie's features gave a queer twist, as if 
 moved by some feeling of which pity and 
 rage formed equal parts, the one preventing 
 the other from predominating, and so pre- 
 senting an anomalous expression. 
 
 " Na ; I ken nae mair than that the Colin
 
 62 ROBIN ORAY. 
 
 hasna been heard o' since she sailed. But 
 ye'U hae news sune enough, I doubtna. 
 Guid nicht. Ye'd as weel send Eobin Gray 
 hame to Cairnieford noo, for it's gey an' late 
 for a bachelor chiel' to be wi' ye, though he 
 be an auld ane." 
 
 " Cairnieford ! — he gaed awa a while 
 syne/' 
 
 ''Na; for there's his powny tied to the buss 
 at the end o' the house, though it's ower dark 
 for ye to see. Guid nicht. Come awa, 
 Dawnie, and mind your futting." 
 
 Dawnie was the cuddy's name, and Girzie 
 led him away, walking at his head holding 
 the lantern toward the earth for him to see, 
 and talking to him as if he had been a human 
 friend. 
 
 Girzie's light soon disappeared in the dark- 
 ness, and Jeanie, who had been standing in 
 a sort of dull reverie watching it, started, 
 drawing her hand across her eyes in the 
 manner of one awakening from a doze.
 
 FOREBODINGS. 63 
 
 "I dinna ken what's come ower me the 
 nicht," she said, staring blankly at the dark- 
 ness, "but I just feel as I used to do when I 
 was a wee wean and was frichted to gano^ to 
 the byre after dark for fear o' ghaists. Gir- 
 zie\s a queer creatur', but she couldna mean 
 ony thing by what she said." 
 
 As if to conquer her childish fear, she went 
 to the end of the house, and found Eobin 
 Grays pony there, as Girzie had told her. 
 She suspected at once where the owner might 
 be found; and her suspicion was confirmed 
 on entering the house, for she heard the 
 farmer of Cairn ieford's genial voice speaking 
 to her mother. 
 
 He did not stay long after he learned that 
 Adam had fallen asleep. He spoke a few 
 cheery words to the meek mother, and in the 
 narrow little passage at the door he pressed 
 Jeanie's arm warmly — shaking hands was not 
 a general custom amongst these folks. But 
 Eobin just took her arm as he was about to
 
 64 ROBIN QUAY. 
 
 pass out, and witli an awkwardness that was 
 very unusual for him, said — 
 
 " Jeanie, lass, I want ye to promise me ae 
 thing." 
 
 ^' What is it, Mister Gray?" 
 
 " That if ye should want for ony thing, and 
 it's mair nor likely you will, seeing how your 
 faither's laid up, and your mither's hardly able 
 to spin a wee at orra times, that ye'U send 
 for't to Cairnieford, or at ony rate let me ken." 
 
 She did not know why; but somehow she 
 hesitated to give the promise his kindness 
 solicited; and although they did not seem to 
 have the slightest association with the matter, 
 Girzie Todd's words recurred to her, and with 
 them came thoughts of Jeamie and the CoUji, 
 
 "I dinna like to be fashin' ye, Mister 
 Gray " 
 
 "Fashin'l Ye maunna say that again, 
 Jeanie, unless ye want me never to come 
 here ony mair." 
 
 " Be it as you will then, Mister Gray."
 
 FOREBODINGS. 65 
 
 "That's riclit. But what gars ye ay ca' 
 me Mister Gray noo ? ye clidna use to do 
 that when ye were a wee lassie, and I used 
 to bring ye sweeties and whiles gie ye a ride 
 on my powny. Od, it sounds queer in my 
 lugs, when naebody ever ca's me ought but 
 Cairnieford or Eobin Gray. I'm thinking, 
 Jeanie, ye're getting unco fine in your ways." 
 
 And he smiled good-naturedly as he bade 
 her good night, as if he were not altogether 
 displeased to discover that she was different 
 from other lasses, even in such a small matter 
 as a form of address.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FAEMEE OF CAIRNIEFORD. 
 
 " There's auld Rob Morris that wons in j'on glen, 
 He's the king o' guid fellows and wale o' auld men : 
 He has gowd in his coffers, and owsen and kine. 
 And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine." — Burns. 
 
 But the respectful distance Jeanie preserved 
 in speaking to liim was not so much on ac- 
 count of any idea of the politeness due from 
 a poor fisherman's daughter to a well-to-do 
 farmer like him of Cairnieford, as on account 
 of a certain shyness with which his own con- 
 duct had inspired her. 
 
 Robin Gray was not a man to hide any of 
 the sentiments of his nature. If he liked a 
 person he showed it, and if he disliked any- 
 body he showed it quite as freely. For in- 
 stance, he disliked the Laird of Clashgirn, 
 and although McWhapple was the proprietor
 
 THE FARMER OF CAIRNIEFORD. 67 
 
 of the lands Eobin farmed, he had shown his 
 contempt for him in various disagreeable 
 ways. But Eobin was the best farmer in the 
 country, he had a well-stocked steading, and 
 his rent was always ready at twelve o'clock 
 on the term day. So the Laird lifted his rent, 
 and whatever he might have felt or thought 
 he said nothing. 
 
 On the other hand, Eobin was fond of 
 Jeanie. He had watched her growing up 
 from a healthy bairn to a bonnie thrifty 
 woman, and he had said to himself one day 
 she would make a good wife to some honest 
 chield. By what process of reasoning he 
 arrived at the idea that he himself might be 
 that honest chield, it is not easy to explain. 
 
 Usually such conclusions are obtained at a 
 leap in defiance of logic — the reasoning, if it 
 come at all, coming afterward, when it must 
 perforce arrive at the result previously fixed 
 upon. At any rate Eobin got it into his 
 head that he would dearly like Jeanie to
 
 68 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 become mistress of Cairnieforcl. He liad a 
 "bein" house, he was not altogether an evil- 
 disposed person, and although his years cer- 
 tainly did remove him from the category of 
 youthful suitors — he being about thirty years 
 her senior — still he was a hale hearty fellow, 
 likely to last for thirty years more, and then 
 he would be able to leave her well provided 
 for. 
 
 Eobin became conscious that there were 
 a great many gray hairs in his head and 
 amongst his whiskers. He had never till 
 then realized the fact that he was growing 
 old; and that fact, although it was not suffi- 
 ciently powerful to make him forego his new 
 desire, delayed the declaration which other- 
 wise he would have made at once. 
 
 Every time he saw Jeanie he became more 
 and more painfully sensible of the disparity 
 of their }'cars; more and more sensible of the 
 ridicule which the folk would be apt to cast 
 upon the "auld man and his young dearie."
 
 THE FARMER OF CAIRXIEFORD. 69 
 
 He hesitated, and whilst lie hesitated the 
 passion of the man's heart was gaining that 
 strength of love which makes a Hercules of 
 a pigmy; that strength which overrides all 
 other feelings, hopes, and aims, and blinds 
 the lover to all consequences of good or ill. 
 
 He had not spoken of this to Jeanie or her 
 parents, and he did not fancy that it was 
 suspected by them. But the good dame had 
 more than once thought to herself that her 
 dauo'hter mioht be mistress of Cairnieford if 
 she liked, and that she might be couthie and 
 comfortable there. 
 
 As for Jeanie, she noticed certain queer 
 wistful looks with which Eobin had lately 
 reo^arded her, and althoug-h she was in no 
 way vain, she suspected theii; meaning with 
 intuitive delicacy. She tried by increased 
 respect and distance in speaking to him to 
 let him understand that any hopes he might 
 have of winnino' her could never be realized. 
 That was why she called him "mister," and
 
 70 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 that was why she was almost afraid to accept 
 any favour from him. 
 
 Eobin did not comprehend this, and as his 
 passion became stronger, and the difficulties 
 in the way became consequently less in his 
 eyes, the probability is that he would have 
 spoken several weeks before Adam Lindsay's 
 accident, had not James Falcon, two days 
 previous to his conversation with the Laird, 
 told Kobin Gray that he was to marry 
 Jeanie. 
 
 Falcon was puzzled by the quick way in 
 which Eobin asked him if the lassie had 
 agreed; and then huskily wished him joy, 
 and suddenly left him. 
 
 The farmer had gone home that day with 
 a bowed head, a position in which nobody 
 had seen him since his mother's burial, twenty 
 years ago nearly. He took a good deal of 
 toddy that night, and he got up next morn- 
 ing with a headache. 
 
 He went about the farm all day in such a
 
 THE FARMER OF CAIRNIEFORD. 71 
 
 queer state that all his servants noticed that 
 there was "something wrang wi' the maister." 
 He was little better on the day following, 
 and his housekeeper asked him if there was 
 anything the matter. From that moment 
 he got better, so far as outward appearance 
 could indicate. 
 
 He had brought all the strength of a really 
 strong and generous nature to bear upon the 
 subject, and he had said to himself — 
 
 " Gif I can jist help to make her happy 
 that'll be enough for me. If I can jist feel 
 that I hae dune something to make her life 
 smoother than it micht be without my help, 
 an' I can see her noo and again smilin' and 
 prosperous, that will satisfy me. Sae I'll help 
 James Falcon to stock his farm, an' do what 
 I can to prosper him, in spite o' that auld 
 beggar the Laird." 
 
 When he had reached that kindly resolu- 
 tion, he was more at ease within himself, and 
 the darkness which he had felt closing upon
 
 72 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 liim when the hope that had grown so strong 
 was crushed, begun to lighten. 
 
 But Falcon did not get the farm, and before 
 Kobin had another opportunity of seeing him 
 and offering that assistance which might 
 have altered his whole plans, he was away in 
 the Colin with Ivan Carrach. 
 
 When Eobin heard the news — and Adam 
 Lindsay was his informant — he was amazed 
 and puzzled. But his determination did not 
 swerve. He had no thought of taking advan- 
 tage of his rival's absence. Plain and straight- 
 forward in act and thought, Falcon's absence 
 or presence made no difference to him once 
 Jeanie had given her word to become his 
 wife. 
 
 He would wait till Falcon came back, and 
 then he would set the young folk up; for 
 James was an honest lad, and likely to do 
 well. Meanw^hile he could watch over Jeanie, 
 and see her sometimes, and comfort her when 
 she was in trouble. That was all the pleasure
 
 THE FARMER OF CAIRXIEFORD. 16 
 
 lie could hope for now, and he tried to be 
 satisfied with it. 
 
 Never a word, never a hint of that old 
 yearning which hs was trying so bravely to 
 bury in his heart, escaped him. He knew 
 that Adam and his wife were friendly toward 
 him, and that if he were only to speak, they 
 would willingly use their influence with their 
 daughter to persuade her to break off with 
 Falcon; but Robin could not see how that 
 would further her happiness, which was his 
 chief object. Besides, he had a sturdy pride 
 which would not permit him to rob another 
 man of his promised wife, even if the lass 
 were ready to be a party to the robbery, 
 which she certainly would not be in the pre- 
 sent case. He knew too that he had a suffi- 
 ciently jealous disposition to make himself 
 and his wife miserable, if he suspected that 
 another lived who had a gTeater share in her 
 thoughts than himself. 
 
 So he set himself sturdily to the task before
 
 74 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 liim; to make the most pleasure lie could out of 
 Ills wrecked hope and to further her happiness. 
 
 But Jeanie had only divined the nature of 
 the passion with which he regarded her; she 
 knew nothing of the sharp pangs with which 
 he had first heard of her betrothal to Falcon; 
 of the agony he had undergone, and the 
 brave manhood which had lifted him above 
 the meaner issues of human nature under 
 such circumstances; and, consequently, she 
 misinterpreted almost everything he said and 
 did. On that account, when she gave her 
 jDromise to apply to him whenever she might 
 need help, she had no intention of troubling 
 him unless dire necessity compelled her. 
 
 That dire necessity arrived much sooner 
 than might have been expected. The morn- 
 ing after the storm was misty and unsettled; 
 and although the wind had abated, the sea 
 was still moving restlessly, and murmuring a 
 doleful requiem over the mischief of the pre- 
 vious night.
 
 THE FARMER OF CAIRN lEFORD. 75 
 
 Jeanie had been attending to her father all 
 night, only obtaining an occasional nap on 
 one of the ^YOoden chairs which she had 
 drawn close to the bed. 
 
 Adam was awake by daylight. He was 
 feverish and thirsty; and Jeanie thought that 
 the best thing for him would be a coggieful 
 of new milk. 
 
 She went out to the byre^ which was a thin 
 shed of wood. She was not surprised to see 
 that the storm had used it roughly. The 
 door had been wrenched from its hinges, and 
 lay broken upon the ground. But when she 
 entered and found that crummie was gone, 
 she stared about her, wondering where the 
 cow could have got to. Crummie was a staid 
 beast, and one not likely to break from her 
 fastenings. 
 
 "The tether's got loose some way, and 
 seeing the door open, she's gaen out to the 
 grass," was Jeanie's thought. 
 
 She looked for the cow up and down the
 
 76 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 road, but could not see her; and tlien she was 
 afflicted with the thought that crummie had 
 got into the water somehow, and been drowned. 
 She ran down to the beach, but could not 
 find any hoof marks. She ran back again to 
 the byre; and again to the road. This time 
 she observed on a soft piece of ground beside 
 the long stalks of kale, some of which had 
 been trampled down, the marks of crummie's 
 hoofs leading to the road. What was most 
 remarkable, she also observed here the im- 
 press of a man's feet. It was not until then 
 that the idea of robbery entered her head, 
 and it puzzled her greatly when it did. Hens 
 had been stolen often by the tinkler gipsies 
 who had been in the town on market-day; 
 but to steal a whole cow, which could neither 
 have its neck thrawn nor be hidden in an 
 auld pock as a chuckle could, was a degree of 
 audacity that she could only associate w^ith 
 the regular reivers, whose deeds she had been 
 made acquainted with by old wives' gossip.
 
 THE FARMER OF CAIRNIEFORD. 77 
 
 Stupifiecl by this apparent loss, and not 
 knowing liow to act, slie re-entered the house. 
 Adam was groaning and grumbling miser- 
 ably. Jeanie made him a drink with some 
 oatmeal, and he asked for milk. She was 
 obliged to tell him at once that she believed 
 crummie had been taken away. 
 
 "Ta'en awa!" gToaned Adam, looking as 
 angrily at his daughter as if she had been an 
 accomplice in the theft; "ta'en awa! — how 
 could ony body take her awa? — she was na a 
 wee thing to be jammed in a tinkler's pouch." 
 
 " Na, faither, but they hae jist gart her 
 walk awa; and the storm was blawing sae loud 
 that I heard nae disturbance." 
 
 "The cow ta'en awa!" gasped the wounded 
 man, writhing with pain: "it's no possible." 
 
 " May be sae, faither. I hope sae, and as 
 soon as I hae made your breakfast I'll gang 
 out and look again." 
 
 But although she looked again and again, 
 it was without any better result. Adam
 
 78 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 groaned and grumbled; bewailing the ruin 
 that was falling upon him in bis old age with 
 a savage bitterness. Mrs. Lindsay was in a 
 state of dumb consternation for a while, and 
 when Jeanie managed to draw her into the 
 kitchen on the big chair, she endeavoured to 
 soothe her husband by telling him meekly it 
 was the Lord's will. 
 
 Adam admitted that, but he only grumbled 
 louder the more she tried to soothe him; and 
 when Robin Gray arrived, he found Jeanie 
 excited and troubled beyond measure. 
 
 He took the matter in hand at once. He 
 consoled the guidwife with the help of a 
 basket he had brought containing a lump of 
 ham, a lot of eggs, and a bottle of real French 
 brandy. He consoled Adam by telling him 
 that he would find the cow or catch the thief. 
 
 " An' he'll be hanged," cried Adam, with a 
 tone of satisfaction in spite of his pain: "an 
 serve him weel for robbin' a puir man like 
 me."
 
 THE FARMER OF CAIRXIEFORD. 79 
 
 Jeanie's excitement was certainly subdued, 
 but lier face was sad and weariful when she 
 thanked Eobin for all he had done. 
 
 "Whisht je, lass," he said cheerfully. "Ye 
 maunna speak o' that, and ye maunna be so 
 downcast. Losh, it's roused your faither and 
 done him a warld o' guid. He'll be out o' 
 his bed in a day or twa. I'll gang down to 
 Geordie Armstrong- and set him after crum- 
 mie." 
 
 Eobin proceeded at once to the watchman, 
 Geordie Armstrong, who was an old pensioner, 
 and who represented in his own person the 
 chief constable and entire force of the district, 
 and was not a little proud of his position. 
 
 He took the matter up gravely, examined 
 the premises with much precision, and then 
 leisurely proceeded to seek the thief But 
 nobody was at all surprised that he discovered 
 neither cow nor thief 
 
 Adam was not able to leave his bed in a 
 couple of days, as Eobin had hopefully pre-
 
 80 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 dieted; and the doctor said it would probably 
 be months before he could use his arm again, 
 and was doubtful if it would ever be quite 
 right, seeing that such injuries are slow to 
 heal in an old man. 
 
 Misfortune was falling fast and heavy upon 
 the fisherman's house; and Jeanie shrunk from 
 telling Eobin the real state of affairs. Bad 
 as he knew them to be, he did not know that 
 she was killing the hens day by day to supply 
 her parents with food, and that she was look- 
 ing with terrible anxiety to a day that was 
 close at hand, when she would have no means 
 left of obtaining for them bare subsistence. 
 
 Only those who have felt what hunger is, 
 who have experienced the bitter shame of 
 utter poverty, can understand the agony the 
 poor girl was suffering while she tended 
 mother and father, striving to hide her own 
 misery to lighten theirs.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FOES IX THE DARK. 
 
 When lightning parts the thunder cloud 
 
 That blackens all the sea, 
 And tempests sough through sail and shroud, 
 
 E'en then I'll think on thee."— Professar Wilson. 
 
 James Falcon set himself bravely to the 
 work in hand. The prize he had to win was 
 for Jeanie; and for her sake there was no 
 labour too great, no difficulty so huge, that 
 he would not master it. He had said that 
 the thought of her would give him strength; 
 and it had been no idle utterance of passion ; 
 for he accomplished the work of two men on 
 board the brig. 
 
 He wanted money, and he set himself with 
 a fierce earnestness to gain it. Not that the 
 money had any share in his thoughts on its 
 own account; he thought only of the bright 
 home it was to provide for him and Jeanie. 
 
 6
 
 82 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 Ivan Carracli, with his great protruding 
 calf's eyes, watclied his new hand with a 
 stolid stare. He found that instead of hav- 
 ing to put him through an apprenticeship, 
 Falcon was not only as thoroughly acquainted 
 with a sailor's duty as any of the men on 
 board, but had also some knowledge of navi- 
 gation, as was apparent before two days had 
 elapsed. 
 
 Whether the skipper was pleased or the 
 reverse by this discovery it was impossible 
 to guess, for his sodden features in their bush 
 of red hair were as expressionless as a cow's. 
 He spoke little, but he drank much. That, 
 however, seemed to have no effect upon him, 
 except to make his eyes roll more. The 
 drink, which would have made a man of 
 ordinary constitution incapable of standing 
 or speaking, seemed to drop to Carrach's feet, 
 and render them heavier and steadier than 
 usual. 
 
 Hutcheson, the mate, told Falcon that
 
 FOES IN THE DARK. 83 
 
 " the skipper was aj soberest when he was 
 drunkest." 
 
 The truth of this paradox was illustrated 
 in many ways; and whenever he had been 
 drinking hardest, Carrach always exhibited 
 the greatest care for the brig, and insisted 
 most upon every man doing his duty. At 
 such times he would make a tour of inspec- 
 tion, and wherever he found anything wrong 
 or anything undone, the men were rated with 
 a volley of oaths. 
 
 "Yor're a set o' lazy Hielan brutes — Pe- 
 tam," was his usual peroration, apparently 
 Cjuite oblivious of his own nativity. 
 
 The hands on board numbered seven — 
 the mate. Falcon, four other men, and a boy. 
 Falcon observed that notwithstanding the 
 skipper's eccentric ways, the men seemed to 
 like him. 
 
 He observed too, and Avith some chagrin, 
 that the men had taken a dislike to himself, 
 for what reason he could not imagine. From
 
 84 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 the first hour that he had joined them he had 
 been frank and friendly with them, as it was 
 his nature to be with whoever he might be 
 brought into contact. Yet they had not 
 taken kindly to him from the first, and he 
 soon became oppressed with the conviction 
 that his comrades regarded him with suspi- 
 cion and distrust, as if they fancied that he 
 had come amongst them with no good in- 
 tent. 
 
 On the fifth day out, and whilst a heavy 
 fog was gathering around them, he reviewed 
 his conduct, but he failed to discover any- 
 thing in it which could promote ill-will 
 amongst the men, unless they had taken a 
 grudge against him for being so ready to 
 take the place of the man who had refused 
 to sail on the Friday. 
 
 That was the only ground upon which they 
 could have founded their ill-humour, so far 
 as he was able to make out. It seemed a 
 poor ground for spite, seeing that even if the
 
 FOES IN THE DARK. 85 
 
 man had sailed, Falcon would still have been 
 with them. That there was spite he could 
 not doubt, for it was displayed in many ways. 
 The men seemed to shrink from him. If 
 they were talking together, and he approached, 
 the conversation instantly ceased, and the 
 men who been laughing the moment before 
 at some jest, moved away to their respective 
 posts with sullen faces. 
 
 The mate, Hutcheson, was the only one 
 who was at all friendly with him, and even 
 he was frequently dry and reserved in speak- 
 ing to him. It was a puzzle, and trying to 
 solve it Girzie Todd's singular warninor re- 
 
 o o 
 
 curred to him. But that only made the 
 puzzle appear the more intricate. So he 
 spoke 'to the mate. 
 
 "What's wrang wi' the lads, Hutcheson; 
 they seem to look on me as a kind of merman 
 that had brought mischief aboard?" 
 
 "Aye, do they?" answered Hutcheson, as he 
 coiled a rope. "Weel, ye see you're different
 
 86 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 frae them. They feel as though ye werena 
 just ane o' themsel's." 
 
 "What for should they think that? I gie 
 them nae cause." 
 
 "Aye, maybe no; but ye see they ken ye re 
 a frien' o' the owners, and they maybe hae 
 a notion that ye micht clash about ony on- 
 goings that michtna be just according to rule." 
 
 "What! me?" cried Falcon laughing. "Weel, 
 if they only ken'd how little friendship there 
 is atween the Laird and me, and in w^hat 
 way we parted, they would soon get rid of 
 that notion." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear ye say't," answered Hut- 
 cheson, more freely than he had yet spoken; 
 "for even the skipper himsel' was disposed to 
 think ye were here to keep an e'e on a' thing, 
 and himser in particular." 
 
 "Deil tak' him, did he think I would come 
 here as a spy for ony man? Ill set that 
 richt.'' 
 
 Falcon was indignant at the idea of having
 
 FOES IN THE DARK. 87 
 
 been regarded as a spy, and he told the mate 
 his reasons for going to sea, and how he had 
 quarrelled with the Laird. He afterwards 
 spoke to his comrades, and his explanation 
 produced a better understanding between 
 them than there had been since he had joined 
 them. 
 
 He spoke to the skipper later in the day, 
 not quite so frankly, perhaps, as he had done 
 to the mate and the others, for Carrach had 
 not made a favourable impression on him. 
 
 Ivan listened in his stolid way, rolling his 
 eyes all the while, and when he had finished, 
 said gruffly — 
 
 "You'll pe all the petter liked for no peing 
 what we- thocht. Yes, Pe-tam. Hae a 
 drink r 
 
 Falcon declined the horn cup which was 
 tendered to him half full of brandy and water; 
 but he was glad to think that he was likely 
 to have a smooth course with his comrades. 
 The expectation was soon dispelled.
 
 88 BOBIN GRAY. 
 
 The fog had been deepening all afternoon, 
 and Carrach had been keeping pace with the 
 fog in drinking — that is, the blacker the fog 
 grew the more he drank. 
 
 Toward evening, whilst a man named 
 Donald was at the helm, the brig was sud- 
 denly overshadowed by some black mass 
 ahead, much denser than the fog. Falcon 
 sprung aft, and before Donald could utter a 
 word had ported the helm, and as the brig 
 veered from her course she grated along the 
 side of a huge vessel which crawled slowly 
 
 by. 
 
 There was a moment of breathless con- 
 sternation; then wild shouts from those on 
 board the unknown vessel and the hands of 
 the brig. A babble that rose above the lash- 
 ing of waves and the creaking of timbers; and 
 with it a confused rush of feet. 
 
 The danger was over when Carrach got on 
 deck. He swore at everybody, and then he 
 took Falcon aside, and asked him to explain
 
 FOES IN THE DARK. 89 
 
 what had happened. The absurdity of first 
 making a row, and then asking for an explana- 
 tion, did not strike Falcon at the moment, 
 and he briefly told him that being forward he 
 had observed the black shadow; suspected 
 what it was, and, fearing that Donald might 
 not observ^e it until too late on account of the 
 darkness, he had hastened to the helm. 
 
 None of his comrades had heard what he 
 was saying, l^ut they were standing in a group 
 round Donald, casting sullen glances toward 
 Falcon, as if suspecting that he was blaming 
 them. 
 
 Carrach advanced to Donald with his eyes 
 rolling and a string of oaths on his tongue, 
 although his face was stolid as usual. 
 
 "What ta deevil did you'll mean by quitting 
 your helm T he growled. 
 
 "I didna quit the helm," answered Donald, 
 surlily. 
 
 "It's a tam lee, — oich! but you'll tell me 
 that to my face whan here's Falcon, wha
 
 90 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 saved us frae going to smash all together, told 
 me that you was not there." 
 
 "It's a lee he's telling," shouted Donald and 
 his two mates. 
 
 "I never said so," cried Falcon, breaking in 
 indignantly; "and you know it, Carrach. I 
 told you that Donald was at his post, but the 
 fog prevented him from seeing the danger so 
 soon as I did." 
 
 Carrach turned his eyes upon him, not in 
 the slightest degree disturbed by the flat con- 
 tradiction of his falsehood. 
 
 "Did you'll no told me that Donald was 
 awa frae the helm whan you took hold of 
 her?" 
 
 "No," retorted Falcon, as much amazed by 
 the man's placidity as by the apparently 
 objectless lie. 
 
 "Well, all I say is that what you'll told 
 me standing ayont there was not like what 
 you'll told me noo. Come doon stair, Donald; 
 an' hae a spoke wi' me."
 
 FOES IX THE DARK. 91 
 
 "Bide a minute," said Falcon, confronting 
 him, "bide a minute, Ivan Carracli, and 
 hearken to me. Fm no a fool, and I'm no 
 blind. I hae seen that the lads here had 
 some ill-will ag;ainst me. I ken noo wha 
 has made that ill-will, though I cannot tell 
 what for." 
 
 "What is't you'll mean?" demanded Car- 
 rach, his dirty fat hands swinging like two 
 weights by his sides. 
 
 "This is Avhat I mean, mates," addressing 
 the men, although still confronting the mas- 
 ter, "our skipper wants to make ill -blood 
 atween you and me, whatever reason he has 
 for't; but before ye condemn me, mind this 
 — I never said a bad word of ony o' ye, and 
 I never thought of doing so." 
 
 "Did you'll ken what you was doing 
 enow?" queried Ivan, rolling his eyes in the 
 fashion of a cow chewinof a sweet cud. 
 
 "TeUing the truth." 
 
 "Maybe so, but you'll be also making ta
 
 92 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 mutiny on ta liigli seas, and the law says a 
 man Avha'll be make the mutinies shall be 
 hanged — Pe-tam — so shust mind what you're 
 about, my praw lad." 
 
 He pushed by him and rolled down to his 
 cabin, followed by Donald. 
 
 When the latter returned to the deck he 
 regarded Falcon with a sullen growl, as if he 
 had been satisfied of his attempt to defame 
 him. He apparently succeeded in convinc- 
 ing his comrades also, for in a short while 
 the brown faces of the men were darkened 
 with suppressed passion. More than one of 
 them uttered an ejaculation of anger when 
 he rubbed shoulders with Falcon. 
 
 Hutcheson, however, was still friendly, and 
 after he had left the helm — which he had 
 taken when Donald had gone down with the 
 skipper — he whispered to Falcon — 
 
 "I heard what ye said to the skipper, and 
 I ken that what ye tauld the lads was true.
 
 FOES IN THE DARK. 93 
 
 But what the deil he's clrivin' at I canna 
 make oot." 
 
 "Then why did you not speak when you 
 heard him telling the lie?" 
 
 Hutcheson shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "There was nae use making bad waur. 
 The lads, being prejudiced against ye, would 
 hae believed him in spite of us baith. Sae 
 that it would hae dune ye nae guid, and 
 maybe it would hae dune me harm. But 
 for a that Til speak a word for ye when it's 
 needed." 
 
 That seemed to Falcon a kind of back- 
 handed way of doing justice, but he said no 
 more. The puzzle he had found on board 
 the Colin was becoming so hopelessly in- 
 volved that he saw little prospect of solving 
 it. The falsehood of Carrach seemed as pur- 
 poseless as the prejudice of the men was 
 groundless; yet both threatened to give him 
 much trouble. 
 
 He did not turn into his hammock that
 
 94 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 niglit at his usual hour, but lay clown on a 
 heap of canvas near the forecastle hatch. He 
 was out of humour and depressed ; he wished 
 to be alone; he did not care to be amongst 
 his comrades in his present mood; and so 
 seeing the canvas there he stretched himself 
 upon it instead of going down the hatchway 
 to his hammock. It was one of those trivial 
 acts which in nine hundred and ninety-nine 
 instances is never remembered, because it 
 bears no issue, but in which the thousandth 
 instance is fraught with gravest conse- 
 quences.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 THE FATE OF THE " COLIN. 
 
 " I left thee in sorrow; 
 But, oh, ou the morrow, 
 I cherish'd the hope thee again I wad €ee." 
 — /. G. Cumming. 
 
 A heavy wind was sweeping the dense fog 
 before it, so that about midnight stars be- 
 came visible. Falcon lay watching them, 
 thinking of Jeanie, and finding some comfort 
 in the thought that those same stars were 
 looking down on her. That was a link be- 
 tween them in spite of all the waste of land 
 and sea which separated them. 
 
 Somehow the fortune he was seeking: — and 
 it was not a big one, only enough to stock a 
 small farm — had never seemed so far from 
 him as it did to-night. The difficulties he 
 had to surmount were sterner, the chances of
 
 96 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 success fewer, titan they had ever appeared 
 before. But he was not losing courage: he 
 had not the remotest thought of yielding; he 
 was only a little weary, and rested by the 
 wayside to calculate what a short space he 
 had journeyed on the long road he had yet 
 to traverse. 
 
 The brig was cutting through the water 
 with a swishing sound, the wind was whist- 
 ling shrilly through the rigging, when sud- 
 denly her very timbers seemed to quiver 
 with the sharp cry which rose upon the night. 
 
 "Fire!" 
 
 Falcon bounded to his feet, and ran toward 
 the mate's berth, whence the cry proceeded. 
 
 He met Hutcheson frenziedly rushing with 
 a bucket for water. Falcon seized another 
 bucket, and having filled it, followed Hutche- 
 son to his berth. An old sea chest in which 
 various stores were ke23t was in a blaze. They 
 emptied the water upon it, and, with the 
 speed of men who knew that their lives de-
 
 THE FATE OF THE " COLIN r 97 
 
 pencled upon their exertions, procured more. 
 The flame had not obtained any hold on the 
 surrounding wood-work, so that they had 
 succeeded in extinguishing it with half a 
 dozen bucketsful of water, by which time 
 they were joined by Carrach, Donald, and 
 two others. 
 
 The skipper was dressed exactly as he had 
 been during the day. He had either not 
 gone to bed at all, or he had lain down with 
 his clothes on. He held a large lantern in 
 one of his hands, and with its light he surveyed 
 the men around him. 
 
 " What way did all this come about T he 
 growled, "and wha's been trying to burn us 
 all?" 
 
 "I dinna ken how it happened," replied 
 
 Hutcheson excitedly. "I was turning in after 
 
 my watch, and when I came here I found the 
 
 kist bleezing. If I'd been three minutes later 
 
 there would have been nae chance o' getting 
 
 it out, for yon jar o' oil would hae been afire, 
 
 7
 
 98 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 and then we micht hae said guid niclit to the 
 Colinr 
 
 "Did you'll leave nothing that could hae 
 started the fire!" 
 
 "Naething. The place was a richt when 
 I was here for some oil about half an hour 
 syne." 
 
 "Then here's what I hae gotten to say," 
 broke in Donald, clenching his fist furiously, 
 and looking hard at Falcon; *' there's some 
 damned scoon'rel amang us that wants to 
 work mischief tae us a', and if I had my will 
 I'd hae Jeames Falcon boun' hand and foot, 
 an' see if there was ony mair cantrips played 
 us after that." 
 
 "And what for would we do that?" said 
 Carrach. 
 
 " Because he's the only ane that was out o' 
 his hammock when he ought to hae been in 
 it. He hasna been i' the forecastle the nicht." 
 
 Even Hutcheson looked suspiciously at 
 Falcon now. The latter admitted that he had
 
 THE FATE OF THE ''COLIXr 99 
 
 not gone below, and tried to explain, but the 
 explanation appeared weak and nntrutliful to 
 tliose who heard it. Falcons indignation 
 only made matters worse. 
 
 The skipper closed the dispute. 
 
 " We'll no touch him this time, lads, so go 
 about your business all o' you: but if any 
 more tam nonsense goes on we'll put him in 
 aims, we will — Pe-tam." 
 
 Carrach rolled back to his cabin, which was 
 close to the mate's berth. Donald and his 
 two comrades went forward muttering darkly, 
 and Hutcheson shut his door. 
 
 Falcon understood by that movement that 
 the one friend he had on board had turned 
 against him like the rest. He moved slowly 
 away, his brain feverishly excited as much 
 by the danger they had escaped as by the 
 singular manner in which circumstances 
 seemed to conspire against him. 
 
 He halted by the mast, and leaning against 
 it, his hand clutching one of the ropes to
 
 100 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 steady himself, he stood there with the strong 
 wind beating upon his cheeks whilst he tried 
 to bring his thoughts into shape. 
 
 One idea he grasped firmly, that Carrach 
 had some mysterious purpose for the bold lies 
 he had told; and also for refusing to adopt 
 Donald's suggestion. But what could that 
 purpose be? 
 
 He had been half an hour trying to answer 
 the question, when he suddenly bent forward 
 and peered eagerly through the dim light 
 toward some bulky object which had crawled 
 out from the entrance to the skipper's cabin. 
 
 The object crawled along the deck to the 
 hatchway of the hold, — raised the hatch cau- 
 tiously, and disappeared. 
 
 Falcon darted down to the cabin. The 
 door was open, but the place was quite dark. 
 He groped about, and assured himself that 
 Carrach was not there. 
 
 Up the ladder again, and he shook the 
 door of the mate's crib.
 
 THE FATE OF THE ''COLIN." 101 
 
 " Hutcheson, get up, man, quick," he said in 
 a sharp undertone. 
 
 In a moment Hutcheson opened the door. 
 
 " What the deil's wrang noo," he said ill- 
 humouredly when he saw who had roused 
 him. 
 
 "Speak low. I hae discovered the mis- 
 chief-maker." 
 
 " Eh ? Then it's no y oursel' ? " 
 
 " Come and see." 
 
 He led him over to the main hatch and 
 bade him stand close behind it. They waited 
 nearly a quarter of an hour, and the mate 
 was becoming impatient. He was on the 
 point of asking angrily what Falcon meant, 
 when the hatch was raised slightly from below, 
 then stopped, as if the person who had raised 
 it were looking for a clear course. 
 
 Falcon griped his companion's arm to 
 impose silence. 
 
 The hatch was pushed up farther, and a 
 dark object crawled out. As soon as the
 
 102 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 hatch closed Falcon stepped over it and 
 planted himself before the man. 
 
 Ivan Carrach stood upright then, and drew 
 from under his jacket his lantern, the light 
 of which he had been concealing. His big 
 ball-like eyes rolled fiercely upon Falcon. 
 Then he reached out his hand and grasped 
 him by the throat. 
 
 " So/' he growled in a thick husky voice, 
 " 111 hae got you at it again, my praw lad. 
 You'll hae been watchin' me maybe, but you'll 
 got the worst o' that — Pe-tam." 
 
 He was about to raise an alarm when he 
 saw the mate, who was staring at him in a 
 puzzled way. 
 
 Carrach seemed dumbfoundered, and then 
 his whole manner changed. He released 
 Falcon. 
 
 ''You was there with him, Hutcheson?" 
 he said in his ordinary stolid manner. 
 
 " Aye, I'm here." 
 
 " Oich, then, it was all richt. I was feart
 
 THE FATE OF THE "COLIN:' 103 
 
 when I saw him there alone that there was 
 something wrang again. I hae been making 
 a round to see that all was safe/' 
 
 "Aye; but ye hae a queer way o' gaun about 
 it, as though ye were feart o' being seen." 
 
 " So I was. I did not want onybody to 
 know, because if onybody did know I wouldno 
 hae found them out." 
 
 "And was all safe below?" 
 
 "Yes — aye, all safe. You can roost again. 
 It's all richt — Pe-tam." 
 
 He made for his cabin with a speed he had 
 never displayed before. 
 
 Falcon and Hutcheson looked at each other, 
 but spoke no word. Hutcheson moved slowly 
 to his berth. Falcon followed. At the door 
 they stopped. 
 
 " I w^ant to bide wi' you the nicht, Hutche- 
 son," said Falcon. 
 
 The mate nodded assent, and they entered. 
 Falcon seated himself on a small box and 
 leaned his back against the side of the door.
 
 104 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 The mate, before lying down on his narrow 
 couch, closed tlie door, and they were in 
 darkness. 
 
 The brig rocked under the heavy wind, and 
 the waters lashed its sides angrily. After 
 half an hour of silence. Falcon spoke. 
 
 "Are you sleeping, Hutcheson?" 
 
 " No. Confound it, I canna sleep, whatever's 
 the matter wi' me." 
 
 " Youll not forget the way he crawled out 
 of the hold, trying to hide the lantern?" 
 
 "No likely." 
 
 " And you'll not forget the confused way 
 he answered you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And, most important of all, you'll not 
 forget that he assured you twice that all was 
 safe?" 
 
 " I'll mind a'. But what are ye thinking 
 about?" 
 
 " That Carrach does not want the ' Colin' 
 to make her voyage."
 
 THE FATE OF THE "COLIN:' 105 
 
 " What?" and the mate started as the words 
 were whispered in his ear. But the shock 
 only lasted for a moment. "Hoots, ye're 
 haverin' noo." 
 
 And he lay down again. Falcon made no 
 response, and there was silence between them 
 for another half-hour. At the expiry of that 
 time Hutcheson put his feet on the floor and 
 rose to a sitting posture. 
 
 " Deevil tak' me if I can get a wink o' 
 sleep/' he muttered discontentedly. " What 
 wi' thinking about ae thing and anither I'm 
 a out in a sweat. I'm as drouthy as a fish, 
 an I feel as if the place was het as an oven." 
 
 " Will I open the door ? That will give us 
 air and light too, for it must be near day- 
 break." 
 
 " Od, I would think sae" (yawning and 
 stretching himself). " It seems a lang while 
 since ye spoke last, and yet it canna be mair 
 nor an hour — My God, what's that?" 
 
 Falcon had thrown open the door, which
 
 106 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 admitted a faint liglit, sufficient to enable 
 them to see the outline of each other's per- 
 sons when they stood opposite the doorway. 
 Both were standing so now, listening to the 
 sound which had excited Hutcheson's ex- 
 clamation, and caused them to spring to their 
 feet at the same moment. 
 
 It was a peculiar hissing and spluttering 
 sound like that produced by throwing water 
 on fire. The rocking of the brig, the bluster 
 of the wind, and the roar of the waves, had 
 prevented them hearing it sooner. 
 
 Hutch eson darted outside, and looked 
 eagerly round. He could see nothing; but 
 the heat he had felt inside his cabin was per- 
 ceptible on the deck also. He shouted to the 
 man at the rudder and the look-out — was 
 there anything wrong ? The answer came 
 from both — no. Suddenly the helmsman 
 added : — 
 
 "There's a queer soun' somewhar that I 
 canna make out."
 
 THE FATE OF THE '^ COLIN:' 107 
 
 Falcon seized tlie mate's arm. They 
 regarded each other fixedly, and the same 
 idea seemed to have struck both, for they 
 rushed together to the main hatch^Yay. 
 
 They lifted the hatch together, and a dense 
 volume of smoke rushed upward, blinding 
 them. They dropped the hatch immediately 
 and cbew back, rubbing their eyes. Hutche- 
 son's face was white as a sheet, and his body 
 shivering. 
 
 "She's bleezing like hell," he gasped. 
 
 Hutcheson was a stout-hearted fellow, and 
 he had been wrecked twice, but he was so 
 overwhelmed with consternation at the sight 
 of the hold in flames, that for the moment he 
 was powerless to move when action, prompt 
 and decisive, was most needed. 
 
 Falcon was the cooler of the two — probably 
 because his experience did not enable him to 
 realize so quickly the full horror of the posi- 
 tion. 
 
 "Call the men— try the buckets— there
 
 108 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 may be a chance yet," lie shouted, and the 
 mate started as if a trumpet had sounded the 
 call to duty in his ears. 
 
 He hallooed to the helmsman and the look- 
 out, giving them rapid orders to rouse their 
 comrades and the skipper. The one word 
 "fire!" acted like an electric shock upon the 
 men, and they rushed wildly to obey the 
 command. 
 
 Hutcheson and Falcon had got the buckets 
 ready by the time the crew, half dressed and 
 with pallid startled faces, joined them. Even 
 at that moment, when one terrible element 
 of destruction was threatening to cast them 
 upon the mercy of another, the men regarded 
 Falcon with looks of savage hate and suspi- 
 cion. He was the man who had betrayed 
 them to the approaching doom. 
 
 But there was no time for words. The 
 hissing and spluttering sounds had become 
 louder and louder, the heat of the deck in- 
 tense, and when Carrach appeared — dressed
 
 THE FATE OF THE "COLIN:' 109 
 
 as the mate and Falcon had last seen him — 
 a broad tongue of flame shot up through the 
 hatchway. 
 
 "Pe-tam!" was all he said; and in a 
 second he was amongst the crew working 
 with as much will, apparently, as any, and 
 with a great deal more stolid calmness. 
 
 Hutcheson and Falcon had been the first 
 to dip the buckets; and the water was passed 
 from hand to hand with a rapidity which, 
 only men making a desperate eftbrt for life 
 could have exhibited. 
 
 They worked madly and in silence. Car- 
 rach stood nearest the fire, as stolid in the 
 presence of death as he would have been sit- 
 ting in safety before a dram-bottle. 
 
 But ten minutes sufiiced to prove, even to 
 his dull intellect, that their work was hope- 
 less. The flame, suppressed at one point, 
 burst forth more furiously at another. The 
 timbers were crackling, seething, and splut- 
 tering under their feet: and it was manifest
 
 110 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 that the fire had obtained such hold of the 
 vessel as would defy their most desperate 
 exertions to extinguish it. 
 
 The morning haze was presently illumed 
 by a broad glare of light that was reflected 
 in the waters around them, so that they 
 seemed to be encompassed by a sea of flame. 
 The relentless fire had greedily seized upon 
 the ribs of the brig, the deck, the masts, and 
 the rigging. Dense gusts of smoke rolled 
 upward, enveloping the men, blinding and 
 blackening them. The smoke was followed 
 by broad flames that shot out fiery tongues 
 toward them with the hissing sound of a 
 thousand venomous snakes. 
 
 A portion of the deck fell crashing down- 
 ward into the fiery pit; and then the wind 
 caught up the flame and smoke and swept 
 them across the vessel with a roaring wrath 
 that deafened and dazed the wretched vic- 
 tims. 
 
 Bright flames gathering strength and vol-
 
 THE FATE OF THE '' COLIN r 111 
 
 ume around tliem, a wide dark sea beyond, 
 and a gloomy haze obscuring the sky over- 
 head, the men stood face to face with death 
 in its most horrible form, and despair seized 
 them. As wdth one accord they cast down 
 the buckets and gave up the strife. 
 
 "Out wi' the boats," cried Donald; and 
 the men, not caring w^ho gave the order, 
 snatched at the hope which the w^ords held 
 out to them, and rushed with hoarse mad 
 shrieks to the boats. 
 
 There were two; but one of them was al- 
 ready in the grasp of the fire ; the other w^as 
 lowered instantly. Hutcheson cast into it a 
 small barrel of biscuits, Donald a barrel of 
 water, and Carrach, from some unknown 
 quarter, produced a keg of brandy. He was 
 not making the least effort to direct the crew. 
 In his heavy way he was now entirely occu- 
 pied in attending to his own safety, leaving 
 the others to take care of their own respec- 
 tively.
 
 112 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 He was the first in the boat, Hutch eson 
 the last but one, and as soon as he had de- 
 scended, Donald shouted wildly: 
 
 "Put afF — there's room for nae mair/' 
 
 Falcon was bending over the side of the 
 brig, about to slip down the rope, when this 
 order was given. 
 
 Two men raised oars to obey, but Hutche- 
 son pushed one of them roughly back, and 
 held firmly by the rope. 
 
 "No, damn ye," he shouted, with a savage- 
 ness of look and voice the effect of which 
 his begrimed visage heightened, "ye sha' not 
 leave a man that's done his duty as Aveel's 
 the best o' ye to die while there's a chance o' 
 rescue. Come on. Falcon." 
 
 "It was him set the brig a-lowe," cried 
 Donald doggedly. 
 
 "It's a lee," retorted Hutcheson, holding 
 fast by the rope. 
 
 "The compass and the log," shouted Car- 
 rach, rousing suddenly, "ye hae time yet,
 
 THE FATE OF THE ''COLIN:' 113 
 
 Falcon — they're in my berth — there's no 
 chance for us without the compass." 
 
 Falcon was willing to perform any act, 
 however fool-hardy, that might satisfy the 
 men he was innocent of the crime attributed 
 to him. With an idea that he would obtain 
 this result by showing his readiness to risk 
 his life for theirs, he disappeared from the 
 bulwark at once to comply with the skipper s 
 command. 
 
 He did not hear Hutcheson hallooinof after 
 him to come back, in the hope of checking 
 him in the rash venture he had too readily 
 undertaken. It was certainly an act of such 
 fool-hardiness as only the excitement of the 
 occasion rendered it possible for a sane man 
 to attempt. 
 
 In flame and smoke he disappeared, and 
 the crew, who had been only a moment before 
 ready to push off without him, now waited 
 in breathless silence for his return. Hutche-
 
 114 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 son held the rope, and watched eagerly for 
 the least sign of his coming. 
 
 Meanwhile the greedy flames, fanned to 
 fury by the wind, were rapidly devouring the 
 brig. With a loud crash the mainmast 
 toppled over, and fell like a huge firebrand 
 into the water. Luckily it went over the 
 larboard side, or it might have crushed the 
 small boat and its freight. 
 
 The rocking of the craft at this juncture 
 seemed to intimate that she was settling 
 down. This time Carrach spoke. 
 
 "You'll better hold awa , lads, or we'll go 
 doon wi' the suction o' her." 
 
 "Aye, aye, put aff," shouted Donald gruffly; 
 "there's nae use throwing awa seven lives for 
 the sake o' ane. We can stand clear eneuch 
 to be safe oursel's, an' if Falcon shows up he 
 can loup, and we can j)ick him up. Let go, 
 Hutcheson." 
 
 "Hand on a minute yet," was the mate's 
 uneasy answer, clutching the rope tightly, as
 
 THE FATE OF THE ''COLIN." 115 
 
 he raised his voice and shouted with all his 
 pith to Falcon. 
 
 The brio; o-ave an ominous lurch toward 
 them, and the crew yelled in chorus to Hut- 
 cheson to let go. He had no option now, for 
 even if he had been disposed to continue 
 faithful to Falcon in opposition to his com- 
 rades, he could not, for the rope had caught 
 fire, and dropped down to his hand. 
 
 With another yell the men pulled away 
 from the Colin. What was the life of one 
 man to them weighed in the balance against 
 their own? It is in such terrible moments 
 as these that the best and worst natures show 
 themselves pure and undisguised. 
 
 • They were, however, so far willing to serve 
 the absent man that they ceased rowing as 
 soon as they had got beyond danger of the 
 whirlpool the brig would make in sinking. 
 
 They had scarcely done so when there was 
 an explosion like the outburst of a thunder- 
 bolt, and they were covered with a shower of
 
 116 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 sparks and flaming splinters. The body of 
 the brig had been burst open, and reeling 
 backward from the shock, her bow rose out 
 of the water, and she plunged down stern 
 first. 
 
 By the time the crew had rubbed their 
 eyes, and the black clouds of smoke had been 
 sufiiciently dispersed by the wind to enable 
 them to see, barrels, spars, torn pieces of 
 charred wood-work and portions of rigging 
 were all that was left of the Colin. 
 
 "Oich, it was shust the barrel o' pooter in 
 my cabin gied that last blaw," said Carrach, 
 rubbing his face with his sleeve; "and if 
 Falcon did mak' the lowe, he's paid for it 
 noo. So let's foro-et and forc^ive — Pe-tam. 
 Kow awa, lads, we're no far frae land."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 
 
 ' Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main, 
 Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again ; 
 Alas ! mom returns to revisit the shore, 
 But Connel returns to his Flora no more."— .^. Wilson. 
 
 The healthy bloom had faded from Jeanie's 
 cheeks, and left behind a weary expression 
 that made her appear five years older than 
 she had done on the day the Colin sailed. 
 Anxieties were pressing heavily upon her; 
 the strife for bare subsistence had come. She 
 met the struo-oie with a brave heart at first, 
 and by daybreak she was spinning, knitting 
 hose, or making nets. 
 
 But as day by day the difficulties seemed 
 to increase rather than diminish, in spite of 
 all her labour, her heart begun to sicken and 
 sink.
 
 118 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 Worse still, Adam, who complained much 
 whilst obliged to keep his bed, was still more 
 discontented with his lot when he had suffi- 
 ciently recovered to be able to sit by the fire- 
 side, and on fine days at the door. Hunger 
 and pain make a short temper, and not seeing 
 that Jeanie was doing anything more than 
 he had a right to expect from a daughter, he 
 was apt to speak harsh words to her at times ; 
 to utter impatient ejaculations when she was 
 dressing his wound, and to complain of her 
 unskilfulness. 
 
 She was worried alike by this impatience 
 and the daily shifts for food, until at last her 
 own temper began to break bounds, and she 
 once or twice resented his complaints. But 
 this was only when, wearied out by her ex- 
 ertions, the carping of her father irritated 
 her beyond measure. Even then her resent- 
 ment went no further than saying — 
 
 "Deed, faither, I think ye ought to be 
 thankfu' it's nae waur. An' I'm sure I
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 119 
 
 clae a that I can, and yet it winna satisfee 
 
 ye" 
 
 Then she would quit him, and relieve her- 
 self by cleaning up the house with a spiteful 
 sort of vigour, finding apparently some com- 
 fort in rattling the dishes, and praying fer- 
 vently for Jeamie's return. 
 
 "It's worry, worry, worry, morn, noon, and 
 night,'' she would say to herself; "and there 
 doesna seem ony getting the better o't." 
 
 To crown all, the Laird of Clashgirn called 
 twice about the rent, and there was not a 
 farthing wherewith to help to pay him. Then 
 indeed any life seemed preferable to the life 
 of misery she was leading — misery which all 
 her strength seemed unable to alleviate. 
 
 Yet she knew that there was willing and 
 kindly help at hand if she would only ask it. 
 But knowing nothing of Eobin Gray's gener- 
 ous resolution, she had strained every nerve 
 to conceal as much of the real distress of the 
 family as possible. Homely and simple as
 
 120 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 she was, slie possessed enougli of tliat sensi- 
 tive nature which shrinks from help when it 
 is most needed ; because then it seems so like 
 charity, notwithstanding the fact that help 
 in need is help indeed. 
 
 No doubt the fancy that Eobin Gray's 
 regard was more that of a lover than of a 
 mere friend was the leading cause of her re- 
 serve towards him, and rendered the accept- 
 ance of favours from him the more unplea- 
 sant, because she felt that they were favours 
 she could never requite as he might desire. 
 She wronged the man by the thought; but 
 how could she know that? 
 
 Although he was not aware of the full ex- 
 tent of her difficulties, he knew enough to 
 prompt him to seek every opportunity of re- 
 lie vino; them. But he saw that somehow his 
 anxiety to be of service seemed to trouble her. 
 From that moment his desire was restrained, 
 and he was sorely puzzled what to do for 
 her, and how to do it.
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 121 
 
 "Better the day, Adam?" said Cairnieford, 
 coming up one bright morning. 
 
 The fisherman was seated by the door in 
 the sunlight. His arm was still in splints, 
 and his sallow face with stubble-covered chin 
 and blue lips betokened his feeble condition. 
 
 "Oo aye, better, Cairnieford, thank ye; that 
 is, as weel as can be expeckit in a man as 
 sarely fashed as me, and no able to wark. 
 The doctor says it'll be a while yet afore I 
 get the use o' my arm." 
 
 " But ye're gettin' on brawly for a' that, 
 and ye'll come round in time." 
 
 He heard the busy hum of Jeanie's wheel, 
 and he glanced eagerly in that direction; so 
 that he did not at first observe the deep 
 wrinkles which gathered on Adam's brow. 
 The voice, however, harsh and husky, recalled 
 his attention. 
 
 " Ah ! in time, nae doubt. But Lord kens 
 what we're to do biding that time." 
 
 "What's wrang, man, what's wrang?"
 
 122 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " Everything's wrang — the cow gane, the 
 auld wife getting waur an' waur, mysel' in 
 this condition, and Jeanie wrought clean afF 
 her feet withoot making ony better o't. Isna 
 that eneuch to make a man that was never 
 auchtin onyane a penny till noo sour as a 
 crab apple ? An' to back it a', there's the 
 Laird hirplin' here day after day about his 
 rent, and nae way that I ken o' to pacify 
 him." 
 
 Adam's tongue, once loosened on the sub- 
 ject, soon revealed the whole state of affairs. 
 
 " Hoots, man, what way did ye no let me 
 ken a' that afore?" said Kobin. "I could hae 
 set your mind at ease without ony fash." 
 
 "1 ken that, Cairnieford," and Adam's 
 withered visag^e was lis^htened: "but Jeanie 
 was ay bidding me bear my ain load, an' 
 her mither backit her, an', to tell the truth, 
 I never cared mysel' to be beholden to ony- 
 body." 
 
 "Aye, but you'll except me, Adam" (lower-
 
 THE XEWS B BOUGHT HOME. 123 
 
 ing his voice and bending down). " Just say 
 naetliing about it and I'll settle wi' the Laird, 
 though I'd rather deal wi' onybody but him 
 since we had that dispute about the march 
 fence. But I'll make it a' richt." 
 
 Adam gave him a gratefid look. 
 
 "Thank ye, Cairnieford. Ill be able to 
 pay ye back " 
 
 " We'll talk about that again. Guid day. 
 I'll be back the morn." 
 
 And Eobin, eager to avoid thanks, hurried 
 away, without even waiting to see Jeanie, 
 lest she should object to the new service he 
 was about to render her. 
 
 At the steadino' of Clashoirn he found 
 Girzie Todd's cuddy cart, and Girzie herself 
 was busy haggling with Mrs. Begg about the 
 price of some fish. At the head of the cuddy, 
 one of his arms thrown round its neck, and 
 the other holding up a, bundle of hay and 
 thistles, was Girzie's son AYattie. 
 
 " Eat awa, Dawnie, for ve dinna ken whan
 
 124 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 ye'll get ony mair to eat," AVattie was saying, 
 coaxing tlie cuddy and addressing it, as liis 
 mother was in the habit of doing, with as 
 much earnestness as if it had been human. 
 
 He was a fair-haired Lad — or rather man, 
 for he was as old as James Falcon, and much 
 about the same height and build — -with a 
 healthy look. But he had a very marked 
 squint in his eyes, and a certain vacant stare, 
 which betrayed the natural. 
 
 Although a man in ap^^earance, he had all 
 the characteristics of a child. And chief 
 amongst them was his terror of beino^ left 
 anywhere by his mother. He was never at 
 ease except Avhen hanging at her skirts; and 
 when on occasions she found it necessary to 
 leave him at home, he would sit moping in 
 a corner until she returned, unless he was 
 moved to perpetrate some childish freak of 
 mischief. Next to his mother, he was at- 
 tached to Dawnie. These two represented 
 to his weak mind protection and safety. He
 
 THE XEWS BROUGHT HOME. 125 
 
 shrunk away from men as if afraid of tliem. 
 With chiklren he woukl fain have been 
 friendly, but they made fun of him too often, 
 and mocked him. Lassies of his own years 
 were always as ready as the bairns to make 
 fun of him, although in a different way. 
 Jeanie Lindsay was the only one of them 
 who had treated him with sincere kindness, 
 and consec[uent]y she obtained the next place 
 to Dawnie in his estimation. 
 
 His jacket and trousers were somewhat 
 tattered; but they l^ore evidences of having 
 been well patched. His mother had lately 
 bouo'ht him a new bonnet, and of that he was 
 so proud that he scarcely ever wore it: pre- 
 ferring to carry it daintily in his pouch or 
 under his arm. 
 
 " The laddies would be wantin to take it 
 frae me an file it," was his answer, with a 
 sly grin, to a remonstrance from Jeanie. 
 
 And it was true that the mischievous 
 urchins of Portlappoch would have enjoyed
 
 126 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 amazingly tlie pleasure of making a football 
 of Wattle's new bonnet, and of seeing him 
 run wildly about trying to snatch it from 
 them. They had done it with his old one. 
 
 Girzie caught sight of Gray as he ap- 
 proached, and closed the bargain at once 
 with Mrs. Begg by submitting to her offer, 
 much to that worthy woman's amaze, for 
 Girzie was never known to yield a bawbee 
 without a hard contest. 
 
 " Weel, weel, Mrs. Begg, just tak' them at 
 your ain price," she said on this occasion, 
 " but ye's never get fish like them again at 
 the siller. Come awa, Wattie." 
 
 She seized Dawnie's bridle and led him 
 down the road with as much speed as a few 
 smart thuds with her stump of a whip handle 
 could enforce. 
 
 "Guid day to ye," said the farmer passing. 
 
 "Bide a Avee, Cairnieford," she said, "there's 
 ill news came hame this fine mornin' for some 
 folk ye care about."
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 127 
 
 "What news and whatna folk, guid- 
 wife?" 
 
 He looked at her with some surprise, for 
 there was perceptible in her usual brusque 
 manner a deo^ree of ao^itation. 
 
 "The news is that the Colin has been brunt 
 at sea, and Jeames Falcon has been droont 
 or brunt wi' her." 
 
 " Heaven save's, woman, what are ye say- 
 mg? 
 
 "What's ower true, I'm thinking. Ivan 
 Carrach landed here this morning wi' the 
 news, and he's up wi' the Laird enoo." 
 
 "But — are ye sure that Falcon's lost?" 
 
 '*Speer at the Laird," she said drily, and 
 was moving on. 
 
 "But how do you ken this?" 
 
 "It's nae matter hoo I ken; speer at the 
 Laird an' Carrach if it binna true, and syne 
 ye can tell Jeanie." 
 
 Robin Gray's heart leapt into his mouth at 
 the tidings; and his first thoudit had been
 
 128 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 simply of the new affliction this would bring 
 to Jeanie. His second thonght was in a 
 degree selfish, for out of the new misfortune 
 he saw a way by which all her sorrow might 
 be relieved. But when Girzie supraested that 
 he should be the bearer of the fatal news, he 
 started from it in as much alarm as if she 
 had asked him to set fire to the cottage. 
 
 " Na, Girzie, I canna do that — I canna do't. 
 But ye re a frien to baith her an' me. Gang 
 doon that way and let her ken o't, puir lassie, 
 if you're sure it's true. I'll see the Laird and 
 Carrach, and if it's no true I'll owertak ye. 
 Break it to her kindly, for I'm feart it'll do 
 her harm." 
 
 " I'll do your bidding, Cairnieford, for the 
 sake o' the kind word and gowpen o' meal 
 ye hae ay had for my Wattie. Dinna fear 
 for Jeanie. She's young and hearty an' she'll 
 get ower't a' before lang; an' it's an ill wind 
 fills naebody's sail, even though there be a 
 smell o' brimstone intil't."
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 129 
 
 Nodding her head, and with a queer grin 
 that had something sad and cynical in it, she 
 strode after Wattie and the cuddy. 
 
 Eobin Gray insisted peremptorily on see- 
 ing the Laird at once. The Laird was so 
 much surprised by the visit — for Gray, al- 
 though his tenant and neighbour, had not 
 been in the house for years — that he desired 
 him to come ben to the parlour. 
 
 Carrach was sitting bolt upright on a chair 
 near the table, upon which his dirty fat hands 
 were resting in proximity to a decanter full 
 of whisky. His shaggy hair Avas redder and 
 bristlier than ever, and his ox eyes were roll- 
 ing more stolidly. 
 
 The Laird was very much as usual, dry 
 and respectable. 
 
 " Glad to see ye, Cairnieford," he said, tak- 
 ing a huge pinch of snufF, smiling and nod- 
 ding affably, " an lioup ye'll no be siccan a 
 stranger as ye hae been. Will ye hae a 
 dram?"
 
 130 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 "No, thank ye; Fm for nae drains in tliis 
 house " 
 
 "Aweel, man, aweel, ye needna be sae 
 thrawn. Ye re welcome here, an ye'd hae 
 been mair welcome if ye'd come to tell me 
 that bygones were to be bygones atween us. 
 Since it's no that, whatna wind has blawn ye 
 this airt?" 
 
 " No my ain will, ye may be sure o' that, 
 Laird > although for that matter byganes are 
 byganes wi' me, sae far that I hae nae thocht 
 o' rahing them up. I came here to pay ye 
 this six pounds for Adam Lindsay's rent, and 
 when ye hae gien me a quittal for't, I hae a 
 question to speer at ye." 
 
 The Laird took another pinch of snuff, ex- 
 amining his impatient and excited visitor 
 shyly with his sleek pale eyes. Evidently 
 cogitating on some new subject for specula- 
 tion, he took down an inkstand from the 
 mantelpiece, procured half a sheet of note-
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 131 
 
 paper from a drawer, and sat down to write 
 tlie receipt. 
 
 "Od, it's extraordinarM" lie exclaimed, with 
 his eyes fixed on the paper; " and so you're 
 going to pay Adam Lindsay's rent? Weel, 
 Adam's an honest cliiel, an' he's got a bonnie 
 daughter." 
 
 " Here are the notes," said Eobin l^riefly, 
 throwing them down. " Count them." 
 
 " Oh, they're a' right, I hae no doubt;" 
 and, as if to prove his perfect confidence, he 
 proceeded to count them and examine the 
 watermarks with miserly care. " Ye were 
 saying there was a question " 
 
 " Aye," interrupted Eobin, turning to Car- 
 rach. "I want to ken if it's true that the 
 Colin has been lost, and that James Falcon 
 has gane down wi' her." 
 
 The Laird produced his large silk handker- 
 chief, and ])lew his nose with sonorous ofrief. 
 
 Carrach's eyes rolled up to the farmer's 
 face, but his lips did not move.
 
 132 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " It's my great misfortune to liae to confirm 
 the news ye liae heard/' answered the Laird, 
 with a whining drawl. "It's true — though 
 wha told ye I canna guess, seeing that I 
 didna ken mysel' twa or three minutes syne. 
 The brig was ane o' the best that ever sailed 
 the sea, but she was burnt, and my puir frien', 
 wha was trying to save the papers and log, 
 was either killed wi' the explosion o' a barrel 
 o' powder, or was drowned. Isna that the 
 way o't, Carrach?" 
 
 "Oich aye," muttered the skipper, emptying 
 a glass, "he was a prave lad, but the splosion 
 was too strong for him — Pe-tam." 
 
 Kobin, after gazing a moment from one to 
 the other of the men, suddenly brought his 
 heavy hand down on the table with a force 
 that made • inkstand, decanter, and glasses 
 dance. ^ 
 
 " Mind this, McWhapple " — he never called 
 him "Laird" when angry with him. "It's 
 no the first time you and me hae had un-
 
 pleasant dealings. Thank Heaven, I dinna 
 need to care a snap o' my thum for ye; and 
 I tell ye this, I'll hae the affair looked into, 
 and if there has been ony wrang-doing, I'll 
 find it out." 
 
 "Od,it's extraordinary' ejaculated the Laird, 
 as if his pity for the man's intemperate passion 
 excluded aU idea of resenting the insult. "Ye 
 speak as though I would be likely to set my 
 ain house in a lowe about my lugs. But ye 
 shall hae a' the information anent the melan- 
 choly business that the insurance agent, lawyer 
 Carnegie, and mysel' can mak' out." 
 
 Eobin did see that he had spoken harshly; 
 but he made no further apology than 
 this : — 
 
 " I'll be thankful for the information, and 
 I hope that wi' what I can learn mysel', it 
 may alter my present opinions. But you ken 
 and I ken, McWhapple, that there are reasons 
 why I should doubt your word — especially 
 when it concerns James Falcon."
 
 134 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 Carracli, stolid as an ox, stared and drank. 
 The Laird took an extra pinch. Eobin quitted 
 the house. 
 
 But he did not attempt to overtake Girzie 
 Todd.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 
 
 "Oh, wha wad buy a silken gowu 
 Wi' a puir broken heart ? 
 Or what's to me a siller croun, 
 Gin frae my Ioyc I part?"— S. Blamira. 
 
 "Drooned?" 
 
 She repeated the word in a low frightened 
 voice, shrinking from it, and yet repeating it, 
 as if she were trying to realize its full import 
 by echoing the sound. Her hands were 
 clasped helplessly on .her breast. Her eyes 
 looked vacantly across the sea, as if seeking 
 some explanation in the dim distance. She 
 was pitiably dazed and quiet. There was no 
 violent outcry; not the least symptom of 
 hysterics — only that low questioning mur- 
 mur of the one word which embraced the 
 whole story of her sad loss.
 
 136 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 Tliey were standing at tlie corner of the 
 empty byre, in which she had been hunting 
 for eggs when Girzie arrived. Wattie was 
 seated on the low stone dyke admiring his 
 new bonnet, and occasionally holding a con- 
 versation with Dawnie. Girzie was beside 
 Jeanie, watching her with a certain grim 
 sympathy expressed on her brown visage. 
 
 She had given her the sad tidings in the 
 kindliest way she could think of, and that 
 had been abruptly enough. She had no skill 
 in beating about the bush; and she believed 
 that when one had anything to tell which 
 must be told, it was better told at once, 
 whether good or bad. But after she had 
 sj^oken the worst, she remained silent for a 
 long while, to give Jeanie time to recover 
 from the first shock. 
 
 " Yell just hae to bear 't, Jeanie, like ither 
 folk," she said at last, bluntly; tying an extra 
 knot on the kerchief she wore across her 
 shoulders. "It's hard to think o't at first, I
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 137 
 
 ken; but it's wonnerfu' how ane's sorrow 
 saftens after a day or twa, when a thing's by 
 help. I mind when Bessie Munro's man gaed 
 doon aff the Plada, Bessie skirlt like a water- 
 kelpie as lang's there was a doubt o' his death; 
 but she got a richt as sune's she ken'd that it 
 was ayont doubt and nae help for t. She got 
 anither man sax months after, an a better 
 ane nor the first into the bargain. I dinna 
 ken ony kind o' article that mends sae sune 
 as a broken heart when there's nae other guid 
 it can do. It's surely a mercifu' arrangement 
 for women folk, seeing their hearts are dunted 
 to bits sae mony times in a life." 
 
 Jeanie heard the sharp voice ringing in her 
 ears; but of the meaning of the sound she 
 knew nothing. She turned to Girzie with a 
 stupified look. 
 
 "But it canna — it canna be true," she said, 
 pitiably. " There was naebody saw him gae 
 doun." 
 
 ''There was naebody saw him come up either.
 
 138 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 Hoots, lassie, ye maunna mak' mair fash for 
 yoursel' wi' expectin' miracles. I liae liad 
 mair sorrow in my day wi' houping for what 
 Avas clean impossible than I liae ever had frae 
 rale misfortin'. But that's the way o' us puir 
 bodies; we ay keep looking at the cloud 
 owerhead that winna come near us, an' fa' into 
 the sheughs at our feet. I would fain say 
 that it canna be true if it would dae ony guid 
 to tell a lee; but it would be a lee, an' ye'd 
 be sae muckle the waur fort come neist year." 
 
 "Drooned!" murmured Jeanie again, put- 
 ting her hands up to her head bewilderedly; 
 "an' he'll never come back ony mair. 
 Girzie, it's hard to thole; and me was thinking 
 day and nicht o' him coming hame to save 
 us frae a' our troubles. Had it no' been for 
 that I wouldna hae been able to bear up ava, 
 and noo " 
 
 She sat down on a big stone, and, covering 
 her face with her hands, sobbed bitterly, 
 
 Girzie left her there with the parting
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 139 
 
 counsel to remember that ''there was as guicl 
 fish i' the sea as ever came out o't, whatever 
 ane micht think o' their last fishin ." 
 
 She went into the house and very briefly 
 informed the old folks of the catastrophe. 
 She did not wait to hear Mrs. Lindsay's usual 
 apostrophe on all calamities, or to answer the 
 numerous questions Adam was eager to ask 
 about the event. 
 
 " I hae my day's wark afore me yet, for I 
 haena sauld half my fish this mornin'," she 
 said, turning away; and stopping to look 
 back, she added, "I wouldna say muckle about 
 it to Jeanie. She's taken't sair to heart." 
 
 And then the woman with her sharp voice, 
 shrewd face, cynical manner, and kindly 
 heart all strangely mingled, strode away to 
 the work which had been interrupted to serve 
 Eobin Gray and his friends. 
 
 Wattle was looking frequently back to the 
 cot and haltino; as if half intendino: to return. 
 
 "What are ye glowering at, laddie?" said
 
 1^0 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 his mother, looking back to him as he made 
 a longer pause than usual at a curve of the 
 road. 
 
 Wattie ran after his mother, and when he 
 reached her side looked over his shoulder 
 again in the direction of the cot. 
 
 "What for was Jeanie greeting, mither?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Because Jeamie Falcon's drooned.'' 
 
 She always answered, him seriously, how- 
 ever trivial the question might be. ' 
 
 "Drooned? Whaur?" 
 
 "At the bottom o' the sea — he's dead — 
 we'll never see him ao^ain." 
 
 Wattie w^as thoughtful for a long while, 
 and then — 
 
 "Will he ay bide amang the fishes? What 
 a drookit creature he'll be!" and he lauo^hed, 
 whilst his mother regarded him wistfully. 
 
 Jeanie's sorrow was very quiet. Save that 
 her face was a little more hao^ofard than it 
 had been previously, and that she would pause
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 141 
 
 occasionally in her work with a dim vacant 
 stare on her face, there was no outward sign 
 of her heart's woe. 
 
 But the world was dark and weary to her 
 now, for she saw no hopeful future. Whilst 
 Jeamie lived there had always been a bourne 
 to look to, that inspired courage to meet the 
 present difficulty. Now there was just the 
 daily fight, without other promise of rest 
 than that of the grave. The bitterest ]3ang 
 of such a loss springs from the utter exclu- 
 sion of the loved one from our vision of the 
 future. 
 
 Robin Gray did not present himself at the 
 cottage for more than a week. He knew that 
 Jeanie would suffer cruelly, and he did not 
 care to see her until the worst of it was over. 
 He made inquiries, meanwhile, and satisfied 
 himself that the Colin and Falcon had been 
 lost in the manner described to him by the 
 Laird. But of the cause of the fire he was 
 not satisfied.
 
 142 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 The insurance agent had shown him the 
 various statements of the men wlio had es- 
 caped. Carrach's statement contained the 
 only suggestion of the cause of the fire ; that 
 one of the crew had been down in the hold 
 and had permitted a spark to escape from his 
 lantern without knowing it. The only man 
 he knew who had been in the hold that even- 
 ing was James Falcon ; and probably Falcon s 
 reason for lingering so long on the brig that 
 he had been unable to escape was owing to the 
 fear of the consequences of his negligence or 
 oversight. 
 
 The agent received the statements from the 
 men themselves, with the exception of the 
 mate's, which had been brought to him by 
 the skipper in writing, as Hutcheson had 
 taken a ship at Cork and sailed for China 
 without coming home. 
 
 Eobin determined to see Hutcheson pri- 
 vately if he ever came back to Portlappoch. 
 But of this he said nothing.
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. U3 
 
 Altlioiigli he spoke to Adam and the 
 guidwife about the Colin, and honestly la- 
 mented the sad fate of such a promising young 
 fellow as James Falcon, no reference to either 
 passed between Jeanie and him. He observed 
 her sorrow, and respected it with the silence 
 she seemed to desire. 
 
 - Eager as he was to tell her of the hope 
 which this calamity had permitted to spring 
 again in his breast, he did not hastily intrude 
 it upon her. He was waiting for time to 
 soften her grief before he ventured to speak; 
 and with as much cunning as a man of his 
 years and inexperience in wooer's craft, or in- 
 deed craft of any kind, could command, he 
 concealed the lover under the character of the 
 sympathizing friend. 
 
 Perhaps it should be said rather that he 
 tried to conceal the real nature of his regard 
 for her, and believed he succeeded. But any- 
 body with eyes open could easily fathom the 
 brawny farmer's motives. Kindly and open-
 
 144 EOBIN GRAY. 
 
 handed as he was with all who were in diffi- 
 culties, his interest in Adam Lindsay and his 
 family was clearly of more than ordinary 
 depth. 
 
 The summer, however, had passed, and 
 harvest was nearly through, and he had not 
 spoken yet. The words had been more than 
 once at the tip of his tongue, and he had 
 hastily swallowed them again, as some pen- 
 sive glance of Jeanie's eye reminded him that 
 she was still thinking of Jeamie. 
 
 " She would sune get ower that if we were 
 ance married," he would say to himself as he 
 turned away ; " confound it, I wish the puir 
 lad hadna been drooned, or I hadna cared sae 
 muckle for her." 
 
 At last the opportunity he had so longed 
 for presented itself to him — under somewhat 
 gloomy auspices certainly. 
 
 The market-day before harvest finished at 
 Cairnieford, Adam, who although still unable 
 to use his arm, could manage to walk as far
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 145 
 
 as the town witli tlie help of a stout stick, 
 returned from tlie Port to find Jeanie in 
 a liio^li state of alarm about her mother. 
 Mrs. Lindsay had had an unusually "bad 
 turn." 
 
 The doctor came, and directed that the 
 patient should be carefully nursed and served 
 with nourishing and delicate food, mention- 
 ing a variety of dainties, which were as far 
 beyond Jeanie's power to procure as the pre- 
 cious fruit of Allaclin s cave. 
 
 What was her surprise a couple of hours 
 afterward to receive a basket from the town, 
 brought by the doctor s boy, containing almost 
 everything that had been ordered for her 
 mother. She knew who had been the sender, 
 although the laddie said he had got the things 
 from his master. She knew quite well that 
 the doctor had met Kobin Gray in the mar- 
 ket; told him about her mother, and he had 
 forwarded the necessary articles he knew she 
 could not obtain otherwise. 
 
 10
 
 146 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 He came liimself in tlie afternoon, and 
 on the threshold she arrested him with 
 thanks. 
 
 "Ye re placing us under new obligations 
 every day/' she said in the cj^uiet sad way she 
 had obtained lately; "an' I dinna think we'll 
 ever be able to pay ye back. Whiles I think 
 that ye maun fancy ye get little even o' 
 thanks for a' ye ha'e dune. But oh, dinna 
 think that, for it's because the heart is fu' 
 that words are scarce." 
 
 Like most generous men, he felt awkward 
 in acknowledging gratitude ; so he moved his 
 huge feet uneasily, and answered: — 
 
 "I ken a' that, Jeanie — but how is she 
 now?" 
 
 "Better, an' she's fallen into a sleep." 
 
 "That's weel, and — and — Jeanie — " 
 
 He suddenly griped her arm — still a 
 shapely one, although it had lost much of its 
 plumpness. 
 
 There was a pause, and her sad eyes
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 147 
 
 scanned Kis face with a fear in them of what 
 was coming. 
 
 "There's something I hae wanted to say 
 to ye for a lang while, Jeanie/' he said hur- 
 riedly, and gazing fixedly at her hand; "but 
 for the reason that I didna want to fash ye, 
 I hae held back. Ye may as weel ken now 
 as ony ither time." 
 
 "Aye, ]\[ister Gray," she said huskily turn- 
 ing her face from him. 
 
 "I want ye to marry me, Jeanie," he said 
 simply, and with emotion; "that's the plain 
 truth, and that's the way ye can relieve 
 yoursel' o' a' the weight o' debt ye fancy 
 ye're owing me and worrying yoursel' about. 
 I'm an auld man maybe for siccan a young 
 lass, but ye ken me, and ye winna find ony 
 difference in me as lang's I live. I'll try to 
 make ye happy, lass, and your faither and 
 mither comfortable. That's a' I hae to say." 
 
 She took his bio; strons; hand in hers, and 
 pressed it warmly.
 
 148 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 "Ye liae been a guid frien' to us at our 
 sairest need/' she answered chokingly; "an' 
 if ye had asked me to lay doon my life for 
 ye, I would hae dune't willingly. But, oh, I 
 canna — canna be your wife, when Tm ay 
 thinking about him that's awa." 
 
 "That wound 11 heal, Jeanie, in time. Ye 
 canna be his now, or I would na hae spoken. 
 But ye can if ye will make three folk happy. 
 For their sakes, Jeanie, dinna refuse me." 
 
 He spoke with a simple earnestness that 
 moved her deeply, knowing as she did the 
 truth and goodness of his nature. There was 
 nothino; of a girl's bashfulness in her manner. 
 His grave earnest speech had its effect upon 
 her; and, besides, she had been prepared for 
 something of this sort long ago. 
 
 "I ken that he's awa; but, oh, my thochts 
 are wi' him yet, an' I couldna be a true wife 
 ay thinking about him. But there's nae- 
 thing in the warld for me to do noo but help 
 my faither an' puir mither."
 
 A ROMAXCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 149 
 
 "Ye'll do that best as mistress o' Cairnie- 
 ford; and your memory o' James Falcon 
 winna mak ye a liaet the waiir a wife." 
 
 "Gi'e me a wee while to think — until the 
 morn — I canna, canna answer ye the noo." 
 
 "1 dinna want to press ye ower sair or 
 ower sune," he said, detaining her, and now 
 Hs clear eyes rested on her averted face 
 yearningly — eyes glistening with a passion 
 in which his whole streno;th seemed concen- 
 trated. "Maybe I shouldna hae spoken yet; 
 but, wow, lass, it's been hard wark to keep 
 the upper hand o' the thoughts and feelings 
 that hae been jum'lin' through me sae lang. 
 I hae tried wi' a' my miclit to keep doon the 
 words that I hae been burn in to speak, lest 
 they should pain you, and mak' a gowk o' 
 mysel'. But I canna bear't ony langer. 
 Jeanie, Jeanie, lass, ye hae been like the licht 
 o' heaven itsel' to me — Guid forgi'e me if 't 
 be wrang to feel sae. I just couldna help 
 mysel'. A' the gowd I hae won and saved,
 
 150 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 a my beasts and plenisliing that I hae been 
 toiling for, for mair nor tliretty year, hae 
 grown as nocht in my e'e, compared wi' you. 
 I would heave them a' frae me this minute, 
 wi' a glad heart, if that would bring ye ony 
 nearer to me." 
 
 "Oh dinna say ony mair," she cried, striv- 
 ing to escape from him. The passion of the 
 man made her tremble; for she felt that she 
 had nothing wherewith to requite it. 
 
 "I maun speak on noo, if it was to be the 
 last time I was ever to speak again wi' you. 
 I ken it's redic'lous like for an auld man like 
 me (bitterly) to be speaking this way. But 
 I canna help myse]'. A deevil or an angel 
 has got possession o' me, and's drivin' me on 
 whether I will or no. God help me, I feel 
 mair like a wean ready to greet I dinna ken 
 what for, nor a man that micht be your 
 father. I ken hoo redic'lous it is; I ken hoo 
 folk would lauch at me did they ken o't; 
 but a' that just makes it the waur to bear.
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 151 
 
 Dinna ye laucli at me, lass, for tliat would 
 drive me mad at ance." 
 
 "Oil Heaven kens lioo I wish that I could 
 gie ye sic a heart as ye deserve," she ex- 
 claimed impetuously; and was sorry the 
 next moment that she had said so much, 
 feeling^ the tremulous eao^erness with which 
 he drew her shrinkino; form toward him, and 
 fearing, with good reason, that he had ac- 
 cepted the wish as equivalent to the power 
 to realize it. 
 
 "They were sweet words, hinny, sweet 
 words to ane that never ken'd father, mither, 
 or sister, and wha began life haudin' horses 
 in the market and herdin' cattle — wha's had 
 a sair faucht wi' the warld, though he has 
 got the better o't, and never ken'd what it 
 was to hae onybody to lo'e him for his ain 
 sake. Ye needna draw frae me, Jeanie. 
 Powerfu though this passion be, it hasna the 
 power to make me forget that I'm Eobin 
 Gray, twa score and ten, and ye're a young
 
 152 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 lassie, wliase kind heart pities me, and can 
 do nae mair. 
 
 "I would do onytliing — onytliing in the 
 warld but this, to pleasure ye." (Gasping 
 and confused.) 
 
 "And this is the only thing in the world 
 that can pleasure me (calming); and gin 
 yell come to my hame, and bring the sun- 
 sheen into't, ye'll never hae cause to sorrow, 
 if it be in the power o' man to mak' ye 
 happy." 
 
 "I hae no doubt o' that" (sincerely). 
 
 "The morn, then, ye'll tell me whether or 
 no ye'll be the guidwife o' Cairnieford." 
 
 "Aye, the morn." 
 
 "And ye's hae my guidwill to't," said 
 Adam, who had come out seeking Jeanie in 
 time to hear the last words. 
 
 "Thank ye, Adam, but it's the lassie's I 
 want first." 
 
 "Ye's hae that, Cairnieford, ye's hae that." 
 
 "We'll ken the morn."
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGE. 153 
 
 And Jeanie, having retreated the moment 
 her father had appeared, Eobin hurried off; 
 nmyilliug to remain, lest he shoukl in any 
 way take advantage of the influence he was 
 aware that Adam was ready to use on his 
 behalf. 
 
 But although he was too generous to avail 
 himself of that influence, he was mistaken in 
 fancying that it would not be used unasked.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 
 
 My father argued sair, my mither didna speak, 
 
 But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break." 
 
 —The Ballad. 
 
 Adam Lindsay was a stern man, and apt 
 to grumble petulantly at tlie sharp stones 
 and thorns lie had to tramp over on his road 
 of life. But he was not intentionally unkind 
 in act or word. Simply, his conduct was 
 regulated by a narrow view of morals. 
 
 To him the chief end of man was to attend 
 the kirk regularly, to "pay his way," and to 
 save as much siller as possible. That was 
 the sum total of his creed; and he was sin- 
 cerely consistent in walking by its light. If 
 the light happened to make him uncharitable 
 in judging his neighbours, he was unconscious
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 155 
 
 of the failing. Well-doing was to liim syn- 
 onymous with making siller. Justice meant 
 paying everybody whatever number of pounds, 
 shillings, and pence might be owing. Yet 
 when he heard the minister preach against 
 the worship of Mammon, Adam had no sus- 
 picion that he Avas in any way guilty of that 
 sin. Sentiment entered very slightly into 
 his nature; and his affection for his daughter 
 displayed itself in pride of her deft and thrifty 
 ways. When James Falcon asked her to be 
 his wife, Adam was proud that a daughter of 
 his should marry one who was regarded by 
 most folk as in a measure the adopted son 
 and probable heir of the Laird of Clash- 
 girn. 
 
 When he learned that Falcon was obliged 
 to sail in the Colin and put off the marriage 
 because he had no money, and was unable to 
 obtain the farm from the Laird without it, 
 he was disappointed. But he thought it 
 would come ridit after a while.
 
 156 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 The news came that Falcon was lost, and 
 Adam said, "Puir lad, on his first voyage too! 
 Aweel, we maun a' die ae time or ither." 
 
 Now, Eobin Gray had asked Jeanie to 
 marry him, and Adam, proud as he had been 
 at the idea of her becoming the wife of Falcon, 
 whose fortune was at the best only in pros- 
 pect, was still prouder to think that she 
 should become at once mistress of such a bein 
 house as that of Cairnieford. So, in the 
 evening, when Mrs. Lindsay was lying quiet 
 and much relieved by the administration of 
 the mixture the doctor had supplied, and a 
 glass of the wine Kobin Gray had supplied, 
 Adam spoke. 
 
 It had been working in him all afternoon, 
 and especially for the last hour, during which 
 he had been seated by the fire on the straight- 
 backed chair. The Bible lay on his knee and 
 his hand rested on the oj)en page, his finger 
 pointing to the verse at which he had stopped 
 reading.
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 157 
 
 Jeanie was sitting on a stool opposite knit- 
 ting a long blue "ribbed" stocking, her head 
 bowed, and her fingers moving rapidly. In 
 that position she had remained for the last 
 half hom^ and no word passed between them. 
 But indeed they never entered into what 
 might be called conversation. Jeanie was 
 still but a l^airn in her father s eyes, and in 
 her s he was the parent to be answered and 
 obeyed when he chose to speak, but not ad- 
 dressed as she might have done an ordinary 
 friend. 
 
 It never occurred to him that she was a 
 woman, and might be able to converse with 
 him about the general affairs of their small 
 world as a neighbour would have done. 
 Consequently they would sit for night after 
 night without a word passing between them, 
 except in the form of a question as to whether 
 or not something had been done, or a direc- 
 tion to do something. 
 
 "Hae ye thocht o' what Cairnieford was
 
 158 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 saying, Jeanie?" said Aclam, abruptly turn- 
 ing his eyes from tlie fire to her. 
 
 Jeanie started as if a pistol had exploded 
 at her ear; one of her knitting needles slipped 
 a dozen loops, and in hastily trying to repair 
 the damage her worsted became ravelled. 
 Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to 
 unravel it, but it seemed almost as if she 
 were making it worse rather than better. 
 Something was choking her and she could 
 not speak. She knew that the crisis had 
 come which she could no longer put off. 
 
 Adam had never before waited so long for 
 an answer from his daughter, and he repeated 
 his question peremptorily. 
 
 " What's wrang wi' the lass?" he exclaimed 
 impatiently, not having received an immedi- 
 ate response. " Did ye no hear what I was 
 saying?" 
 
 " Aye, faither, I heard ye," she said agitat- 
 edly, the ravelment of the worsted becoming 
 still more confusing.
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 159 
 
 " What way do ye no speak tlien, and no 
 sit there like a dummy that couklna ans^ver 
 a sensible question'?" 
 
 " I \yas gaun to speak, faither, if ye would 
 but orie me time. I hae been thinkino^ o't 
 an — an 
 
 '^AVeel, what are ye hirplin^ at noo?" and 
 his finger slipped impatiently from the verse 
 at which it had been pointed. 
 
 " I dinna think that I ouoht to aoree — I 
 
 o o 
 
 dinna think that I can agree." 
 
 She became somewhat calmer as soon as 
 she had pronounced this decision, which she 
 knew quite well was in direct opposition to 
 her parent's wishes. But she did not raise 
 her eyes from her work, to which she applied 
 herself with renewed energy. 
 
 Adam opened his eyes wide, fairly lost his 
 place in the book altogether, and gave his 
 maimed arm a jerk which resulted in a twinge 
 of pain that brought forth a short groan, and 
 did not increase his patience.
 
 160 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 "Dinna think ye ouglit to — dinna think 
 ye can agree!" he ejaculated, as soon as he 
 could find breath for his indignation ; " an' 
 what for no, I would like to ken ? Is he no 
 a weel-doing man, an a kind-hearted man wi' 
 a bein house an' a' that ony sensible woman 
 would desire — aye, an' let me tell ye that ony 
 woman in the town would loup at his offer and 
 be proud o't." 
 
 " He's a' that ye say and mair, but — 
 oh, father, I c^nna marry him — or ony 
 body." 
 
 " An' what for no, I say again, I would like 
 to ken?" 
 
 He emphasized his demand by closing the 
 Bible on his knee with a slap. 
 
 Mrs. Lindsay turned her head feebly on 
 the pillow and looked beseechingly at her 
 daughter. 
 
 " For the reason I hae gi'en himsel'," she 
 said in a low sad voice that was broken by 
 suppressed sobs; " because I'm no fit to be his
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. - 161 
 
 mfe wi' a' my heart lying out yonder v;i 
 Jeamie i' the sea/' 
 
 " Whatna havers is that ye re sa3dng? Ye 
 canna marry a di'ooned man, can ye ? an' I 
 ettle ye's no get siccan anither offer as Cair- 
 nieford's this towmond or mair." 
 
 " I dinna want ony offer, faither, an' it's no 
 for his bein house that I would tak' Eobin 
 Gray or onybody. I respec' him ower muckle 
 for that, and if he was as puir as Jeamie was 
 I would rather hae him nor ony ither man I 
 ken; but I dinna want to marry." 
 
 She had unravelled the Avorsted, and re- 
 commenced knitting now with a dark shadow 
 on her bonnie face, and tears glistening in 
 her eyes. 
 
 Adam sat bolt upright in his chair, glower- 
 ing at her. It was the first time his daughter 
 had been openly disobedient, and the effect 
 was a shock as gTcat as if she had perpetrated 
 a crime of the deepest dye. 
 
 " Ye would drive a saunt oot o's wits wi' 
 
 11
 
 162 EOBIN GRAY. 
 
 anger. A braw tiling for a man come to my 
 years, that's wrought liard a' my clays to gie 
 ye a decent upbringin', to find that my ain 
 dochter winna do my biddin , when she kens 
 it's a' for her ain guid." 
 
 " I never refused to do your biddin' afore, 
 faither, and I wouldna do't noo, but I canna 
 help mysel'. Ye dinna ken what a sair fecht 
 I hae had to bring mysel' to say no, when in 
 mony ways it would be sae muckle to my 
 advantage to say aye." 
 
 " Ye had nae business to hae siccan a fecht. 
 What in Guid's name should ye fecht about? 
 Was ye \ quarrelin' wi' yourseF because ye 
 was offered a guid hame an' a kind-hearted 
 man?" 
 
 " No " she was going to say that it was 
 
 because she had no love to give him; but she 
 felt that such an answer would only have 
 irritated her father the more. 
 
 " Then what was't ? Was't because ye jist 
 wanted to anger me ? Let me tell ye there
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 163 
 
 never was ane that quarrelled wi' het parritcli 
 tliat diclna wish for cauld afore's death. Ye's 
 be nae dochter o' mine gin ye dinna tell 
 Cairnieford the morn that yell tak' him an 
 thanlduV 
 
 Jeanie felt her cheek burning, and she was 
 disposed to give a still more decisive answer 
 than she had yet done; when raising her eyes 
 she saw the white imploring face of her 
 mother, and her heart faltered. 
 
 "It's the maist extr'ordinar nonsense I ever 
 heard tell o'," Adam went on angrily, "to 
 think that ye'll set your face against me and 
 your mither an' a man like Cairnieford, an' a' 
 for nae ither reason nor that the man ye 
 wanted's drooned. Gin he'd been livin' ye 
 couldna mak' mair ado. I lay my command 
 upo' ye to answer Cairnieford as he deserves 
 to be, an' if ye winna, ye'll be the sufferer 
 yoursel'. As for me and your mither, wx're 
 no lang for this world noo, but I didna expec' 
 that our last days were to be made miserable
 
 164 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 by the disobedience o' our ae bairn. I thocht 
 we were ill eneucli without that." 
 
 To do Adam justice, all his eagerness for 
 this marriage was not in any way influenced 
 by the idea that it would benefit himself; it 
 was wholly on his daughter s account that he 
 desired it — that he might have the pride of 
 seeing her well settled before his time came 
 for flitting to the kirkyard. Whilst he had 
 been speaking last some glimmering of what 
 the future might be to Jeanie if she refused 
 this off*er of a comfortable home dawned upon 
 him ; and, added to the real j)ain he ex- 
 perienced from her disobedience, overcame 
 his wrath sufiiciently to make his voice husky 
 as he finished. Jeanie had no answer to 
 make, and he did not speak. He read a 
 chapter from the Bible, and went to bed in 
 an ill-humour. 
 
 When Kobin Gray came next day with a 
 wistful uneasiness expressed on his genial 
 face, he found Adam at the door.
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 165 
 
 " The auld wife's a wlieen better/' he said, 
 moving uncomfortably on his chair. " Jeanie's 
 in the kitchen. Gang but." 
 
 He had not said a word to her about the 
 conversation of the previous night. He was 
 too stern and proud for that; but he was not 
 quite satisfied that the issue would be as he 
 desired. So whilst the warm sunlig;ht was 
 glaring around him there was a dark sorrow 
 on the old man's brow. 
 
 Jeanie was in the kitchen washing the 
 dishes when Eobin entered. She was paler, 
 he thought, than he had ever seen her before. 
 Her voice seemed lower and sadder as she 
 bade him "guid mornin', sir." 
 
 Eobin's heart swelled, for that did not 
 sound like a very promising address to an 
 anxious lover, and Eobin at two score and 
 ten was as anxious a wooer as ever was youth 
 of twenty. He had not known what it Avas 
 to lie awake even half an hour after going to 
 bed for many years until last night; when he
 
 166 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 had lain uncomfortably awake till early morn- 
 ing. It was no marvel, tlien, that he observed 
 the slightest alteration of look or tone. 
 
 He made no comment, however, and after 
 simply expressing his pleasure in learning 
 that the guidwife was better like, he stood 
 hesitatingly twining and untwining the lash of 
 his heavy riding w^hip round his fingers. She 
 Avent on wiping the dishes, and both were 
 conscious of an awkward pause. 
 
 " I ken ye're waiting for me to tell ye what 
 1 hae determined on," she said presently, and 
 with some nervousness. 
 
 " There's nae use concealing't, Jeanie, I hae 
 puir patience when Tm set on onything, till 
 I ken the best or worst o't; and the hope and 
 the fear o' your answer hae been keeping 
 up sic a wranglin' in my head that they 
 hae driven a' thought o' ither things oot 
 ot. 
 
 " 111 no keep ye waiting lang noo ; but I'm 
 jist like ane that's feart for the sea, an' wha's
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 1C7 
 
 got ae foot in a boat an' tlie itlier oot, and is 
 no sure whether to o'anof forrit or back." 
 
 "Then ye haena decided yet." (A little 
 dissatisfied.) 
 
 " Aye, I hae made up my mind — to tell ye 
 a the truth an' let ye decide for your- 
 seF." 
 
 " The truth— what aboot?" (A little sur- 
 prised.) 
 
 " About myser." (Wiping a plate slowly.) 
 "Ye ken a about Jeamie, and ye hae said 
 that it winna matter. That's anither reason 
 for the honour and respec' I bear ye, and I 
 couldna do itherways, seeing a' that ye hae 
 dune for me and mine. But I canna care for 
 ye as I cared for him, and gin I was my lane 
 in the world I would say no to your ofier, 
 jist because I honour ye, and think ye should 
 hae a wife deservdn' o' ye — " 
 
 " But what better would I be if I didna 
 care for her?" he interrupted eagerly. 
 
 " I canna ansv/er that," she said, smiling in
 
 168 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 spite of her sorrow; and tliat Eobin accepted 
 as a good omen. " But I was gaun to say 
 that I'm no my lane, and for the sake o' 
 them that need my help, for the sake o' a 
 that we are awing ye — gin ye can take me 
 understan'in' a' that, I'm ready to be your 
 wife, Eobin Gray, and I'll try to be a faithfu' 
 ane." 
 
 " It's a bargain," he cried, loud with joy, 
 and catching her in his arms, in spite of the 
 plate, which was smashed on the floor, he 
 •kissed her with a smack which certainly 
 sounded of delight. " It's a bargain — and 
 that's the erls," he added. 
 
 There never was lover so enthusiastic, and 
 there never was lady so cold. She seemed 
 to become aware that she was playing an un- 
 gracious part, for she tried to smile and said 
 softly — 
 
 *'Ye winna heed me being a wee thing 
 quiet, for it's mair i' my heart to greet nor 
 to lauofh."
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 169 
 
 " I'll no heed onything ye like to do, my 
 daT\i:ie, sae lang's ye dinna change your mind 
 afore the minister puts it ayont your power 
 to do't. Bless ye, lassie, ye hae gien me a 
 happiness that I never ken'd afore. I'll 
 craw as crouse as a gamecock noo, an' I'm 
 half minded to gie ye twa or three steps o' 
 the Hielan' fling this minute, jist to relieve 
 mysel' o' some o' this joy that's swellin' my 
 breast." 
 
 " I wish ye may never hae cause to repent 
 o' your joy." 
 
 " Eepent ! Hoots, lassie, hand up your 
 head an' look in my face. See if it's ane 
 that's ever like to change. Nae fear o' that; 
 its new life ye hae gien me, an I'm as young 
 again's I was three minutes syne. Nae doubt 
 we'll hae bits o' bickerings, as a' folk hae ; but 
 we'U hael them wi' a kiss, an' gang cloucely 
 to kirk an' fair thegither for a' that." 
 
 Jeanie could not help experiencing a sense 
 of relief As the sunshine lightens the heart
 
 170 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 SO the warm light of this man s great love 
 shone in upon her despondency, lifted it 
 up, and blessed her with the first breath 
 of sweet content she had known for many 
 days. 
 
 There is an irresistible gladness rewards 
 the bestower of pleasure on others — like 
 mercy, the gift blesses the giver and receiver; 
 and Jeanie was in no way unfaithful to the 
 memory of James Falcon in feeling the hap- 
 pier for Eobin Gray's joy. Besides, it is only 
 the sourest of natures which can persist in re- 
 maining gloomy and sad when the radiance 
 of a pleasant future is shed upon them. She 
 had been fretted by the thousand petty cares 
 of a struggle for mere existence, with a dark 
 hopeless future. That was all over now; 
 there were light and peace before her; and as 
 the weight of her burden decreased, she could 
 not but be relieved. 
 
 "Ill ay be glad when I see ye happy, 
 Eobin," she said as he w^as leavino^, after
 
 A HEART STRUGGLE. 171 
 
 having insisted upon an early marriage, and 
 obtained her consent. 
 
 " Then ye'U ay be glad, Jeanie lass, for 111 
 ay be happy." 
 
 He spoke quite confidently — no shadow of 
 fear crossing his mind.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A WEDDING AND A HOME-COMING. 
 
 "Fy let us a' to the bridal. 
 
 For there'll be lilting there; 
 For Jock's to be man-ied to Maggie, 
 The lass wi' the govvdeu hair." — Old Song. 
 
 There was no happier man in all Scotland 
 tha,n Kobin Gray on that bright Sabbath 
 morning when the banns of marriage were 
 proclaimed between the bachelor of Cairnie- 
 ford and the spinster of Portlappoch. He 
 had oiled his hair and brushed his whiskers 
 with unusual care, and dressed himself with 
 all the labour of a youthful beau to attend 
 the kirk that morning. 
 
 He sat proudly erect on his seat in the far 
 corner of the kirk when the proclamation 
 was made, and he never blinked under the
 
 A WEDDING AND A HOME-COMING. 173 
 
 curious stare of the congregation whicli was 
 immediately turned upon liim, as if lie were 
 about to perpetrate some deed which de- 
 manded the active interest of all who knew 
 an3rthing about him. Even those who only 
 knew him by name took a good look at him, 
 as if he had suddenly done something which 
 rendered him worthy of special observation. 
 Douce old couples, who had known the 
 ups and downs of married life, regarded him 
 with grave benignancy; young couples, who 
 had just passed the Eubicon, smiled to each 
 other, as if it were a satisfaction to discover 
 others embarking on the same sea as them- 
 selves. Maidens looked and wondered when 
 their turn would come; not a few would have 
 been well pleased to change places with the 
 spinster who had just been proclaimed, and, 
 having no chance of doing so, thought that 
 she had "waled a man wi' years eneuch ony- 
 way." Those who knew about James Falcon 
 gave their watering mouths a ^vry twist, and
 
 174 RQBIN GRAY. 
 
 thought that she had " on wi' the new love 
 gey sune after being afF wi' the auld/^ 
 
 Youths who knew Jeanie, on the other 
 hand, would not have been sorry to change 
 places with the proud bachelor, and won- 
 dered that she would take such an old man. 
 Then they thought sneeringly of well-stocked 
 Cairnieford, and for five seconds held woman- 
 kind in general in bitter scorn for their 
 mercenary affections. 
 
 The stare presently turned from the 
 bachelor to Adam Lindsay's seat. But Adam 
 was there alone, dry, clean, and stiff, the 
 splints and bandages of his wounded arm 
 hidden by a big red cotton handkerchief, the 
 corners of which were fastened behind his 
 neck, and the body of it forming a comfort- 
 able rest for the arm. There was satisfaction 
 and pride in the father's heart at that mo- 
 ment, such as he had never known since the 
 day on which his own banns had been pro- 
 claimed. There was his daughter publicly
 
 A WEDDIXG AXD A H02IE-C0MIXG. 175 
 
 announced as tlie future guidwife of Cairnie- 
 ford. He felt as much honoured as if he had 
 publicly received some acknowledgment of 
 personal merit. 
 
 As for Eobin, he was proud too, as well as 
 happy. He gazed straight at the pulpit 
 during the examination of the folk ; but his 
 eyes wavered a moment to rest on the hawk- 
 ish face of the Laird of Clashgirn, whose seat 
 was just beneath the pulpit — that he might 
 be the nearer to godliness probably. The 
 Laird's eyes twinkled, and there was a queer 
 ofrin on his visagre as his head made one of 
 its peculiar dabs forward at his Bible. It 
 was a complacent and patronizing grin, and 
 yet Robin read it as meaning, " I hae got ye 
 noo, my frienV 
 
 The sunlio'ht streamed in throuo^h the 
 windows with their white blinds at either 
 side of the pulpit, and shed a glancing radi- 
 ance around the ruddy-visaged and snowy- 
 haired minister as he gave out the psalm.
 
 176 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 The congregation rose and the simple song 
 of praise was chanted, not in the best of tune, 
 perhaps, for the precentor's voice was cracked 
 and his tone somewhat shrill, and few of the 
 folk practised music or attempted to sing a 
 note except in the kirk, but with a sincerity 
 in singing right or wrong that imparted a 
 certain harmony to the discord. 
 
 With all its discord of untrained voices, 
 the song had never before sounded so solemnly 
 in the ears of Eobin Gray, for his heart was 
 glad and lifted up in thankfulness. 
 
 When the service was over, and the con- 
 gregation was slowly, and in order, quitting 
 the kirk, groups of twos and threes halted 
 among the graves outside, and about the gate 
 of the kirkyard, to exchange friendly greet- 
 ings, and gossip a little about the weather, 
 the crops, the sermon, and the general news 
 of the Aveek — for newspapers were rare in 
 those days, and the news of a month past 
 progressed slowly to the folk of Portlappoch,
 
 A WEDDING AND A HOME-COMING. 177 
 
 and was passed graciously from moutli to 
 moutli as news. 
 
 The forthcoming marriage was another 
 topic of this day's gossip, and as Eobin halted 
 to speak to his acquaintances, he received 
 congratulations and pawky smiles, which he 
 accepted with good-humoured thanks. 
 
 The Laird of Clashgirn, leaning on his 
 thick gold-headed Sabbath staff — for he used 
 a plainer one on week-days — hirpled up to 
 him. 
 
 " I gie ye joy, Cairnieford," he said with a 
 complacent dab, "and a lang life wi' your 
 dawtie. Od, it's extraordinar.' Ye beat us a' 
 wi' your farm an' your cattle, and noo ye beat 
 us a' wi' marryin' the brawest lass amang us." 
 
 "I'm obleeged to ye, McWhapple," an- 
 swered Robin drily and moving off. 
 
 The Laird hirpled after him with malicious 
 friendliness. 
 
 "Aye, she's a braw quean" (smirking and 
 taking a pinch) ; " but it couldna be true that 
 
 12
 
 178 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 slie cared muckle for my puir frien Jeames 
 Falcon, or she couldna hae forgot him so 
 soon." 
 
 Eobin halted, and his visage darkened for 
 an instant. Somehow, this reference to 
 Falcon seemed to convey a slur upon Jeanie 
 and himself, and a twinge of anger shot 
 through him that imparted a bitterness to 
 the cup of joy he had been quaffing. But 
 the shadow passed; the sun shone too brightly 
 on this day to permit it to linger. 
 
 " That's atween hersel' and him that's awa, 
 McWhapple," he answered quietly; "but she 
 kens that if she was to greet her e'en oot, or 
 to bide single a' her days, she couldna bring 
 the dead to life." 
 
 "And so she mends her loss wi' takin' 
 anither man. Od, that's woman-like." 
 
 " Just that. By-the-by, did ye hear what 
 Dunbar was telling me ? There's been a heap 
 o' smugglin' hereabout, especially in brandy 
 an' tobacco."
 
 A WEDDING AND A HOME-COMING, 179 
 
 "That smuggiin's an awfu' ruination to 
 honest traders." 
 
 " Nae doot. Ye do a wee in the brandy 
 and tobacco trade yoursel', dye no?" 
 
 "Whiles — whiles" (grasping his staff 
 tightly). 
 
 " Aye, vveel, yell be glad to hear that the 
 gangers hae gotten word o' the smugglin', 
 and they're determined to put it down." 
 
 "A guid thing — a guid thing for honest 
 trade. Guid day to ye, Cairnieford." 
 
 And the Laird hirpled away to the inn for 
 his pony. 
 
 Eobin's good-humour was completely re- 
 stored now; for he was always amused when- 
 ever he had said anything to make the Laird 
 uncomfortable, and evidently Clashgirn had 
 been none the blither for the information he 
 had received, in spite of his admiration for 
 honest trade. 
 
 The banns having been proclaimed three 
 times on the one Sabbath, the marriage took
 
 180 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 place on the Wednesday following. It was 
 a simple affair, so far as the ceremony was 
 concerned. 
 
 The kitchen of Adam Lindsay's cottage, 
 with its plain earthen floor and brightly 
 polished tins on the yellow-ochred walls, was 
 the scene of the bridal. 
 
 Mrs. Lindsay was so much better that she 
 was able to sit in the big chair by the fire- 
 place, supported by pillows and blankets. 
 The guests consisted of two friends, their 
 wives, and the daughter of one of the couples, 
 Bessie Tait, who had been Jeanie's companion, 
 and Jock Dunbar, the son of Kobin Gray's 
 neighbouring farmer. Bessie and Jock offici- 
 ated as bridesmaid and best-man. 
 
 Mr. Monduff, the ruddy- visagecl kindly- 
 hearted minister, arrived, congratulated the 
 guidwife upon being out of bed and on the 
 event of the clay, told Bessie it would be her 
 turn next, and bade Jock Dunbar make haste 
 and give him more work to do. Bessie crim-
 
 A WEDDING AND A HOME-COMING. 181 
 
 soned and tossed her head, and Jock grinned 
 and looked sheepish. 
 
 The simple jokes of the kindly minister 
 put all the folk in good humour; and pre- 
 sently Jeanie appeared, flushed with the 
 hurry of dressing, for she had been engaged 
 up till the last minute cooking the dinner, 
 which Mrs. Tait was to dish up after she had 
 gone. The flush improved her amazingly, and 
 relieved her cheeks of the sad pallor which 
 would have been so little in keeping with 
 the face of a bride. 
 
 Kobin was excited and nervous, eager to 
 get the ceremony over. But Jeanie was 
 gravely quiet, and placed her hand in his 
 trustingly when the proper moment arrived. 
 He grasped it fervently and looked at her 
 with a proud smile, as much as to say, "You 
 are mine now, come what may." 
 
 Mr. Monduff's homily on the responsi- 
 bilities of husbands and wives was brief, and 
 as soon as it was finished the marriage
 
 182 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " lines " were signed, and Kobin signified his 
 triumpli and satisfaction by giving liis wife 
 a hearty kiss in the presence of the delighted 
 company. All present congratulated the 
 pair, and Jeanie looked somewhat dazed as 
 one after another saluted her as Mistress 
 Gray. 
 
 A gig, hired from the inn for the occasion, 
 was waiting outside. The bride's box — a 
 small thing containing all her "providing," 
 which had been necessarily of a very limited 
 nature — was placed under the seat. She took 
 leave of father and mother. 
 
 " I wish ye weel. Mistress Gray," said 
 Adam, stiff and proud; "and may ye live 
 lang enuch to unnerstan what a proud day 
 this is for me." 
 
 " The Lord keep ye, my bairn," said the 
 meek mother tearfully, "and make this the 
 Ijeginnin' o' mony days o' joy." 
 
 "Ill warrant that, mither,'' cried Kobin 
 heartily.
 
 A WEDDIXG AND A HOME-COMING. 183 
 
 He helped his Avife into the gig, and a 
 shower of old banchels were thrown at them 
 as he drove away, looking back, flourishing 
 his whip, and returning the shout of good 
 speed with cheery voice. He made the horse 
 gallop furiously, to keep pace with the joyful 
 dancing of his heart. 
 
 " There's nae use tryin' to tell ye what I 
 feel, guidwife," he cried, suddenly throwing 
 his arm around her, while wdiip and reins 
 were shifted to one hand; "I canna do't. But 
 it's jist — it's jist heeven. My certes, I'd liae 
 been married lang syne if I'd kent there'd 
 been sae muckle delicht in't." 
 
 And crack went the whip again, and away 
 went the horse with a fresh bound and re- 
 newed vigour, whilst the setting sun was 
 glinting upon them through the trees, and 
 the birds Avere loudly singing their evening 
 song. The keen wind, the sunlight, the 
 chorus of birds, the rich green foliage of the 
 trees, and the yellow ripening stooks in the
 
 184 BO BIN GBAY. 
 
 fields — all seemed to sympathize witli tlie 
 bridegroom's gladness. Even Jeanie felt ex- 
 hilarated by the rapid motion of the vehicle 
 and the blythesomeness of all that surrounded 
 her. 
 
 If the marriage at the cottao^e had been 
 quiet, Eobin had determined that the "hame- 
 coming " should make up for it in loud mirth. 
 
 So, as they drove up the glen in which 
 the white house of Cairnieford nestled cosily 
 amongst firs and beeches, with the last red 
 rays of the setting sun glancing over the 
 roof, there was a crowd gathered at the corner 
 of the by-road leading from the main road to 
 the steading. 
 
 Farmers and their wives, with grown-up 
 sons and daughters, and all the servants of 
 Cairnieford, buxom dairymaids and sturdy 
 ploughmen, were waiting to welcome the 
 happy couple. The moment the gig turned 
 the head of the road, near the mouth of the 
 glen, and became visible to the waiting crowd,
 
 A WED D 1 270 AXD A HOME-COMIXG. 185 
 
 a welcoming^ shout echoed alono^ the hills. 
 It was repeated when the gig stopped in their 
 midst, and heartj congratulations were ac- 
 companied by warm grasps of the hand, which 
 indicated the sincerity of the speakers. 
 
 John Dunhar, the farmer of Boghaugh, 
 being the oldest man of the company, gave 
 the bride a paternal kiss, bidding her welcome 
 hame, and adding that "ye micht hae cast 
 vonr o;artens a hantle waur, oruidwife." 
 
 Eobin in his boisterous happiness repeated 
 the salutation as they entered the house, after 
 the batchelors present, young and old, had 
 competed in a race from the corner of the 
 road to the house for the bride's gartens. The 
 trophy was won by a strapping young plough- 
 man, whose length of limb obtained for him 
 the coo'nomen of Lanc^ Eob, and whose vie- 
 tory obtained for him the jibes and cheers of 
 his fellow-competitors, and the blushing smiles 
 of the lasses; for Lang Eob had proved in 
 the contest that he was to be the first amongst
 
 186 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 them to wed, and his willingness to submit 
 to his fate. Consequently the lads laughed 
 and joked, and the lasses simpered and blushed, 
 wondering which of them might be his future 
 partner. 
 
 The barn had been cleared, and a long 
 table, easily constructed by placing a kitchen 
 table at each end and a number of planks 
 supported by tressels between them, had been 
 placed down the centre of the floor. The 
 board was covered with snowy-white cloths, 
 and actually bent under its piles of good 
 homely fare. 
 
 Singed sheeps' heads and haggis were the 
 principal dishes, although there was beef and 
 mutton in plenty too. Herrings and whit- 
 ings, brought that morning fresh from the 
 Port by Girzie Todd, with a huge platter of 
 haddocks, filled up the corners; and what 
 room remained was occupied by kebbocks of 
 cheese and piles of bannocks and scones of 
 barley-meal. These, with a barrel of good
 
 A WEDDING AND A HOME-COMING. 187 
 
 strong ale, a keg of whisky, and sundry bottles 
 of brandy, composed such a feast as made the 
 mouths of the company water for days after- 
 ward at the memory of it. 
 
 They ate and drank until they could eat 
 and drink no more. Then the table was 
 cleared, and with unceremonious haste every- 
 thing was carried outside, except a few long 
 forms for the elders to sit on, and one of the 
 tables, which was thrust into a corner to 
 serve as a platform for the musicians. 
 
 The musicians consisted of Eoving Eoney, 
 the piper, and Souter Tam, who played the 
 fiddle, and who, consequently, never touched 
 an awl if he could obtain a drappie by fid- 
 dling at any of the social gatherings of the 
 country side. 
 
 The orchestra, in a strain of wild discord- 
 ance, struck up a reel, and away went the 
 dancers, "hooching " laughing, clattering their 
 feet, and flinging their legs about in an alarm- 
 ing fashion, whilst the yells they uttered at
 
 188 no BIN GRAY. 
 
 every turn of the reel or tlie stratlispey com- 
 pletely drowned the discord of the mnsic. 
 
 The rafters shook again with the sounds of 
 mirth; the candles, stuck on bits of wood 
 against the wall, jumped and spluttered. The 
 old folks, whose dancing days were by, kept 
 time to the clatter of youthful feet by beat- 
 ing their own and their heavy staves on the 
 floor, cracking their thumbs gaily, and join- 
 ing with their feeble voices in the wild chorus 
 of "hoochs" — a species of happy yell which 
 can only be appreciated when heard, and com- 
 pared with which the war-whoop of the Indian 
 must be weak. 
 
 When the fun was at its loudest, and when 
 the lights had diminished by several candles 
 burning out and others dropping from their 
 niches, leaving shadowy corners where fa- 
 voured lads might steal a kiss without the 
 old folk being the wiser, the bride contrived 
 to slip unobserved out of the barn and into 
 the house.
 
 A WEDDIXG AXD A HOME-COMIXG. 189 
 
 The bridegroom, ^'ho liad proved his youth 
 in spite of his gray hairs by dancing and 
 daffing more furiously than any, soon ob- 
 served the absence of the one who was to 
 him the queen of all, and immediately en- 
 deavoured to follow. But Lang Eob saw 
 him slyly attempting to escape, and raised 
 the halloo. 
 
 Eobin thereupon threw off all attempt at 
 disguise, and made a bold dash for the door, 
 rushing out with the whole troup, shouting 
 and laughing, at his heels. But whether 
 Eobin's limbs had really grown suppler than 
 usual, or Lano^ Eob's oTown stiffer with the 
 exercise they had undergone, not even he 
 could overtake the flying bridegroom. 
 
 The latter daii:ed into the house, slammed 
 to the door, and barred it in the faces of his 
 pursuers, leaving them to speud the rest of 
 the night, and separate as their pleasure 
 might direct. 
 
 So the happy day came to an end.
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 A CALM BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 " Shall tempest-riven blossom 
 Wheu fair leaves fall away, 
 In coldness close its bosom 
 
 'Gainst beams of milder day."— IVm. Thoin. 
 
 Whatever sad thoughts Jeaiiie might have 
 been afflicted with on her wedding-day, they 
 had been almost completely ousted by the 
 bustle and excitement attendant on the event. 
 Only once she had been troubled — when 
 standing before the minister listening dream- 
 ily to the words which were to change the 
 whole current of her life, and wondering 
 what a simple matter this marriage ceremony 
 proved to be. She had looked forward to it 
 with so much awe; she had thought of it wdth 
 so much vague dread, as of a rite in which 
 there was some mystic element that would
 
 A CALM BEFORE THE STORM. 191 
 
 visibly transform her nature; and liere it was 
 passing with the same monotonous calm of 
 the ordinary Sabbath service in the kirk, but 
 without the solemnity the latter obtained 
 from time and place. It had not even the 
 importance which she attached to the minis- 
 ter's gown and broad white bands. He was 
 just dressed in his usual black clothes; and 
 although his tone was earnest, and his ex- 
 pression grave, she could not divest herself 
 of a feeling that the ceremony w^as not half 
 so solemn as such an important event de- 
 manded. There was Bessie Tait, with a sly 
 smirk on her comely face, alternately glancing 
 at the bride, the bridegroom, and Jock Dunbar, 
 to see how they were taking the proceedings. 
 There was Jock with a long face and open 
 mouth, staring hard at the minister as if he 
 expected him to say something terrible; and 
 there was Eobin in his new blue coat with 
 the high collar and the bright brass buttons, 
 his features screwed into an expression of
 
 192 BOBIX GBAT. 
 
 attention, whilst lie eagerly watched for the 
 words which would declare the man and 
 woman one. These were trivial thoughts for 
 such a moment: she became suddenly con- 
 scious of that, and with the consciousness had 
 come the memory of him by whose side she 
 had expected to stand whenever she had 
 dreamed of her bridal day. Then her heart 
 sunk, leaving her sick and faint. 
 
 But Eobin Gray's warm grasp had recalled 
 her to the present duty, and the troublous 
 memory had been driven away. It had not 
 been permitted to return with any force dur- 
 ing that day. On the following morning 
 when she arose in her new home, the sun was 
 shining, and Eobin had so many things to 
 show her, so many new arrangements to plan 
 and to discuss with her — his great love ap- 
 pearing in all, bright as the sunlight — that 
 under such influence it was impossible for 
 her to be sad even had she tried. She had 
 no intention of doing that. She was wholly
 
 A CALM BEFORE THE STORM. 193 
 
 untainted by the spirit of discontent wliicli 
 cries all the more for what it cannot have, 
 because it is unreachable. She would rather 
 be happy than otherwise if she could manage it. 
 She had loved James Falcon truly, loved 
 him with all the strength of her pure simple 
 nature; and had he lived she would have been 
 the wife of no other man. But he was dead; 
 and she had found a good kind husband, who 
 had lifted her and those dear to her above 
 the stings of poverty, the bitterness of which 
 she knew too well, and she could not be 
 otherwise than grateful. She had no highly 
 refined sense of self-sacrifice; but she had a 
 natural sense of duty, and a heart capable of 
 a gratitude that led her as clearly in the right 
 course as if she had received the most delicate 
 education in ethics. Both gratitude and 
 respect she brought to her husband full- 
 handed; and out of these, no doubt, a tenderer 
 sentiment would blossom in time. And in- 
 deed after the first few days of coyness, she 
 
 13
 
 194 BOBm GRAY. 
 
 could not help becoming a little proud of her 
 home. She who had been accustomed to 
 such pinching and striving was noAV mistress 
 of plenty; and she was pleased, although her 
 habits of thrift were not in the least danger 
 of changino; to those of waste. 
 
 So it was natural that by and by she 
 should become somewhat proud of the guid- 
 man who had given her this home. Every- 
 body liked him, everybody admired him — 
 except perhaps the Laird — and the human 
 heart is wonderfully influenced in its likings 
 and dislikings by the opinions of others; 
 however loudly we may assert our independ- 
 ence of judgment. Besides, his fidelity to her 
 was constant and untiring. He observed her 
 with kindling eyes as she moved about with 
 matronly gravity, attending to the affairs of 
 the house, or helping the lassies in the byre 
 to milk a stubborn cow, or feeding the hens, 
 or, in brief, performing any of the duties of 
 a farmer's wife. He followed her steps with
 
 A CALM BEFORE THE STORM. 195 
 
 a devotion tliat seemed to grow day by day 
 into a species of idolatry, tliat almost fright- 
 ened tier at times with the mere sense of her 
 own unworthiness of it. She could not help 
 being pleased by it for all that, any more 
 than she could help being grateful to him: 
 and day by day as his passion increased, she 
 learned to rest more upon his strength, and 
 to resign herself to him with an utter faith- 
 fulness that was closely akin to love, if it 
 were not love itself 
 
 In this way James Falcon became a sad 
 memory which troubled her only at intervals, 
 and that faintly and more faintly, as the fad- 
 ing moon stirs in the depths of a loch. His 
 name had never passed her lips since the 
 marriage day. She avoided so far as might 
 be every thought of him, because she felt 
 that it was right to do so, and because she 
 had an instinctive knowledge that the subject 
 was one her husband disliked. He had given 
 no hint to that effect: he seemed to have
 
 196 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 thrust the matter aside with a strong will 
 that it might never interfere with his happi- 
 ness. But one day he was mimicking the 
 Laird, who had been making another of his 
 shamly sympathetic speeches about a "puir 
 frienV and these words seemed to recall 
 something unpleasant. Eobin stopped, and 
 in an awkward way begun to speak of other 
 affairs. Jeanie suspected that his abrupt 
 halt had been caused by a reminiscence of 
 Falcon, and she noticed that Eobin did not 
 mention the Laird for a good while after- 
 ward. That was the nearest approach they 
 made in speech to the subject. If they had 
 bound themselves by solemn vows to avoid 
 it they could not have done so more strictly. 
 Not that they were afraid of it; but he for 
 her sake, and she for his, held it better that 
 the past should lie buried with the dead man 
 out yonder in the sea, than that the faintest 
 hint of it, however pure, should disturb the 
 happiness of the present. Each, with no
 
 A CALM BEFORE THE STORM. 197 
 
 more selfish thought than to spare the other 
 pain, wished to forget that Falcon had lived. 
 Her whole life became concentrated on 
 one object — to make her guiclman happy. 
 She was faithful to her promise; and he was 
 faithful to his, for he was " ay happy when 
 he saw her pleased." 
 
 Always seeking means to gratify his wife, 
 Eobin had insisted on removing her* father 
 and mother to Cairnieford. He had experi- 
 enced a little difiiculty in persuading Adam 
 to consent to this arrangement. 
 
 "For thretty years," said the old fisher- 
 man in his stifi" proud way, " I hae ay had a 
 roof o' my ain, puir though it micht be; an' 
 I canna just stamack the idea o' bidin' aneath 
 the roof o' anither, though it is yours an' my 
 dochters." 
 
 " Aweel, Adam," rejoined Cairnieford dis- 
 appointed, but with a twinkle in his eyes as 
 if he felt sure of overcoming the objection;
 
 198 ROBIN OR AY. 
 
 " if ye winna flit ye'll hae to fee a lassie to 
 do tlie work o' the house, an' look after my 
 guid-mither. Fm thinking ye re a wee thing 
 ower stiff in the joints to be reddin up the 
 place yersel', forbye lookin after your fishing 
 gear, and takin your turn in the boat, as I 
 hope ye'll sune be able to do." 
 
 "We can get Bess Tait's lassie to look in 
 whiles an' see if the auld wife needs onything 
 when I'm awa." 
 
 "Then ye would rather be behauden to 
 Bess Tait than to Jeanie an' me?" 
 
 " I didna mean that." 
 
 " I'll no believe but ye do mean it unless 
 ye come up by the morn without mair ado. 
 It'll pleasure me, and it'll pleasure my guid- 
 wife, wha'U be able then, without ony fash, 
 to look after her mither as she's been used to 
 do. There's naebody sae willin' to do it, and 
 there's naebody sae able, as Jeanie. A' thing 
 considered, it would be a mortal sin o' ye to 
 keep the auld wife here."
 
 A CALM BEFORE THE STORM. 1D9 
 
 The aro;umeiit thus assumed too o;rave an 
 aspect to be resisted even by Adam Lindsay's 
 stubbornness. He yielded. So the oars, the 
 boat, and the nets, were removed a couple of 
 miles farther along the shore, and were carried 
 up the stream which coursed through the 
 Glen of Cairnieford. Then the cottage was 
 closed, and the key delivered to the Laird's 
 agent. 
 
 That was another link between Jeanie and 
 her husband. Gossips, and the Laird with 
 his hypocritical benignance might pity him, 
 and forebode sorrow as the upshot of such a 
 hasty and unequal match as they were pleased 
 to consider his had been; but all the croak- 
 ing of all the birds of evil omen in the world 
 would have fallen unheeded on Kobin Gray's 
 ears. He did not oive a thouo^ht to the idle 
 presages which had been whispered about 
 after the Sabbath on which they had been 
 " kirkit " — that is, when for the first time as 
 man and wife they had taken their seats in
 
 200 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 the church. They had undergone a severe 
 scrutiny. Tlie colour and trimming of 
 Jeanie's big bonnet, the fold of her Paisley 
 shawl — Eobin's gift of course — and its pro- 
 bable cost; her expression and his were all 
 duly registered by the observant matrons and 
 maidens, and formed a staple of interesting 
 converse for the following week. Jeanie had 
 sustained the scrutiny with quiet diffidence; 
 and Eobin had looked round with an air of 
 proud satisfaction. After the week of marvel 
 had passed, without any great calamity be- 
 falling the house of Cairnieford, the subject 
 begun to lose its interest save to the few con- 
 firmed "clashmongers," who, with persistent 
 inquisitiveness, seized every opportunity of 
 learning anything about the doings at the 
 farm. 
 
 There was nothing particular, however, to 
 learn, except that Jeanie made a capital 
 farmer's wife, although she had been brought 
 up in a fisherman's cot. She had taken the
 
 A CALM BEFORE THE STORM. 201 
 
 dairy entirely in her own hands; and she was 
 reported to have a knack of getting more 
 butter off the kirn than anybody else could 
 do. Her hens laid more eggs and brought 
 forth more chickens than others; the farm- 
 workers sounded her praise, all over the 
 country for her swxet sowens, big scones, 
 crumpy bannocks, and rich kale. Altogether 
 staid folk begun to think that Cairnieford 
 had made a lucky choice, and had got a 
 " kindly managing body for his guidwife." 
 
 The golden autumn slowly faded under 
 the silver snow^s of winter. The hills and 
 the glen assumed a glistening white mantle; 
 and the crystal burn ran down from the high 
 lands through the heart of the glen, touching 
 the farmstead, and sinoino; in the still air 
 with a sharp merry voice. But w^hilst the 
 snow fell, and the wdnds blew^ shrill and snell 
 up from the sea, there w^as sweet content 
 under the roof of Cairnieford, and the future 
 cast no shadow on the house.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROM THE SEA. 
 
 " Each whirl of the wheel, 
 Each step brings me nearer 
 The hame of my youth — 
 Every object grows dearer." — H. Ainslie. 
 
 Girzie Todd's butt-an'-a-ben formed the cor- 
 ner dwelling of a row of low-thatclied houses 
 at the port end of the town. The walls were 
 barely ten feet high, built of unhewn stone, 
 white-washed; the thatch was black with 
 age and smoke, and crowded with sparrows' 
 nests. The windows were more like small 
 square holes than anything else, and what 
 glass remained in the frame-work was blue 
 and knotted. Behind the house she had a 
 patch of ground in which she reared kale 
 and sybows. Leaning against the wall was 
 a little black shed, which had once been used
 
 FROM THE SEA, 203 
 
 as a pig-stye, but which was now appropri- 
 ated to the shelter of Dawnie, the cuddy. 
 
 There was a strong odour of fish alDout the 
 place, which was readily accounted for by 
 observing that at the side of every door of 
 the row huno; a fish-haik — a triangular 
 wooden frame, barred like a diminutive gate, 
 and studded with wooden pins, on which 
 hung rows of herring to dry. 
 
 Girzie had just returned from her day's 
 journey. It was only about five o'clock, 
 although quite dark; for it was December, 
 and there was a heavy wind lashing the tide 
 against the Port, and moaning wildly over 
 the bar. 
 
 She was in the shed "sorting up" her faith- 
 ful servant for the night, and supplying him 
 with his supper before she touched anything 
 herself. 
 
 AYattie was in the house, down on his 
 knees on the earthen floor at the fire-place. 
 His teeth were chattering ; and as he swelled
 
 204 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 liis cheeks and used the whole strength of 
 his lungs to blow the peats into a warm blaze, 
 the fitful gleams of light showed that his 
 nose was blue, his cheeks red, and his hands 
 swollen to a raw -flesh appearance by the 
 bitter cold. 
 
 He had no other light except what he 
 could obtain from the fire, as his mother had 
 taken the only lamp they possessed with her 
 to the shed. The floor was worn into little 
 hollows in many places, and especially about 
 the doorway. As Wattie succeeded in fan- 
 ning the peats into a glow, he heard some- 
 body stumbling over one of these hollows. 
 
 He turned, expecting to see his mother, 
 but instead he beheld a man, whom he failed 
 to recognize. With open mouth and eyes, 
 and without stirring from his hands and 
 knees, he stared up at the intruder. 
 
 A man much about AYattie's own height, 
 but browner and more muscular. He was 
 dressed like a sailor, in a loose coarse jacket
 
 FROM THE SEA. 205 
 
 that added in appearance to Ins breadth, 
 breeches of dark blue cloth, and a seaman's 
 hat, the broad brim of which shaded his fea- 
 tures. He ]ield a heavy black stick in one 
 hand, resting on it slightly. Standing there 
 C[uite still, with the feeble light on the hearth 
 only serving to cast deeper shadows around 
 him, he certainly did obtain something of an 
 uncanny aspect. 
 
 Wattle's teeth be2:un to chatter ao;ain, but 
 with terror this time, and his eyes were fixed 
 upon the man with that species of fascination 
 which fright always inspires. He could not 
 move them even to look for the approach of 
 his mother. 
 
 The stranger advanced a step into the 
 light of the fire, and AYattie's pulse stopped. 
 
 "Weel, Wattle, wdiat are ye glowering at, 
 man? Do ye no ken me? Whar's your 
 mother?" 
 
 Wattie recognized him now, and as the 
 man made another step forward, the natural
 
 206 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 with a shriek of terror sprung to his feet, 
 and bounded out at the door. He rushed 
 round to the shed, tumbled over an old 
 trough in his haste, started up again, and 
 dashed into the shed with such blind speed 
 that he banged his mother up against the 
 cuddy. There was scarcely room for her 
 to fall, or she would certainly have been 
 down. 
 
 She regained her balance, and before she 
 recovered her breath she administered a smart 
 cuff to the side of his head, as if to repair 
 the injury done to herself, and to recall him 
 to his senses. 
 
 "Ye daft idiwut, hae ye gaen clean crack 
 a'thegither?" she cried angrily; "or what's 
 wrang that ye come dinging folk ower that 
 gate?" 
 
 "It's — it's him," blubbered Wattie, rubbing 
 his eyes with his cuffs. 
 
 "Wha's him?" 
 
 "Him — cam' up frae 'mang the fishes — an'
 
 FR02r THE SEA. 207 
 
 ye said we'd never see him ony mail — an' its 
 jist a gliaist." 
 
 Girzie stared in some bewilderment at her 
 son. She understood now that something 
 unusual had happened; but she did not 
 waste time in trying to obtain an explana- 
 tion from him. She took the classical-shaped 
 crusie in her hand and strode round to the 
 house, Wattie following and holding by her 
 skirt; for much as he feared to face the 
 ghost again, he feared still more to be left 
 behind in the dark. Besides, he felt safe so 
 long- as his mother was with him. 
 
 o 
 
 ''If ye'd jist gie him siccan a dunt as ye 
 gied me enoo," he sobbed in a whisper, "he'd 
 gey sune flee awa'." 
 
 Girzie had been shading the light from the 
 wind with her hand. She now raised it 
 above her head as she halted on the threshold 
 of her cot, and gazed fixedly at the man, 
 who was standing quietly on the hearth 
 peering down at the glowdng fire. He had
 
 208 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 not heard her approach, and did not observe 
 her presence until she spoke. 
 
 "Weel, maister — ?" 
 
 She got no further. He had turned his 
 head, and the light shook violently in her 
 hand as if in danger of dropping to the 
 floor. 
 
 "How are ye, Girzie?" he said, moving 
 toward her. She advanced into the chamber, 
 but keeping by the wall as if to avoid him, 
 whilst Wattie clung to her skirt, hiding him- 
 self behind it. 
 
 "Heaven keep's and save's a'," she gasped; 
 "but is't your ainsel, Jeames Falcon?" 
 
 "Aye, jist my ainsel; wha else would it 
 be?" he answered with the old good-natured 
 smile. 
 
 "Then ye're no drooned?" 
 
 "I think no, though I was near enough 
 to't." 
 
 "Hech, sirs!" she ejaculated with relieved 
 breathing, and setting the crusie down on the
 
 FROM THE SEA. 209 
 
 broad wmdo\Y sill; "but ye hae gien me a 
 sair fricht, and Wattle too, puir callan." 
 
 "Wattle by tills time was peeping over bis 
 mother's shoulder, and hearing Falcon laugh 
 — a degree of humanity which he could not 
 reconcile with a creature who lived under 
 water — he asked timidly — 
 
 "An' ye haena been bldln' wl' the fishes a' 
 this while?" 
 
 "No, Wattle, I hae just been bldln with 
 other folk like oursel's." 
 
 "Aye, aye, man, an' what gar'd them tell 
 the lee about ye, haudln' Jeanle greetln' an' 
 sabbln' against the wa'?" continued Wattie, 
 regaining courage, and shyly creej)lng nearer 
 to Falcon with wondering eyes. 
 
 "Because they thought it true, no doubt, 
 and maybe wished it so," answered Falcon, 
 his face brightening at the mention of 
 Jeanie's name ; " and that minds me o' what 
 I came here to spelr, Glrzle — " 
 
 "Na, lad," interrupted Glrzle hastily; "ye's 
 
 14
 
 210 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 speir nae questions till ye liae had a bite o' 
 something to drive the cauld out — it's ill 
 speaking on a toom wame. Ein awa' an 
 bring in the herrin', Wattie. Sit ye doon 
 there, Jeames Falcon, and tell us a about hoo 
 ye ever won hame again." 
 
 With all her shrewd sharp ways Girzie was 
 kindly at heart; and after the first shock of 
 surprise she had divined at once that Falcon 
 had come to ask about Jeanie. She had 
 observed how his visage — browner and man- 
 lier than it had been a year ago — had bright- 
 ened at the sound of her name, and she was 
 a little puzzled to know how she was to ac- 
 quaint him with the altered condition of 
 affairs. 
 
 Falcon, although palpably impatient of all 
 delay, knew the stubborn character of the old 
 fishwife too well to attempt to obtain any 
 information from her until she was ready to 
 communicate it. So, with the best grace he 
 could command, he seated himself on the
 
 FROM THE SEA. 211 
 
 stool to whicli she had pointed, whilst she 
 busied herself cookins^ the herrino- on the 
 peats and laying the table. The latter was 
 a simple operation, and consisted merely of 
 drawing the small deal table from its corner 
 and placing three plates and half a dozen 
 bannocks on it. 
 
 The conversation did not halt, however, 
 whilst she thus busied herself; for however 
 unwilling she might be to give news before 
 he had partaken of her hospitality, she was 
 not in the least averse to receive his. She 
 was thinking about Cairnieford all the time 
 he was speaking, and of those who were rest- 
 ing there in peaceful ignorance of the thun- 
 derbolt which was about to drop in their 
 midst. -' 
 
 "I cam' round by iVdam Lindsay's," he 
 said, as he seated himself ; " but the house is 
 shut up." 
 
 "Aye — whan did you come back?" (drily 
 and busily).
 
 212 ROBIN GRAY, 
 
 "I landed at Ayr the day, and walked 
 over. I liaena been in Portlappoch an liour 
 yet." 
 
 "Then ye haena heard oucht o' your 
 friends?" 
 
 "No a word, an that's what brought me 
 here." 
 
 "Just that — ^but ye haena said a word 
 aboot hoo ye came to be in life ava. Carrach 
 and the lave o' them cam' hame — barrin' 
 Hutcheson — and they a' said ye was drooned." 
 
 " Aye, tell us hoo ye wasna drooned," said 
 Wattie, "courieing" down before him, and 
 drawing his knees up to his chin by clasping 
 his hands round his ankles. 
 
 "Then they all got safe home?" 
 
 "Oo aye, safe an' weel eneuch." 
 
 " I'm glad of it, although it's more than 
 some of them deserved," said Falcon quietly; 
 "it was by no good- will of theirs that I 
 managed to escape." 
 
 " Hoo was that, say ye?"
 
 FROM THE SEA. 213 
 
 " The lads had taken an ill-will to me, but 
 I know now that they Avere designedly set 
 against me. However, they took it in their 
 heads that it was me set fire to the brig, and 
 they were for leaving me on deck while they 
 got off in the sma' boat if it hadna been for 
 Hutcheson. Carrach asked me to get a com- 
 pass and the log out of his cabin. He said 
 that there was no chance for them without 
 the compass. That was a lie, for we were 
 within two miles of land, and he knew it." 
 
 " Aye, he's a queer cratur," observed Girzie 
 under her breath, and with a tone of bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 " I got the compass, but found that I could 
 not return to the larboard side of the brig 
 where the boat lay, for the flames had cut 
 off all passage that way. I dropped over the 
 starboard side, intending to swim round to the 
 sma boat. I had scarcely touched the water, 
 when there was an explosion o' a l)arrel o' 
 powder that had been on board. I was sort
 
 214 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 stunned by tlie concussion, but I did not 
 lose my senses altogether, for I managed to 
 cast my arm round the mast that had fallen 
 close by me. It was black and charred, and 
 had been in a blaze when it fell; but the 
 water had soon put it out, and it did not 
 hurt me when I griped it." 
 
 "An' did the villains no seek to help ye?" 
 
 'M canna tell. When I came to myself, 
 — that is, when I was just able to look 
 about me, I could see nothing of the sma' 
 boat anywhere, and nothing of the brig, bar- 
 rin bits o' wreck." 
 
 " They thocht ye had been blawn to pieces, 
 and nae doot didna fash themsel's muckle to 
 look for ye." 
 
 " Ony way, they made aff wi' speed ; but to 
 be sure it was early morning and hazy, so that 
 
 1 could not see far. There were two or three 
 bits of only partially burnt rope at the upper 
 end of the mast. I worked mysel' along till 
 I got there, and then worked mysel' back to
 
 FROM THE SEA. 215 
 
 the thick end. I got the ropes knotted into 
 one, and then I passed it round my body- 
 under the arms, and so lashed myself to the 
 mast. The ^aves were buffeting me about 
 right and left, and if I hadna tied mysel' up 
 that way ye wadna hae seen me here, Girzie, 
 for I never could hae held on lang: enouf^h." 
 
 "Was ye no cauld?" queried Wattie. 
 
 " Aye, cauld and wear}^ too before all was 
 over, Wattie. Heaven only kens how the 
 life kept in my body a' the while, for I floated 
 about for more than thirty hours — all through 
 that day, all through that night, and into the 
 middle of the next day. I was numbed and 
 stiff and mad ^d' drouth, while the water was 
 dashing me about and dea^dng me wi' its 
 mighty roar that seemed like the voice o' God 
 himser rebuking me for whatever ill I had 
 done in the world, and bringing to my mind 
 every act of my life frae the time I was a 
 bairn. I prayed for help and strength, and 
 as I was praying the mighty voice seemed to
 
 216 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 saften doon to the low sweet sang o' a mither 
 rocking her wean to sleep on her knee. Then 
 that seemed to fade awa too, and I became 
 insensible." 
 
 *' Puir sowl," ejaculated Girzie, deftly turn- 
 ing the herrings on to a plate. 
 
 "When I came to mysel' again/' Falcon 
 went on, breathing hard as if the memory 
 renewed some of the anguish he had endured, 
 " I was on the deck o' a ship wi' a number o' 
 men about me. It was the king's frigate 
 Victory that had picked me up. They were 
 kindly folk from the captain down — it was 
 the captain himsel' who had seen me first 
 floating in the water. They took good care 
 of me, and in a week I was able to be up and 
 about." 
 
 " Guid be praised, it w^as a wonnerfu' de- 
 liverance." 
 
 " It w^as that, Girzie, woman. I w^as obliged 
 to take service on board the frigate, and as she 
 was out on a tw^elvemonth's cruise, I had no
 
 FROM THE SEA. 217 
 
 way of getting back here till that time was 
 up. I made the best of the circumstances 
 and was thankful. The captain was pleased 
 with me, and a week ago when we put in at 
 Southampton he gave me leave at once. I 
 got a passage in a coasting schooner which 
 was bound for Ayr, and here I am." 
 
 " Draw in your stool, syne, an' eat some- 
 thing," was Girzie's homely comment, adding 
 as she was obeyed: "an'haenaye heard ought 
 o' what's been gaun on here a' the while ye 
 hae been awa'?" 
 
 "No a chee^D. I wrote to Jeanie frae 
 Malta, but I clinna ken even if she got the 
 letter." 
 
 Girzie's head dipped over her plate as if 
 anxious to pick her herring clean. They were 
 eating with their fingers, forks being lux- 
 uries of which she only possessed one, and that 
 was rusted: knives were almost as scarce. 
 
 She was puzzled. Jeanie again, always 
 Jeanie. How was she to tell him ?
 
 218 ROBIN OR AY. 
 
 "Tak' a daiid o' bannock, man, an mak' 
 yourseF at liame," slie said in a hurry, to 
 prevent tlie question whicli she knew was 
 coming, but coukl not make up her mind 
 how to answer; "od, it's no every day Girzie 
 Todd has company." 
 
 Wattie came to the rescue. He had 
 brought his seat close to Falcon, whose story 
 had been to him full of the liveliest interest, 
 and who had a vague notion that in some 
 way his own importance was increased the 
 closer he got to the hero. 
 
 "And did ye no gang doon amang the 
 fishes ava?" (slightly disappointed apparently 
 on that score). 
 
 " No, Wattie, or you wouldna hae seen me 
 here again." 
 
 "Had the king's ship guns?" 
 
 " Aye, big anes." 
 
 That was some consolation to Wattie for 
 the loss of his vision of the kingdom of fishes, 
 and he had innumerable childish questions
 
 FBOM THE SEA. 219 
 
 to ask about tlie frigate and her guns, which 
 Falcon, curljing his own desire and expecting 
 every minute that Girzie would speak, good- 
 naturedly endeavoured to satisfy. 
 
 " Do ye ken," said Wattie by and by, with 
 a thoughtful expression, "I was wonnering 
 what way it was Ivan Carrach's head didna 
 set lowe to the house when he was here the 
 nicht ye gaed awa, there was sic a bleeze a' 
 ower him — far redder nor the peat." 
 
 "Carrach here on the night we sailed?" 
 exclaimed Falcon, looking quickly at Girzie. 
 
 She was clearing the table, and as AYattie 
 spoke her eyes flashed upon him frowningly. 
 
 "Aye, he was here that night," she an- 
 swered indifferently. 
 
 " I did not know that he was a friend of 
 yours," eyeing her curiously. 
 
 "Frien' o' mine!" sharply, "that he's no. 
 He jist cam' to speir gin I had ony fish I 
 could sell him as he hadna got eneuch to ser 
 him."
 
 220 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " Then it was something he said to yon 
 that cansed yon to seek me at the Port to 
 warn me not to sail wi' him?" 
 
 " I warned ye for reasons o' my ain, an' ye 
 didna heed. There's nae use fashin' aboot 
 the why o't noo." 
 
 "Girzie," he said firmly as he rose, "ye 
 ken mair about the loss o' the Colin than ye 
 care to tell ; but yell hae to tell some 
 day." 
 
 "What gin I hae nocht to tell?" 
 
 " "Well see ; but you have kept me all this 
 time without saying a word o' what I am 
 most anxious to hear. Hoo is Jeanie, and 
 where is she?" 
 
 "She's weel eneuch for that matter, an 
 she's at Cairnieford," abruptly and with an 
 uneasy glance at his face, to see if he sus- 
 pected anything. 
 
 "At Cairnieford! — has she gone into ser- 
 vice there?" 
 
 " Aye, in a kind o' way."
 
 FROM THE SEA. 221 
 
 "Has anything happened to Adam and 
 the old wife?" 
 
 " Oh they're baith livin' yet, and they're at 
 Cairnieford. Adam met wi' an accident an' 
 brak' his arm an' maist lost his life. But he's 
 maist weel again noo, although he's no able 
 to do onything but an orra job aboot the 
 farm. Meg Lindsay's waur nor she was afore, 
 and's no thocht to live lang." 
 
 " Poor Jeanie, she's had a sair time o't with 
 all that." 
 
 "Aye, sair eneuch when she didna ken 
 whaur to get bite or sup if it hadna been for 
 Kobin Gray." 
 
 " Heaven prosper him for it ; he shall lose 
 nothing by it if I live, an' I'm no that old 
 but I may hope for the chance yet of prov- 
 ing myself grateful to those who have shown 
 themselves friends when friends were wanted." 
 " Bode o' a silk gown an' ye'U surely get a 
 sleeve o't, and there's no reason why ye 
 shouldna get the whale o't afore ye die."
 
 222 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " ril try for't anyway, Girzie. But wliat 
 gar d the auld folk flit? Was the Laird push- 
 ing them about the rent?'' 
 
 " Aye, an' they could dae naething without 
 Jeanie forbye. Ye see the puir lassie, what 
 wi' the trouble i' the bield itsel', an' what wi' 
 the news o' your death, was jist wearin' her 
 life oot by inches, when Kobin cam' an' took 
 them awa' to Cairnieford a'thegither." 
 
 "The Lord be thanked that they had a 
 friend able and willing to help them. The 
 thocht o' what he has done gars my heart 
 loup wi' gratitude. I'll awa' to them at once. 
 I canna rest till I hae seen them, and, fegs, 
 I'm almost as anxious to get a grip o' Cairnie's 
 hand as to see Jeanie and hear her welcome 
 hame." 
 
 His face was glowing with the pleasure an 
 honest nature feels in recognizing the nobility 
 of another. He was movinsr to the door 
 
 o 
 
 when he was arrested by Girzie saying 
 sharply —
 
 FROM THE SEA. 223 
 
 "Ye sliouldna gang out tlie niclit. It'll 
 be late afore ye win there, an it's no just fair 
 no to gie tliem ony warnin' o' your coming. 
 Ye maun min tliey hae a been mournin for 
 ye as for ane that was dead, an' ye dinna k-en 
 what ill ye micht dae if ye was jist to stap 
 in on them afore they had ony ettlin that ye 
 was i' the land o' the livin." 
 
 " No fear, they'll be all the more delighted 
 with the surprise." 
 
 " I'm no sae sure aboot that. Ye dinna 
 ken what changes tak' place after ane's dead 
 an buried, as ye hae been for near a year." 
 
 "What are ye drivin at?" he said, turning 
 round, perplexed, for her manner seemed as 
 strange as that night she had waited for him 
 at the Port. 
 
 " Naething but what ye micht hae jaloused 
 frae what I hae said a'ready. Do ye min 
 what I tauld ye afore ye gaed awa?" 
 
 "Aye, ye wanted me not to sail in the 
 Colinr
 
 224 ROBIN GRAY, 
 
 " An' I said that gin ye did ye would never 
 be guidman to Jeanie Lindsay. I didna ex- 
 pec' my words to come true jist in the way 
 they hae dune; but true yell fin' them." 
 
 His heart, which a moment before had been 
 swelling with pleasurable anticipations of 
 the meeting with Jeanie, and of the joy which 
 his unexpected return safe and well would 
 inspire, suddenly collaj)sed with vague fear, 
 like a soap-bubble when touched by the 
 finger. 
 
 "In God's name, what's wrang?" he said 
 huskily and staring fixedly at the woman. 
 
 " Weel, I didna want to tell ye o't, but I 
 suppose ye may as weel hear't frae me as frae 
 ony ither body, an' as ye canna gang mony 
 staps without some ane tellin' ye, I'll do't 
 mysel' — Jeanie's married."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 
 
 " She's fair and fause that causes my smart, 
 I lo'ed her muckle and lang ; 
 She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, 
 And I may e'en gae hang." — Bums. 
 
 Falcon stood with blank stupified face 
 looking at Girzie, as one might do who listens 
 to eerie words spoken from a distance, and 
 feels a terror creep through the blood, while 
 yet the meaning is indistinct. As if seeking 
 the source of that mysterious voice, he by 
 and by slowly looked round the dingy little 
 chamber. 
 
 " Aye, an there was sic fun as ye never 
 saw at the hame-coming," exclaimed Wattie, 
 chuckling over the memory of the feast of 
 which he had been a partaker with the others. 
 
 That roused him. The suo^ojestion of the 
 
 15
 
 226 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 meriymaking and the feast brouglit his wan- 
 dering thonoiits back to tlie bare fact. The 
 form of the old fishwife, standing before him 
 with hands resting on her hips, watching 
 with her keen friendly eyes, and of her son, 
 crouching by the fire chuckling over that 
 pleasant memory, became plain to him again ; 
 and the expression of stupifaction gave place 
 to a dark scowl. 
 
 "Married!'' he ejaculated with fierce bit- 
 terness. " Jeanie's married? — to wha?" 
 
 "Deed, she jist married him that was her 
 best frien', when she thocht ye was dead — 
 Cairnieford himsel'.'' 
 
 "What! a man near as auld's her father," 
 he began with a hoarse laugh that seemed to 
 wring his heart. Then, making a. violent 
 effort to keep cool, to hold back the fever 
 that was tingling through his veins — "when 
 did it happen?" 
 
 " At the end o' hairst." 
 
 "So soon? — Oh, I wish to Heaven I had
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 227 
 
 been cirooned rather than have come l3ack to 
 learn this. She could forget me in twa or 
 three months, an gie hersel' to an anld man 
 like Cairnieford, just for meat an' drink an' 
 claes! She that said she Avould wait for me 
 come what mi2:ht. I was a fool — a fool to 
 lippen to her. But I may be thankful I hae 
 missed her — she never cared a button for me 
 — she couldna hae cared or she would never 
 hae dune this. She wasna grieved that I 
 gaed awa', and no doubt she was glad to hear 
 that I could never come back, and that was 
 why she was so ready to believe't." 
 
 He spoke with wild bitterness — evidently 
 too frenzied to understand what he was say- 
 ing. 
 
 " Hoots, man, I wonner to hear ye," broke 
 in Girzie sharply. " What was the lassie to 
 do? She was clean distrackit aboot the loss 
 o' ye. But gin ye had been really drooned, 
 as we a' believed ye was, would it hae brocht 
 ye back to life or dune ye ony guid for Jeanie
 
 228 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 to liae let her faitlier an mither starve, and 
 herser pine awa' to the kirkyard? Gae Va, 
 gin there's onybody to blame it's yoursel' for 
 flinging awa' to unknown parts an' no lettin' 
 us ken whether ye was livin' or dead." 
 
 This common-sense view of the case might 
 have had a proper efiect upon him at another 
 time; but at present he was smarting under 
 the severest pangs a faithful heart can 
 know. The one object which had absorbed 
 all the strength and hope of his life had been 
 suddenly swept away from him, and he was 
 like a ship labouring in a storm without 
 compass or beacon to guide the mariner to a 
 haven. 
 
 In such a condition he was not likely to 
 appreciate Girzie's sensible remarks; and in- 
 stead of replying to them he grasped his stick 
 savagely, wheeled about, and strode out of 
 the cot. 
 
 Girzie went to the door to look after him, 
 half intending to call him back. The cold
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 229 
 
 frosty wind blew sharp in her face, and the 
 darkness only permitted her to obtain a 
 glimpse of his form as he crossed the feeble 
 ray of light shining from a cotter's window, 
 and disappeared immediately. 
 
 "There'll be fine doingrs the morn," she 
 said as she closed the door. " I'll hae to be 
 ower braw an' early to let them ken wha's 
 come hame. Hech, sirs, but he was sair ta'en 
 up aboot it, and there's nae saying what he 
 may dae. But there was nae use trying to 
 dae ony guid wi' him the nicht. There'll be 
 an unco shine, or I'm mista'en." 
 
 Falcon had been stunned by the revelation, 
 the truth of which had been thrust on him 
 with singular force by Wattle's simple excla- 
 mation about the "hame-coming." But for 
 that he would have been slow to credit the 
 announcement in spite of all the seriousness 
 of Girzie's manner. Then a sharp pain had 
 thrilled him and he had been stirred to a 
 species of blind frenzy, in which he saw only
 
 230 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 a deceitful woman who had been false and 
 treacherous to the love she had plighted. 
 
 He had been working and striving to make 
 a home for her; every thought and hope of 
 his life had been concentrated on her, and 
 now all combined with every hardship he had 
 endured to render her falsehood the more 
 base and cruel. An army of angry thoughts 
 were marching and countermarching — all in 
 order of battle — through his mind as he strode 
 furiously up the narrow dark street. 
 
 He had no idea as to his destination when 
 he had so abruptly left Girzie's cot. He h:„d 
 in an angry way felt that as she spoke in de- 
 fence of Jeanie she could not sympathize with 
 him; dimly, too, he had felt that if he were to 
 remain, it would only be to make a fool of 
 himself by uttering the passionate words 
 which were seething in his brain, and so he 
 had wheeled about and left her. 
 
 It was all very well for her to believe that 
 he had been drowned; but even if it had
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 231 
 
 been true she would not have been in such a 
 hurry to marry if she had ever cared for him 
 with one-half the fervour with which he had 
 been devoted to her. That was the burden 
 of the unuttered wail that was ringing in his 
 brain, with a sound as sharp and shrill to 
 him as if some one had been shrieking it in 
 his ears. 
 
 He took no account of the circumstances 
 Girzie had explained to him; he made no 
 allowances for the pressure that had over- 
 borne the opposition of Jeanie's own desires. 
 How could he? It is never an easy thing 
 for one to realize the changes consequent on 
 one's death; and least of all when one returns 
 to life, as it were, and finds the changes 
 made, and when the heart is quiveriug with 
 violent wrath and anguish. 
 
 The lights from the windows of the houses 
 flashed upon him as he strode rapidly up the 
 street, and those flashes of light only served 
 to render the darkness of the night deeper.
 
 232 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 Several stumbles on the uneven road, and 
 most of all the keen frosty wind which came 
 whistling round the houses up from the sea, 
 had the effect of recalling him in some degree 
 to his calmer self. 
 
 So, by the time he had reached the head 
 of the brae, and was turning into the dark 
 country road where the town ended in a few 
 straggling cottages, it suddenly occurred to 
 him that whilst he was blaming Jeanie for 
 being so ready to take advantage of the re- 
 port of his death, he was a little too ready 
 himself in crediting the story of her marriage. 
 That was quite a new idea. Girzie might 
 have been jesting with him, and he had left 
 her so abruptly that he had not given her 
 time to explain the hoax. 
 
 Aye, but she spoke too j)lainly to be mis- 
 understood; and there could be no question 
 that Watties exclamation was genuine. Still 
 it might be. At any rate he ought in justice 
 to Jeanie to take some immediate step to
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 233 
 
 confirm the statement he had received or 
 prove its falseness. 
 
 It was the drowning man clutching at a 
 straw; and never did one in peril of life 
 clutch more eagerly at the shadow of hope. 
 
 He had turned already to retrace his steps 
 when he observed a black line rising up 
 throuQ-h the darkness of the nioiit. It was 
 the kirk-steeple, and that suggested to him 
 the surest way of setting his doubts at rest 
 with the least delay. 
 
 He proceeded straight to the manse — a 
 plain white-washed house which was separ- 
 ated from the kirkyard only by a row of firs, 
 a low wall, and a long strip of garden. A 
 little o^ate in the wall communicated with 
 the gTaveyard and the kirk, so that every 
 Sabbath the minister had only to traverse 
 the length of his garden and step into his 
 pulpit. 
 
 The glebe, consisting of about twenty acres 
 of land, lay behind the manse. The corn and
 
 234 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 wheat stacks, the byre and cart-shed, stood 
 close by the house, and gave it the appear- 
 ance of a farm-steading. 
 
 The minister had just returned from a 
 hard day's work visiting his country parish- 
 ioners, whose dwellings lay at such distances 
 apart that he had walked over thirty miles 
 since breakfast time; and would have had to 
 walk farther if it had not been for the occa- 
 sional " lifts " he obtained in cart or gig that 
 happened to be journeying his way. He 
 possessed what is regarded as one of the prime 
 qualifications for a rural Scottish pastorship, 
 considerable capabilities as a pedestrian. 
 Exercise agreed with his hearty nature, and 
 sent the exhilarated blood dancing through 
 his veins, making him feel comfortable in 
 spite of the frost and fatigue. 
 
 Fatigued enough he was when he reached 
 home, and it was not altogether agreeable to 
 have the little leisure he had so well earned 
 disturbed by that indication of a call to new
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 235 
 
 duties supplied by the intimation of the 
 buxom servant lass — 
 
 "There's a man wantin to see ye this 
 minute, maister." 
 
 " Bid him come ben, lass/' was Mr. Mon- 
 duiF's cheery answer. 
 
 But the minister's wife — a little body with 
 a serious face that reflected a placid dispo- 
 sition — did not regard the interruption quite 
 so lightly as her husband. She, however, 
 showed no more displeasure than might be 
 implied in looking with a grave expression 
 at the personage who was ushered into the 
 homely parlour, as if by that means mildly 
 rebuking him for disturbing the leisure of 
 her husband. 
 
 Both minister and minister's wife, however, 
 started with surprise and pleasure as soon as 
 the light fell on the visitor's face. 
 
 "Preserve us!" they exclaimed together, 
 " it's James Falcon come back." 
 
 And in an instant his hands were seized
 
 236 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 by the kindly couple, and lie was forced on 
 to a chair in front of the cheery fire. 
 
 "x4-ye,it's me,Mr.Monduff," he said dazedly; 
 "but don't ask me anything till you have 
 answered me one question." 
 
 " ril answer a dozen of them first if you 
 like. Man, we're so well pleased to see you 
 safe that we can afford to wait to learn how 
 you come to be so." 
 
 Falcon looked at the serious face of Mrs. 
 Monduff ; probably he felt that the woman's 
 heart would understand the anguish of his 
 own best. 
 
 " Is it true that Jeanie Lindsay's married?" 
 
 The minister and his wife exchanged a 
 quick glance. Then the latter answered him 
 gravely, but with sympathy in the low 
 tone — 
 
 "Yes, it's true — she has married a good 
 v/arm-hearted man." 
 
 Falcon's eyes slowly descended to the floor 
 and rested there. He passed his hand over
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 237 
 
 his head, bowing it forward on his chest, and 
 his body was bent as if his muscles had 
 become relaxed and powerless. 
 
 The minister and his wife eyed him with 
 kindly pity; but neither spoke for several 
 minutes. Then, when he begun to breathe 
 heavily, Mr. MondufF touched him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "What's wrang wi' you, James?'' he said. 
 
 Falcon looked up with a shudder, like one 
 waking from a nightmare. 
 
 "It's my whole life that's wTang — for it 
 was a' bound up in that woman. Ye needna 
 tell me that it was sinful to care so much for 
 ony human creature — I ken a' that; but 
 body and soul I was devoted to her. I would 
 hae gi'en my life ony day if it could hae 
 
 spared her a pain. And now! it's a' by; 
 
 it's a' by, and I carena what comes o' me." 
 
 Mrs. MondufF silently placed her hand on 
 his, in that simple way showing the woman's 
 sympathy for the distressed lover. But the
 
 238 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 minister leaned back on his chair, his ruddy 
 visage acquiring a solemn expression. 
 
 " You're no quite sensible of the full mean- 
 ing o' your words, James/' he said presently; 
 "wherefore I'll make no remarks on them. 
 Some day I'll aiblins show ye what a sorry 
 thing it would be for you if you were taken 
 at your word. Meanwhile it vexes me to 
 think that a lad like you, who has been 
 trained in a manner under my own hand, 
 should ever have been able to speak that way, 
 no matter what the provocation might be." 
 
 " Ah, sir, you don't, you can't understand 
 what I am suffering." 
 
 "Maybe no, and maybe in consequence 
 I'm the better able to see the cure for your 
 malady." 
 
 "Cure! There is none. What cure can 
 there be for the destruction of the dearest 
 object of one's life ? when every spark of 
 courage a man owned is crushed out wi' the 
 sense that there is nothing to hope for,
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 239 
 
 nothing to live for — wliat is there that can 
 kindle his courage again ? If a man's two 
 arms are nipped off at the shoulders, is there 
 anything in the world that can stick them 
 on again?" 
 
 " That's a metaphorical way of putting it ; 
 but metaphors are kittle things to handle. 
 They sound unco grand, but they can seldom 
 haud up against a blast of common sense. 
 You hae got your arms yet, and I hope they'll 
 do some good work before you die, for all 
 your present distress. No doubt when we 
 have set our hearts upon a thing and lose it, 
 we cannot help skirling out and feeling as if 
 the world had a' gane wrang. But, man, 
 there's ay a compensation somcAvhere for the 
 worst of ills, and there's a compensation for 
 yours too." 
 
 "I wish I could see it then," he cried 
 bitterly, and with an impulse to rise and quit 
 the house at once to avoid further discussion. 
 
 " You said just now that you would hae
 
 240 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 given your life at any minute to spare the 
 lass a pain. Did you no?" 
 
 "Aye, and I would have done it too, 
 gladly." 
 
 " Then, if you mean what you say, instead 
 o' talking in the fashion you have been doing 
 about Jeanie's marriage, you ought to thank 
 God that in the time of sorest distress — dis- 
 tress that was as much owing to the news of 
 your death as to the misfortunes of her family 
 — there was a friend to help her out of her 
 trouble. That ought to be some compensa- 
 tion to you for the loss of her yourself." 
 
 Falcon rose, confused and agitated. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. MondufF, thank you. I 
 cannot view the matter so calmly as you do 
 yet. But ril go now. I did not mean to 
 stay so long. Good night." 
 
 " Where are you going to?" said the minis- 
 ter, staying him, and not quite sure that it 
 was safe to permit him to go away in his 
 present excited condition; "to Clashgirn?"
 
 THE LAST HOPE. 241 
 
 " No, not there. I did not think about it." 
 
 " Aye, ^Yell, you'd better stay here to-night. 
 You look wearied, and the mistress will make 
 up a bed for you directly. We'll not speak 
 any more about this matter, and you'll be 
 more yourself after you've had a sleep." 
 
 Falcon objected, but the minister insisted 
 and the minister's wife persuaded, so that he 
 was forced to yield. 
 
 A bed was speedily prepared for him in a 
 cupboard-like chamber off the parlour, and 
 as soon as it was ready Falcon retired to it. 
 
 He did not undress, but threw himself on 
 the bed with a sense of severe physical as 
 well as mental exhaustion. His pulse throb- 
 bed violently; his head ached and burned as 
 if his brain had been on fire. 
 
 "When Mr. Monduff called him next morn- 
 ing he received no answer. Opening the 
 door he entered the chamber and found it 
 untenanted. 
 
 Falcon had gone — when they could not 
 
 16
 
 242 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 discover; but the servant liad been up at six 
 o'clock, and slie had not heard him moving. 
 The front door had been unbolted ; but that 
 had not excited the girl's alarm in the least, 
 as it was frequently left so all night. 
 
 " He was so wild-like last night that I was 
 afraid to let him go," said the minister to his 
 wife. " I hope the lad may not be driven in 
 his crazy state to do some harm to himself or 
 other folk. I should hae kept him fast wi' 
 lock and key." 
 
 And after breakfast the minister sallied 
 forth in search of Falcon.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 
 
 For sure 't would break thy tender heart, 
 
 My breaking heart to see ; 
 Wi' a' the wrangs and waes it tholed, 
 
 And yet maun thole for thee."— 2J. Jamieson, 
 
 The guidman of Cairnieforcl was up early 
 on the dark December morning which suc- 
 ceeded the night of James Falcon's return. 
 He was bound for a distant market, where he 
 proposed to buy a lot of sheep and expected 
 to get a bargain. The guidwife made his 
 breakfast, fastened his plaid across his 
 shoulders, and gave him kindly counsel to 
 be careful of the road coming home if it 
 happened to be dark before he started. 
 
 Eobin promised obedience, though he de- 
 clared at the same time he had ridden the 
 road " hunners o' times in a' kinds o' weathers
 
 244 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 and never met in wi' onytliing waur nor 
 himselV 
 
 Jeanie watched liim ride away in the hazy 
 morning light and disappear at the end of the 
 by-road. Her cheeks had recovered some of 
 their former bloom, and her form much of its 
 plumpness, since she had been married; and 
 she looked now a sonsy, good-tempered, and 
 happy wife. 
 
 She was about to return to the house when 
 she heard some of the hens cackling proudly 
 in the little thicket of firs and beeches at the 
 back of the steading, and like a thrifty farmer's 
 wife she started immediately in search of the 
 eggs, which were prized all the more because 
 of their scarcity at this season. 
 
 She entered the thicket and begun her 
 search at a pile of fir branches which had 
 been hewn down for winter firewood, and 
 the numerous recesses in which presented 
 favourable-looking hiding-places for wily hens 
 to deposit their eggs.
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 245 
 
 Jeanie heard the crisp earth and the dead 
 frosted bits of branches which were thickly 
 strewn about crackling nnder the footsteps of 
 somebody approaching. As she passed round 
 the high pile of firewood, bending low to 
 examine the nooks, she noticed a man coming 
 toward her. She thought from the cursory 
 glimpse she had obtained that he was one 
 of the men belonging to the place, and con- 
 tinued her inspection unheeding. 
 
 She passed round the pile of wood slowly 
 to the side from which she had observed the 
 man, and there he stood before her. 
 
 Pale, haggard, with touzled hair, rufiled 
 clothes, and a general appearance of wild 
 disorder, the man stood watching her. 
 
 She gazed at him a moment, and then she 
 flung up her hands with a shriek that echoed 
 throughout the thicket and sank moaning to 
 the ground. 
 
 He lifted her up. She was not unconscious,
 
 246 BOBIN GRAY. 
 
 and she shuddered at liis touch. He seemed 
 sensible of her repulsion, and he placed her 
 on a heap of the fir branches, drawing back 
 a pace to look at her. She covered her eyes 
 with her hands, as if to hide him from her 
 sight. 
 
 " Jeanie, I hae come back," he said pre- 
 sently in a hard cold tone. 
 
 She made no answer, but she rocked her 
 body to and fro, sobbing wildly. 
 
 He spoke again slowly. 
 
 " I hae come back, Jeanie, to find that ye 
 shudder at my touch — that ye canna bear to 
 look me in the face. And yet it was you 
 that no so very lang syne clasped your arms 
 around my neck, and told me that I might 
 leave you without fear of change, for that 
 you would bide my coming faithfully. Hae 
 ye kept your word?" 
 
 He bent close to her, hissing the question 
 in her ear.
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. . 247 
 
 She seemed to writhe under his approach, 
 and still with hands on her eyes she swayed 
 to and fro, moaning. 
 
 "They tauld me ye were drooned," she 
 cried in anguish. " They tauld me ye were 
 drooned, and oh my heart was sair to think 
 it. But ye made nae sign that ye were 
 living, and a body spoke as though there was 
 nae doot — as though there could be nane. 
 There Avasna ane to whisper a breath o' hope, 
 and what could I do — what could I do but 
 believe when the proof was so strong?" 
 
 " Ye could hae waited a wee for confirma- 
 tion o' the news. Oh, woman, I would hae 
 waited a hundred years before I would hae 
 cast you so utterly from my breast as to take 
 another in my arms." 
 
 " And I would hae waited for ever, had I 
 been my lane. But they pressed me sair on 
 a hands. I was wae, wae, and heart-broken ; 
 I didna care what cam' o' me; but I thocht 
 it was a sin to turn awa' frae the wark that
 
 248 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 was set fornenst me; and I tliocht tliat you, 
 looking at me frae the ither world, would 
 ken what feelings moved me, and would say 
 I had done week That was wdiy I married, 
 though my heart was wi' you." 
 
 The violence of her distress, the sad sin- 
 cerity of her voice, exerted a powerful influ- 
 ence upon him. He seemed to waken sud- 
 denly from a fever, in which all things had 
 been distorted in his mind, to the conscious- 
 ness that she had been true to him in heart 
 — that she had loved him — that she still 
 loved him. 
 
 He dropped down beside her, and threw 
 his arms round her. 
 
 "Jeanie, Jeanie!" he cried passionately, 
 "ye are mine yet, ye shall ay be mine in 
 spite o' a' the marriages on earth. What 
 power — what richt has a ministers prayer to 
 part our lives — to fill the years that are be- 
 fore us wi' lingering misery? It shall hae 
 none. Ye are mine, Jeanie, my ain, and
 
 BROKEX HEARTS. 249 
 
 nobody else has a riclit to claim you. Else 
 up, then, and come awa' from this place, and 
 in another country we'll find a home and 
 happiness." 
 
 AYith a stifled cry of horror she wrenched 
 herself from his arms, and sprung to her feet. 
 Her hands were withdrawn from her eyes 
 now, and she regarded him with wild alarm, 
 whilst her cheeks, which a moment before 
 had been pallid and cold, became crimson. 
 
 "Awa^, man, awa," she exclaimed, with 
 look and voice of horror; "that's no Jeames 
 Falcon Avha has risen from the dead — for he 
 would hae pitied me and tried to strengthen 
 me for the cruel duty I maun do. It's the 
 evil ane himsel' in my puir lad's body that's 
 come to tempt me to my shame." 
 
 He bowed his head before her indignation, 
 and for the moment could not meet her gaze. 
 
 " Lord help me. Lord help me," he groaned; 
 " I believe I'm crazed. Ye are richt, it was 
 a mad thought — a villanous thought. I'll
 
 250 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 try to put it away from me. I shall put it 
 away; only give me a little while to master 
 myself. Last niclit I came back, and last 
 nicht I learned you were married. My head's 
 been in a creel ever since, and I scarcely ken 
 what I do, or say, or think." 
 
 " Oh, why did you no come hame sooner 
 ■ — why did ye send nae word that ye were 
 livin'?" 
 
 " I couldna win hame, but I sent a letter, 
 and that ye never got, I suppose." 
 
 " Never, or I wouldna hae been here the 
 day." 
 
 He pressed his head tightly between his 
 hands, as if by that means to subdue its vio- 
 lent throbbing, and so obtain a calmer view 
 of the position. 
 
 " Aye, aye, I see it's been a' bad luck that 
 has come between us and parted us for ever," 
 he went on hoarsely and hopelessly; "but 
 I'm no the villain you might think me from 
 what I hae said. I didna come here thinking
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 251 
 
 o' that. I came just to speak wi' you once 
 again — to look at ye — and gang awa ." 
 
 Her indignation and Iter fear of liim had 
 quite disappeared now. Above the storm of 
 different emotions Avhich was raging in her 
 breast, pity for him rose strongest of all. She 
 approached him slowly and placed her hands 
 on his head soothingly. He snatched the 
 hands between his own and kissed them fren- 
 ziedly. 
 
 "Dinna do that/' she sobbed, trembling 
 as with intense cold. " Ah, dinna do that, 
 for it frichtens me and minds me o' what you 
 were saying enoo. I canna thole to think o' 
 that, because it would make the sorrow I hae 
 to bear a' the sairer if I had to think o' ye as 
 ane that would do a wrang act." 
 
 " No man shall ever say I wranged him," 
 said Falcon proudly and releasing her hands. 
 
 " I believe that. I'll never doubt it again. 
 Ye're speaking like yoursel' noo, and it com- 
 forts me to hear ye. But, Jeamie, we may
 
 252 BOBIN GBAY. 
 
 do wrano[ in tliocht to oursel's and others, 
 and there's only ae way that we can ever 
 hope to win peace o' mind by." 
 
 "And that way?" 
 
 " Is to part noo, and never — never meet 
 again in this world." 
 
 Her hands were clasped. She gazed ap- 
 pealingly at him, but he did not raise his 
 head or speak for a long time. Wlien he did 
 look up his face was white and his lips were 
 quivering. 
 
 "Aye, that's a' we can do now. It's 
 cowardly to sob and greet like a wean when 
 the road lies before me, dreary though it be." 
 
 " Ye'U forget a' this, and I'll pray day and 
 nicht that Heaven will send ye happy days." 
 
 "I'll no forget, but maybe I may obtain 
 distraction in hard work and new scenes. 
 Folk say that time cures a' ills, and I could 
 maist believe that, seeing that you looked so 
 content before you saw me " (bitterly). 
 
 " Jeamie, let me tell ye a' that's passed since
 
 BROKEX HEARTS. 253 
 
 ye gaed awa'," she said quietly, altlioiigli 
 smarting under the sting of his reproach; 
 " and when ye hae heard ye'll be better able 
 to judge how far I am to blame for what pain 
 ye are suffering." 
 
 She told him everything simply as it had 
 occurred, and he listened in moody silence. 
 But when she had finished he rose to his feet. 
 
 " Thank you, Jeanie," he said in a calmer 
 tone than he had yet spoken ; " what you hae 
 said proves to me that nae blame can rest on 
 you. I would hae thought that anyway if I 
 had only had time to think the matter fairly 
 out. But there's one to whose villain s work 
 you and I both owe what ill has happened 
 us, and 111 bring him to the gallows for t." 
 
 "Wha do ye mean?" 
 
 " Ivan Carrach, who was skij)per o' the 
 Colinr 
 
 And he briefly explained to her how the 
 brig had been burned, how he had escaped, and 
 what had been the cause of his long absence.
 
 254 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " I'll no trouble you again, Jeanie," he said 
 in conclusion; "this is the last time 111 ever 
 look on your dear face. Dinna shrink frae 
 me or fear me because I call it dear. My 
 anger and my frenzy are by now, and I'm 
 calm. But your face will ay be dear to me 
 although I may never look on it again. I'll 
 never come back here : as soon as I hae got 
 hand o' Carrach, I'll leave the country, and ye 
 can think o' me as though I had been dead 
 and had never come here to disturb the peace 
 o' your hame wi' memories o' days that were 
 very pleasant to us." 
 
 His voice quivered as he spoke, and burn- 
 ing tears started to his eyes. She allowed 
 him to clasp her hands now without hesita- 
 tion, and her half-stifled sobs declared how 
 violently her heart was agitated since the 
 moment of parting had arrived. 
 
 It was a sad parting, for it was lightened 
 by no gleam of hope : it was like the parting 
 which death makes. They had spoken much,
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 255 
 
 but they had thought and felt far more than 
 their words indicated during the little time 
 they had been together. The bitter experi- 
 ence of a life was concentrated in that brief 
 space, and the issue was a noble one. The 
 suppressed love she had borne the man had 
 been suddenly roused into new existence, and 
 had fought hard with her sense of wifely 
 duty and gratitude to the absent husband. 
 The contest had closed in the stern recogni- 
 tion of the true path before her; and what- 
 ever agony it might cost her, she was ready 
 to tear from her breast the love that had been 
 once her happiness, but was now a sin. 
 
 He had passed through the frenzy of his 
 shattered hopes, the storm of angry passions, 
 and had reached the light wherein he saw 
 how much he had wronged her by his thoughts 
 of the past night and how much he owed her 
 now. It seemed to him as if he heard the 
 voice of his dead love loudly bidding him 
 depart from her and leave her to what peace
 
 256 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 she might obtain from the knowledge that 
 he was never to cross her path any more. 
 
 Yet they lingered wdth a fatal fascination 
 over the love they were burying in this 
 separation. Their hearts might ache and 
 yearn; but they w^ere never again to find 
 voice for the pain or hope, never again to 
 reach the light of lovers' sympathy. 
 
 "It maun be, it maun be," she cried at 
 last; "a that I am suffering the noo, a' the 
 weary pain that's rugging at my heart in the 
 thocht o' parting wi' ye, but tells me the 
 stronger that we maun never meet on this 
 earth mair. Oh I lo'ed ye, Jeamie, very 
 dearly. I lo'e ye yet — the Lord aboon for- 
 give me — but I am Robin Gray's wife, and I 
 maun be faithful to him wha's been guid and 
 true to me. Help me, help me, Jeamie, and 
 gang awa'." 
 
 "God keep ye, Jeanie," he gasped, with un- 
 utterable misery and compassion choking his 
 voice. " I see noo that I haena the w^arst to
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 257 
 
 bear. I wish in my soul that I had never come 
 hame again, or that we had never loved as we 
 hae done. God keep ye, and bless ye, and gie 
 ye strength, for Ave hae little in oursel's. But 
 ye shall never be troubled wi' the siclit o' me 
 again, and if I could I would bury my very 
 name in the bottomless pit that ye might 
 never mair be startled even by the sound o't. 
 A^ that man can do to help ye to be a true 
 wife I'll do for the sake o' the love I bear ye. 
 I canna say ony mair." 
 
 AVith an uncontrollable impulse he folded 
 his arms round her and kissed her passionately, 
 whilst scalding tears were on their faces. 
 
 "GaeVa, gae'wa," she cried wildly, tearing 
 herself from his arms; "and Heaven guide ye 
 to happiness, if there be ony in this world." 
 
 She turned from him, blind with anguish, 
 and tottered away toward the house. 
 
 He stood dumbly gazing after her, and as 
 she disappeared round the corner of a shed, 
 without having dared to look back once, his 
 
 17
 
 258 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 whole heart seemed to burst in one great 
 sob. 
 
 "God bless ye, Jeanie," he faltered, and 
 the words yearningly followed her. 
 
 He gazed vacantly for a long time at the 
 place where he had caught the last glimpse 
 of her retreating form, and then, with a dull 
 hopeless face, he turned slowly away. 
 
 Moving toward the road, he paused often 
 to look back, as if with the vain hope that 
 he might see her once again. But slowly as 
 he moved down the glen with the clear burn 
 rippling and murmuring by his side, gradu- 
 ally the house and every vestige of her home 
 were screened from his eyes by intervening 
 trees — bare, gaunt, and dead, like his own 
 hopes. 
 
 He went down to the shore and seated 
 himself on a detached boulder of rock. The 
 red winter sun was glinting over the rolling 
 waves, and the waves, as they kissed the 
 beach foamily and rolled back, seemed to
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 259 
 
 moan despairingly in unison with his miser- 
 able thoughts. The sharp wind beat upon 
 his cheeks — but he was insensible to its 
 biting cold. He gazed steadily out over the 
 tossing waters, as if he found some comfort 
 in their unceasing commotion. By and by 
 the fantasy seized him that the waves were 
 beckoniuo; and callino- to him. 
 
 "Aye, aye," he groaned; " out yonder lies 
 my home. I'll be wi' you soon (moving his 
 hand as to a friend in the distance), but first 
 I must find Carrach, for he has \\TOught a' 
 this wrang to her and me — curse him! curse 
 him! curse him!" 
 
 He rose and jD^ced the beach excitedly. 
 His despair seemed to find vent and even 
 relief in his furious T\Tath against the man 
 to whom he attributed all his misfortune. 
 He proposed to visit Clashgirn, and discover 
 from the Laird where the skipper might 
 be found, and also obtain his assistance in 
 bringing him to punishment. But it was
 
 200 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 late in the afternoon before he reached his 
 old home. 
 
 "When Jeanie had quitted him she had 
 paused a few minutes as soon as the corner 
 of the house hid her from his sidit. She 
 had been too much confused to think* of how 
 the effects of the violent agitation she had 
 undergone might be concealed from the eyes 
 of her father and mother, and most of all 
 from those of the servants. 
 
 She wiped her face with her apron, but 
 she felt that it was parched and white. She 
 looked timidly about, and was not disturbed 
 by discovering any observer. Then she stole 
 to the house, more like a thief, she felt, than 
 the mistress of it, without meeting her father 
 or any of the lassies. She reached her bed- 
 room, washed herself, and carefully dried her 
 face; but when she looked in the little 
 mirror she was startled by the change which 
 had come over it during the last hour, and 
 which all her efforts were powerless to re-
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 261 
 
 move. The experience of an age was marked 
 upon it, and it seemed to lier almost haggard. 
 
 She tm-ned away frightened, and bathed 
 her face in the cold water again. How was 
 she to meet Eobin with such a wae-stricken 
 look as that? She must not make him un- 
 happy too by telling him what had happened 
 — that is, not until she was able to speak 
 quietly about it, and so relieve his kind 
 heart of all fear or pain on her account. 
 
 That was the one thing clear to her mind; 
 that nothing must be said about that sad 
 meeting in the thicket meanwhile. It was 
 the first time Jeanie had ever had anything 
 to hide, and she was ashamed of it; but it 
 was for his sake, not her own. She had 
 noticed on one or two occasions how a pass- 
 ing reference to Falcon had caused him to 
 glance uneasily at her. Why should she 
 disturb him now by letting him know what 
 misery she was suffering? 
 
 No, she would wait until she had taught
 
 262 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 herself to think and speak quietly of the 
 matter, and then he might be told all about 
 it when she would be able to assure him at 
 the same time of her own content. 
 
 So when her father asked what was the 
 matter with her, she answered that she was 
 not "just weel/' and busied herself with her 
 household affairs, preparing to meet her hus- 
 band with a calm face, and her great sorrow 
 hidden in her breast. 
 
 It was a false step she was taking; but it 
 was a generous motive that urged her to it. 
 How was she to guess what was to follow?
 
 CHAPTER XYL 
 
 PAWKY EEYXARD. 
 
 'He's a rare aiild man, wi' a wig on his ix)w, 
 
 An' a sneishan mull to prie, ; 
 He becks an' he bows to high and to low, 
 
 An' he cheats them a' for his fee, Q."—Old Song 
 
 The Laird had been down at the byre 
 looking over his cattle, and he was peaceably 
 stepping up the short avenue to the house 
 when he heard somebody striding rapidly 
 after him. He glanced over his shoulder, 
 and observino; a strano^er, halted and wheeled 
 about to learn his mission. 
 
 The stranger was by his side in a moment. 
 
 ""Well, I hope you're glad to see me back 
 again, although I dinna ken why I should 
 hope that, seeing I hae so little pleasure in't 
 mysel'," was the somewhat gruff salutation of 
 the stranger.
 
 264 BOBIX GRAY. 
 
 The Laird's clean -shaven chin dropped, 
 and his mouth remained open; he dropped 
 his staff, and what was of more consequence, 
 he dropped his snuff-box, spilling the precious 
 contents. 
 
 "It canna be you!" he stammered, wishing 
 that he could reach the house with one step, 
 and yet quite unable to move a limb. 
 
 "Aye, but it's just me, unfortunately," said 
 Falcon drily, and picking up the staff he 
 placed it in McWhapple's hand. 
 
 The Laird leaned on his staff, and shivered 
 violently as with fright — not the fright which 
 superstition inspires. There was more fear 
 roused in his thin, dried, pawky body by the 
 re-appearance of the living man than all the 
 ghosts of the kirkyard marching up the 
 avenue in a band could have produced. He 
 eyed him from head to foot, and still shiver- 
 ing stooped to pick up his snuff-box. 
 
 "Od, its extraordinar'," he exclaimed, as 
 he raised himself, "an' me has been mourninof
 
 PAWKY BEYXAED. 265 
 
 for ye this towmond as though ye'd been 
 dead, and you no dead ava!" 
 
 "I'm sorry you hae T\'asted so much useful 
 grief for a chield wha's so ungrateful as to 
 come to life again." 
 
 "Come to life again — aye, man, it's jist 
 like that," exclaimed McWhapple, evidently 
 uncomfortable, and searching Falcon's face 
 with cunning eyes, almost as if trying to 
 discover whether he came with friendly 
 intent or the reverse. " I can scarcely be- 
 lieve it's you yet. But come your ways to 
 the house, and let us ken a' about it." 
 
 As they walked together the Laird watched 
 his companion with side-long glances, and 
 whenever he found himself observed, he 
 uttered an exclamation of marvel, as if to 
 indicate that his glances were purely those 
 of natural wonder and satisfaction. 
 
 "Without having encountered any one, they 
 entered the parlour in which the important 
 interview reo-ardino- the farm of Askaio- had
 
 26Q ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 been held, and from which all Falcon s mis- 
 haps dated. 
 
 The Laird placed a decanter and glasses 
 on the table — he kept them in the cupboard 
 at the side of the chimney, so that they were 
 always handy, and always locked up by 
 himself He emptied a full glass of the 
 whisky — a very unusual thing for him to 
 do — and sunk back on his easy chair, staring 
 open-mouthed at his visitor. 
 
 Falcon, partly by accident, partly by the 
 recall of old habit in association with the 
 place, planted himself on the hearth much as 
 he had done on the day of that interview he 
 remembered so bitterly. He observed that 
 the place was exactly as he had left it, and 
 whilst he was indifferently glancing round, the 
 Laird was summing up the changes in him. 
 
 First, he was bronzed by the sun: that 
 added to his apparent age. Next, he had 
 been suffering greatly, and that had imparted 
 a nervous firmness to the lips, which denoted
 
 PAWKY REYNARD. 267 
 
 that he would be an unflinching and uncom- 
 promising foe. Altogether, he looked much 
 older, sadder, and shrewder than many men 
 who had ten years the advantage of him. 
 
 These observations did not apparently in 
 the least comfort McWhapple, for two or 
 three times that shivering fit touched him as 
 if threatening to return. The whisky, how- 
 ever, kept it off, and he continued to look at 
 him with an expression of astonishment, sus- 
 picion, and cunning watchfulness all com- 
 bined. Certainly the Laird's conduct was as 
 peculiar as the occasion of it. He was not 
 usually subject to any great display of sur- 
 prise; and even at this moment it did not 
 seem to be so much surprise that moved him 
 as a potent fear of something about to happen. 
 
 Falcon, however, attributed all this dis- 
 composure to the mere effect of his unexpected 
 return, and to relieve him told him at once 
 how he had escaped. 
 
 " Od, it's the most extraordinary thing I
 
 268 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 ever heard," exclaimed McWliapple after a 
 pause; "and, noo that ye hae got back, I 
 suppose you hae heard that your auld sweet- 
 heart's married?" 
 
 "Aye, I hae seen her" — (wincing). 
 
 " Hae ye so ! And what do you intend to 
 do now?" 
 
 " Go away again." 
 
 "When?" — (with marked eagerness). 
 
 " As soon as I hae performed a duty that 
 I owe you and others." 
 
 "What may that be?" 
 
 "Did you lose muckle by the Colin?" 
 
 "No so muckle as I might hae done" — 
 (uneasily) — " for she was gej well insured." 
 
 "Humph" — (eyeing him curiously) — "Did 
 Carrach lose ony thing by it?" 
 
 " I couldna say exactly; he had a share o' 
 the cargo and got his share o' the insurance; 
 but, on the other hand, he lost a heap o' time, 
 and the chance o' what he was to make by 
 the cargo he was to bring hame."
 
 PAWKY REYNARD. 2G9 
 
 " That's queer"— (thouglitfully). 
 
 "What's queer?" — (sharply, and moving 
 uncomfortably on his seat). 
 
 " About Carrach. Where is he?" 
 
 " He was at Greenock yesterday, I believe, 
 and I'm expecting him here in a day or twa. 
 But what are ye driving at wi' a' these 
 questions?" 
 
 "At a serious matter to you, and at a 
 matter that has ruined my — but never mind 
 that. Hae you ony suspicion how the brig 
 was burnt?" 
 
 The Laird slowly searched the corners of 
 his box for a pinch of snuff. 
 
 " AYeel, Jeames, if you compel me to answer 
 that question, I'll hae to say something un- 
 pleasant." 
 
 " Say it, then." 
 
 " As you like. Then, the proofs that I got 
 privately argued strongly that she was set on 
 fire purposely." 
 
 "Just so; and by whom?"
 
 270 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " By yourser." 
 
 "By me— what for?" 
 
 " Out o' spite against me for no doing what 
 you wanted me to do. But I liae kept that 
 under my thumb, and I commanded Carrach 
 never to s|)eak o't to anybody, so that ye 
 need fear naething. But, Jeames, if it was 
 true, it was a bad payment to me for a' that 
 I hae done for you." 
 
 " So it would ha-e been if it had been true; 
 but that's the very thing I am to bide here 
 for a week or two to prove — that it was not 
 true, and that it was Carrach himself who 
 fired the brig." 
 
 The Laird shook his head doubtingly. 
 
 " I'm glad to ken that you werena so vici- 
 ous as to do such a thing against me; but 
 you'll find it a stiff job to bring hame that 
 charge to Carrach when he has the afiidavits 
 o' a' the men on his side." 
 
 " That does not matter; Hutcheson and I 
 saw him."
 
 PAWKY BEYXARD. 271 
 
 "Aye! and where is Hutclieson?" 
 
 Falcon was silent; for tlie question re- 
 minded him sharply that the vengeance he 
 had calculated upon taking so promptly was 
 utterly beyond his reach until he could pro- 
 duce Hutcheson to corroborate his own evid- 
 ence. 
 
 " I must find him," he said at leno-th. 
 
 " I'm misdoubting that '11 take you a lang 
 while; for he liasna been back here since he 
 gaed awa in the unfortunate Colin" 
 
 "Never mind, 111 find him. The insur- 
 ance agent will perhaps be able to tell 
 me in what ship he sailed, and I'll find 
 him." 
 
 McAVEapple gave vent to that peculiarly 
 Scotch ejaculation which is made with closed 
 lips; the only combination of letters which 
 can in any way represent the sound being, 
 " oom-hoo." Then, after having apparently 
 thought over the matter, he said — 
 
 "You're determined to pursue this affair?"
 
 272 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 "Aye, till he has been hanged — curse 
 him.'^ 
 
 "What makes ye so wild against him?'' 
 
 " Because a' the bad luck that's happened 
 me has been brought about by his work." 
 
 " I understand what you mean; but do you 
 intend to take ony advice frae me regarding 
 the business?" 
 
 " I expect both your advice and help ; for 
 surely you have some interest in it, seeing 
 that you still employ the villain." 
 
 " Oh, surely, I hae a very great interest in 
 it, and you shall hae both my advice and 
 help. My advice, however, you're no like to 
 take, for it is just to let sleeping dogs lie, or, 
 at any rate, be cannie in touching them. I'm 
 no misdoubting a word o' what you say; but 
 Carrach has the upper hand o' ye the now, 
 and if he heard that you were trying to bring 
 such a charge against him, do you think he'd 
 hand his tongue about you?" 
 
 "What could he do?"
 
 PAWKY REYNARD. 273 
 
 " Put a stop to your ever finding Hutche- 
 son. He's got the proof against ye, and he'd 
 just clap ye into jail in a minute. Ye'd be 
 tried and transported — aiblins hanged — afore 
 ye ken'd whare ye was. That's what he could 
 do." 
 
 "Til give him the chance," said Falcon 
 resolutely, and McWhapple's hawk eyes 
 twinkled feebly. 
 
 "Then ye'U get a halter for your pains, 
 I'm thinking. Na, na, lad, ye must gang 
 about it in a sensible way. Ye'll say nothing 
 to the insurance agent yet. You'll just bide 
 a wee till Carrach comes here, and syne I'll 
 find out frae him in a friendly way what 
 ship it was Hutcheson sailed in. Syne you'll 
 gang after him and bring him back here, and 
 then ye'll be able to speak out. That's the 
 sensible way o' proceeding, and if ye winna 
 take it, I wash my hands o' the matter 
 a'thegither." 
 
 Falcon was chagrined and moody at the 
 
 18
 
 274 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 prospect of delay; but it seemed clear to him 
 that, as the Laird put it, there was no other 
 course to take with any prospect of success. 
 
 He did not observe with what nervous 
 eagerness his counsellor scanned his counten- 
 ance, as if to read his decision before it was 
 pronounced. 
 
 "I believe you're right, Laird," he said 
 weariedly ; " and there's no help for it. But 
 L don t care how long it may be before I 
 reach him. I'll not give up the chase until 
 he has paid wi' his life for some o' the misery 
 he has wrought to me and Jeanie." 
 
 " Man, that's an unco vicious spirit to work 
 wi'. You should be satisfied wi' trying to 
 get justice done." 
 
 " Oh aye, I'll be satisfied wi' justice when 
 it's done." 
 
 " Oom — hoo," ejaculated the Laird again, 
 his head making a dab, and his breath com- 
 ing more freely than it had done during the 
 interview ; " and where are you to bide till
 
 PAWKY REYNARD. 275 
 
 Carracli comes ? It woiildna do for him to 
 find ye here if I'm to get ony thing out o' 
 him." 
 
 " I don't mean to stay here — it's too near 
 Cairnieford, and I want to get as far from 
 there as possible." 
 
 " You ken best about that ; but I canna 
 see that you should fash yoursel' regardin a 
 woman that was ready to loup at the first 
 ofier she got as soon as ye were out o' 
 sicht " 
 
 " Stop — ril let no man speak an ill word 
 about her in my presence." 
 
 And the fury that flashed to his visage 
 showed that it would be dangerous for any 
 man to attempt it. 
 
 "Oh, just as ye like; but, as I was about to 
 remark, it'll no do for ye to be bidin' at ony 
 o' the inns either; so ye might gang ower by 
 to Askaig. There's naebody occupying the 
 house liut the ploughman and his wife, and 
 they can make up a bed for ye in ane o' the
 
 276 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 empty rooms. Yell no be particular about 
 furniture for the wee while yell hae to bide 
 there." 
 
 '' 111 go at once." 
 
 " Ye'cl better hae a bite o' something to eat 
 first and take a dram. Ye look unco cauld 
 and worn like." 
 
 He summoned his housekeeper, Mrs. Begg, 
 and as soon as that worthy woman could 
 recover from the surprise and pleasure of 
 seeing James Falcon in the flesh again, she 
 hastened to procure some food. 
 
 Falcon was really worse than he looked; 
 for he had eaten nothing since the meal he 
 had made at Girzie Todd's, and he had passed 
 through much exhausting excitement. Strong 
 as he was, even his constitution bent before 
 the terrible emotions which had been raging 
 in him for the last tAventy hours, and the 
 exposure to the cold on the beach. He was, 
 however, as yet, too sick in mind to take any 
 note of bodily fatigue or pain.
 
 PA WKY REYNARD. 277 
 
 As soon as lie had partaken of tlie plentiful 
 repast wliicli the kindly Mrs. Begg had 
 placed before him, he started for Askaig/the 
 Laird promising to visit him next day and 
 give him any news he might have obtained 
 regarding the movements of Carrach. 
 
 Askaig was distant, by the shortest road, 
 which lay across the fields, five miles from 
 Clashgirn, and about the same from Cairnie- 
 ford. Although it was already dark, and a 
 snow-storm threatening, Falcon took the 
 shortest way; if he had thought at all of the 
 danger of being caught in the storm before 
 he had crossed the intervening hills, he was in 
 the humour rather to have welcomed the 
 prospect than to have gone round by the 
 road to avoid it. 
 
 The Laird was singularly nervous: that 
 was evinced by the hasty way in which he 
 bade Mrs. Begg to tell one of the men to 
 saddle his pony, and by the trembling way 
 in which he grasped his stafi". He muffled
 
 2/8 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 himself up carefully, however, with the assist- 
 ance of his housekeeper. She ventured to 
 say that it was a " wild-like nicht," and could 
 he "no put off gaun out till the morn;" but 
 he bade her mind her own business in suck 
 an angry way that she did not speak another 
 word until he had ridden down the road. 
 
 " Confound him," he muttered, giving the 
 reins a jerk, " wlia would ever hae thought o' 
 him turning up again, least of a' wi' siccan a 
 purpose. There'll be a fine ado if it gets win', 
 but it maunna — it shallna. I'll hae to get 
 him out o' the country as quick as possible, 
 and while he's in't I'll hae to keep him frae 
 getting friendly words either wi' the agent or 
 Eobin Gray. Deil tak' him, can he no mind 
 his ain business like other honest folk?" 
 
 By the time this monologue was concluded 
 he had reached the junction of the road which 
 led to Cairnieford, and he heard ringing along 
 the hard frosty ground the hoofs of a horse 
 trotting towards him from the direction of
 
 PAWKY REYNARD. 279 
 
 the town. There was light enough for him 
 to distinguish the form of objects at a few 
 paces distance; and presently he descried the 
 outlines of a man and horse. 
 
 " A sharp nicht," said the horseman, riding- 
 past. 
 
 The Laird started in his saddle and sud- 
 denly drew rein. 
 
 "Is that you, Cairnieford?" he cried, hastily 
 turning round. " Haud on a minute, I want 
 to speak wi' you." 
 
 He rode quietly up to the side of Cairnie- 
 ford, who had stopped just as he had been 
 about to turn up the glen road. 
 
 "You're late abroad. Laird. What was you 
 gaun to say?" 
 
 McWhapple laid his hand on the farmer's 
 brawny shoulder, and spoke in a tone of 
 friendly compassion. 
 
 "I hae news for you, Cairnieford — news 
 that I'm feared will no be ower and above 
 welcome."
 
 280 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 "I would be surprised if it was, coming 
 frae you/' was Gray's dry response, shaking 
 off the Laird's hand. 
 
 "Man, I dinna ken what for ye hae sic 
 an ill-will to me that ye canna speak a 
 pleasant word, though I hae ay tried to 
 be friendly wi' you in spite o' a' your thrawn 
 ways." 
 
 " It's rather a cauld nicht to stand arguing 
 that matter. Laird; sae tell's your news, and 
 let's be jogging." 
 
 "Aweel, aweel, be as dour's ye like, ye 
 winna anger me, for I'm satisfied that some 
 day yell ken me for the friend I am." 
 
 " I'll be weel pleased when that day comes. 
 But dinna forget that I hae ken'd ye, McWhap- 
 ple, since ye were just a factor, and I was a 
 bit raor^ed callant rinnin' about. I hae had 
 a lang while to mak' up my mind about 
 
 ye." 
 
 " Aye, man, but you're proud," exclaimed 
 the Laird with the sigh of a martyr, and all
 
 PAWKY REYNARD. 281 
 
 the humility of one who resigns himself to 
 the justice of time; "but clinna ricle o\Yer high, 
 or the fa will be a' the greater." 
 
 "I never ken'cl ye speak that way, McWhap- 
 ple," said Cairnieford laughing, " but ye were 
 ay sure o' being able to do or say something 
 unpleasant. Out wi't then, let's ken the 
 warst, for I'm feared o' naething that you or 
 ony man can bring against me." 
 
 "There's nobody can bring anything against 
 ye, I'm sure; and there's nobody would clo't 
 if they could. But whiles even the best o' 
 us must bow the head to things they canna 
 help. What I hae to tell ye will fear ye and 
 make you wae too, or I'm mista'en." 
 
 "Then, in the deil's name, tell't, and no 
 stand licking your chaffs ower't" — (testily). 
 
 " I'm loath to speak what'll grieve ye ; but, 
 as ye say, the sooner it's told the better, and 
 it would never do for ye to gang hame the 
 nicht without kenning o't. James Falcon 
 wasna drooned as we a' thocht."
 
 282 AOBIN GRAY. 
 
 He bent close to Gray as he pronounced 
 the words with peculiar significance. 
 
 " Fm glad to hear't, for the lad's sake," ex- 
 claimed Gray heartily. 
 
 " Aye, but he has come back here, and he's 
 been up at Cairnieford, and seen your guid- 
 wife, and the Lord only kens whatll hap- 
 pen." 
 
 It was not so much what the Laird said 
 as what he implied that startled Eobin Gray, 
 and sent a sickening thrill throughout his 
 strong frame. That was the Laird's way ; he 
 never said anything direct, he did everything 
 by implication. 
 
 "Happen? — what can happen?" he ex- 
 claimed unsteadily. 
 
 ",0d, there's nae saying; but it's an awk- 
 ward business for you." 
 
 " I canna see that." 
 
 " Aweel, I hope ye'll never need to see't ; 
 but ye may count on me helping you in any 
 way that I can."
 
 PAWKY REYNARD. 283 
 
 " Thank you " — (gathering the reins 
 hastily). " I'm glad ye told me before I got 
 hame, as it'll help me to prepare mysel'. But 
 the sooner I'm there the better noo. Guid 
 nicht." 
 
 "I hope it winna make so much difference 
 to you as I misdoubt it will; but- " 
 
 Eobin had galloped away out of hearing 
 before the sentence was finished. 
 
 McWhapple turned his pony's head and 
 continued his way to the village with an 
 especially complacent smirk on his yellow 
 visage.
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 DOUBTS. 
 
 ' Dear child, how could I wrong thy name ? 
 
 Thy form so fair and faultless stands, 
 That, could ill tongues abuse thy fame, 
 Thy beauty would make large amends." 
 
 — Hamilton of Bangour. 
 
 There was the murmur of the sea behind 
 him, and the wild sweep of the wind up the 
 glen pushing him forward, whilst the gaunt 
 trees stretched out their bare trembling 
 branches, moaning and forming ominous 
 shadows across his path. 
 
 "Aye, the sooner I'm hame the better,", he 
 muttered as he galloped along tlie road; but 
 the nearer he approached his own house the 
 slower became the pace of his mare Jean, 
 until at last she was permitted to walk. 
 
 In a vao;ue way he was conscious of sea.
 
 DOUBTS. 285 
 
 and wind, and shadows — conscious that they 
 were affecting him in a manner they had 
 never done before. He had never on any 
 former occasion fancied the moan of the sea 
 so sad, the sough of the wind so eerie, or the 
 shadows of the firs so gloomy. His char- 
 acter had been too sharply formed in the 
 severe mould of practical life to permit him 
 to know much of fancy, or to regard nature 
 at any time by its light. That was why the 
 effect of those strange voices of nature, which 
 echo our passions of joy or sorrow according 
 to the humour in which we hear them, 
 seemed so peculiar to him now. 
 
 When the light shining in the window of 
 the parlour — placed there by Jeanie's hand 
 to guide him home — became visible, he 
 brouo'ht his mare to a stand, much aofainst 
 the animars will, for she sniffed the stables, 
 and knowing that supper was so near, did 
 not care to linger. 
 
 "Bide a wee, lass, bide a wee," said Kobin
 
 28Q ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 gently, "let me think a minute and see gin 
 I can look at tlie matter fair and straight 
 afore I meet her. . . . Puir Jeanie, puir wife 
 — I doubt, I doubt I hae done you and him 
 wrang. But wha was to ken o' this? No 
 me, onjrway. . . . My head's a wee thing 
 confused the nicht someway. Aiblins I took 
 ower muckle drink, though I didna feel ony 
 the waur o't till after I met McWhapple — 
 confound his tongue; it seems to me as 
 though it was made o' a gall-bladder that 
 pooshins everything it touches." 
 
 He lifted his bonnet and passed his hand 
 over his head abstractedly. His fingers 
 touched the bald crown, and rested there. 
 
 "Aye, I'm an auld man," he muttered 
 weariedly; "an' she's but a young lassie, and 
 Jeamie's come hame. What's the upshot? — 
 that she'll turn frae me to him ? — for she lo'ed 
 him dearly." 
 
 His whole body shook under the violent 
 emotion of the thought. How cold and cheer-
 
 DOUBTS. 287 
 
 less seemed tlie glen with the drizzling snow 
 falling softly about him, and the wind sough- 
 ing in melancholy time to the sharp rippling 
 of the burn. His eyes wandered drearily 
 till they rested on the light shining in the 
 window. 
 
 It was beckoning him home, and it seemed 
 to inspire hope and courage. 
 
 " Hoots, I'm just an aulcl goose," he ex- 
 claimed, gathering himself up, as it were, and 
 shaking off the forebodings which rendered 
 him miserable. " Jeamie's come hame — what 
 about that? She's my guidwife, and she's 
 promised to be a true ane. She's had time 
 to ken how precious she is to me, and she 
 winna desert me now. Fie on me to doubt 
 her for a minute. We'll just make the puir 
 chield welcome, and try to comfort him a' 
 that we can. It's no his fault nor ours either 
 that things are as they are. We'll just try 
 to make the best o' them, and no make them 
 waur by quarrelin' amang oursel's. Sae ye
 
 288 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 can bode as ye like, Laird McWhapple. We're 
 nae gowks, and we ken that w^hat's done 
 canna be undone, and we'll just be content 
 wi' things as they stand." 
 
 He was considerably relieved by this deci- 
 sion; and he made a bold effort to break 
 through the gloom that had gathered about 
 him. Jean was permitted to advance at a 
 smart trot, and Kobin leaped from the saddle 
 when he reached the door with much of his 
 usual cheeriness. 
 
 The door opened before he had time to 
 knock, and Jeanie appeared with a light. 
 The effect of her appearance was to dispel 
 his moody misgivings so completely for the 
 time being, that he did not at first notice 
 how pale she was, or how her hands trembled 
 as she unfastened his plaid. 
 
 But whilst he was taking his supper, and 
 answering Adam's questions about the mar- 
 ket, he observed that she was unusually 
 silent. That led him in a stealthy way to
 
 DOUBTS. 289 
 
 examine her face, and he saw then how ill 
 she was looking. 
 
 He made no comment, although his heart 
 seemed suddenly to sink, and he felt the 
 gloom returning in spite of the bright fire 
 which shed a warm comfortable glow through- 
 out the room. He went on eatinor and an- 
 swering Adam's questions about the number 
 of sheep and cattle in the market, and the 
 prices they obtained, just as if there were 
 nothing disturbing him. 
 
 He turned abruptly from the table to the 
 fire. AVhy was it neither father nor daughter 
 said an}i:hing about Falcon? He had been 
 there — McWhapple had said so, and he could 
 believe him to that extent, for he knew that 
 Falcon would be eager to see her, and would 
 no doubt seek her the moment he arrived. 
 
 WTiy then did they conceal the fact from 
 him ? 
 
 His answers gradually became shorter, and 
 
 19
 
 290 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 sometimes lie forgot to speak, so tliat tlie 
 question had to be repeated. 
 
 "I see ye're wearied," said Adam at length, 
 ''sae we'll just read a chapter, and syne I'll 
 gang to bed." 
 
 He read the chapter, as was his custom 
 every night, and then closing the Bible he 
 bade them good night. 
 
 When the door closed on him, Eobin cast 
 a quick glance at his wife. She would surely 
 tell him now. But no : she went on making 
 preparations for retiring without showing the 
 least symptom of a disposition to refer to the 
 matter which was uppermost in his thoughts 
 and beginning to worry him sorely. 
 
 "I suppose there's been naebody here 
 speiring for me the day?" he said by and by, 
 thinking that he would help her by giving 
 her an opportunity to tell who had been 
 there. 
 
 She had been crossing the room to a little
 
 DOUBTS. 291 
 
 basket in wliicli she kept Iier knitting, and 
 as he spoke she paused. 
 
 "No, there's been naebody speiring for ye," 
 she answered slovvdj. 
 
 She took her knitting and seated herself 
 by the fire opposite him. He looked steadily 
 at the fire. 
 
 "Naebody ava?" ' 
 
 "Naebody." 
 
 He was puzzled. Surely if Falcon had 
 come to the house she Avould have said so 
 now? Was it possible that Falcon, having 
 learned that she was married, had been en- 
 raged and determined not to visit her? 
 That was a hopeful thought : it would be so 
 much better for them all that old memories 
 should not be stirred to their depths as they 
 would be by a meeting. 
 
 He looked at her again, and the hope was 
 damped. Why was her expression so sad — 
 so like what it had been the first time he 
 had seen her after the false news came of
 
 292 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 Falcon's death — if she had neither seen nor 
 heard of him ? 
 
 "You're no looking sae weel as you were 
 when I gaed awa' this morning," he said. 
 
 She felt his fond earnest eyes were on her, 
 and her lip quivered slightly in spite of every 
 effort she made to control her countenance. 
 Would she tell him why? No; not yet: wait 
 till she was stronger, and could speak calmly 
 of the event. 
 
 " I haena been very weel a day/' she re- 
 sponded quietly. 
 
 "What's been like the matter wi' ye?" 
 
 " Oh, naething particular, just a kind o' 
 sickishness. Dinna fash yoursel' about it. 
 I'll be weel again the morn." 
 
 " Ye maun get weel, guidwife" (fondly, and 
 laying his hand softly on her head), " I canna 
 do without ye, and I couldna live if I was to 
 lose ye — hoots, what am I haverin' about; I 
 canna lose ye — I maunna lose ye." 
 
 The great passion of the man shone in his
 
 DOUBTS. 293 
 
 eyes, and was heard in tlie exceeding tender- 
 ness of Ms voice. It troubled her; for some- 
 how it called up Jeamie's sad face to her 
 mind's eye, although she answered smiling — 
 
 " How should ye lose me, guidman ? I'm 
 no like to dee." 
 
 "Na, ye'U see me hame, I hope and ex- 
 pect — But, Jeanie lass, I'm a doitered auld 
 body " 
 
 " I'll no let ye say that," she interrupted, 
 shaking her head at him, and trying hard to 
 look happy and as if nothing troubled her; 
 " ye're my guidman, and I'm no gaun to hae 
 him misca'ed even by himsel'." 
 
 His visage glowed with pleasure. 
 
 "Aye, weel, guidwife, we'll let that flee stick 
 to the wa'. But whiles I get notions o' 
 things that micht happen, but never will 
 happen; and at thae times I like to hear ye 
 saying ower and ower again that ye're happy, 
 and that I do a' ye would like me to do or 
 wish me to do to make ye sae."
 
 294 BOBIN GRAY. 
 
 She put down lier knitting, rose and placed 
 her arms round his neck, resting her head on 
 his shoukler. 
 
 " Ye hae done everything that a kind guid 
 heart coukl do to make me and mine happy. 
 Ye hae done mair nor ae man o' a thousand 
 wouki hae done — far mair than I deserve — " 
 
 " Whisht ye noo; ye re my guidwife, and 
 I'll no hae her misca'ed," and he laughed loud 
 and cheerily at this turn of her own words, 
 forgetting the Laird, Falcon, and all. 
 
 " And while I live," she went on without 
 changing her position, "111 ay try to prove 
 to ye that I'm grateful, and that I gie ye a' 
 my heart as far as I hae it to gie." 
 
 "And — and ye're no sorry?" 
 
 "For what r 
 
 " That ye married me T 
 
 The question stung her to the quick. 
 How was she to answer? Was she sorry? 
 She thought of all his goodness, all his 
 devotion: she thoudit of how much more
 
 DOUBTS. 295 
 
 they ^'ere worthy than of any sacrifice she 
 could make — and in spite of James Falcon, 
 in spite of the sharp pain she was enduring 
 at this moment on his account, she answered 
 firmly, meeting his yearning gaze with un- 
 faltering eyes — 
 
 " No, Eobin, I'm no sorry, gin you be happy 
 — I never will be sorry." 
 
 At that he kissed her. 
 
 " Eh, Jeanie, woman, but it makes me glad 
 to hear ye say that; it gies me a kind o' satis- 
 faction that naebody could understand to ken 
 that ye're content. That would be the dark- 
 est day o' my life, the day I should hear ye 
 say ye wished ye had never been married." 
 
 " But ye shall never hear me say that." 
 
 She spoke truly according to her resolu- 
 tion — according to her belief — that he would 
 never hear her express regret, or feel by any 
 act of hers that she could regret, although all 
 the time her heart was fluttering with the 
 thought of the misery that might have been
 
 296 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 spared two people if slie had not been a 
 wife. 
 
 " Thank ye, lass, I hope no : ill as it miclit 
 hae been to bear twa or three month syne, it 
 would be waur noo, and every day that we re 
 thegither makes the possibility o't the mair 
 terrible. Folk say that marriage cools love; 
 but that's no true wi' us, for ilka day makes 
 ye the mair precious to me. Aye, Jeanie, 
 every day ye live ye grow dearer and dearer 
 to me. I seem to hae got an extra liking for 
 the house noo, jist because ye dwal in t; and 
 I amaist love the ground just because ye 
 walk on't. I wouldna cared a button about 
 leaving the farm afore we were married; 
 but I couldna thole to quit the place noo, 
 just because I hae been so happy wi' you 
 in't." 
 
 " Yell make me a vain wifie gin ye gang 
 on flatterin' me that gate, as though we were 
 lad and lass." 
 
 " And so we are and will ay be; and it's
 
 DOUBTS. 297 
 
 no flattery ava, but just what I feel. Sae ye 
 may be vain or no as ye like. Od, I forgot, 
 and talking o' vanity minds me o't: I bought 
 ye something the day." 
 
 With some labour he produced from the 
 depths of a capacious pocket of his trousers 
 a small parcel, the paper covering of which 
 he carefully removed, and displayed an enor- 
 mous brooch. 
 
 " There," he exclaimed, fastening it on her 
 breast and regarding it admiringly; "it's a 
 bigger ane nor the banker s guidwife's. Yell 
 look as grand as the best o' them at the kirk 
 on Sabbath." 
 
 Instead of examining the present as she 
 ought to have done, Jeanie placed her hands 
 on her husband's head and looked in his face 
 with a tearful smile on her own. 
 
 " Ay thinking o' me, Eobin, wharever ye 
 gang," she said tenderly. 
 
 " Troth, guidwife, it's even sae ; morning, 
 noon, and nicht I'm ay thinking o' ye, and
 
 298 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 wonnering wliat I can do to ^^lease ye. Is't 
 no braw?" 
 
 " It's ower grand for me, I doubt." 
 
 "There's naetliing ower grand for ye that 
 we can buy and pay for." 
 
 All his doubts and fears had for the pre- 
 sent vanished; he had even forgotten the 
 existence of Falcon. Nor did he think of 
 him again until the noon of next day, when 
 Adam, coming back from the shore, where 
 he had been to look after his boat, told him 
 that Clashgirn had passed him on the road. 
 
 The reference to the Laird recalled every- 
 thing. But he could think of what he had 
 heard on the previous night with indifference 
 now. 
 
 "Did he speak?" queried Eobin carelessly. 
 
 " Aye, he just said guid day, and speired 
 how we were a' doing, and he said he was 
 gaun ower the hills to Askaig." 
 
 "He didna say ony thing mair?" 
 
 " No a word."
 
 DOUBTS. 299 
 
 "He didna mention Jeanies Falcon?" 
 
 " Na; there was naetliing to bring tlie puir 
 chield up atween ns." 
 
 Eobin moved a^Yay whistling. Evidently 
 Adam knew nothing of the reported retm^n 
 of Falcon ; and surely he would have known 
 of it if the lad had been at Cairnieford. 
 Clearly the Laird had been mistaken in that 
 part of his information, or, what was quite 
 probable, had told a lie for the purpose of 
 annoying him. 
 
 "Was it not possible that the whole story 
 was a lie, and that Falcon had not returned 
 at all ? It was possible ; but then the Laird 
 had never been caught in such a direct false- 
 hood before; and certainly there was some- 
 thing queer in Jeanie's expression. 
 
 He watched her — not because he doubted 
 her in the least — but because he loved her, 
 and every change of look or manner was of 
 interest to him, that he might know the cause, 
 and if possible remove it.
 
 300 BOBiy GRAY. 
 
 He discovered nothing, however, save that 
 she seemed even more anxious than before, if 
 that were possible, to serve him and please 
 him; and that at odd moments she w^ould be 
 abstracted with a shade on her face as of 
 some troublesome thought. If he spoke to 
 her at these moments she would start and 
 eagerly attend to him as if desirous of re- 
 moving any impression her manner might 
 have made, and to avoid questioning. But 
 she never made the least reference to Falcon.
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 PLAYING WITH FIRE. 
 
 " On peace and rest my mind was bent, 
 And, fool I was, I married." — Old Song. 
 
 Thinkino' and thinkinor over all these cir- 
 cumstances, Eobin became curious to know 
 whether or not there was any truth in the 
 Laird's information, and two days afterwards, 
 when he happened to meet Girzie Todd on 
 her road to the house, he questioned her. 
 
 Girzie seemed to be a little taken aback; 
 at any rate she was slow to answer, and that 
 was a rare occurrence with her. This was 
 the reason. She had come to prej)are Jeanie 
 for the surprise of Falcon's return, but she 
 had been an hour too late. She had, how- 
 ever, readily agreed to say nothing about the 
 matter to Eobin in the event of meeting him. 
 Consequently, she was at a loss now to know
 
 302 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 liow mucli she migiit reveal without betray- 
 ing the arrangement she had made with 
 Jeanie. 
 
 " Wha tauld ye o't?" she asked, instead of 
 answering him. 
 
 " Clashgirn/' 
 
 "Aye, it's true" — (she understood now). 
 
 " Hae ye seen the lad?" said Eobin, some- 
 what uncharitably disappointed to discover 
 that the Laixd had spoken truly. 
 
 " I saw him the nicht he came back." 
 
 "I wonder he doesna come our length. 
 I'm sure we'd be glad to see him." 
 
 " Aye, Cairnieford, sae ye micht be, for it's 
 easy to him that wins to forgi'e, but it's no 
 sae easy to him that loses." 
 
 " True enuch, Girzie. But I think if I was 
 to hae a quiet chat wi' him he micht be per- 
 suaded to bear nae ill-will onyway. Do ye 
 ken wliar he is?" 
 
 "He is someway about, but I couldna 
 exactly say whar he may be the noo."
 
 PLAYING WITH FIRE. 303 
 
 She had no very definite reason for giving 
 this evasive answer. She knew very well 
 that he was at Askaig, for AYattie, who had 
 taken a special fancy to Falcon since he had 
 told him about the big ship and the guns, had 
 almost for the first time in his life mustered 
 courage to quit his mother, and had trudged 
 over the hills alone to Askaig every day to 
 gratify his curiosity by listening to Falcon's 
 stories of the wonders he had seen. He was 
 there now, for Falcon, solitary and miserable, 
 was glad even of the poor natural's company 
 and friendship, especially as Wattle's affection 
 for Jeanie made him ready to speak of her 
 often, and to tell all he knew of what had 
 passed before and since her marriage. 
 
 It was a sort of consolation to the unhappy 
 man to hear ao'ain and ao-ain of the circum- 
 stances which had placed an impassable bar- 
 rier between him and the woman he loved. 
 He persuaded himself that the more he heard 
 of them, the more clearly the fact of the in-
 
 304 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 evitable separation was presented to him, and 
 that he was thereby schooling himself to 
 think calmly of the irrevocable. 
 
 Girzie had been at first doubtful about 
 permitting Wattie to venture so far from her 
 alone; but as she had seen that his pride in 
 his own achievement was ra|)idly giving him 
 a self-confidence he had never before pos- 
 sessed, she was well pleased to let him go, 
 for she knew that some day — far distant she 
 hoped for his sake — he would have to stand 
 alone. 
 
 She was enabled to form a pretty correct 
 notion of Falcon's condition from the gossip 
 of her son, and in evading Eobin's question 
 the only idea she had was that a visit from 
 him would not be favourably received by 
 Falcon in his present humour, and that she 
 would not be the means of stirring up more 
 strife to add to Jeanie's distress. 
 
 " Better let sleeping dogs lie," she said as 
 she moved on to the house.
 
 PLAYIXG WITH FIRE. 305 
 
 There slie obtained an opportunity of 
 whispering to Jeanie that the guidman was 
 aware of Falcon's return. The information 
 rendered her nervous and excited. Eobin 
 noticed that and marvelled, whilst his doubts 
 and fears sprung up again with new strength. 
 
 She watched him closely, expecting him to 
 speak, and perceived that he was observing 
 her strangely. That increased her excit- 
 ability, and in proportion his uneasiness grew. 
 But neither touched upon the matter that 
 was uppermost in their thoughts, each fear- 
 ing to pain the other. The result was a 
 general feeling of discomfort without any 
 very distinct or palpable cause that might 
 have been seized and grappled with. 
 
 The following day was Sabbath, cold, bleak, 
 and windy, the ground carpetted with frost- 
 crusted snow. The sense of depression was 
 still upon them as they proceeded to the kirk, 
 and filled them with vao^ue forebodinsfs of 
 something about to happen. 
 
 20
 
 306 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 During tlie sermon Kobin saw the Laird 
 glancing frequently toward liim with curious 
 eyes. As tliey rose at the end of the service 
 the Laird made a movement with his hand; 
 it was very slight, but Eobin thought that it 
 was intended as a signal that he wanted to 
 speak to him. 
 
 Little as he cared for McWhapple's con- 
 versation at ordinary times, he was eager to 
 learn where Falcon was and what he was 
 doing; and so was quite ready to wait for 
 the Laird. Out in the kirkyard as usual he 
 lingered exchanging greetings with his neigh- 
 bours, whilst Jeanie walked on with old Mrs. 
 Dunbar. 
 
 The Laird joined him immediately, and 
 taking him by the arm mysteriously led him 
 apart from the others. 
 
 "The guidwife's no looking very weel?" 
 he said compassionately, glancing over his 
 shoulder at her standing by the gate with 
 Mrs. Dunbar.
 
 PLAYING WITH FIRE. 307 
 
 " No, she hasna been a'thegither richt this 
 twa or three days; but it's naething particu- 
 lar, just a bit cauld." 
 
 "Aye, aye, just that; this twa or three 
 days; ye mean since Tuesday?" 
 
 Eobin quietly released his arm from the 
 Laird's grasp and looked him steadily in the 
 face. 
 
 " Since Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, 
 it doesna matter which o' the days it was," 
 he said calmly. " I'm no sae particular about 
 thae things as ye are, McWhapple, because I 
 canna see that it does a man ony guid — or a 
 woman either for that matter — to be ay look- 
 ing for a storm in the face o' the sun." 
 
 "Just that, just that, I agree wi' ye; but 
 he's a gowk that would put to sea in a punt 
 when the clouds are darkening ower the 
 sun." 
 
 " Maybe sae ; but ye Avanted to say some- 
 thing. Say it and let me awa'." 
 
 " Oh, I was merely gaun to mention that
 
 308 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 my puir frien' Falcon doesna seem just riclit 
 in the liead since lie sa,w your guidwife. I 
 wanted him to gang awa' at once, but he's 
 lingering about the place in spite o' my ad- 
 vice, for what end Heaven kens." 
 
 "Whar is he biding? No wi' you?" — 
 (controlling voice and features as well as he 
 could that they might not show any of the 
 emotion he felt). 
 
 " No, he wouldna bide wi' me ; I wish he 
 had, for then I maybe would hae had some 
 command over him. But he would gang 
 awa whar there would be naebody to see him, 
 or jalouse what he micht be about." 
 
 "Whar is he?" (doggedly). 
 
 "Up by at Askaig — ye ken he had ay a 
 notion o' the place. I hae been up to see him 
 twa or three times, but I can mak' naething 
 o' him." 
 
 " I'll gang ower the morn and see what I 
 can make o' him" — (drily, and turning away). 
 
 "You!" (detaining him); "michty! no, ye
 
 PLAYING WITH FIRE. 309 
 
 maunna do tliat. Guid kens what would 
 happen atween ye, for, puir lad, I'm feared 
 his head's a wee thing tonched." 
 
 And the Laird took a snuff, with violent 
 nasal accompaniment expressive .of grief 
 
 " A' the mair reason that I should see him, 
 and try to mend the wrang he thinks I hae 
 done him.'^ 
 
 "Mercy on us, man! ye'll just drive him 
 wud a'theo^ither."' 
 
 The Laird seemed to be really agitated for 
 once in his life. 
 
 "We'll see." 
 
 "Ye maunna gang near him" — (following 
 him). 
 
 " I'll be wi' him the first thing the morn's 
 mornin'." 
 
 "It'll be the death o' ane o' ye." 
 
 " It'll aiblins be life to him." 
 
 Under an exterior of calm resolution, 
 Eobin concealed his emotion from all, save 
 the anxious eyes of his wife. She had seen
 
 310 BOBIN GRAY. 
 
 him speaking to the Laird, and she would 
 have instinctively divined the subject of their 
 conversation, even if it had not been indicated 
 by the sad and thoughtful expression of her 
 husband's face, and the wistful glances with 
 which he regarded her. 
 
 Sad he was ; for the Laird's description of 
 Falcon's condition, although not intended to 
 produce that effect, impressed him Avitli the 
 idea that he had unintentionally done an 
 irreparable wrong, and he was anxious to 
 make what recompense might be in his 
 power. 
 
 Yet he did not speak of the matter to 
 Jeanie ; but he purposed doing so for all their 
 sakes immediately after having seen Falcon, 
 wdien he would be able to relieve her mind of 
 any distress on his account by giving her the 
 result of their interview.
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 ASKAIG. 
 
 ' Come, winter, with thine angry howl, 
 
 And raging, bend the naked tree; 
 Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 
 When nature all is sad like me." — Bums. 
 
 In the dull gray light of the succeeding 
 morning Eobin was riding on his way to 
 Askaig. He was obliged to ride at a leisurely 
 pace, for the ground was slippery, glistening 
 under a hard frost. As the road was all up 
 hill, it became the more difficult for Jean, 
 surefooted cannie brute as she was, to pro- 
 ceed steadily. 
 
 The pace fretted the rider's temper; for 
 he was impatient to reach his destination; 
 and at every stumble of the mare he jerked 
 the bit in a fashion to which Jean's mouth
 
 312 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 was wholly nnaccustomed, uttering angry 
 ejaculations at the same time. 
 
 He had left home without the least hint 
 to any one as to whither he was going. He 
 had merely said to Jeanie that he expected 
 to be home in time for dinner. As it was 
 the first occasion on which he had omitted 
 to tell all about the object of his going forth, 
 and as she was quickened to a perception 
 of the least variation in his manner, she 
 noticed the omission, and wondered at it un- 
 easily. 
 
 It was a bleak journey through the mist; 
 with hills and dales lying in their white 
 silent shroud, and the trees which here and 
 there belted the road, or hung over the brow 
 of a glen, rising like gaunt ghosts of them- 
 selves. The only sounds he heard were those 
 of the wind sweeping along in keen biting 
 blasts, and the muttering of the burn, which, 
 swollen by the snow, rolled black and noisily 
 down the glens. A few cots of farm-workers
 
 ASKAIG. 313 
 
 lying so low by tlie roadside tliat under tlie 
 snow tliey were scarcely distinguishable as 
 anything more than a hillock until he was 
 close to them, and a farm-steading lying a 
 quarter of a mile off the road, were the only 
 habitations between Cairnieford and Askaig. 
 
 The road followed the devious course of 
 the burn, generally in sight of it, sometimes 
 rounding a hill and losing it, but always re- 
 tm^ning to the black line. 
 
 Half a mile of the road was a species of 
 broad ledge, having been cut on the hip of a 
 hio'h mountain, the shoulders and head of 
 which towered above the traveller on one 
 side, whilst on the other there was a steep 
 slope down to the bed of the stream. Only 
 sheep and the shepherds' dogs could obtain 
 footing on this slope. 
 
 Again the road suddenly dipped down to 
 the burn, which it became necessary to ford 
 to continue the journey. This was a simple 
 affair on ordinary occasions, foot-passengers
 
 314 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 crossing easily on three large stepping-stones, 
 whilst a horse would scarcely have been wet 
 above the knees. But when rain had fallen 
 in any quantity, the burn rose to the pro- 
 portions of a turbulent river; the water 
 dashed down from the hills with the violence 
 of a cataract, seeming to gather strength and 
 volume at the ford, rendering it frequently 
 impassable for several days to man or beast. 
 Eepeatedly sheep and cattle which had missed 
 their footing had been swept away by the 
 force of the current as if they had been 
 straws. 
 
 The power of the spate was attested by 
 the form of the hill on the side to which 
 Kobin was journeying. From the edge of 
 the burn it rose curving inward in the shape 
 of a bow — the whole side of the hill having 
 been undermined and washed away. This 
 was known as the Brownie's Bite, from the 
 supposed resemblance to the impression that 
 would have been left if some monster s jaws
 
 . ASKAIG. 315 
 
 had closed upon the scarp of the hill and 
 bitten it out. 
 
 On the height above there was a consider- 
 able extent of table-land, which formed the 
 chief arable o-round of the farm of Askaio^. 
 The steading itself overlooked the abyss; 
 standing within fifty yards of the brink. It 
 was a small squat house, with rough stone 
 walls of a slate colour and thatched roof It 
 contained three apartments, a kitchen, a 
 sittino^-room, and a small bedroom. There 
 was a garret which was reached by a ladder 
 through a trap in the ceiling of the kitchen, 
 but it was only used for storing bags, boxes, 
 and lumber of any sort. The byre, stable, 
 and pig-stye formed one long wooden erec- 
 tion, painted with tar, whilst a similar erec- 
 tion opposite served as barn and cart-shed. 
 The out-buildings stood close to the house, 
 and on the side farthest from the lip of the 
 Brownie's Bite. 
 
 Although the burn was swollen when
 
 316 ROBm GRAY. 
 
 Cairnieford reached it, lie had no difficulty 
 in crossing. The road then made a half 
 circle round the hill, ascending to the stead- 
 ing. At the best Askaig \yas a cold solitary- 
 looking place, perched on its eyrie above the 
 deep gully surrounded by the solemn quietude 
 of the hills. But under present circum- 
 stances it seemed especially dreary. The 
 dull monotony of the snow lay upon every- 
 thing, and the hills looked down on it with 
 frownino; heads of mist. No smoke ascended 
 from the chimneys to indicate that the house 
 was habited. The barn-yard was vacant of 
 the yellow stacks of grain, which reflect 
 warmth, and colour, and sense of plenty on 
 a farmer's home. Portions of the outbuild- 
 ings had fallen into disrepair; and an old 
 plough, a broken harrow, and a cart-wheel, 
 strevvm about with various other disabled 
 implements partially buried in the snow, 
 imparted an aspect of desolation and ruin to 
 the place.
 
 ASKAIG. 317 
 
 Since Falcon s departure the buildings had 
 been left to take care of themselves. For- 
 merly he had kept them in neat repair, look- 
 ing forward to the day when he should be 
 able to bring Jeanie there to make a happy 
 home. But the Laird had been too eager to 
 make the most of the land to pay any heed 
 to the steading. The man who had charge 
 of the place, and now lived in the house, had 
 only been installed within a few weeks, and 
 had not yet had time to repair the damage 
 neglect had wrought during the previous 
 year. 
 
 " Weel, he's made choice o' a lonely enuch 
 place to hide himsel' in," thought Eobin as 
 he approached the house, and observed with 
 all the dissatisfaction of an energetic man 
 the dilapidated state of affairs. "I wonder 
 the Laird doesna let the farm. He'd make 
 mair o't nor he's like to do if things gang 
 on this gate. Aye, aye, and puir Jeamie 
 thouo'ht that this w^as to be his hame and
 
 318 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 hers. It looks just like himsel' — wrecked 
 and ruined." 
 
 He gazed wistfully about liim as if lie had 
 some share in the wreck; and then setting 
 his teeth firmly — 
 
 "But, wi' Heaven's help, we'll mend mat- 
 ters yet; and when he's working hard and 
 prospering he'll forget his disappointment. 
 He's no the first by mony a ane that's had 
 to get ower the same fash, and has done well 
 tae. I'm mista'en in the chiel' if he hasna 
 common sense enuch to help himsel' when 
 he sees that there's nae other way for't." 
 
 Before he had reached the door it was 
 flung open, and the man in charge appeared. 
 Cairnieford knew him — Kob Keith, or Lang 
 Eob, as he was called, and who, having won 
 the gartens at the marriage of Kobin Gray, 
 had proved his worthiness of the victory by 
 taking a wife to himself within two months 
 after. 
 
 Lang Eob's mouth was at this moment
 
 ASKAIG. 319 
 
 full of bannock, for lie liad been breakfasting 
 on bannock and milk when he had observed 
 from the Avinclow the unexpected visitor, and 
 had rushed out to welcome him. 
 
 " Guid mornin' to ye, Cairnieford," he cried 
 heartily, although somewhat indistinctly; 
 and then gulping down the mouthful, "wha 
 in a the world Avould hae expected to see ye 
 here. Losh, it does ane's e'en guid to see a 
 human cratur' in this out-o"-the-way C[uarter, 
 for there's naething but dumb beasts to speak 
 till frae morn tae nicht, and ye may guess 
 that's no the maist pleasing conversation, 
 seeing that it's a' on ae side ; and naething 
 in't to warm ye, barrin' whan ye get a chance 
 o' clamnin ane o' the stupid brutes for tum'- 
 lin' ower a crag." 
 
 " Ye hae your guidwife, Eob," said Cairnie- 
 ford, dismountino; and securino; the rein to 
 the ii'on ring by the lintel of the door. 
 
 " Oo, aye, whan she's at hame; but she gaed 
 awa' cloon to her folk at the Port on Sabbath
 
 320 BO BIN GBAY. 
 
 and she'll no be liame afore Wansday or 
 Thursday, and there's no a spoonfu o' het 
 porridge till she comes back, for I canna be 
 fashed making't mysel'. Hoo's a' your folk 
 doon by?" 
 
 "A' weel, thank ye; but you're no your 
 lane, are ye ? I thought Jeames Falcon was 
 wi' ye?" 
 
 " Oo, aye, he's bidin' here the noo, but ane 
 micht as weel hae the wooden Hielander frae 
 the snuff-shop at the Port for a' the company 
 he is. I dinna think he's spoken sax words 
 to me since he cam'." 
 
 "When was that?" 
 
 " Wansday nicht last when the snaw began. 
 Daft Wattie Todd's been up wi' him every 
 day since syne, and the twa gang daunering 
 about, or sitting ben the house there i' the 
 cauld, just as though they were baith crack; 
 an' deed I dinna ken but AVattie's the mair 
 sensible o' the twa, for ane can get a friendly 
 word out o' him whiles, if ye just speak
 
 ASKAIG. 321 
 
 kindly to liim an' treat him like itlier folk; 
 but ye canna get mair nor aye or no frae 
 Falcon, try as ye will. He's no like liimser 
 ava, for lie used to be a blithe eneuch chiel'." 
 All this was confirmation of McAVhapple's 
 statements; and if he had been truthful in 
 this respect, was it not probable that he had 
 also been truthful in telling him that Falcon 
 had been at Cairnieford? Yet Jeanie had 
 said nothing of his visit ! 
 " Is he ben the house enoo V 
 " Him ? Did ye want to see him ?" 
 Lang Eob had made no reference to the 
 cause to which he attributed the change in 
 Falcon; but he had been thinking of it for all 
 that, and thinking too that there would likely 
 be a fine toulzie between Jeanie's guidman 
 and Jeanie's lad if they happened to meet. 
 Therefore, he was astonished by Eobin's 
 question, and still more by the answer to his 
 own. 
 
 "That was what I came here for. Is he in T 
 
 21
 
 322 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 " Na, he gaed out this morning before day- 
 licht. I heard him openin' the door, and 
 thocht he'd be back afore breakfast time ony- 
 way, but he's never come yet that I ken o', 
 but rU look to make sure." 
 
 He turned into the house, and Eobin fol- 
 lowed him. They entered the parlour — the 
 apartment which Falcon occupied. It had 
 even a more cheerless aspect than the exterior 
 of the house. The floor and walls were bare 
 and damp-looking. Lang Eob and his wife 
 only used the kitchen even when they had 
 the house to themselves. The ashes of a fire 
 lay on the hearth, but there was no warmth 
 in them now, and they seemed almost to 
 make the room look colder by suggesting the 
 fire w^hicli ought to have been there in that 
 season to give any comfort to the occupant. 
 
 As for furniture there was nothing but 
 three wooden chairs, a table, and the bed 
 made in a recess in the wall with a door like 
 a cupboard. The bed-clothes were lying
 
 ASKAIG. 323 
 
 tossed in a heap as they had been left when 
 Falcon had risen. 
 
 "He's no here, onyway/' said Lang Eob, 
 crossinor the room, his head almost touching^ 
 the low ceilino^. 
 
 He looked into the little chamber, the door 
 of which stood at the opposite side of the 
 parlour. 
 
 " And he's no there." 
 
 Eobin glanced into the apartment; it was 
 empty, and had evidently not been used for 
 some time. 
 
 "AVhen is he likely to come back?" he 
 asked, standing in the centre of the cheerless 
 parlour gazing thoughtfully round him. 
 
 " Guid kens, '^^^liles he o'ano-s out in the 
 mornin' an doesna come back till after dark, 
 and whiles he's back afore ye would think he 
 had time to rin round the steadin. Will 
 ye bide a wee an' see if he comes?" 
 
 "Aye, I may as weel, noo that I'm 
 here."
 
 32i ROBIN GBAY. 
 
 '' Come awa, tlien, an' I'll let ye see the 
 cattle. We liae gotten twa or three rale 
 braw stots." 
 
 Whereupon they proceeded to the byre, 
 Lang Eob forgetting all about his lodger's 
 circumstances and oddities, in his interest in 
 the cattle under his charge, and glib com- 
 mendation of their various good qualities. 
 His tongue rattled on unceasingly, as if he 
 were eager to make the most of the rare 
 opportunity of an appreciative listener. 
 
 Cairnieford had waited two hours, as the 
 dial of his big silver watch, which he pulled 
 up from the depths of his fob, informed him, 
 and still Falcon had not appeared. 
 
 "He's maybe down at .Clashgirn," he said 
 then. 
 
 " He micht be. The Laird's been up twa'r 
 three times to see him, and aiblins he's gaen 
 doon there the day, no to hand the Laird ay 
 travellin' back and fore." 
 
 "I'll gang and see, onyway. But if I
 
 ASKAIG. 325 
 
 slioulclna find liim, tell him frae me tliat 111 
 be up on Wednesday mornin, and that I 
 maun see him." 
 
 " I'U tell him." 
 
 " I'd come up the morn again," Cairnieford 
 proceeded as he mounted Jean; "but I hae 
 to gang to the market, and as I hae baith to 
 lift and pay some siller, I canna just put it 
 aff." 
 
 " Yell aiblins see my guidwife when ye're 
 in the toon the morn, and if ye do just tell 
 her to come awa hame directly, for I canna 
 manage without her; and if she doesna come 
 — od, I think 111 loup ower the Brownie's 
 Bite to spite her." 
 
 " I'm thinking there wouldna be mony hale 
 banes in your body by the time ye wan to 
 the foot. But 111 tell your guidwife." 
 
 Lang Eob accompanied him as far as the 
 ford, and there he looked anxiously up and 
 down the glen at the swollen burn. 
 
 " 'Deed, if she doesna come hame the morn,
 
 326 EOBIX GRAY. 
 
 she'll no be able to win ower for a week. It 
 looks like rain, and if it comes a sudden doon- 
 pour wi' a' that snaw lying on the hills, there'll 
 be sic a spate as hasna been for a while." 
 
 Eobin rode away disappointed and thought- 
 ful. His impatience was subdued by a sense 
 of depression which he could not overcome, 
 and which he could only attribute to his 
 sorrow on Falcon's account. The more he 
 heard of him the more anxious he became to 
 amend so far as he might the wrong he had 
 unwittingly done him. 
 
 At Clashgirn he learned that the Laird 
 had been out since breakfast time, and had 
 left word that he would not be home till late 
 if he returned at all that night, which was 
 doubtful, as he was going to Ayr. 
 
 "Has Falcon been here?" he asked. 
 
 " Na ; he hasna been ance here since Wed- 
 nesday last, though he kens hoo I would like 
 to see him and hear a' about his travels," an- 
 swered Mrs. Beo-g.
 
 ASKAIG. 327 
 
 Eobin was disappointed again, but lie had 
 nothing for it save to turn homeward. He 
 wondered if McWhapple had taken Falcon 
 away purposely to prevent their meeting. 
 
 " The auld fule," he muttered angrily, " as 
 if he thought I couldna keep my temper. 
 Maybe, though, it's no me he's feared for. 
 Toots, Jeames Falcon canna be sae spited 
 against me that he winna listen to reason. 
 Ill no believe that till I see him mysel'." 
 
 The rain had began by the time he started 
 for the market next morning. It was only 
 a light drifting shower; but the clouds were 
 loaded and black, and Adam predicted a 
 heavy fall. 
 
 The prediction was fulfilled by the after- 
 noon, for when Eobin quitted the town on 
 his way home, the rain was falling in a thick 
 heavy shower, and the earth was rapidly 
 l^lackenino^ under the dissolvino; snow. It 
 was a steady pour, and when Eobin reached 
 home the burn was roaring down the glen,
 
 328 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 swollen to a torrent, and rising to within a 
 few yards of the steading. 
 
 He was drenched to the skin when he 
 dismounted at the door, and gave Jean to 
 the lad who appeared from the kitchen, to 
 lead her to the stable. 
 
 He entered the house, calling to Jeanie to 
 get him a change of clothes, and wondering 
 indeed that she had not as usual met him at 
 the door. The lamp was already lit in the 
 room, but there was nobody to meet him 
 except Adam, who regarded him with amaze. . 
 
 " Jeanie V he said. " She's out." 
 
 " Send some o' them to tell her Tm come 
 hame, then. She can leave the kye to the 
 lassies." 
 
 "But she's no at the byre," said Adam, 
 opening his eyes; "she gaed out three hours 
 syne or mair, and I unnerstood she was gaun 
 to meet you." 
 
 "To meet me? AVhat for?" 
 
 " She said there was a message come that
 
 ASKAIG. 329 
 
 ye Had gotten yourser hurt, and that she was 
 to gang to ye at ance, and maybe wonldna 
 be hame the nicht. She was in an unco state 
 about it, and just took a bundle o' things that 
 she thocht she would need, and gaed awa' wi' 
 the chiel' that brought the news." 
 
 "Wha could tell that lee? Gaed awa'— 
 wharto?" 
 
 "We were a' sae muckle confused that she 
 forgot to say, and I forgot to speir, for she 
 wasna twa minutes in getting ready." 
 
 Eobin summoned every man and woman 
 about the place, and questioned them excit- 
 edly. But none of them could give any 
 information as to whither their mistress had 
 gone, or who had been the messenger who 
 had come for her. One of the women, how- 
 ever, had noticed that "she was greeting, and 
 looked sair frichted." 
 
 That was all he could learn, for the mes- 
 senger had arrived during the dinner-hour, 
 when the folk were all in doors.
 
 330 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 "Wliar's the loon?" cried Eobin, looking 
 about. 
 
 The "loon" was the boy who had taken 
 Jean to the stable, and who opportunely re- 
 turned as his master asked for him. 
 
 The question was put to him — had he 
 seen his mistress going away? 
 
 "Aye, I was ower by the plantin for the 
 wood that was cut yesterday, and I saw her 
 gaeing awa' in a gig wi' a man. The gig was 
 waiting at the foot of the road, an' the man 
 asked me to hand the horse, and gied me a 
 penny." 
 
 "Gig? What gig?" 
 
 "I dinna ken, but I think it was the Clash- 
 girn gig." 
 
 "Clashgirn!" 
 
 Eobin s hand went uj) to his head to try 
 and steady himself to think. Clashgirn s 
 gig! Was it some trick that was being played 
 upon him? Was McWhapple trying to ruin 
 him? He had spite enough for that, not-
 
 ASKAIG. 331 
 
 withstanding all his professions of friendship. 
 But no, no, what could he want with Jeanie? 
 
 "What way did the gig gang?" he de- 
 manded hoarsely. 
 
 " It gaed up by the hill road," answ^ered 
 the boy. 
 
 The hill road — Askaig — James Falcon — 
 flashed through the husband's mind with the 
 fiery swiftness of lightning, burning and 
 maddening him. 
 
 " Saddle Brown Jock,'' he shouted, whilst 
 men and women, unable to divine the cause 
 of his excitement, stared at him with open 
 eyes and mouths. 
 
 "Brown Jock!" ejaculated the cattleman; 
 " he hasna been out thir twa days, an' he's as 
 wild as a stallion. There's no ane o' us daur 
 o'anof near him wi' a bridle, let alane a saddle. 
 Ye canna mean him." 
 
 " I said Brown Jock — daumn ye, do ye no 
 hear what I say?" 
 
 But without waiting for answer or giving
 
 332 ROBIN GRAY. 
 
 any of them time to obey, he rushed furiously 
 from the house himself and down to the 
 stable. 
 
 " He's gaen gyte/' exclaimed the cattleman, 
 who acted as Eobin's grieve; " the horse 11 
 fell him if he touches him. After him, lads, 
 and stop him." 
 
 The men ran down to the stable, but to 
 their amazement they found the master busy 
 buckling the girths round Brown Jock, the 
 saddle already on the animal's back. 
 
 Without a word to any of them, but with 
 frenzied haste he completed the fastening of 
 the saddle, and with singular adroitness 
 slipped the bridle over the horse's head and 
 the bit into his mouth, drawing the snaffle 
 tight. 
 
 Brown Jock was a powerful horse, with 
 great fierce eyes and restive ears that be- 
 tokened an unmanageable spirit. The mo- 
 ment he was led outside the stable he bee^an 
 to caper furiously, splashing the slush that
 
 ASKATG. 333 
 
 was lying in pools ou the ground about tlie 
 onlookers. 
 
 "For guidsake, master, mind what ye're 
 about," cried the grieve alarmed. 
 
 Setting his teeth hard and griping the 
 reins short, Eobin flung himself on the saddle. 
 
 The horse, startled by the sudden weight 
 that pressed upon him, gave one furious 
 bound forward that almost unseated the 
 rider, and then dashed off at a mad pace 
 down the road, followed by shouts of alarm 
 from the wonderinof men. 
 
 END OF VOL. 1. 
 
 GLASGOW : W. G. BLACKIE ;\>D CO., PRINTERS, VILI^FIELD.