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 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON! 
 
 a Kobel. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACK, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 A DAIGHTER OF HETH," " MACLEOD OF DARE," ETC. 
 
 ry THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SAlirSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIYINGTON, 
 
 LIMITED 
 
 St. IBunstau's |i?oitsr, 
 
 Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, F.C. 
 
 1890. 
 
 [All rights reieroed.']
 
 »Dfv\ : 
 
 I.OWK.'" 
 
 >
 
 ^?3 
 v.l 
 
 « CONTENTS OF VOL, I. 
 
 CIUTTER PACK 
 
 i I. The Wandekers .;. ... ... 1 
 
 ^ IT. Keighbours ... ... ... 31 
 
 III. Av Al'I'ROACH ... ... ... ()8 
 
 IV. Stalled Ox and a Dinner of Herbs lOfi 
 
 y. Qu' HON C<t:ur en Mariage ... ... 146 
 
 YI. Fairy Land ... ... ... 181 
 
 VII. Claire Fontaine ... ... ... 217 
 
 VIII. An Alarm ... ... ... 251 
 
 J
 
 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WANDERERS. 
 
 On a certain sunny afternoon in May, when all the 
 world and his wife were walking or driving in 
 Piccadilly, two figures appeared there who clearly 
 did not belong to the fashionable crowd. Indeed, 
 so unusual was their aspect that many a swift 
 glance, shot from carefully impassive faces, made 
 furtive scrutiny of them as they passed. One of 
 the strangers was an old man who might have been 
 a venerable Scandinavian scald come to life again — 
 a man thick-set and broad-shouldered, with features 
 at once aquiline and massive, and with flowing hair 
 and beard almost silver-white. From under his 
 
 VOL.1. ^^, B
 
 2 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTOX ! 
 
 deeply lined forehead and shaggy eyebrows 
 gleamed a pair of eyes that were alert and con- 
 fident as with the audacity of youth ; and the heavy 
 white moustache and beard did not quite conceal 
 the cheerful firmness of the mouth. For the rest, 
 he wore above his ordinary attire a plaid of 
 shepherd's tartan, the ends loosely thrown over his 
 shoulders. 
 
 By his side there walked a young girl of about 
 seventeen, whose singular, if somewhat pensive and 
 delicate beauty, could not but have struck any 
 passer-by who happened to catch sight of her. But 
 she rarely raised her eyes from the pavement. 
 What was obvious to every one was, first of all, the 
 elegance of her walk — which was merely the 
 natural expression of a perfectly moulded form ; 
 and then the glory of her hair, which hung free and 
 unrestrained down her back, and no doubt added 
 to the youthfulness of her look. As to the colour 
 of those splendid masses — well, it was neither 
 flaxen, nor golden, nor brown, nor golden-brown, 
 but apparently a mixture of all these shades, alter- 
 ing in tone here and there according to sunshine 
 or shadow, but always showing a soft and graduated
 
 THE WANDEKERS. 3 
 
 sheen rather than any definite lustre. Her face, as 
 has been said, was mostly downcast ; and one could 
 only see that the refined and sensitive features 
 were pale ; also that there was a touch of sun-tan 
 over her complexion, that spoke of travel. But 
 when, by inadvertence, or by some forced over- 
 coming of her native diffidence, she did raise her 
 eyes, there flashed a revelation upon the world ; for 
 these blue-grey deeps seemed to hold light; a 
 mild-shining light, timid, mysterious, appealing 
 almost ; the unconsciousness of childhood no longer 
 there, the self-possession of womanhood not yet 
 come : then those beautiful, limpid, pathetic eyes, 
 thus tremblingly glancing out for a second, would 
 be withdrawn, and again the dark lashes would veil 
 the mystic, deep-shining wells. This was Maisrie 
 Bethune ; the old man beside her was her grand- 
 father. 
 
 The young girl seemed rather to linger beliind as 
 her companion went up the steps towards a certain 
 door and rang the bell; and her eyes were still 
 downcast as she followed him across the hall and 
 into an ante-room. When the footman came back 
 with the message that his lordship was disengaged
 
 4 STAND FAST, ORAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 and would see Mr. Betliune, and when be was about 
 to show the way upstairs, the girl hung back, and 
 said, with almost a piteous look — 
 
 " I will stay here, grandfather." 
 
 "Not at all," the old man answered, impatiently. 
 " Not at all. Come along ! " 
 
 There were two persons in this large and lofty 
 room on the first floor; but just as the visitors 
 arrived at the landing, one of these withdrew and 
 went and stood at a front window, where he could 
 look down into the street. The other — a youngish- 
 looking man, with clear eyes and a pleasant smile — 
 remained to receive his guests ; and if he could not 
 help a little glance of surprise — perhaps at the 
 unusual costume of his chief visitor, or perhaps 
 because he had not expected the young lady — there 
 was at all events nothing but good-nature in his 
 face. 
 
 "My granddaughter, Maisrie, Lord Musselburgh," 
 the old man said, by \\ay of introduction, or 
 explanation. 
 
 The young nobleman begged her to be seated ; 
 she merely thanked him, and moved away a little 
 distance, to a table on which were some illustrated
 
 THE WANDEEEKS. 5 
 
 books; so that the two men were left free to talk 
 as they chose. 
 
 "Well now, that seems a very admirable project 
 of yours, Mr. Bethune," Lord Musselburgh said, in 
 his frank and off-hand way. "There's plenty of 
 Scotch blood in my own veins, as you know ; and I 
 am glad of any good turn that can be done to poor 
 old Scotland, I see you are not ashamed of the 
 national garb." 
 
 " You remember what was said on a famous 
 occasion," the old man made answer, speaking 
 methodically and emphatically, and with a strong 
 northern accent, " and I will own that I hoped your 
 lordship's heart would ' warm to the tartan.' For 
 it is a considerable undertaking, after all. The men 
 are scattered ; and their verses are scattered ; but, 
 scattered or no scattered, there is everywhere and 
 always in them the same sentiment — the sentiment 
 of loyalty and gratitude and admiration for the land 
 of the hills and the glens. And surely, as your 
 lordship says, it is' doing a good turn to poor old 
 Scotland to show the world that wherever her sons 
 may be — in Canada, in Florida, out on the plains, 
 or along the Californian coast — they do not forget
 
 6 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 the mother that bore them — no, but that they are 
 proud of her, and think always of her, and regard 
 her with an undying affection and devotion." 
 
 He was warming to his work. There was a vibra- 
 tion in his voice, as he proceeded to repeat the 
 lines — 
 
 " From the lone sWeliag oa the misty island, 
 Mountains divide them and a world of seas ; 
 But still their hearts are true, their hearts are Highland, 
 And they in dreams behold the Hebrides." 
 
 "Is that by one of your Scotch- American 
 friends ? " Lord Musselburgh asked, with a smile ; 
 for he was looking curiously, and not without a 
 certain sympathetic interest, at this old man. 
 
 " I do not know, your lordship ; at the moment I 
 could not tell you," was the answer. " But this I 
 do know, that a man may be none the less a good 
 Canadian or American citizen because of his love 
 for the heather hills that nourished his infancy, and 
 inspired his earliest imagination. He does not 
 complain of the country that has given him shelter, 
 nor of the people who have welcomed him and made 
 him one of themselves. He only says with C rich- 
 ton's emigrant shepherd — 
 
 " ' Wae's me that fate us twa has twined'
 
 THE WANDERERS. 7 
 
 — ' twined ' is severed : perhaps your lordship is not 
 so familiar with the dialect — 
 
 " ' Wae's me that fate us twa has twined ; 
 And I serve strangers ower the sea ; 
 Their hearts are leal, their words are kind, 
 But, lass, it isna hame to me ! ' 
 
 Good men they are and true," he went on, in the 
 
 same exalted strain ; *' valued and respected citizens 
 
 — none more so ; but cut their hearts open, and you 
 
 will find Scotland written in every fibre. It is 
 
 through no ingratitude to their adopted country 
 
 that a spray of white heather, a few bluebells, a 
 
 go wan or two, anything sent across the seas to them 
 
 to remind them of the land of their birth, will bring 
 
 hot tears to their eyes. As one of them has written — 
 
 ' What memories dear of that cot ye recall, 
 Though now there remains neither rooftree nor wall ! 
 Alack -a-day ! lintel and threshold are gone. 
 While cold 'neath the weeds lies the hallowed hearthstone ! 
 'Twas a straw-roofed cottage, but love abode there. 
 And peace and contentment aye breathed in its air ; 
 With songs from the mother, and legends from sire. 
 How blithe were we all round the cheery peat-fire ! 
 — Caledonia's blue-hells, bonnie blue-bells ! ' " 
 
 " You have an excellent memory," Lord Mussel- 
 burgh said, good - naturedly. " Those patriotic 
 effusions seem to have impressed you."
 
 8 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 " That was written by the Bard of Amulree, your 
 lordship," continued the garrulous old man ; " and 
 a truer Scotchman does not breathe, though America 
 has been his home nearly all his life. And there 
 is many another, both in Canada and the United 
 States. They may be in happier circumstances 
 than they would have been in the old country ; 
 they may have plenty of friends around them : but 
 still their hearts turn back to 
 
 ' Where I've watched the gloamin' close 
 
 The long bright summer days ; 
 And doubted not that fairies dwelt 
 
 On Cathkin's bonnie braes ; 
 Auld Kuglin Brig and Cathkin braes 
 
 And Clyde's meandering streams, 
 Ye shall be subject of my lays 
 
 As ye are of my dreams.' 
 
 Nor are they ashamed of their Scottish way of 
 speech — ye may observe, my lord, that I've kept a 
 twang of it myself, even among all my wanderings ; 
 and loth would I be to lose it. But I'm wearying 
 your lordship," the old man said, in a suddenly 
 altered tone. " I would just say that a collection 
 of what the Scotch poets in America have written 
 ought to be interesting to Scotchmen everywhere, 
 and perhaps to others as well ; for patriotism is a
 
 THE- WAXDEEERS. 9 
 
 virtue that commands respect. I beg your pardon 
 for encroaching on your lordship's time " 
 
 "Oh, that's nothing," Lord Musselburgh said, 
 easily; "but we must not keep the young lady 
 waiting." He glanced in the direction of the girl 
 who was standing by the table. She was turning 
 over the leaves of a book. Then he resumed the 
 conversation — but in a much lower key. 
 
 "I quite understand, Mr. Bethune/' he said, so 
 that she should not overhear, " what you wrote to 
 me — that the bringing out of such a volume will 
 require time, and expense. And — and you must 
 allow me to join in, in the only way I can, Now 
 what sum ? " 
 
 He hesitated. Mr. Bethune said — 
 
 " Whatever your lordship pleases." 
 
 The young man went into tlie front portion of 
 the long apartment (where his friend was still dis- 
 creetly standing behind the window curtains) and 
 opened a despatch-box and sat down. He drew out 
 a cheque for £50, enclosed it in an envelope, and, 
 coming back, slipped it into the old man's hands. 
 
 " I hope that will help ; and I shall be glad to 
 hear of the progress of the work."
 
 10 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 " I thank your lordship," Mr. Bethune said, 
 without any obsequiousness, or profusion of grati- 
 tude. 
 
 And then he turned to his granddaughter. 
 
 " Maisrie ! " 
 
 The girl came away at once. She bowed to 
 Lord Musselburgh in passing, without lifting her 
 eyes. He, liowever, put out his hand, and said 
 " Good-bye ! " Nay, more than that, although he 
 had previously rang the bell, he accompanied 
 them both downstairs, and stood at the door while 
 a four-wheeled cab was being called for them. 
 Then, when they had left, he returned to the room 
 above, and called lightly to his friend who was 
 still standing at the window : 
 
 " Ready, Vin ? Come along, then ! Did you 
 hear the old man and his poetry ? — a harmless 
 old maniac, I think. "Well, let's be off to Victoria; 
 we'll get down to the Bungalow in time for a 
 good hour's lawn-tennis before dinner." 
 
 Meanwhile old George Bethuue and his grand- 
 daughter were being driven away eastward in the 
 cab ; and he was chatting gaily to her, with the air 
 of one who had been successful in some enterprise
 
 ' THE WAXDEEEES. 11 
 
 He had doffed his Scotch plaid ; and, what is more, 
 he had also abandoned the Scotch accent in which 
 he had addressed ' his loardship.' It was to be a 
 great book, this collection of Scotch-American 
 poetry. It would enable him to pay a well- 
 deserved compliment to many an old friend of his 
 in Toronto, in Montreal, in New York. He was 
 warm in his praises of this young Lord Mussel- 
 burgh ; and predicted a great future for him. 
 Then he put his head out of the window and bade 
 the driver stop — opposite the door of a wine- 
 merchant's office. 
 
 "Grandfather," said the girl, "may I wait for 
 you in the cab ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," he answered with decision. " I 
 wish you to see men and things as part of your 
 education. Live and learn, Maisrie — every moment 
 of your life." 
 
 Leaving the Scotch plaid in the cab, he crossed 
 the pavement and went into the office, she meekly 
 following. The wine-merchant was sent for, and 
 presently he made his appearance. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Mr. Glover," old George 
 Bethune said, with something of an air of quiet
 
 12 STAND FAST, CRAIG -ROYSTON ! 
 
 patronage, "I wish to order some claret from 
 you." 
 
 The tall, bald, bland-looking person whom he 
 addressed did not seem to receive this news with 
 any joy; but the young lady was there, and he 
 was bound to be courteous; so he asked Mr. 
 Bethune to be kind enough to step into the back- 
 premises where he could put some samples before 
 him. Maisrie was for remaining where she stood ; 
 but her grandfather bade her come along ; so she 
 also went with them into the back portion of the 
 establishment, where she was accommodated with 
 a chair. At this table there were no illustrated 
 books to which she could turn ; there were only 
 bottles, glasses, corkscrews, and a plateful of wine- 
 biscuits ; so that she kept her eyes fixed on the 
 floor — and was forced to listen. 
 
 " Claret, Mr. Glover," said the old man, with 
 a certain sententiousness and assumption of impor- 
 tance that he had not displayed in speaking to 
 Lord Musselburgh, "claret was in former days the 
 national drink of Scotland — owing to the close 
 alliance with France, as you know — and the old 
 Scotch families naturally preserve the tradition.
 
 THE WANDERERS. 13 
 
 So that you can hardly wonder if to one of the 
 name of Bethune a sound claret is scarcely so much 
 a luxury as a necessity. Why, sir, my ancestor, 
 Maximilien de Bethune, due de Sully, had the 
 finest vineyards in the whole of France ; and it was 
 his privilege to furnish the royal table " 
 
 " I hope he got paid," the bland wine-merchant 
 said, with a bit of a laugh ; but happening to 
 glance towards the young girl sitting there, and 
 perceiving that the pale and beautiful face had 
 suddenly grown surcharged with colour, he, in- 
 ijtantly, and with the greatest embarrassment, pro- 
 ceeded to stumble on — 
 
 " Ob, yes, of course," he said, hastily : " a great 
 honour — naturally — the royal table — a great honour 
 indeed — I quite understand — the due de Sully, did 
 you say ? — oh, yes — a great statesman " 
 
 "The greatest financier France has ever possessed," 
 the old man said, grandly. " Though he was by 
 profession a soldier, wben he came to tackle the 
 finances of the country, he paid off two hunlred 
 millions of livres — the whole of the king's debts, in 
 fact — and filled the royal treasury. It is something 
 to bear his name, surely ; I confess I am proud of
 
 14 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 it; but our family goes far further back than the 
 due de Sully and the sixteenth century. Why, 
 sir," he contiuued, in his stately manner, " wlien the 
 royal Stewarts were known only by their ofSce — 
 Dapifer or Seneschallus they were called — the 
 Beatons and Bethunes could boast of their terri- 
 torial designation. In 1434, when Magister John 
 Seneschallus, Provost of Methven, was appointed 
 one of the Lords Auditors, it was Alexander de 
 Beaton who administered the oath to him — the 
 same Alexander de Beaton who, some two years 
 thereafter, accompanied Margaret of Scotland to 
 France, on her marriage with the Dauphin. Yes, 
 sir, I confess I am proud to bear the name; and 
 perhaps it is the more excusable that it is about 
 the last of our possessions they have left us. 
 
 Balloray " He paused for a second. " Do you 
 
 see that child ? " he said, pointing with a trembling 
 forefinger to his granddaughter. "If there were 
 any right or justice, there sits the heiress of 
 Balloray." 
 
 " It was a famous lawsuit in its time," the wine- 
 merchant observed — but not looking in Maisrie's 
 direction.
 
 THE WANDEREKS. 15 
 
 " It killed my father, and made me a wanderer on 
 the face of tlie earth," the old man said ; and then 
 he raised his head bravely. "Well, no matter; 
 they cannot rob me of my name ; and I am 
 Bethune of Balloray — whoever has the wide 
 lands." 
 
 Now perhaps there still dwelt in the breast of 
 the suave-looking wine-merchant some remorse of 
 conscience over the remark that had caused this 
 pale and sensitive-looking young creature to flush 
 with conscious shame ; at all events he had quite 
 abandoned the somewhat grudging coldness with 
 which he had first received his customer ; and when 
 various samples of claret had been brought from 
 the cellar and placed on the table, it was the more 
 expensive that he frankly and fully recommended. 
 Nay, he was almost pressing. And again he called 
 to his assistant, and bade him fetch a particular 
 bottle of champagne ; and when that was opened, 
 he himself poured out a glass and offered it to the 
 young lady, with a biscuit or two, and seemed 
 concerned and distressed when she thanked him and 
 declined. The end of this interview was that old 
 George Bethune ordered a considerable quantity of
 
 16 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 claret ; and carried away with him, for immediate 
 use, a case of twelve bottles, which was put into the 
 four-wheeled cab. 
 
 Park Street, Mayfair, occupies a prominent 
 position in the fashionable quarter of London ; but 
 from it, at intervals, run one or two smaller thorough- 
 fares — sometimes ending in stables — the dwellings 
 in which are of a quite modest and unpretentious 
 appearance. It was to one of these smaller 
 thoroughfares that George Bethune and his grand- 
 daughter now drove; and when they had entered 
 the quiet little house, and ascended to the first 
 floor, they found that dinner was laid on the table, 
 for the evening was now well advanced. When they 
 were ready, the frugal banquet was also ready ; and 
 the old man, seated at the head of the table, with 
 Maisrie on his right, soon grew eloquent about the 
 virtues of the bottle of claret which he had just 
 opened. The girl — who did not take any wine — 
 seemed hardly to hear. She was more thoughtful 
 even than usual — perhaps, indeed, there was a trace 
 of sadness in the delicate, pensive features. When 
 the fresh-coloured servant-lass brought in the 
 things, and happened to remain iu the room for a
 
 THE WANDERERS. 17 
 
 second or two, Maisrie made some pretence of 
 answering her grandfather; then, when they were 
 left alone again, she relapsed into silence, and let 
 him ramble on as he pleased. And he was in a 
 satisfied and garrulous mood. The evening was fine 
 and warm — the window behind them they had left 
 open. He approved of the lodging-house cookery ; 
 he emphatically praised the claret, with the con- 
 viction of one who knew. Dinner, in fact, was half 
 way over before the girl, looking up with her 
 beautiful, clear, limpid eyes — beautiful although 
 they were so strangely wistful — ventured to say 
 anything. 
 
 " Grandfather," she asked, with obvious hesitation, 
 " did — did Lord Musselburgh — give you — something 
 towards the publication of that book ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, yes, yes, certainly," the old man said, 
 with much cheerfulness. " Certainly. Something 
 substantial too. Why not ? " 
 
 The hot blood was in her face again — and her 
 eyes downcast. 
 
 "Grandfather," she said, in the same low voice, 
 "when will you set about writing the book?" 
 
 " Ah, well," he made answer, evasively, but with 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 STAND FAST, CEAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 perfect good humour, " it is a matter to be thought 
 over. Indeed, I heard in New York of a similar 
 volume beiog got together ; but I may be first in 
 the field after all. There is no immediate hurry. 
 A thing of that kind must be thought over and 
 considered. And indeed, my dear, I cannot go back 
 to America at present; for my first and foremost 
 intention is that you should begin to learn some- 
 thing of your native country. You must become 
 familiar with the hills and the moorlands, with the 
 roaring mountain-torrents, and the lonely islands 
 amid the grey seas. For of what account is the 
 accident of your birth ? Omaha cannot claim you. 
 There is Scotch blood in your veins, Maisrie — the 
 oldest in the land ; and you must see Dunfermline 
 town, where the King sate ' drinking the blood-red 
 wine ' ; and you must see Stirling Castle, and Edin- 
 burgh, and Holyrood, and Melrose Abbey. Ne- 
 braska has no claim over you — you, a Bethune of 
 Balloray. And you have some Highland blood in 
 your veins too, my dear; for if the Grants who 
 intermarried with the Bethunes were not of the 
 northern Grants whose proud motto is * Stand fast, 
 Craigellachie ! ' none the less is Craig-Eoyston wild
 
 THE WANDEREES. 19 
 
 and Highland enough, as I hope to show you some 
 day. And Lowland or Highland, Maisrie, you must 
 wear the snood when you go north ; a young Scotch 
 lass should wear the snood ; yes, yes, the bit of blue 
 ribbon will look well in your hair. Melrose," he 
 rambled on, as he filled his glass again, " and Max- 
 wellton Braes; Yarrow's Banks; and fair Kirkconnel 
 Lea : a storied country : romance, pathos, tragic and 
 deathless music conjured up at every footstep. 
 Instead of the St. Lawrence, you shall have the 
 murmur of the Tweed : instead of Brooklyn — the 
 song-haunted shores of Colonsay ! But there is one 
 place that with my will you shall never visit — no, 
 not while there are strangers and aliens there. You 
 may wander all over Scotland — north, south, east, 
 and west — but never, never while I am alive, must 
 you ask to see ' the bonny mill-dams o' Balloray.' " 
 
 She knew what he meant; she did not speak. 
 But presently — perhaps to draw away his thoughts 
 from that terrible law-suit which had had such 
 disastrous consequences for him and his — she said — 
 
 " I hope, grandfather, you won't think of remain- 
 ing in this country on my account. Perhaps it is 
 better to read about those beautiful places, and to
 
 20 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 dream about them, than to see them — you remember 
 'Yarrow Un visited.' And indeed, grandfather, if 
 you are collecting materials for that book, why 
 should we not go back at once? It would be 
 dreadful if — if — the other volume were to come out 
 first — and you indebted to Lord Musselburgh, or 
 any one else; but if yours were written and pub- 
 lished — if you could show them you had done what 
 you undertook to do, then it would be all perfectly 
 right. For you know, grandfather," she continued, 
 in a gently persuasive and winning voice, " no one 
 could do it as well as you ! Who else has such a 
 knowledge of Scotland and Scottish literature, or 
 such a sympathy with Scottish music and poetry ? 
 And then your personal acquaintance with many of 
 those writers — who used to welcome you as one of 
 themselves — who else could have that ? You could 
 do it better than any one, grandfather; and you 
 have always said you would like to do something 
 for the sake of Scotland ; and here is the very thing 
 ready to your hand. Some other time, grandfather," 
 she pleaded, Math those beautiful clear eyes turned 
 beseechingly upon him, " some other time you will 
 take me to all those beautiful places. It is not as
 
 THE WANDERERS. 21 
 
 if I had come back home ; I have hardly ever had 
 a home anywhere; I am as well content in Mon- 
 treal or Toronto as anywhere else. And then you 
 could get all the assistance you might need over 
 there — you could go to your various friends in the 
 newspaper offices, and they would give you infor- 
 mation," 
 
 " Yes, yes ; well, well," he said, peevishly ; " I 
 am not a literary hack, to be driven, Maisrie. I 
 must have my own time. I made no promise. 
 There, now, get me my pipe ; and bring your 
 violin ; and play some of those Scotch airs. Yes, 
 yes ; you can get at the feeling of them ; and that 
 comes to you through your blood, Maisrie — no 
 matter where you happen to be born." 
 
 Twilight had fallen. At the open window, with 
 a long clay pipe, as yet unlit, in his fingers, old 
 George Bethune sate and stared out into the semi- 
 darkness, where all was quiet now, for the carriages 
 from the neighbouring mews had long ago been 
 driven away to dinner-parties and operas and 
 theatres. And in the silence, in the dusky part 
 of the room, there arose a low sound, a tender- 
 breathing sound of most exquisite pathos, that
 
 22 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 seemed to say, as well as any instrument miglit 
 say — 
 
 " I'm wearin' awa', Jean, 
 Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean, 
 I'm wearin' awa', 
 To the land o' the leal ; 
 There's nae sorrow there, Jean, 
 There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, 
 The day's aye fair 
 In the land o' the leal." 
 
 Most tenderly she played, and slowly ; and with 
 an absolute simplicity of tone. 
 
 "There's Scotch blood in your veins, Maisrie — 
 Scotch blood," he said, approvingly, as the low- 
 vibrating notes ceased. 
 
 And then again in the darkness another plaintive 
 wail arose — it was the Flowers o' the Forest this 
 time — and here the old man joined in, singing in a 
 sort of undertone, and with a sufficiently sympa- 
 thetic voice : 
 
 " I've heard the liltin' at our yowe-milkin'. 
 Lasses a-liltin, before the dawn o' day ; 
 But now there's a moanin' on ilka green loanin' ; 
 The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede away. 
 ♦ * * « « 
 
 " We hear nae mair liltin' at our yowe-milkin', 
 "Women and bairns are dowie and wae ; 
 Sighin' and moanin', on ilka green loanin' — 
 The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede away."
 
 THE WANDEKERS. 23 
 
 " Yes, yes," he said, as he rose aud came away 
 from the window, " it is t'le Scotch blood that 
 tingles, it is the Scotch heart that throbs. ' Yestreen, 
 when to the trembling strings, the dance gaed 
 through the lichted ha' ' Who but a Scotch- 
 man could have written that ? Well, now, Maisrie, 
 we'll have the gas ; and you can get out the spirits ; 
 and we'll try some of the livelier airs. There's 
 plenty of them, too, as befits a daring and energetic 
 people — a nation of fighters. They were not always 
 bewailing their losses in the field." And therewith 
 the old man, pacing up and down before the empty 
 fire-place, began to sing, with upright head and 
 gallant voice — 
 
 " Loudon's bonnie woods and braes, 
 
 I maun leave them a', lassie ; 
 Wha can thole when Britain's faes 
 
 Would gie Briton law, lassie? 
 Wha would shun the field o' danger ? 
 
 Wha to fame would live a stranger ? 
 Now when freedom bids avenge her, 
 
 Wha would shun her ca', lassie ? " 
 
 Maisrie Bethune had laid aside her violin ; but 
 she did not light the gas. She stood there, in the 
 semi-darkness, in the middle of the room, timidly
 
 24 STAND FAST, CKAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 regarding her grandfather, and yet apparently- 
 afraid to speak. At last she managed to say — 
 
 " Grandfather — you will not be angry — ? " 
 
 " What's this, now ? " he said, wheeling round 
 and staring at her, for the peculiarity of her tone 
 had caught his ear. 
 
 *' Grandfather," she continued, in almost piteous 
 embarrassment. "I — I wish to say something to 
 you — I have been thinking about it for a long 
 while back — and yet afraid you mightn't understand 
 — you might be angry — " 
 
 " Well, well, what is it ? " he said, impatiently. 
 " What are you dissatisfied with ? I don't see that 
 you've much to complain of, or I either. We don't 
 live a life of grandeur ; nor is there much excite- 
 ment about it ; but it is fairly comfortable. I 
 consider we are very well off." 
 
 "We are too well off, grandfather," she said, 
 sadly. 
 
 He started at this, and stared at her again. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "Grandfather," she said, in the same pathetic 
 voice, " don't you see that I am no longer a child ? 
 I am a woman. And I am doing nothing. Why
 
 THE WANDEREES. 25 
 
 did you give me so careful an education if I am not 
 to use it ? I wish to earn something — I — I wish 
 to keep you and me, grandfather — " 
 
 The stammering sentences ceased : he replied 
 slowly, and perhaps a trifle coldly. 
 
 " Why did I have you carefully educated ? Well, 
 I should have thought you might have guessed — 
 might have understood. But I will tell you. I 
 have given you what education was possible in our 
 circumstances in order to fit you for the station 
 which some day you may be called upon to iiU. 
 And if not, if it is fated that injustice and iniquity 
 are to be in our case perpetual, at all events you 
 must be worthy of the name you bear. But it was 
 not as an implement of trade," he continued, more 
 warmly, " that I gave you such education as was 
 possible in our wandering lives. What do you 
 want to do ? Teach music ? And you would 
 use your trained hand and ear — and your trained 
 soul, which is of more importance still — to drum 
 mechanical rudiments into the brats of some 
 bourgeois hou.sehold ? A fit employment for a 
 Bethune of Balloray ! " 
 
 She seemed bewildeied — and agonised.
 
 26 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 " Grandfather, I must speak ! I must speak ! 
 You may be angry or not — but — but I am no longer 
 a child — I can see how we are situated — and — and 
 if it is pride that causes me to speak, remember who 
 it is that has taught me to think of our name. 
 Grandfather, let us begin a new life ! I can work 
 — I am old enough to work — I would slave my 
 fingers to the bone for you ! Grandfather, why 
 should you accept assistance from any one ? — from 
 Lord Musselburgh or any one ? No, I do not 
 blame you — I have always thought that everything 
 you did was right — and kimd and good ; but I cannot 
 be a child any longer — I must say what I think and 
 feel. Grandfather " 
 
 But here the incoherent appeal broke down ; she 
 fell on her knees before him, and clasped her hands 
 over her face ; and in the dark the old man — stern 
 and immovable — could hear the sound of her violent 
 sobbing. 
 
 "I will work — oh, I will work night and day, 
 grandfather," she continued, wildly, " if only you 
 will take my money and not from any one else ! I 
 will go on the stage — I will turn dressmaker — I 
 will go anywhere or do anything — and work hard
 
 THE WANDERERS. 27 
 
 and hard — if only you will consent! There would 
 not be so much sacrifice, grandfather — a little, not 
 much — and don't you think we should be all the 
 happier ? I have spoken at last, grandfather— you 
 will forgive me! I could not keep silent any 
 longer. It has been weighing on my heart — and 
 now — now you are going to say yes, grandfather — 
 and to-morrow — to-morrow we begin differently. 
 We are so much alone — let us live for each other — 
 let us be independent of every one ! Now you are 
 going to say yes, grandfather — and indeed, indeed 
 I will work for both of us, oh, so gladly ! " 
 
 "Have you finished ? " he asked. 
 
 She rose, and would have seized his hand to 
 enforce her appeal, but he withdrew a step, and 
 motioned her to be seated. 
 
 " I am glad of this opportunity," he said, in a 
 formal and measured fashion. " You say you have 
 become a woman ; and it is natural you should begin 
 and think for yourself; hitherto I have treated yon 
 as a child, and you have obeyed and believed 
 implicitly. As for your immediate wish, I may say 
 at once that is impossible. There is no kind of work 
 for which you are fitted — even if I were prepared to
 
 28 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 live on your earnings, which I am not. The stage ? 
 What could you do on the stage ! Do you think an 
 actress is made at a moment's notice ? Or a dress- 
 maker either ? How could you turn dressmaker to- 
 morrow ? — because you can hem handkerchiefs ? 
 And as for making use of your education, do you 
 know of the thousands of girls whose French and 
 Italian and music are as good as yours, and who can 
 barely gain their food by teaching ? " 
 
 He altered his tone ; and spoke more proudly. 
 
 " But what I say is this, that you do not under- 
 stand, you have not yet understood, my position. 
 When George Bethune condescends to accept 
 assistance, as you call it, he receives no favour, he 
 confers an honour, I know my rights, and stand on 
 them ; yes, and I know my wrongs — and how trifling 
 the compensations ever likely to be set against them. 
 You spoke of Lord Musselburgh ; but Lord Mussel- 
 burgh — a mushroom peer — the representative of a 
 family dragged from nothingness by James VI. — 
 Lord Musselburgh knew better than you — well he 
 knew — that he was honouring himself in receiving 
 into his house a Bethune of Balloray. And as for 
 his granting me assistance, that was his privilege,
 
 THE WANDERERS. 29 
 
 his opportunity, his duty. Should not I have done 
 the like, and gladly, if our positions had been 
 reversed ? Nohlesse ohlige. I belong to his order — 
 and to a family older by centuries than his. If 
 there was a favour conferred to-day at Musselburgh 
 House, it was not on my shoulders that it fell." 
 
 He spoke haughtily, and yet without anger ; and 
 there was a ring of sincerity in his tones that could 
 not be mistaken. The girl sate silent and abashed. 
 
 " No," said he, in the same proud fashion ; 
 " during all my troubles, and they have been more 
 numerous than you know or need ever know, I have 
 never cowered, or whimpered, or abased myself 
 before any living being. I have held my head up. 
 My conscience is clear towards all men. ' Stand 
 fast, Craig-Royston ! ' it has been with me — and 
 shall be!" 
 
 He went to the window and shut it. 
 
 " Come, light the gas, Maisrie ; and let us talk 
 about something else. What I say is this, that if 
 anyone, recognising the injustice that I and mine 
 have suffered, should feel it due to himself, due to 
 humanity, to make some little reparation, why, that 
 is as between man and man — that ought to be
 
 30 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON. 
 
 considered his privilege ; and I take no shame. I 
 ask for no compassion. The years that I can hope 
 for now must be few ; but they shall be as those 
 that have gone before. I abase myself before no 
 one. I hold my head erect. I look the world in 
 the face ; and ask which of us has the greater cause 
 to complain of the other. ' Stand fast, Oraig- 
 Koyston ! ' — that has been my motto ; and so, thank 
 God, it shall be to the end ! " 
 
 Maisrie lit the gas, and attended to her grand- 
 father's other wants — in a mechanical sort of way. 
 But she did not take up the violin again. There 
 was a strangely absent look on the pale and beautiful 
 and pensive face.
 
 ( 31 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 The young man whom Lord Musselburgh had 
 hailed came into the middle of the room. He was 
 a handsome and well-made young fellow of about 
 three or four-and-twenty, with finely-cut and in- 
 telligent features, and clear grey eyes that had a 
 curiously straightforward and uncompromising look 
 in them, albeit his manner was modest enough. At 
 the present moment, however, he seemed somewhat 
 perturbed. 
 
 " Who were those two ? " he said, quickly. 
 
 " Didn't you listen while the old gentleman was 
 declaiming away ? " Lord Musselburgh made 
 answer. "An enthusiastic Scot, if ever there was 
 one ! I suppose you never heard of the great 
 Bethune lawsuit ? " 
 
 " But the other— the girl ? "
 
 32 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 " His granddaughter, I think he said." 
 " She is the most beautiful human creature I 
 ever beheld ! " the young man exclaimed, rather 
 breathlessly. 
 
 His friend looked at him — and laughed. 
 "That's not like you, Vin. Take care. The 
 Hope of the Liberal Party enmeshed at four-and- 
 twenty — that wouldn't do ! Pretty — oh, yes, she 
 was pretty enough, but shy : I hardly saw anything 
 of her. I dare say her pretty face will have to be 
 her fortune ; I suspect the poor old gentleman is 
 not overburdened with worldly possessions. He 
 has his name, however ; he seems proud enough 
 of that; and I shouldn't wonder if it had made 
 friends for him abroad. They seem to have travelled 
 a good deal." 
 
 While he was speaking his companion had 
 mechanically lifted from the table the card which 
 old George Bethune had sent up. The address 
 in Mayfair was pencilled on it. And mechanically 
 the young man laid down the card again. 
 
 " Well, come along, Vin — let's get to Victoria." 
 " No, if you don't miud, Musselburgh," said the 
 other, with downcast eyes, and something of em-
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 3o 
 
 barrassment, " I would rather — not go down to the 
 Bungalow to-night. Some other time — it is so 
 
 good of you to be always asking me down " 
 
 "My dear fellow," the young nobleman said, 
 looking at his friend curiousl}'^, " what is the matter 
 with you ? Are you in a dream ? Are you asleep ? 
 
 Haven't I told you that is coming down by 
 
 a late train to-night ; and isn't all the world envy- 
 ing you that the great man should make such a 
 protege and favourite of you ? Indeed you must 
 come down ; you can't afford to lose such a chance. 
 We will sit up for him ; and you'll talk to him during 
 supper ; and you'll listen to him for hours after 
 if he is in the humour for monologues. Then to- 
 morrow morning you'll take him away bird's-nesting 
 — he is as eager for any new diversion as a school- 
 boy ; and you'll have him all to yourself; and one 
 of these days, before you know where you are, he'll 
 hand you a Junior Lordship. Or is it the Uuder- 
 Secretaryship at the Home Office you're waiting 
 for ? You know, we're all anxious to see how the 
 new experiment will come off. The young man 
 unspoiled by Oxford or Cambridge — untainted by 
 landlord sentiment — trained for public life on first 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 principles : one wants to see how all this will work 
 in practice. And we never dictate — oh, no, we 
 never dictate to the constituencies; but when the 
 public notice from time to time in the newspapers 
 
 that Mr. Vincent Harris was included in 's 
 
 dinner-party on the previous evening, then they 
 think; and perhaps they wonder when that lucky 
 young gentleman is going to take his seat in the 
 House of Commons. So really, my dear Yin, you 
 can't afford to throw away this chance of having 
 all to yourself. I suppose he quite under- 
 stands that you are not infected with any of your 
 father's Socialistic theories ? Of course it's all 
 very well for an enormously rich man like your 
 father to play with Communism — it must be an 
 exciting sort of amusement — like stroking a tiger's 
 tail, and wondering what will happen in con- 
 sequence ; but you must keep clear of that kind 
 of thing, my boy. Now, come along " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Musselburgh," the young man 
 said, in the same embarrassed fashion, " but if 
 you'll excuse me — I'd rather stay in town to-night." 
 
 " Oh, very well," the other said, good-naturedly, 
 " I shall be up in a day or two again. By the way.
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 35 
 
 the Four-in-Hand Club turns out on Saturday. 
 Shall I give you a lift — and we'll go down to 
 Hurlinghain for the polo ? Mrs. Ellison is 
 coming." 
 
 " Oh, thanks — awfully good of you — I shall be 
 delighted," the young man murmured; and a few 
 seconds thereafter the two friends had separated. 
 Lord Musselburgh driving off in a hansom to 
 Victoria-station. 
 
 This young Vincent Harris who now walked away 
 along Piccadilly towards Hyde Park was in a sort 
 of waking trance. He saw nothing of the people 
 passing by him, nor of the carriages, nor of the 
 crowd assembled at the corner of the Row, expecting 
 the Princess. He saw a pale and pathetic face, a 
 dimly-outlined figure standing by a table, a chastened 
 splendour of girlish hair, an attitude of meekness 
 and diffidence. Once only had he caught a glimpse 
 of the beautiful, clear, blue-grey eyes — when she 
 came in at the door, looking startled almost ; but 
 surely a man is not stricken blind and dumb by 
 a single glance from a girl's wondering or enquiring 
 eyes ? Love at first sight ? — he would have dis- 
 missed the suggestion with anger, as an im-
 
 36 
 
 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 pertinence, a profanation. It was not love at all : 
 it was a strauge kind of interest and sympathy she 
 liad inspired — compassionate almost, and yet more 
 reverent than pitiful. There appeared to be some 
 mysterious and subtle appeal in her very youth : 
 why should one so young be so solitary, so timid, 
 sheltering herself, as it were, from the common 
 gaze ? Why that touch of pathos about a mouth 
 that was surely meant to smile ? — why the lowered 
 eyelashes ? — was it because she knew she was alone 
 in this great wilderness of strangers, in this teeming 
 town ? And he felt in his heart that this was not 
 the place for her at all. She ought to have been 
 away in sunny meadows golden with buttercups, 
 with the laughter of young children echoing around 
 her, with the wide air fragrant with the new-mown 
 hay, with thrushes and blackbirds piping clear from 
 amidst the hawthorn boughs. Who had im- 
 prisoned this beautiful child, and made a white 
 slave of her, and brought her into this great 
 roaring market of the world ? And was there no 
 one to help ? 
 
 But it was all a perplexity to him ; even as was 
 this indefinable concern and anxiety about one to
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 37 
 
 whom he had never even spoken a word. What 
 was there in that pensive beauty that should so 
 strangely trouble him ? She had made no appeal 
 to him ; their eyes could scarcely be said to have 
 met, even in that brief moment ; her cruel fate, the 
 tyranny of her surroundings, her pathetic resigna- 
 tion, were all part and parcel of a distracted reverie, 
 that seemed to tear his heart asunder with fears, 
 and indignation, and vows of succour. And then — 
 somehow — amidst this chaos and bewilderment — 
 his one desire was that she should know he wished 
 to be her friend — that some day — oh, some wild 
 white day of joy ! — he should be permitted to take 
 her hand and say " Do not be so sad ! You are not 
 so much alone. Let me be by your side for a little 
 while — until you speak — until you tell me what I 
 can do — until you say ' Yes, I take you for my 
 friend!'" 
 
 He had wandered away from the fashionable 
 crowd — pacing aimlessly along the unfrequented 
 roadways of the Park, and little recking of the 
 true cause of the unrest that reigned in his bosom. 
 For one thing, speculations about love or marriage 
 had so far concerned him but slightly ; these things
 
 38 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 were too remote ; his aspirations and ambitions were 
 of another sort. Then again he was familiar with 
 feminine society. While other lads were at college, 
 their thoughts intent on cricket, or boating, or golf, 
 he had been kept at home with masters and teachers 
 to fit him for the practical career which had been 
 designed for him ; and part of the curriculum was 
 that he should mix freely with his kind, and get to 
 know what people of our own day were thinking, not 
 what people of two thousand years ago had been 
 thinking. One consequence of this was that ' Vin ' 
 Harris, as he was universally called, if he did not 
 know everything, appeared to know everybody; and 
 of course he was acquainted v^ith scores on scores 
 of pretty girls — whom he liked to look at when, for 
 example, they wore a smart lawn tennis costume, 
 and who interested him most perhaps when they 
 were saucy ; and also he was acquainted with a con- 
 siderable number of young married ladies, who were 
 inclined to pet him, for he was good-natured, and 
 easy-mannered, and it may be just a little careless 
 of their favour. But as for falling seriously in love 
 (if there M'ere such a thing) or perplexing himself 
 with dreams of marriage — that was far from his
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 39 
 
 scheme of life. His morning companions were 
 Spencer, Bain, John Mill, Delolme, Hallam, Free- 
 man, and the like ; during the day he was busy with 
 questions relating to food supply, to the influence of 
 climate on character, the effect of religious creeds 
 on mental development, the protection and cultiva- 
 tion of new industries, and so forth ; then in the 
 evening he was down at the House of Commons a 
 good deal, especially when any well-known orator 
 was expected to speak ; and again he went to all 
 kinds of social festivities, particularly when these 
 were of a political cast, or likely to be attended by 
 political people. For Vin Harris was known to be 
 a young man of great promise and prospects ; he 
 was received everywhere; and granted a considera- 
 tion by his elders which was hardly justified by his 
 years. That he remained unspoiled — and even 
 modest in a degree unusual at his age — may be put 
 down to his credit, or more strictly to the fortunate 
 accident of his temperament and disposition. 
 
 How long he walked, and whither he walked, on 
 this particular evening, he hardly knew ; but as 
 daylight waned he found himself in Oxford-street, 
 and over there was Park-street. Well enough he
 
 40 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 remembered the address pencilled on the visiting- 
 card ; and yet he was timorous about seeking it out ; 
 he passed and went on — came back again — glanced 
 nervously down the long thoroughfare — and then 
 resumed his aimless stroll, slowly and reluctantly. 
 To these indecisions and hesitations there came the 
 inevitable climax : with eyes lowered, but yet 
 seeming to see everything around him and far 
 ahead of him, he went down Park-street until he 
 came to the smaller thoroughfare named on the 
 card ; and there, with still greater shamefacedness, 
 he paused and ventured to look at the house that he 
 guessed to be the abode of the old man and his 
 granddaughter. Well, it was a sufiSciently humble 
 dwelling ; but it was neat and clean ; and in the 
 little balcony outside the first floor were a number 
 of pots of flowers — lobelias, ox-eye daisies, and 
 musk. The window was open, but he could hear 
 nothing. He glanced up and down the small street. 
 By this time the carriages had all been driven away 
 to dinner-party and theatre ; a perfect silence pre- 
 vailed everywhere; there was not a single passer- 
 by. It was a quiet corner, a restful haven, these 
 two lonely creatures had found, after their varied
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 41 
 
 buffetings about the world. And to this youug 
 man, who had just come away from the roar of 
 Oxford-street and its surging stream of human life, 
 there seemed something singularly fascinating and 
 soothing in the stillness. He began to think that 
 he, too, would like to escape into this retreat. They 
 would not object to a solitary companion ? — to a 
 neighbour who would be content to see them, from 
 the other side of the way, at the window now and 
 again, or perhaps to say " Good morning ! " or 
 '• Good evening ! " as they passed him on the pave- 
 ment ? He could bring his books ; here would be 
 ample opportunity for study; there were far too 
 many distractions and inteiruptions at his father's 
 house. And then — after weeks and weeks of 
 patient waiting — then perhaps — some still evening 
 — he might be invited to cross over? In the 
 hushed little parlour he would take his seat — and 
 — oh ! the wouder and entrancement of it — be pri- 
 vileged to sit and listen, and hear what the wanderers, 
 at rest at last, had to say of the far and outer world 
 they had left behind them. He did not know what 
 she was called ; but he thought of several names ; 
 and each one grew beautiful — became possessed of a
 
 42 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 curious interest — when he guessed that it might be 
 hers. 
 
 Suddenly the silence sprung into life ; some one 
 seemed to speak to him; and then he knew that 
 it was a violin — being played in that very room. 
 He glanced up towards the open window ; he could 
 just make out that the old man was sitting there, 
 within the shadow; therefore it must be the girl 
 herself who was playing, in the recess of the 
 chamber. And in a sort of dream he stood and 
 listened to the plaintive melody — hardly breathing 
 — ^liaunted by the feeling that he was intruding on 
 some sacred privacy. Then, when the beautiful, 
 pathetic notes ceased, he noiselessly withdrew with 
 bowed head. She had been speaking to him, but 
 he was bewildered ; he hardly could tell what that 
 trembling, infinitely sad voice had said. 
 
 He walked quickly now; for in place of those 
 vague anticipations and reveries, a more definite 
 purpose was forming in his brain; and there was 
 a certain joyousness in the prospect. The very 
 next morning he would come up to this little 
 thoroughfare, and see if he could secure lodgings for 
 himself, perhaps opposite the house where the old
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 4."^ 
 
 man and his granddaughter lived. It was time he 
 was devoting himself more vigorously to study ; 
 tliere were too many people calling at the big 
 mansion in Grosvenor Place ; the frivolities of the 
 fashionable world were too seductive. But in the 
 seclusion of that quiet little quarter he could give 
 himself up to his books ; and he would know that 
 he had neighbours ; he might get a glimpse of 
 them from time to time ; that would lighten his 
 toil. Then when Mary Bethune — he had come 
 to the conclusion that Mary was her name, and 
 had made not such a bad guess, after all — when 
 Mary Bethune played one of those pathetic Scotch 
 airs, he would have a better right to listen ; he 
 would contentedly put down Seaman's "Progress 
 of Nations," and go to the open window, and sit 
 there, till the violin had ceased to speak. It was a 
 most excellent scheme ; he convinced himself that 
 it would work right well — because it was based on 
 common sense. 
 
 When he arrived at the great house in Grosvenor 
 Place, he went at once into the dining-room, and 
 found, though not to his surprise, that dinner was 
 just about over. There were only three persons
 
 44 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 seated at the long table, which was sumptuously 
 furnished with fruit, flowers, and silver. At the 
 head was Vin Harris's father, Mr. Harland Harris, 
 a stout, square-set, somewhat bourgeois-looking man, 
 with a stiff, pedantic, and pompous manner, who 
 nevertheless showed his scorn of conventionalities 
 by wearing a suit of grey tw^eed ; on his right sate 
 his sister-in-law, Mrs. Ellison, a remarkably pretty 
 young widow, tall and elegant of figure, with wavy 
 brown hair, shrewd blue eyes, and a most charming 
 smile that she could use with effect; the third 
 member of the group being Mr. Ogdeo, the great 
 electioneerer of the north, a big and heavy man, 
 with Yorkshire-looking shoulders, a bald head, and 
 small, piggish eyes set in a wide extent of face. 
 Mr. Ogden was resplendent in evening dress, if 
 his shining shirt-front was somewhat billowy. 
 
 " What's this now ? " said the pretty Mrs. Ellison 
 to the young man, as he came and pulled in a chair 
 and sate down by her. " Haven't you had any 
 dinner ? " 
 
 " Good little children come in with dessert," said 
 he, as he carelessly helped himself to some olives 
 and a glass of claret. " It's too hot to eat food —
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 45 
 
 imusual for 3Iay, isn't it? Besides I had a late 
 luncheon with Lord Musselburgh." 
 
 " Lord Musselburgh ? " put in Mr. Ogden. '* I 
 wonder when his lordship is going to tell us what 
 he means to be — an owner of racehorses, or a yachts- 
 man, or a statesman ? It seems to me he can't 
 make up his own mind ; and the public don't know 
 whether to take hiin seriously or not." 
 
 " Lord Musselburgh," said Vincent, firing up in 
 defence of his friend,. " is an English gentleman, 
 who thinks he ought to support English institu- 
 tions : — and I dare say that is why he does not find 
 saving grace in the caucus." 
 
 Perhaps there was more rudeness than point in 
 this remark ; but Mrs. Ellison's eyes laughed — 
 decorously and unobserved. She said aloud — 
 
 "For my part, I consider Lord Musselburgh a 
 very admirable young man : he has offered me the 
 box-seat on his coach at the next Meet of the Four- 
 in-Hand Club." 
 
 " And are you going, aunt ? " her nephew asked. 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " Bather rash of Musselburgh, isn't it ? " he 
 observed, in a casual sort of way.
 
 46 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON 
 
 « Why ? " 
 
 "What attention is he likely to pay to his team, 
 if you are sitting beside him ? " 
 
 "None of your impertinence, sir," said she (but 
 she was pleased all the same). "Boys must not 
 say such things to their grandmothers." 
 
 Now the advent of Master Vin was opportune ; 
 for Mr. Harris, finding that his sister-in-law had 
 now some one of like mind to talk to, left those 
 two frivolous persons alone, and addressed himself 
 exclusively to his bulky friend from the north. 
 And his discourse took the form of pointing out 
 what were the practical and definite aims that 
 Socialism had to place before itself. As to general 
 principles, all thinking men were agreed. Every 
 one who had remarked the signs of the times knew 
 that the next great movement in modern life must 
 be the emancipation of the wage-slave. The 
 tyranny of the capitalist — worse than any tyranny 
 that existed under the feudal system — must be 
 cribbed and confined : too long had he gorged him- 
 self with the fruits of the labours of his fellow- 
 creatures. The most despicable of tyrants, he ; 
 not only robbing and plundering the hapless beings
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 47 
 
 at his mercy, but debasing their lives, depriving 
 them of their inrlividualisra, of the self-respect 
 which was the birthright of the humblest handi- 
 craftsman of the middle ages, and making of them 
 mere machines for the purpose of filling his pockets 
 with useless and inordinate wealth. What was to 
 be done, then ? — what were the immediate steps to 
 be taken in order to alter this system of monstrous 
 and abominable plunder. It was all very well to 
 make processions to Pere Lachaise, and wave red 
 flags, and wax eloquent over the graves of the 
 Communists ; but there was wanted something more 
 than talk, something more than a tribute to the 
 memory of the martyrs, something actual to engage 
 our own efforts, if the poor man was not to be for 
 ever ground to the dust, himself and his starving 
 family, by the relentless plutocrat and his convenient 
 freedom of contract. Let the State, then — that 
 engine of oppression which had been invented by 
 the rich — now see whether it could not do some- 
 thing for all classes under its care : let it consider 
 the proletariat as well as the unscrupulous landlords 
 and the sordid and selfish bourgeoisie. Already it 
 was working the Telegraphs, the Post Office, the
 
 48 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 Parcels Post, the Dockyards, and Savings Banks ; 
 and if it regulated the wages it paid by the wage- 
 rate of the outside market, that was because it 
 followed the wicked old system of unequal distribu- 
 tion of profit that was soon to be destroyed. That 
 would speedily be amended. What further, then ? 
 The land for the people, first of all. As clear as 
 daylight was the right of the people to the land : 
 let the State assume possession, and manage it — its 
 mines and minerals, its agriculture, its public 
 grounds and parks — for the benefit of all, not for 
 the profit of a pampered few. The State must buy 
 and own the railways, must establish Communal 
 centres of distribution for the purchase and ex- 
 change of goods, must establish systems of credit, 
 must break down monopoly everywhere, and the 
 iron power of commercialism that was crushing the 
 life out of the masses of the population. The State 
 must organise production, so that each man shall 
 do his share of work demanded by the community, 
 
 and no more 
 
 But here Mrs. Ellison, who had doubtless heard or 
 read all this before, turned away altogether. She 
 asked her nephew to give her some more strawberries.
 
 NEIGHBOUKS. 49 
 
 " I say, Yin," she remarked, incidentally, " what 
 very beautiful dessert-plates these are. I don't 
 remember them. Where did you get them ? " 
 
 "I thought you would admire them," said he. 
 " They are my father's own design." 
 
 " Really ! I call them very handsome — and so 
 quaint and unusual. He must tell me where I 
 can get some of them : when I go back to Brighton 
 I should like to take a few with me for my small 
 establishment." 
 
 " But you can't, aunt," he said. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because my father had the moulds broken." 
 
 She looked at him for a moment and then 
 sniggered — yes, sniggered, but discreetly, so that 
 the two perfervid politicians should not see. 
 
 " That is pretty well," she observed in an under- 
 tone, " for a Socialist and Communist — to have the 
 moulds broken so that nobody else should have 
 any ! " 
 
 Presently she said, in the same undertone — 
 
 " I'm going to catch your eye in a minute, Vin. 
 Are you coming upstairs to the drawing-room with 
 me?" 
 
 VOL. T. E
 
 60 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 " Yes, of course, aunt," said he, instantly. " Get 
 up now, and let's be ofif." 
 
 She rose : so did her brother-in-law. Mr. Ogden 
 remained in his chair — perhaps through inattention, 
 or perhaps he was bewildered by the consciousness 
 that he ought to make, as a relic of his ancient 
 worship of laissez /aire, some protest against this 
 wholesale intervention of the State. Then Vincent 
 opened the door for the tall and bright-eyed young 
 widow ; and he and she passed out and went upstairs 
 together. 
 
 When they entered the spacious and richly - 
 furnished room, the atmosphere of which was heavy 
 with the scent of flowers, Mrs. Ellison seated herself 
 in a low lounging-chair, while her nephew stood 
 some little way off, his hands behind his back, his 
 eyes absently staring into a rose-shaded lamp as if 
 he could see pictures there. When she spoke, no 
 doubt he heard ; but he did not answer or interrupt : 
 he allowed her to ramble on. And she was in a 
 talkative and vivacious mood. 
 
 "I'm going to the Drawing Eoom to-morrow, 
 Vin," said she, " to present Louie Drexel ; and if you 
 were kind and civil you would come down to St.
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 51 
 
 James's Park and find out our brougham and talk 
 to us while we are waiting. I do so want you to 
 get to know Miss Drexel well ; it would be worth 
 your while, I can tell you. You see, those American 
 girls have such excellent good sense. This evening, 
 before you came in, your father was treating us to 
 a dissertation on the iniquity of riches — or rather 
 the absurdity of people revelling in wealth, and at 
 the same time professing to be Christians. He 
 asked — and I'm sure I couldn't answer him — how 
 a Bishop can reconcile his enjoyment of £10,000 a 
 year with Christ's plain injunction, ' Sell all that 
 thou hast and distribute unto the poor.' And while 
 I was listening to the sermon, I was thinking of you, 
 Vin. I don't know how far you have accepted your 
 father's theories — which he himself takes precious 
 good care not to put into practice. But some day — 
 for young men are so impulsive and wilful and un- 
 certain — you might suddenly take it into your head 
 to do some wild thing of that kind ; and then don't 
 you see how well it would be for you to be married 
 to a sensible American girl ; for if you were to sell 
 all that you have and give to the poor, she would 
 make pretty certain you didn't sell all that she had
 
 52 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 — SO long as the Married Women's Property Act 
 was in force. There's no mad Quixotism about a 
 girl like that — level-headed, isn't that what they 
 call it over there ? Then think what a help such a 
 wife as that would be to you in public life. Think 
 of an election, for example— why, Louie Drexel 
 could talk the voters out of their five senses — bam- 
 boozle the women, and laugh the men into good 
 humour. I wonder you didn't pick up one of those 
 bright American girls when you were over in the 
 States : I suppose you were too busy examining the 
 political machine, and the machinists. But I'm glad 
 you didn't; I couldn't trust you; and I'm going to 
 do it for you myself. You are my boy : I'm going 
 to provide for you. And I haven't fixed on Louie 
 Drexel yet ; but at the same time you might come 
 down to-morrow to St. James's Park and talk to her." 
 
 He withdrew liis eyes from the crimson lamp, and 
 came and took a chair near her. 
 
 " I am thinking of making a little change in my 
 arrangements," said he. " There is too much dis- 
 traction here ; especially at this time of the year, 
 when everybody's in town. I am going to take 
 rooms elsewhere."
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 53 
 
 "Oh, ho!" exclaimed the pretty young widow, 
 with a smile. " Is that it ? The restraint of home 
 has been found too much at last — we must have 
 freedom, and wine-parties, and cards? Well, who 
 can wonder at it ? I warned your father years ago 
 of the folly of not sending you to college ; you 
 would have had all that over by this time, like other 
 young men ; but no, the future Champion of the 
 Proletariat was not to have his mind contaminated 
 by the sons of squires. Well, and where have the 
 princely apartments been chosen ? In Piccadilly, of 
 course — yellow satin and golden goblets." 
 
 " You are quite mistaken, aunt," he said, simply. 
 "The rooms I hope to get to-morrow are in a 
 quiet little street that I dare say you never heard 
 of: if you saw it, you might probably call it 
 slummy." 
 
 " Oh, is that it ? " she said again, for her brain 
 was nimble and swift in the consti*uction of theories. 
 " Then you are really going to put some of your 
 father's principles into practice, and to consort with 
 the masses? I've often wondered when he was 
 going to begin himself. You know how he declares 
 it to be monstrous that there should be people of
 
 54 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 your own race, and colour, and religion, whom you 
 would hesitate to ask to sit down at the same table 
 as yourself ; but I have not heard him as yet invite 
 Jack the crossing-sweeper or Tom from the stable- 
 yard to come in and dine with him. And if they 
 came in without an invitation, taking him at his 
 word, as it were, I'm afraid their reception wouldn't 
 be warm — yes, it would be remarkably warm — they'd 
 be thrown out of the front-door in a couple of seconds. 
 So you are going slumming, is that it ? You want 
 to understand the great heart of the people — before 
 you lead them on to anarchy and universal plunder ? " 
 
 " Aunt," said he, with a smile, " you mustn't say 
 such things to me; you mustn't pour reactionary 
 poison into my young mind. No ; I am going to 
 retire into that quiet little corner of London simply 
 to get on with my books ; and as I shan't let any- 
 body know where it is, I can't be disturbed." 
 
 " Do you mean to live there altogether ? " she 
 asked, glancing quickly at him. " Shall you sleep 
 there ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. I shall come home here each evening." 
 
 " To dinner ? But it is no use asking you that ; 
 for you never seem to care where you dine, or
 
 NEIGHBOUES. 55 
 
 whether you dine at all. Have you told youi- 
 father of this scheme ? " 
 
 "No, not yet," he made answer; and he could 
 say nothing further just then, for at this moment 
 Harland Harris and his guest came upstairs from the 
 dining-room, and Mr. Ogdeu proceeded to engage 
 the young widow in ponderous conversation. 
 
 As good luck would have it, when Vincent 
 went up next morning to the little thoroughfare 
 leading from Park-street, he found exactly the 
 rooms he wanted, and engaged them there and then, 
 paying a fortnight's rent in advance in order to 
 calm the good landlady's mind, for he had not a 
 scrap of luggage with him. The sitting-room was 
 all he really required, to be sure ; but he did not 
 wish to be disturbed by having the adjoining bed- 
 room occupied ; so he took that too, money not 
 being of much consequence to this young man 
 And then, when the landlady left, he sate down to 
 look at his new possessions. The apartments must 
 have looked poorly furnished to eyes familiar with 
 the splendour of Grosvenor Place ; but at all events 
 they seemed clean. Cheap German lithographs 
 adorned the walls ; tlie fireplace was gay with strips
 
 56 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 of pink paper. But when he approached the win- 
 dow — which he did stealthily — there was more to 
 interest him : the opposite two windows, behind the 
 balcony filled with flowers, were both open : at any 
 moment a figure might appear there — perhaps 
 looking out absently and vaguely with those beau- 
 tiful and wistful eyes. Or perchance he might hear 
 the tender strains of the unseen violin? He re- 
 mained there for some time, rather breathless and 
 nervous, until he recollected that he had come 
 hither for the purposes of study ; and then he 
 thought he would go away down to Grosvenor Place 
 and seek out such books and writing-materials as 
 he might want, and bring them along forthwith. 
 
 He went downstairs and was just about to step 
 outside when he caught sight of something across 
 the way which caused him instantly to shrink back 
 and shelter himself within the shadow of the door — 
 his heart beating quickly. He had nearly been 
 face-to-face with the pensive-eyed young girl, for 
 she had come forth from the opposite house, and 
 was waiting for her grandfather to follow. He 
 remained concealed — fearful of being seen, and yet 
 scarcely knowing why. Then, when he heard the
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 57 
 
 floor on the other side shut, aud when he had allowed 
 them a few seconds' grace, he stepped forth from 
 his hiding, and saw that they were just turning the 
 corner into Park-street. 
 
 Why this perturhation that caused his hands to 
 tremble, that caused his eyeballs to throb, as he 
 looked and looked, and yet hardly dared to look? 
 He was doing no harm — he was thinking no harm. 
 These thoroughfares were open to all ; the May 
 morning was warm and fine and clear ; why should 
 not he take his way to Hyde Park as well as another? 
 Even in furtively watching whither they went — in 
 keeping a certain distance between them and him — 
 there was no sort of sacrilege or outrage. If they 
 had turned and confronted him, they could not have 
 recognised him : it was almost impossible they 
 could have observed the young man who was half 
 concealed by the curtains of the room in Mussel- 
 burgh House. And yet — yet — there was some kind 
 of tremulous wonder in his being so near her — in 
 his being allowed, without let or hindrance, to gaze 
 upon the long-flowing masses of hair, that caught 
 a sheen of light here and there, and stirred with the 
 stirring of the wind. And then the simple grace
 
 58 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON t 
 
 and ease of her carriage : she held her head more 
 erect in these quiet thoroughfares ; sometimes she 
 turned a little to address the old man, and then her 
 refined and sensitive profile became visible, and also 
 the mysterious charm of the long and drooping 
 lashes. He noticed that she never looked at any 
 passer-by ; but she did not seem so sad on this fresh 
 morning ; she was talking a good deal — and cheer- 
 fully, as he hoped. He wished for more sunlight — 
 that the day might brighten all around her — that 
 the warm airs might be sweet with the blossoms of 
 the opening summer. 
 
 For now they were nearing Hyde Park ; and away 
 before them stretched the pale blue vistas of atmo- 
 sphere under the wide-swaying branches of the 
 maples. They crossed to Grosvenor Gate ; they 
 left the dull roar of Park Lane behind them ; they 
 passed beneath the trees; and emerged upon the 
 open breadths of verdure, intersected by pale pink 
 roads. Though summer had come prematurely, 
 this was almost an April-like day : there was a 
 south-west wind blowing, and flattening the feathery 
 grasses ; there were shafts of misty sunlight striking 
 here and there ; while a confusion of clouds, purple
 
 NFIGHBOURS. 59 
 
 and grey and silver, floated heavily through the 
 surcharged sky. The newly-shorn sheep were quite 
 white — for Loudon. A smart young maidservant 
 idly shoving a perambulator had a glory of Spring 
 flowers in her bonnet. The mild air blowing about 
 brought grateful odours — was it from the green- 
 sward all around, or from the more distant masses 
 of hawthorn white and red ? 
 
 The old man, marching with uplifted head, and 
 sometimes swinging the stick that he carried, was 
 singing aloud in the gaiety of his heart, though 
 Vincent, carefully keeping at a certain distance, 
 could not make out either the words or the air. 
 The young girl, on the other hand, was simply 
 looking at the various objects, animate and inani- 
 mate, around her — at the birds picking up straws or 
 shreds of wool for the building of their nest)=!, at the 
 wind shivering through the grey spikelets of the 
 grass, at the ever-changing conformation of the 
 clouds, at the swaying of the branches of the trees ; 
 while from time to time there came floating over 
 from Knightsbridge the sound of a military band. 
 No, she did not appear so sad as she had done the 
 day before ; and there was something cheerful, too,
 
 60 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 about her costume — about tbe simple dress of dark 
 blue-and-white-striped linen and the sailor's bat of 
 cream-white with a dark bine band. Mary, he made 
 sure her name was — Mary Bethune. Only a nam-e 
 to him ; nothing more : a strange, indefinable, 
 immeasurable distance lay between them ; not for 
 him was it to draw near to her, to breathe the same 
 air with her, to listen to the low tones of her voice, 
 to wait for the uplifting of the mysteriously shaded 
 eyes. And as for fancies become more wildly 
 audacious ? — what would be the joy of any human 
 being who should be allowed to touch — with 
 trembling fingertips — with reverent and almost 
 reluctant fingertips — the soft splendour of that 
 shining and beautiful hair ? 
 
 George Bethune and his granddaughter made 
 their way down to the Serpentine, and took their 
 places on a bench there, while the old man proceeded 
 to draw from his pocket a newspaper, which he 
 leisurely began to read. The girl had nothing to 
 do but sit placidly there and look around her — at 
 the shimmering stretch of water, at the small boys 
 sailing their mimic yachts, at the quacking ducks 
 and yelping dogs, at the ever-rustling and murmur-
 
 NEIGHBOUKS. 61 
 
 ing trees. Vincent Harris had now dared to draw 
 a little nearer ; but still he felt that "she was worlds 
 and worlds away. How many yards were there 
 between him and her? — not yards at all, but 
 infinities of space ! They were strangers to each 
 other ; no spoken word was possible between them ; 
 they might go through to the end of life with this 
 impalpable barrier for ever dividing them. And yet 
 it seemed a sort of miraculous thing that he was 
 allowed to come so close — that he could almost tell 
 the individual threads of that soft-shining hair. 
 Then, more than once, too, he had caught a glimpse 
 of her raised eyes, as she turned to address her 
 grandfather ; and that was a startling and bewilder- 
 ing experience. It was not their mere beauty; 
 though, to be sure, their clear and limpid deeps 
 seemed all the more clear and limpid because of the 
 touch of sun-tan on her complexion ; it was rather 
 that they were full of all ineffable things — simplicity, 
 submission, gratitude, affection, and even, as he 
 rejoiced to think, some measure of mild enjoyment. 
 For the moment there was little of that pensive and 
 resigned look that had struck him in the figure 
 standing with bowed head at Lord Musselburgh's
 
 62 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 table. She appeared to be pleased with the various 
 life around her and its little incidents ; she regarded 
 the sailing of the miniature yachts with interest. 
 When a brace of duck went whirring by overhead, 
 she followed their flight until they were lost to view ; 
 she watched two small urchins furtively fishing for 
 minnows, with an eye on the distant park-keeper. 
 There was a universal rustling of leaves in the 
 silence ; and sometimes, when the wind blew straight 
 across, the music of the militar}'^ band became more 
 distinct. 
 
 How long they remained there, the young man 
 did not know ; it was a golden morning, and all too 
 brief. But when at last they did rise to go he was 
 very nearly caught ; for instead of returning by the 
 way they had come, they struck westward ; and he 
 suddenly saw with alarm that there was no time for 
 him to get behind one of the elms. All he could 
 do was to turn aside, and lower his eyes. They 
 passed within a few yards of him ; he could 
 distinctly hear the old man singing, with a fine 
 note of bravado in his voice, " The standard on the 
 braes o' Mar, is up and streaming rarely " ; then, 
 when he was sure they were some way off, he made
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 63 
 
 bold to raise his eyes again. Had she taken any 
 notice of him ? He hoped not. He did not wish 
 her to think him a spy ; he did not wish to be 
 known to her at aU. He should be her constant 
 neighbour, her companion almost, without any 
 consciousness on her part. And again and again he 
 marvelled that the landlady in the little thorough- 
 fare should have given him those treasures of rooms 
 — should have put such happiness within his reach 
 — for so trivial a sum. Seventeen shillings a 
 week! — when each moment would be a diamond, 
 and each evening hour a string of diamonds ! 
 
 But nevertheless there were his studies to be 
 thought of; so now he walked away down to 
 Grosvenor Place, gathered his books together, and 
 took them up in a hansom to his newly-acquired 
 lodgings. That afternoon he did loyally stick to 
 his work — or tried to do so, though, in fact, his ears 
 were alert for any sound coming from the other side 
 of the way. He had left his window open ; one of 
 the windows of the opposite house was also left open. 
 Occasionally he would lay down Draper's Civil War 
 in America, and get up and stretch his legs, and 
 from a convenient shelter send a swift glance of
 
 64 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 scrutiny across the street. There was no sign. 
 Perhaps they had gone out again, shopping, or 
 visiting, or, as likely as not, to look at the people 
 riding and driving in the Park. He returned to 
 Draper, and to President Jackson's Proclamation — 
 but with less of interest : his annotations became 
 fewer. He was listening as well as reading. 
 
 Then all of a sudden there flashed into his brain 
 a suggestion — a suggestion that had little to do with 
 Clay's Compromise, or the project to arrest Mr. 
 Calhoun. On the previous evening it had seemed 
 to him as though the unseen violinist were speaking 
 to him : why, then, should he not answer, in the 
 same language ? There could be no offence in that 
 — no impertinence : it would be merely one vague 
 voice responding to the other, the unknown com- 
 municating in this fleshless and bloodless way with 
 the unknown. And now he was abundantly grateful 
 to his aunt for having insisted on his including 
 music among his various studies and accomplish- 
 ments: a use had come for his slight proficiency at 
 last : most modern languages he knew, but he had 
 never expected to be called upon to speak in this 
 one. And yet what more simple, as between neigh-
 
 NEIGHBOUES. 65 
 
 bours ? He was not thrusting bis society on any- 
 one ; be was invading no privacy ; be was demand- 
 ing no concession of friendsbip or even acquaintance. 
 But at least tbe dreadful gulf of silence would be 
 bridged over by this mystic means. 
 
 It was nearly six o'clock ; London was busy when 
 he went out on this hot evening. He walked along 
 to a music-publisher's place in Kegent-street ; and 
 hired a piano on the express stipulation that it was 
 to be in his rooms within one hour. Then, as he 
 had only had a biscuit for lunch, and wished to 
 leave himself untrammelled later on, he turned into 
 a restaurant, and dined there, simply enough, and 
 had a cigarette and a look at the evening papers. 
 Thereafter he strolled back to his lodgings, and took 
 to his book, though his thoughts were inclined to 
 wander now and again. 
 
 Twilight had fallen ; but he did not light the gas. 
 Once, for a brief second or two, he had quietly run 
 his fingers over the keys of the piano, to learn if it 
 was tolerably in tune ; then the room relapsed into 
 silence again. And was there to be silence on the 
 other side as well? He waited and listened, and 
 waited and listened, in vaiu. Perhaps, while he was 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 STAND FAST, CKAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 idling away his time in the Regent-street restaurant, 
 they had come out from the house and gone off to 
 some theatre. The street was so still now that he 
 could almost have heard any one speaking in that 
 room on the other side ; but there was no sound. 
 
 Then his heart leapt and his brain grew giddy. 
 Here was that low-breathing and vibrating wail 
 again: — and was she alone now? — in the gathering 
 darkness? He recognised the air; it was "Auld 
 Robin Gray ; " but never before had he known that 
 it was so beautiful and so ineffably sad as well. 
 Slowly she played and simply ; it was almost like 
 a human voice ; only that the trembling strings had 
 a penetrating note of their own. And] when she 
 ceased, it seemed to him that it would be profanation 
 to break in upon the hushed and sacred stillness. 
 
 And yet was he not to answer her, in the only 
 speech that could not offend ? Was he to act the 
 coward, when there offered a chance of his estab- 
 lishing some subtle link with her, of sending a 
 message, of declaring his presence in this surely 
 unobtrusive fashion ? Quickly he sat down to the 
 piano ; and, in rather a nervous and anxious fashion, 
 began. He was not a brilliant performer — anything
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 67 
 
 but that ; but he had a light touch and a sensitive 
 ear ; and he played with feeling and grace. It was 
 " Kathleen Mavourneen "—and a sort of appeal in 
 its way, did she but remember the words. He 
 played the melody over only once, slowly and as 
 sympathetically as he could ; then he rose and 
 retired from the piano ; and stood in the darkness, 
 listening. 
 
 Alas ! there was no response. What had he 
 done ? He waited, wondering ; but all was still 
 in the little street. It was as if some bird, some 
 mellow-throated thrush or nightingale, had been 
 warbling to itself in the dim security of the 
 leaves, and been suddenly startled and silenced 
 by an alien sound, not knowing what that might 
 portend.
 
 68 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 AN APPROACH. 
 
 There was a knock at tke door. 
 
 " Come in ! " called out old G-eorge Bethune. 
 
 There appeared a middle-aged man, of medium 
 height, who looked like a butler out of employment ; 
 he was pale and flabby of face, with nervous eyes 
 expressive of a sort of imbecile amiability. 
 
 " Ah, Hobson ! " said Mr. Bethune, in his lofty 
 manner. " Well ? " 
 
 The landlady's husband came forward in the 
 humblest possible fashion ; and his big, prominent, 
 vacuous eyes seemed to be asking for a little 
 consideration and goodwill. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said he, in the most 
 deplorable of Cockney accents, " I 'umbly beg your 
 pardon for making so bold; but knowing as you 
 was so fond of everything Scotch, I took the liberty
 
 AN APPROACH. 69 
 
 of bringing you a sample of something very special — 
 a friend of mine, sir, recommended it — and then says 
 I to him, ' Lor bless ye, I don't know nothing about 
 Highland whiskey ; but there's a gentleman in our 
 'ouse who is sure to be a judge, and if I can persuade 
 bim to try it, he'll be able to say if it's the real sort.' " 
 
 " All right, Hobson," said George Bethune, in his 
 grand way. " Some other time I will see what it is 
 like." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, thank you ! " said the ex- 
 butler, with earnest gratitude ; and he went and 
 placed the bottle on the sideboard. Then he came 
 back, and hesitatingly took out an envelope from 
 his pocket. " And if I might ask another favour, 
 sir. You see, sir, in this 'ot weather people won't 
 go to the theatres ; and they're not doing much ; 
 and my brother-in-law, the theatrical agent, he's 
 glad to get the places filled up, to make a show, sir, 
 as you might say. And I've got two dress-circle 
 seats, if you and the young lady was thinking of 
 going to the theatre to-morrow night. It's a great 
 favour, sir, as nay brother-in-law said to me as he 
 was a-giving me the tickets and arsking me to get 
 'em used."
 
 70 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 He lied ; for there was no brother-in-law and no 
 theatrical agent in the case. He himself had that 
 very afternoon honestly and straightforwardly pur- 
 chased the tickets at the box-office, as he had 
 done on more than one occasion before, out of 
 the money allowed him for personal expenses by 
 his wife ; so that he had to look forward to a 
 severe curtailment of his gin and tobacco for weeks 
 to come. 
 
 " Thanks — thanks ! " said George Bethune, as he 
 lit his long clay pipe. " I will see what my grand- 
 daughter says when she comes in — unless you 
 would like to use the tickets yourself." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir, begging your pardon, sir," was the 
 instant rejoinder. " When I 'ave a evening out I 
 go to the Oxbridge music-'all — perhaps it's vanity, 
 sir — but when Charley Coldstream gets a hangcore, 
 I do like to hear some on 'em call out, 'Says 
 Wolseley, says he ! ' Ah, sir, that was the proudest 
 moment of my life when I see Charley Coldstream 
 come on the stage and begin to sing verse after 
 verse, and the people cheering ; and I owed it all 
 to you, sir ; it was you, sir, as advised me to send it 
 to him "
 
 AN APPEOACH. 71 
 
 "A catching refrain — a catching refrain," said 
 the old gentleman, encouragingly. '•' Just fitted to 
 get hold of the public ear." 
 
 "Why, sir," said Hobson, with a fatuous little 
 chuckle of delight, " this worry afternoon, as I was 
 coming down Park-street, I 'eard a butcher's boy 
 a-singiug it — I did indeed, sir — as clear as could be 
 I 'eard the words, 
 
 ' Says Wolseley, says he, 
 To Arabi, 
 You can fight other chaps, but you can't fight me." 
 
 — every word I 'eard. But would you believe it, 
 sir, when I was in the Oxbridge music-'all I could 
 'ardly listen, I was so frightened, and my ears 
 a-buzzin, and me 'ardly able to breathe. Lor, sir, 
 that was a experience! Nobody looked at me, 
 and that was a mercy — I couldn't ha' stood it. 
 Even the chairman, as was not more than six 
 yards from me, 'e didn't know who I was, and not 
 being acquainted \\ith him, I couldn't offer him 
 somethink, which I should have considered it a 
 proud honour so to do on sich an occasion. And 
 
 if I might make so bold, sir " 
 
 He was fumbling in his breast-pocket.
 
 72 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 " What — more verses ? " said Mr, Betliune, good- 
 naturedly. " Well, let's see them. But take a seat, 
 man, take a seat." 
 
 Kather timidly he drew a chair in to the table ; 
 and then he said with appealing eyes : 
 
 " But wouldn't you allow me, sir, to fetch you a 
 little drop of the whiskey — I assure you it's the best! " 
 
 " Oh, very well — very well ; but bring two 
 tumblers ; single drinking is slow work." 
 
 In a few seconds those two curiously-assorted 
 companions — the one massive and strong-built, 
 impressive in manner, measured and emphatic of 
 speech, the other feeble and fawning, at once eager 
 and vacuous, his face ever ready to break into a 
 maudlin smile — were seated in confabulation to- 
 gether, with some sheets of scribbled paper between. 
 
 " And if you will excuse my being so bold, sir," 
 continued Hobson, with great humility, " but I 
 'ave been reading the little volume of Scotch 
 songs you lent me, and — and " 
 
 " Trying your hand at that, too ? " 
 
 " Only a verse, sir." 
 
 Mr. Bethune took up the scraj) of paper; and 
 read aloud :
 
 AN APPEOACH. 73 
 
 " G leese me on the toddy, 
 
 the toddy, 
 
 the toddy, 
 
 leese me on the toddy, 
 
 We'll hae a willie-waught ! " 
 
 " Well, yes," he said, with rather a doubtful air, 
 "you've got the phrases all right — except the 
 willie-waught, and that is a common error. To 
 tell you the truth, my friend, there is no such 
 thing as a willie-waught. Waught is a hearty 
 drink ; a richt gude-willie waught is a drink with 
 right good will. Willie-waught is nothing — a mis- 
 conception — a printer's blunder. However, phrases 
 do not count for much. Scotch phrases do not 
 make Scotch song. It is not the provincial dialect 
 — it is the breathing spirit that is the life " — and 
 therewith he repeated, in a proud manner, as if to 
 crush this poor anxious poet by the comparison, 
 
 " I see her in the dewy flower, 
 Sae lovely, sweet, and fair ; 
 I hear her voice in ilka bird 
 Wi' music charm the air ; 
 There's not a bonnie flower that springs 
 By fountain, shaw, or green. 
 Nor yet a bonnie bird that sings 
 But minds me o' my Jean." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir — Miss Bethune ? " said Hobson,
 
 74 STAND FAST, CKAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 enquiringly ; for lie evidently thought these lines 
 were of the old gentleman's own composition. And 
 then, as he received no answer, for Mr. Bethune 
 had turned to his pipe, he resumed, " Ah, I see, sir, 
 I 'ave not been successful. Too ambitious — too 
 ambitious. It was you yourself, sir, as advised me 
 to write about what I knew ; and — and in fact, sir, 
 what I see is that there is nothing like patriotism. 
 Lor, sir, you should see them young fellers at the 
 Oxbridge — they're as brave as lions — especially 
 when they've 'ad a glass. Talk about the French ! 
 The French ain't in it, when we've got our spirit 
 up. We can stand a lot, sir, yes, we can ; but don't 
 let them push us too far. Not too far. It will be 
 a bad day for them when they do. An Englishman 
 ain't given to boasting ; but he's a terror when his 
 back's up — and a Scotchman too, sir, I beg your 
 pardon — I did not mean anything — I intended to 
 include the Scotchman too, I assure you, sir. 
 There's a little thing here, sir," he continued 
 modestly, " that I should like to read to you, if I 
 may make so bold. ■ I thought of sending it to Mr. 
 Coldstream — I'm sure it would take — for there's 
 some fight in the Englishman yet — and in the 
 Scotchman too, sir," he instantly added.
 
 AN APPROACH. 75 
 
 " A patriotic poem ? — Well ? " 
 
 Thus encouraged the pleased poet moistened his 
 lips with the whiskey and water he had brought for 
 himself and began — 
 
 " TF7iere's the man ivould turn and fly f 
 Whereas the man afraid to die ? 
 It isuH you, it isnH T. 
 No, my lads, no, no ! " 
 
 Then his voice had a more valiant ring in it still : 
 
 " Who will lead us to the fray ? 
 Who will siveep the foe away ? 
 Who luill ivin the glorious day f 
 Of England's chivalry ? " 
 
 It is true he said, " Oo will sweep the foe awye ? " 
 but these little peculiarities were lost in the fervour 
 of his enthusiasm. 
 
 " Roherts — Graham — Buller — Wood— " 
 
 He paused after each name as if listening for the 
 thunderous cheering of the imaginary audience. 
 
 " And many another 'most as good : 
 TJiey're the men to shed their hlood 
 For their coun try ! " 
 
 Then there was a touch of pathos : 
 
 " Fare thee well, love, and adieu ! " 
 But that was immediately dismissed:
 
 7-6 STAND FAST, CRAIG-BOYSTON ! 
 
 " Fiercer thoughts I have than you ; 
 We will drive the dastard crew 
 Into slavery I " 
 
 And then he stretched forth his right arm, and 
 declaimed in loud and portentous tones — 
 
 " See the hloody tented-field ; 
 Look the foe — they yield!- they yield/ 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! our glory's sealed ! 
 TJiree cheers for victory !" 
 
 Suddenly his face blanched. For at this moment 
 the door opened : a tall woman appeared — with 
 astonishment and indignation only too legible in 
 her angular features. 
 
 " Hobson ! " she exclaimed ; and at this awful 
 sound the bold warrior seemed to collapse into a 
 limp rag. '* I am surprised — I am indeed surprised ! 
 Eeally, sir, how can you encourage him in such 
 impudence ? Seated at your own table and drink- 
 ing too, I declare," she went on, as she lifted up the 
 deserted tumbler — for her bellicose husband had 
 hastily picked up his MSS. and vanished from the 
 room. " Eeally, sir, such familiarity ! " 
 
 " In the republic of letters, my good Mrs. Hob- 
 son," said Mr. Bethune with a smile, " all men are
 
 AN APPROACH. 77 
 
 equal. I have been much interested in some of 
 your husband's writings." 
 
 " Oh, sir, don't put sich things in his 'ead ! " she 
 said, as she proceeded to lay the cloth for dinner. 
 " He's a fool, and that's bad enough ; but if so 
 be as you put things in his 'ead, and he giving 
 of hisself airs, it'll be hawful ! What good he is to 
 anybody, I don't know. He won't clean a winder 
 or black a boot even." 
 
 " How can you expect it ? " George Bethune said, 
 in perfect good humour. " Manual labour would 
 be a degradation. Men of genius ought to be sup- 
 ported by the State." 
 
 " In the workus, I suppose," she said, sharply — 
 but here Maisrie Bethune came upstairs and into 
 the room, carrying some parcels in her hand, and 
 instantly the landlady's face changed its expression, 
 and became as amiable and smiling as the gaunt 
 features would allow. 
 
 At dinner the old man told his granddaughter 
 that he had procured (he did not say how) places at 
 
 the Theatre for the following evening, and 
 
 seemed to be pleased about this little break in their 
 quiet lives.
 
 78 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 "But why did you go to such expense, grand- 
 father ? " Maisrie said. " You know I am quite 
 happy enough in spending the evening at home 
 with you. And every day now I ask myself when 
 I am to begin copying the poems — for the volume, 
 you know. You have sent for them to America, 
 haven't you ? But really you have such a wonder- 
 ful memory, grandfather, I believe you could repeat 
 them all — and I could write them down — and let 
 the printers have them. I was so glad when you 
 let me help you with the book you published in 
 Montreal ; and you know my writing is clear 
 enough; you remember what the foreman printer 
 said ? Don't you think we could begin to-night, 
 grandfather ? It pleases you to repeat those beau- 
 tiful verses — you are so fond of them — and proud of 
 them because they are written by Scotchmen — and 
 I am sure it would be a delight to me to write 
 them out for you." 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes," he said, fretfully, "but not to- 
 night. You're always in such a hurry, Maisrie." 
 And then he added, in a gentler way, " Well, it is 
 a wonderful blessing, a good memory. I never 
 want for a companion, when I've a Scotch air or a
 
 AN ArPKOACH. 79 
 
 Scotch song hnmming through my brain. On the 
 
 darkest and wettest day, here in this big city, what 
 
 have you to do but think of 
 
 ' The broom, the yellow, yellow broom, 
 The broom o' the Cowdenknowes,' 
 
 and at once you have before you golden banks, and 
 meadows, and June skies, and all else is forgotten. 
 Indeed, lass, Scotland has become for me such a 
 storehouse of beautiful things — in imagination — 
 that I am almost afraid to return to it, in case 
 the reality might disappoint me. No, no, it 
 could not disappoint me : I treasure every inch 
 of the sacred soil : but sometimes I wonder if you 
 will recognise the magic and witchery of hill and 
 glen. As for me, there is naught else I fear now ; 
 there are no human ties I shall have to take up 
 again ; I shall not have to mourn the * Bourocks o' 
 Bargeny.' " 
 
 " What is that, grandfather ? " 
 
 " If you had been brought up in Scotland, IMaisrie, 
 you would know what the bigging o' bourocks 
 is among children — play-houses in the sand. 
 But sometimes the word is applied to huts or 
 cottages, as it 1s in the title of Hugh Ainslie's
 
 80 STAND PAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 poem. That poem is one that I shall be proud to 
 give a place to in my collection," he continued, 
 with an air of importance. "Hugh Ainslie is no 
 more with us ; but his countrymen, whether in 
 America or at home, are not likely to forget the 
 ' Bourocks o' Bargeny.' " 
 
 " Can you remember it, grandfather ? " 
 *' Can I not ? " said he ; and therewith he re- 
 peated the lines, never faltering once for a phrase — 
 
 " I left ye, Jeanie, blooming fair 
 'Mang the bourocks o' Bargeny ; 
 I've found ye on the banks o' Ayr, 
 But sair ye're altered, Jeanie. 
 I left ye like the wanton lamb 
 That plays 'mang Hadyed's heather ; 
 I've found ye noo a sober dame — 
 A wife and eke a mither. 
 
 I left ye 'mang the leaves sae green 
 In rustic weed befittin' ; 
 I've found ye buskit like a queen, 
 In painted chaumer sittin'. 
 Ye're fairer, statc4ier, I can see, 
 Ye're wiser, nae doubt, Jeanie ; 
 But oh ! I'd rather met wi' thee 
 'Mang the bourocks of Bargeny ! " 
 
 " It's very sad; grandfather," she said, wist- 
 fully.
 
 AX APPROACH. 81 
 
 " The way of the world — the way of the world," 
 said he ; and observing that she had finished and 
 was waiting for him, he forthwith rose and went to 
 the mantelpiece for his pipe. " There's many a 
 true story of that kind. Well, Maisrie, you'll just 
 get your violin, and we'll have the ' Broom o' the 
 Cowdeuknowes ? ' " And while she went to fetch 
 the violin, and as he cut his tobacco, he sang in a 
 quavering voice — 
 
 " the broom, the honnie, bonnie broom, 
 The broom o' the Cowdenknowes, 
 I wish I were at hame again 
 
 Where the broom sae sweetly grows ! " 
 
 And then he went to the window, to smoke his pipe 
 in peace and quiet, while 3Iaisrie, seated further 
 bark in the shadow of the room, played for him the 
 well-known air. Did she guess — and fear — that 
 she might have an audience of more than one ? At 
 all events her doubts were soon resolved : when she 
 had ceased, and after a second or so of silence, 
 there came another sound into the prevailing hush 
 — it was one of the Songs without Words, and it 
 was being played with considerable delicacy and 
 charm. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 82 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 " Hallo," said Mr. Bethune, when he heard the 
 first low-rippling notes, " have we a musical neigh- 
 bour now ? " 
 
 "Yes, grandfather," Maisrie replied, rather 
 timidly. "Last night, when you were out, some 
 one played." 
 
 " Ah, a music-mistress, I dare say. Poor thing — 
 perhaps all alone — and wishing to be friendly in 
 this sort of fashion." 
 
 They listened without further speech until the 
 last notes had gradually died away. 
 
 " Now, Maisrie, it is your turn ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, grandfather ! " she said, hastily. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " It would be like answering — to a stranger." 
 
 " And are we not all strangers ? " he said, gently. 
 " I think it is a very pretty idea, if that is what is 
 meant. We'll soon see. Come, Maisrie ; some- 
 thing more than the plashing of a southern fountain 
 — something with northern fire in it. Why. not 
 ' Helen of Kirkconnell ' ? " 
 
 The girl was very obedient; she took up her 
 violin ; and presently she was playing that strangely 
 simple air that nevertheless is about as proud and
 
 AN APPROACH. 83 
 
 passionate and piteous as the tragic story to which 
 it is wedded. Perhaps tlie stranger over there did 
 not know tlie ballad ; but George Bethime knew 
 it only too well ; and his voice almost broke into 
 a sob as he said, when she had finished — 
 
 " Ah, Maisrie, it was no music-master taught you 
 that; it was born in your nature. Sometimes I 
 wonder if a capacity for intense sympathy means an 
 equal capacity for suffering ; it is sad if it should be 
 so ; a thick skin would be wholesomer — as far as I 
 have seen the world ; and few have seen more of it. 
 Well, what has our neighbour to say ? " 
 
 Their unseen companion on the other side of the 
 little thoroughfare responded with a waltz of 
 Chopin's — a mysterious, elusive sort of a thing, 
 that seemed to fade away into the dark rather than 
 to cease. Maisrie appeared disinclined to continue 
 this do ut cles programme ; but her grandfather over- 
 ruled her ; aud named the airs for her to play, one 
 by one, in alternation with those coming from the 
 open window opposite. At last she said she was 
 tired. It was time for the gas to be lit, and the hot 
 water brought up for her grandfather's toddy. So 
 she closed the window aud pulled down the blind ;
 
 84 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 lit up the room ; rang tlie bell for the hot water ; 
 and then placidly sate down to her knitting, whilst 
 her grandfather, brewing himself an unmistakable 
 gude-willie waught, and lighting another pipe, 
 proceeded to entertain her with a rambling dis- 
 quisition upon the world at large, but especially 
 upon his own travels and experiences therein, his 
 philosophical theories, and his reminiscences of the 
 Scotch countryside ballads of his youth. 
 
 That mystic and enigmatic conversation with 
 their neighbour over the way was not continued on 
 the following evening, for the old man and his 
 granddaughter went to the theatre ; but on the 
 next night again it was resumed ; and thereafter, 
 on almost every evening, the two windows re- 
 plied to each other, as the twilight deepened into 
 dusk. And Maisrie was less reluctant now — she 
 almost took this little concert a deux as a matter of 
 course. For one thing, the stranger, whoever he or 
 she might be, did not seem in any way anxious to 
 push the acquaintance any further ; no one ever 
 appeared at that open window ; nor had she ever 
 encountered any one coming out as she stood on the 
 doorstep waiting for her grandfather. As for him,
 
 AN APPROACH. 85 
 
 he still maintaiaed that the new occupant of those 
 rooms must be a woman — perhaps some shy crea- 
 ture, willing to think that she had friendly neigh- 
 bours, and yet afraid to show herself. Besides, the 
 music that came in response to Maisrie's Scotch aii'S 
 was hardly what a man would have chosen. The 
 stranger over there seemed chiefly fond of Mendels- 
 sohn, Chopin, and Mozart ; though occasionally 
 there was an excui-sion into the Volkslieder domain 
 — " Zu Strasshurg auf der Schanz,'" " Es ritten drei 
 Reifer zum Thore hinaus," " Von meinem Bergli muss 
 i scheiden," or something of that kind ; whereas, 
 if it had been a man who occupied those rooms, 
 surely they would have heard — during the day, for 
 exam[)le — a fine bold ditty like " Simon the 
 Cellarer," " The Bay of Biscay," or " The Friar of 
 Orders Gray," with a strident voice outroaring the 
 accompaniment? Maisrie answered nothing to 
 these arguments ; but in spite of herself, when she 
 had to cross the room for something or other, her 
 eyes would seek that mysteriously vacant window, 
 with however rapid and circumspect a glance. And 
 always in vain. Moreover, the piano was never 
 touched during the day : the stranger invariably
 
 86 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 waited for the tvvilight before seeking to resume 
 that subtle link of commnnication. 
 
 Of course this state of things could not go on for 
 ever — unless the person over there possessed the 
 gift of invisibility. One morniDg as Maisrie and her 
 grandfather were going out as usual for a stroll in 
 the Park, she went downstairs first, and along the 
 lobby, and opened the door, to wait for him. At 
 the very same instant the door opposite was opened, 
 and there, suddenly presented to her view, was a 
 young man. He was looking straight across ; she 
 was looking straight across ; their eyes met without 
 the slightest chance of equivocation or denial ; and 
 each knew that this was recognition. They regarded 
 each other but for a swift second ; but as plainly as 
 possible he had said to her " Do you guess ? Are 
 you angry ? No, do not be angry ! "-^and then his 
 glance was averted ; he shut the door behind him ; 
 and slowly proceeded on his way. Was she sur- 
 prised? No. Perhaps she was startled by the 
 unexpectedness of the meeting ; perhaps her heart 
 was beating a little more quickly than usual ; but a 
 profound instinct had already told her that it was 
 no woman who had spoken to her in those dusky
 
 AN APPROACH. 87 
 
 twilights, evening after evening. A woman would 
 not have wrapped herself up in that mysterious 
 secrecy. A woman who wished to make friends 
 with her neiglibours over the way would have come 
 to the window, would have smiled, would have made 
 some excuse for calling. Maisrie did ri't ostensibly 
 look after the young man — but she could see him 
 all the same, until he turned the corner. She was 
 vaguely troub'ed. The brief glance she had met 
 had in it a kind of appeal. And she wished to say 
 in return that she was not offended ; that, being 
 strangers, they must remain strangers ; but that she 
 had not taken his boldness ill. She wished to say — 
 she did not know what. Then her grandfather came 
 down; and they went away together; but she 
 uttered not a syllable as to what had just occurred. 
 It was all a bewilderment to her — that left her a 
 little breathless when she tried to think of it. 
 
 That night, when the customary time arrived, she 
 refused to take up her violin ; and when her grand- 
 father remonstrated, she had no definite exeu-e. 
 She hesitated and stammered — said they had not 
 played chess for ever so long — or would he rather 
 have a game of draughts ? — anything but the violin.
 
 88 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 '* Are you foT-getting your good-natured neighbour 
 over there ? " her grandfather asked. " It will be 
 quite a disappointment for her. Poor thing, it 
 appears to be the only society she has ; we never 
 hear a sound otherwise ; there seems to be no one 
 ever come to talk to her during the day, or we 
 should hear a voice now and again." 
 
 " Yes, but, grandfather," said Maisrie, who seemed 
 much embarrassed, " don't you think it a little 
 imprudent to — to encourage this kind of — of 
 answering each other — without knovving who the 
 other person is ? " 
 
 *' Why, what can be more harmless ! " he pro- 
 tested, cheerfully, and then he went on : " More 
 harmless than music ? — nothing, nothing ! Song is 
 the solace of human life; iu joy it is the natural 
 expression of our happiness — in times of trouble it 
 refreshes the heart with thoughts of other and 
 brighter days. A light heart — a heart that can 
 sing to itself — that is the thing to carry you 
 through life, Maisrie ! " And he himself, as he 
 crossed the room to fetch a box of matches, was 
 trolling gaily, with a fine bravura execution —
 
 AN APPROACH. 89 
 
 "The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blows frae the ferry; 
 The ship rides by the Berwick Law, 
 And I maun leave my bonnie Mary." 
 
 Maisrie was not to be moved ; but she appeared 
 down-hearted a little. As time went on the silence 
 in the little street seemed somehow to accuse her ; 
 she knew she was responsible. She was playing 
 draughts with her grandfather, in a perfunctory sort 
 of way. She remembered that glance of appeal — 
 she could not forget it — and this had been her 
 answer. Then all of a sudden her hand that 
 hovered over the board trembled, and she had 
 almost dropped the piece that was in her fingers : 
 for there had sprang into the stillness a half-hushed 
 sound — it was an air she knew well enough — she 
 could almost recognise the words — 
 
 " Nachtigall, ich hor' dich singen ; 
 S'lJerz tliut mir im Leihe springen, 
 Komm nur hold und sag mir^s wohl, 
 Wie ich micli verhalten soil." 
 
 Her grandfather stopped the game to listen ; and 
 when the soft-toned melody had ceased, he said 
 
 " There, now, Maisrie, that is an invitation : you 
 must answer."
 
 90 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 "No, no, grandfather," she said, almost in dis- 
 tress. "I NYOuld rather not — you don't kuovv — you 
 must find out something about — about whoever it is 
 that plays. I am sure it will be better. Of comrse 
 it is quite harmless, as you say — oh, yes, quite 
 harmless — but I should like you to get to know 
 first — quite harmless, of course — but I am frightened. 
 — about a stranger — not frightened, of course — but 
 — don't ask me, grandfather ! " 
 
 Well, it was not of much concern to him ; and as 
 he was winning all along the line, he willingly 
 returned to the game. It had grown so dark, how- 
 ever, that Maisrie had to go and light the gas — 
 having drawn down the blinds first, as was her 
 invariable habit. When she came back to the 
 table she seemed to breathe more freely; though 
 she was thoughful and pre-occupied — not with the 
 game. The music on the other side of the way 
 was not resumed that evening, as far as they could 
 hear. 
 
 Several days passed ; and each evening now was 
 silent. Maisrie saw nothing more of the young 
 man ; indeed, she studiously refrained from glancing 
 across to the other side of the street — except when
 
 AN APPROACH. 91 
 
 she was going out, and wanted to make sure there 
 was no one there. But something was now about 
 to happen that entirely altered this disposition of 
 affairs. 
 
 One morning George Betliune and his grand- 
 dauirhter had gone for their accusti.med stroll in 
 Hyde Park, and in coarse of time had taken their 
 places on a bench near the Serpentine, while the 
 old man had pulled out a newspaper and began to 
 read it. The day was sultry, despite an occasional 
 stirring of wind ; and Maisrie sitting there, and 
 having nothing to do but look at the water, and the 
 trees, and the sky, observed that all the world 
 around them was gradually growing darker. In the 
 south, especially, the heavens were of a curious 
 metallic hue — a livid grey, as it were ; while across 
 that hung two horizontal belts of deepest purple 
 that remained motionless, while other and lighter 
 tags of vapour were inter-twisting witli each other 
 or melting away into nothingness. Those two clouds 
 were not of the usual cloud-form at all — they were 
 rather like two enormous torpedoes lying one above 
 the other ; and there was a sombre deadness of hue 
 about them that looked ominous. Suddenly, as she
 
 92 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 was thus vaguely regarding those long purple 
 swathes, there ran across them — springing vertically 
 upwards — a quivering line of yellow flame — so thin 
 it was, it appeared like a thread of golden wire — 
 and when that had vanished, there was a second or 
 two of silence, followed by a dull, low, rumbling 
 noise that seemed to come from a considerable 
 distance. She was not much alarmed. There were 
 no signs of a teriific thunderstorm ; probably a few 
 more flashes would serve to loosen and disperse 
 those lowering clouds, and allow the day to 
 clear. 
 
 It was at this moment that a young man came 
 up and addressed Mr. Bethune — with a certain 
 courteous hesitation, and yet in frank and ingenuous 
 tones. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," said he, "bat may I 
 claim the privilege of a neighbour to offer you this 
 umbrella — I'm afraid there's a shower coming — and 
 the young lady may get wet." 
 
 It was a pleasant voice ; George Bethune looked 
 up well-disposed towards the stranger, whoever he 
 might be. And the face of the young man was 
 also prepossessing ; it was something more than
 
 AN APPROACH. 93 
 
 handsome ; it was intelligent and refined ; and tlie 
 honest and straightforward eyes had a certain con- 
 fidence in them, as if they were not used to having 
 their friendly advances repulsed. 
 
 "I thank you — I thank you," said George 
 Bethune, with much dignity. " I had not observed. 
 But you will want the umbrella for yourself — we 
 can get shelter under one of the trees." 
 
 " Would that be wise, sir, in a thunderstorm ? " 
 said the young man. "Oh, no, let me give you 
 the umbrella — I don't mind a shower — and it won't 
 be more than that, I fancy." 
 
 George Bethune accepted the proffered courtesy. 
 
 " Here, Maisrie, since this young gentleman is so 
 kind ; you'd better be prepared. A neighbour did 
 you say, sir ? " he continued. 
 
 "A very near neiglibour," answered the young 
 man, with a smile, and he seated himself by the 
 side of Mr. Betlume witliout more ado. "I have 
 often thought of speaking to you, and asking to be 
 allowed to make your acquaintance ; for you seem 
 to have very few visitors — you will pardon my 
 curiosity — while I have none at all." 
 
 " Oh, really, really," the old man said, somewhat
 
 94 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 vaguely ; perhaps he was wondering how so fault- 
 lessly attired a young gentleman (his patent-leather 
 boots, for example, were of the most approved 
 pattern) should have chosen lodgings in so 
 humble a thoroughfare. 
 
 " It is a very quiet little corner, is it not ? " the 
 young man said — almost as if answering that un- 
 spoken question. " That is why it suits me so well ; 
 I can get on with my books without interruption. 
 The street is so small that it isn't worth an organ- 
 grin'ler's while to waste time in it." 
 
 " Music is a sad thing for interrupting study ; I 
 know that," the old gentleman observed. " By the 
 way, I hope we do not disturb you — my grand- 
 daughter plays the violin sometimes — " 
 
 " I could listen to tliat kind of music all day 
 long," was the response. "I never heard such 
 violin-playing — most beautiful ! — most beautiful ! " 
 
 " Then you are not far away from us ? " 
 
 " Eight opposite," was the straightforward answer. 
 
 George Bethune glanced at the young man with 
 a look of quiet amusement; he was thinking of 
 the pale music-mistress — the solitary widow of his 
 imagination.
 
 AN APPROACH. 95 
 
 " And you — you also jDaiy a little in tlie evenings 
 sometimes ? " 
 
 " I hope you didn't think it rude, sir," the young 
 man said, humbly. "I thought it permissible, as 
 between neighbours." 
 
 "Oh, they were pretty little concerts," said 
 George Bethune, good-naturedly. " Very pretty 
 little concerts. I don't know why they were 
 stopped. I suppose Maisrie had some fancy about 
 them — my granddaughter Maisrie — " 
 
 It was a kind of introduction. The young man, 
 modestly veiling the quick flash of delight in his 
 eyes at this unexpected happiness, respectfully 
 bowed. Maisrie, with her beautiful pale face 
 suffused with unusual colour, made some brief 
 inclination also ; then she seemed to retire again 
 Irom this conversation — though she could not but 
 overhear. 
 
 "My name is Harris," the young man said, as 
 though these confidences were all as a matter of 
 course between neighbours. "It isn't a very dis- 
 tinguished name ; but one has to take what is given 
 one. It is not of much consequence." 
 
 " I am not so sure about that," the older man
 
 96 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 rejoined, somewhat sententiously. " A good uatne 
 is a good thing ; it is an honour not to be purchased. 
 It may be the only one of your possessions remain- 
 ing to you ; but of that they cannot rob you." 
 
 *' Oh, of course, of course," Vincent said, quickly, 
 for he perceived the mistake he had made. " An 
 old historic name is certainly something to be 
 proud of. By the way, sir, did your family 
 originally take their name from Bethon on the 
 Sarthe or from Bethune in the Department of 
 Calais ? " 
 
 "Bethune — Bethune," said the old man, who 
 appeared to be pleased by this question, which 
 spoke of previous enquiries ; and then he added, 
 with a lofty air : " The Due de Sully, Marquis de 
 Rosny, Sovereign Prince of Eurichemont and Bois- 
 bel, Grrand Master of the Artillery and Marshal of 
 France, was Maximilien de Bethune — Maximilien 
 de Bethune." 
 
 "Oh, really," said the young man, who seemed 
 much impressed. 
 
 " The name," continued old George Bethune, in 
 the same oracular vein, " was often spelt Beaton and 
 Beton — especially in Scotland — as everybody knows.
 
 AN APPKOACH. 97 
 
 A\hetber James, xirclibishop of Glasgow, and his 
 nephew David, Archbishop of St. Andrews, had any- 
 immediate rehitionship with France — beyond that 
 David was consecrated Bishop of Mirepoix when he 
 was negotiating the marriage of James V. at the 
 French Court — I cannot at the moment precisely 
 say ; but of this there can be no doubt, that from 
 Bethune in the north came the original territorial 
 designation of the family, not from Bethon in the 
 west. Maximilien de Bethune — Bethune in the 
 Department of the Straits of Calais." 
 
 " Oh really," the young man said again, quite 
 humbly. 
 
 Now by this time it had become manifest tha 
 there was to be no thunderstorm at all. There had 
 been a few more of those quivering strokes of yellow 
 fire (that dwelt longer on the retina than in the 
 clouds) accompanied by some distant mutterings 
 and rumblings ; and at one point it seemed as if the 
 dreaded shower were coming on ; but all passed off 
 gradually and quietly ; the sky slowly brightened ; 
 a pale sunshine began here and there to touch the 
 greensward and the shivering elms. This young 
 man had no excuse for remaining here; but he 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 yS STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 seemed to forget; he was so busy talking — and 
 talking in a very pleased and half-excited fashion, 
 with an occasional glance across at the young lady. 
 
 "Grandfather," said Maisrie Bethune, presently, 
 handing him the umbrella as a sort of bint. 
 
 But even when Vincent received his property back, 
 he appeared to take no heed. He had observed 
 that the newspaper lying on the old man's knee 
 was the Toronto Glohe ; he drew attention to the 
 circumstance ; and now all his conversation was of 
 Queen's Park, Lake Ontario, of King Street, Queen 
 Street, Church Street, of the Exhibition Grounds, of 
 Park Island, and Block House Bay, and the Eoyal 
 Canadian Yacht Club. So he had been there too ? 
 Ob, yes, he had been all over Canada and America. 
 He was as familiar with Idaho as with Brooklyn. 
 He had fished in the Adirondacks and shot mountain 
 sheep in the Rockies. 
 
 " You have been to Omaha, then ? " the old man 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course." 
 
 " For my granddaughter here," he continued, with 
 a smile, " is an Omaha girl." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Vincent, rather breathlessly,
 
 AN APPROACH. 99 
 
 and again he ventured to look across to Maisrie 
 Bethune and her downcast eyes. 
 
 " Yes, but only by the accident of birth," said 
 G-eorge Bethune, instantly, as if he must needs 
 guard against any misapprehension. "Every drop 
 of blood in her veins is Scotch — and of a right good 
 quality too. Well, you have heard — you have 
 heard. Do you think any one could understand 
 those old Scotch airs who was not herself Scotch in 
 heart and soul ? " 
 
 " I never heard anything so beautiful," the young 
 man answered, in an undertone ; indeed, he seemed 
 hardly capable of talking about her, any more than 
 he could fix his eyes steadily on her face. His 
 forced glances were timorous and fugitive. There 
 was something sacred — that kept him at a distance. 
 It was enough to be conscious that she was there ; 
 his only prayer was that she should remain ; that 
 he and she should be together, if a little way apart, 
 looking at the same skies and water and trees, 
 breathing the same air, hearkening to the same 
 sounds. So he kept on talking to the old man, in 
 rather a nervous and eager fashion, fearful all the 
 time that either of them should propose to go.
 
 100 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 And thus it came about that Vincent Harris 
 seemed to have a good deal to say for himself; he 
 appeared to forget that he was speaking to two 
 strangers ; rather he was chatting with two neigh- 
 bours, whom he wished to be his friends. And the 
 old man, in his self-sufficient and dignified way, was 
 quite content to encourage this new acquaintance. 
 His conversation was something to pass the time 
 withal ; he was modest, well-mannered, intelligent ; 
 there was an air of distinction about him that 
 showed good up-bringing as well as some decision 
 of character. No doubt he was of a wealthy family, 
 or he could not have spent so much of his time in 
 travel ; by accident he had mentioned one or two 
 well-known people as though he were in the habit 
 of familiarly meeting with them ; from some pass- 
 ing hint as to the nature of his studies, Mr. Bethune 
 gathered that this pleasant-spoken, pleasant-smiling 
 neighbour was destined for a public career. There 
 was even something interesting, to one who had 
 grown old and callous of the world's shows, in 
 noting the bright enthusiasm of the young man, the 
 clear light in his eyes, the general air of strength 
 and ease and courage that sate lightly on him, as
 
 AN APPROACH. 101 
 
 befitting one who was in the very May-morn of his 
 youth. 
 
 But at last, for shame's sake, Vincent had himself 
 to rise and break up this all too-attractive com- 
 panionship. He said, with great humility : 
 
 " I am sure I ought to apologise to Miss Bethune 
 for having taken up so much of your time. Rather 
 an unwarrantable intrusion ; but I don't think there 
 is any chance of the rain coming now — and — and — 
 so I will say good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye — glad to have made your acquaint- 
 ance," said old George Bethune, with a grave 
 courtesy. 
 
 And Maisrie made him a little bow — for he was 
 looking at her rather supplicatingly — as he raised 
 his hat and withdrew. Their eyes had met once 
 more : she could not well have avoided that. And 
 of course she saw him as he walked away southward, 
 across the bridge, until he disappeared. 
 
 "A very agreeable young man, that," said Mr. 
 Bethune, with decision, as he rose to his feet and 
 intimated to his granddaughter that they had better 
 set forth again. " Frank in manner, gentle, cour- 
 teous, intelligent, too — very different from most of 
 the young men of the day."
 
 102 STAND FAST, CKAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 His granddaughter was silent as she walked by 
 his side. 
 
 " What — don't you think so, Maisrie ? " he said, 
 with a touch of impatience, for he was used to her 
 assent. 
 
 "I think," she answered, a little proudly, "that 
 he showed a good deal of confidence in coming to 
 speak to you without knowing you ; and as for his 
 playing those airs in the evening, and in such a 
 way — well, I don't like to use the word imperti- 
 nence — but still " 
 
 He was surprised ; perhaps a trifle vexed. 
 
 " Impertinence ? Nonsense ! Nonsense ! Frank- 
 ness and neighbourliness — that was all ; no intru- 
 sion, none : a more modest young man I have never 
 met. And as for his coming up to speak to me, 
 why, bless my life, that merely shows the human- 
 izing effects of travel. It is like people meeting at 
 a table d'hote ; and what is the world but a big 
 table d'hote, where you speak with your neighbour 
 for a little while, and go your way, and forget him ? 
 Confidence ? — impertinence ? — nonsense ! He was 
 natural, unaffected, outspoken, as a young man 
 should be : in fact, I found myself on such friendly
 
 AN APPEOACH. 103 
 
 terms with him that I forgot to thank him for the 
 little service he did us — did you, I should say. 
 Bashfulness, Maisrie," he continued, in his more 
 sententious manner, "bashfulness and stiffness are 
 among the worst characteristics of the untravelled 
 and untaught. Who are we — whatever may be our 
 lineage and pride of birth — that we should fence 
 ourselves round with a palisade of suspicion or 
 disdain ? " 
 
 And thus he went on ; but he met with no 
 response. And he did not like it ; he grew all the 
 more emphatic about this young man ; and even 
 hinted that women were curiously perverse creatures, 
 who evinced no toleration, or sympathy, or good 
 nature in their judgment of their fellow beings. 
 What was her objection ? To his appearance ? — he 
 was remarkably good-looking, and refined in aspect, 
 without a trace of effeminacy. To his manner ? — 
 he was almost humble in his anxiety to please. To 
 his talk ? — but he had shown himself most bright, 
 good-humoured, alert, and well-informed. 
 
 " He had no right to come up and speak to you, 
 grandfather," was all she would say, and that with 
 a quite unusual firmness.
 
 104 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 In the evening, after dinner, when the time came 
 at which Maisrie was accustomed to take up her 
 violin, there was obviously a little embarrassment. 
 But George Bethune tried to break through that by 
 a forced display of geniality. 
 
 " Come, now, Maisrie," said he, in a gay fashion, 
 "our neighbour over the way was straightforward 
 enough to come up and offer us his hand ; and we 
 must return the compliment. One good turn 
 deserves another. Get your violin, and play some- 
 thing : he will understand." 
 
 "Grandfather, how can you ask me?" she said, 
 almost indignantly ; and there was that in the tone 
 of her voice that forbade him to press her further. 
 
 But perhaps the universal stillness that prevailed 
 thereafter conveyed some kind of reproach to her ; 
 or perhaps her heart softened a little ; at all events 
 she presently said, in rather a low voice, and with a 
 diffident manner — 
 
 " Grandfather, if you — if you really think the 
 young gentleman wished to be kind and obliging — 
 and — and if you would like to show him some little 
 politeness in return — couldn't you step across the 
 way — and — and see hira, and talk to him for a few
 
 AN APPROACH. 105 
 
 minutes ? Perhaps be would be glad of that, if be 
 is quite alone." 
 
 " A capital idea, Maisrie," tbe old man said, 
 rising at once. "A capital idea." And then he 
 added, with an air of lofty complacency and con- 
 descension, as be selected a couple of volumes from 
 a heap of books on the sideboard : " Perhaps I 
 might as well take over tbe Memoires with me ; it 
 is not at all unlikely he may wish to know some- 
 thing further about Maximilien de Bethune. I am 
 not surprised — not at all surprised — that a young 
 man called Harris should perceive that there is 
 something in tbe grandeur of an old historical 
 name."
 
 106 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTOX ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 
 
 But on this particular evening, as it happened, 
 Vincent had promised to dine at home ; for his 
 aunt was returning to Brighton on the following 
 day ; and there was to be a little farewell banquet 
 given in her honour. Of course aunt and nephew 
 sate together ; Mrs. Ellison had arranged that ; 
 knowing that at these semi-political dinner-parties 
 the company was frequently a trifle mixed, she took 
 care that on one side at least she should have a 
 pleasant neighbour. And indeed when the guests 
 had taken their places — there were about thirty in 
 all — the table presented a pretty sight. From end 
 to end it was a mass of flowers ; at intervals there 
 were pyramids of ice, draped with roses, blush-red 
 and yellow ; but the candles in the tall candelabra 
 were not lit — the softly-tinted globes of the electric
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HEKBS. 107 
 
 light shed a sufficient and diffused lustre. It was a 
 sumptnous entertainment; and yet there prevailed 
 an air of elegance and refinement. When soup was 
 served, it was not the aldermanic turtle, but a clear 
 golden fluid with gems of crimson and green ; and 
 it was handel round in silver dishes. No one thought 
 of a thick soup on this hot June night. 
 
 As soon as the hum of conversation became 
 general, the tall and handsome young widow turned 
 to her companion — who was only a year or two her 
 junior, by the way — and with her demure and 
 mischievous eyes grown full of meaning she sai'l — 
 
 " Vin, what has happened to you to-day ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, aunt ? " he answered, with 
 some surprise. 
 
 " Something has happened to you to-day," she 
 went on, confidently. " You can't hoodwink me. 
 Why have you been so radiant, so complaisant, 
 this afternoon — wliy are you here, for example — 
 when you haven't shown up at this dinner-table for 
 weeks past ? " 
 
 " And you going away to-morrow, aunt ! " he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " No use, Vin. All of a sudden you want to be
 
 108 STAND FAST, ORAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 magnanimous to the whole human race ; your 
 amiability becomes almost burdensome; your 
 eyes are full of pride and joy ; and you think you 
 can hide the transformation from me ! Well, then, 
 I will tell you, since you won't tell me : to-day you 
 were introduced to her." 
 
 He was startled — and no wonder : had his aunt, 
 by some extraordinary chance, witnessed that 
 interview in Hyde Park? Mrs. Ellison's shrewd, 
 quick eyes noticed his alarm, and laughed. 
 
 " The story is as clear as noonday," she continued, 
 in the same undertone. " You come home every 
 night between nine and ten. Why ? Because she 
 is an actress, playing in the first piece only ; and 
 of course the theatre loses its attraction for you the 
 moment she has left. Now, my dear Vin, that is 
 not the kind of thing for you at all ! You'd better 
 stop it — even although you have experienced the 
 wild joy of being introduced to her. What do you 
 know about her ? You have been investing her 
 with all the charming qualities of her stage 
 heroines ; you haven't learnt yet that she is a little 
 slatternly in her dress, that her tastes in eating and 
 drinking are rather coarse, that her tastes in
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 109 
 
 literature and art aren't any — worse still, that she 
 is already provided with a husband, a lounger about 
 Strand public-houses, only too ready to accept your 
 patronage and the price of a glass of gin — " 
 
 He was immensely relieved. 
 
 " Oh, you're all wrong, aunt ! " he said, cheerfully. 
 " I haven't been inside a theatre for six months ! " 
 
 " You haven't ? " she said, glancing at him with a 
 kind of amused suspicion. " You are really playing 
 the good boy with Parliamentary reports and blue 
 books? A very admirable diligence. Other young 
 men would be strolling in the Park, in this hot 
 weather." And then all of a sudden she asked : 
 " What subject were you studying to-day, Vin ? " 
 
 " Thompson's Distribution of Wealth," he made 
 answer, with equal promptitude. 
 
 " Oh. What does he say ? " 
 
 " You don't want to know, aunt ! " 
 
 " Yes, I do : I'm used to hearing all sorts of 
 theories at this table — though I seldom see them 
 put in practice." 
 
 Well, he on his side was glad enough to get away 
 from that other and dangerous topic; and whether 
 or not he believed in her innocent desire for know-
 
 110 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 ledge, he began to discourse on the possibility of 
 universal human happiness being reached by a 
 voluntary equality in the distribution of the products 
 of labour. 
 
 "Voluntary, do you see, aunt? — that is the very 
 essence of the scheme," he rambled on, while she 
 appeared to be listening gravely. " Thompson will 
 have nothing to do with force ; lie himself points 
 out that if you once bring in force to redress the 
 inequalities of wealth, you leave it open for every 
 succeeding majority to employ the same means, so 
 that industry would be annihilated : the capitalists 
 would not lend, the workers would not work. No, 
 it is all to be done by mutual consent. Those who 
 have wealth at present are not to be disturbed ; 
 what they have amassed is but a trifle compared 
 with what the millions can produce ; and it is this 
 product of universal co-operation that is to constitute 
 the real wealth of the world. Well, I suppose it is 
 only a dream," he proceeded. " On the other hand, 
 take my father's way of looking at it. He is all for 
 State interference; the State is to appropriate 
 everything and manage everything ; and to keep on 
 managing it, I suppose, or else things would revert
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. Ill 
 
 to their former condition. That's where the trouble 
 comes in, of course. The moment you allow any- 
 thing like freedom of contract, how can you prevent 
 the former condition of affairs coming into existence 
 again ? You know, after all, aunt, there is generally 
 a reason for the institutions and social arrangements 
 of any country ; they don't spring out of nothing ; 
 they grow, and their growth is a necessity — " 
 
 " Vincent Harris," said the young widow, 
 solemnly, " I perceive the seeds of a rabid Toryism 
 beginning to sprout in your young mind. Wouldn't 
 your father say that the reason for the monstrous 
 condition of affairs now existing — I don't consider 
 them monstrous ; not I ; I'm pretty well content, 
 thank you — but wouldn't he say the reason was 
 simply the ignorance of the people who produce and 
 the unscrupulous greed of the other people who 
 take the lion's share of the profits ? Of course he 
 would ; and so he wants to educate the producer ; 
 and protect him by the State ; and see that he isn't 
 swindled. Go to ; thou art Didymus, and an un- 
 believer; I suspect Lord Musselburgh has been 
 corrupting you. Tell me," she said, irrelevarjtly, 
 " who is the woman with the black curls — I did
 
 112 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 not catch her name when she was introduced to 
 me — " 
 
 He was delighted that she showed no sign of 
 returning to that awkward topic. 
 
 " Goodness gracious me, aunt," said he, glancing 
 in the direction indicated, where sat an elderly 
 lady, thin and gaunt and pale, with large lustrous 
 black eyes, and black hair done up in the fashion 
 of a generation ago, " do you mean to say you don't 
 know Madame Mikucsek ? " 
 
 " Who is Madame — What-is-it ? " 
 
 " You never even heard of her ! " he exclaimed, 
 in affected astonishment. "Madame Mikucsek — 
 tlie discoverer of the Mystery of the East — the 
 Prophetess of the New Religion — who has her 
 followers and disciples all over the world — from 
 Syria to the Himalayas — from New York to 
 Sacramento. Ideally, aunt, you surprise me : you 
 will be saying next you never heard of Bo" 
 
 " What is Bo — vor who is he ? " she demanded, 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Bo," he repeated, as if he were too puzzled by 
 her appalling ignorance to be able to explain, "why, 
 Bo — Bo is the equivalent of the Chinese Td. It is
 
 STALLED OX AND A DIXNER OF HERBS. 113 
 
 the principle of life ; it is the beginning and the 
 end of all things ; it is the condition of the soul — 
 and yet not quite the condition of the soul, for the 
 soul can live outside Bo until the miracle of 
 initiation happens. Then the soul is received into 
 B6, and finds that the present is non-existent, and 
 that only the past and the future exist, the future 
 being really the past, when once the soul has 
 entered Bo — " 
 
 " Vin, I believe you are making a fool of me," the 
 pretty Mrs. Ellison said, severely. 
 
 " Oh, I assure you, aunt," he said, with eyes 
 innocent of guile, "it is the great discovery of the 
 age — the great discovery of all time — the Sacred — 
 the Ineffable. When you enter into Bo you lose 
 your individuality — or rather, you never had any 
 individuality — for individuality was a confusion of 
 thought, a product of the present, and the present, 
 as I have explained to you, my dear aunt, ceases 
 to exist when you have entered Bo. Did I tell you 
 that Bo is sentient ? Yes, but yet not a being ; 
 though there are manifestations, mysterious and 
 ecstatic ; and the disciples write to each other on 
 tlie first day of each month, and tell each other 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTOX ! 
 
 what trances they have been in, and what 
 spiritual joy they have received. ^These reports 
 are sent to Madame Mikucsek; and they are 
 published in a journal that circulates among the 
 initiated ; but the phraseology is hieratic, the outside 
 world could make nothing of it. As for her, she 
 is not expected to reveal anything — what she 
 experiences transcends human speech, and even 
 human thought — " 
 
 " I saw the woman mopping up gravy with a piece 
 of bread," said Mrs. Ellison, with frowning eyebrows. 
 
 " Bo," continued the young man, very seriously, 
 " as far as I have been able to make it ou(, consists 
 of a vast sphere ; elliptical, however : the zenith 
 containing all human aspiration, the base consisting 
 of forgotten evil. When you once enter this magic 
 circle, you are lost, you are transformed, you are 
 here and yet not here ; to be does not signify to be 
 but not to be ; and not to be is the highest good 
 except not to have been. Bo, when once you have 
 received the consecration, and bathed in the light, 
 and perceived the altitudes and the essential deeps 
 and cognisances — " 
 
 " Ought to be written Bosh," said she, briefly.
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HEEBS. 115 
 
 "I will not hear any more of that nonsense. And 
 I believe you are only humbugging me : Madame 
 What's-her-name looks more like the widow of a 
 French Communist. Now listen to me, Vin, for I 
 am going away to-morrow. I am glad I was 
 mistaken about the actress ; but take care ; don't 
 get into scrapes. I shan't be happy till I see you 
 married. Ordinarily a man should not marry until 
 he is thirty or five-and-thirty — if he is five-and- 
 forty so much the better — but even at five-and-thirty, 
 he may have acquired a little judgment ; he may 
 be able to tell how much honesty there is in the 
 extreme amiability and unselfishness and simplicity 
 that a young woman can assume, or whether she is 
 likely to turn out an ill-conditioned, cross-grained, 
 and sulking brute. Oh, you needn't laugh : it's no 
 laughing matter, as you'll find out, my young 
 friend. But you — you are different ; you are no 
 schoolboy; you've seen the world — too much of it, 
 for you've learnt disrespect for your elders, and try 
 to bamboozle them with accounts of sham systems 
 of philosophy or religion or whatever it is. I say 
 you ought to marry young; but not an elderly 
 woman, as many a young man does, for money or
 
 116 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 position. Grood gracious, no ! You'll have plenty 
 of money ; your father isn't just yet going to sell 
 this silver dinner-service — which I detest, for it 
 always looks more greasy than china, and besides 
 you feel as if you were scoring it with the edge 
 of your knife all the time — I say he isn't going to 
 sell his silver and distribute unto the poor just yet. 
 As for position, you've got to make that for your- 
 self: would you owe it to your wife? Very well," 
 proceeded his pretty monitress, in her easy and 
 prattling fashion. ; " come down to Brighton for 
 a week or two. I will ask the Drexel girls ; you 
 will have them all to yourself, to pick and choose 
 from, but Louie is my favourite. You have no idea 
 how delightful Brighton is in June — the inland 
 drives are perfect, so cool and shaded with trees, 
 when you know where to go, that is. If you come 
 down I'll make up a party and take you all to xiscot : 
 Mrs. Bourke has offered me her house for the week 
 — isn't that good-natured, when she could easily 
 have let it? — and I have to telegraph yes or no 
 to-morrow. I hadn't intended going myself; but if 
 you say you will come down, I will accept ; and 
 I know I can get the Drexel girls."
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNEE OF HERBS. 117 
 
 "It is SO kind of you, aunt; so very kind," he 
 said; "but I really can't get away. You know I 
 don't care much about racing — " 
 
 " But Louie Drexel isn't racing." 
 
 "I'm very sorry, but you must excuse me, aunt," 
 he said contritely. 
 
 "Oh — distribution of wealth — supply and de- 
 mand — sugar-bounties and blue-books — is that it? 
 Well, well, what the young men of the present day 
 are coming to — " 
 
 She could say no more ; for at this moment her 
 neighbour, an elderly and learned gentleman from 
 Oxford, addressed her. He had. not hitherto uttered 
 a word, having paid strict attention to every dish 
 and every wine (albeit he was a lean and famished- 
 looking person) ; but now he remarked that the 
 evenings were hot for the middle of June. He 
 spoke of the danger of having recourse to iced 
 fluids. Then he went on to compare the bathing 
 of the Greeks and Eomans with the ablutions of 
 the English — until he was offered strawberries, 
 whereupon, having helped himself largely, he fell 
 into a business-like silence again. 
 
 When at leugth the ladies had gone upstairs,
 
 118 STAXD FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 Lord Musselburgh came and took the seat just 
 vacated by Mrs. Ellison. 
 
 "I have a commission from your father, Vin," 
 said he. "I am to persuade you of the sweet 
 reasonableness of his project — that you should for 
 a time become the private secretary of Mr. Ogden." 
 
 "The private secretary of a man who hasn't an 
 h!'' retorted Master Vin, with scorn. 
 
 "What has that to do v\ith it?" the young noble- 
 man said, coolly. "No. After all, there is some- 
 thing in what your father says. He believes that 
 the next great political and social movement will 
 be the emancipation of the wage-earner — the secur- 
 ing to the producer his fair share of the products 
 of his labour. If that is so, it will be a big thing. 
 It will be years before it comes off, no doubt ; but 
 then there will be a great wave of public opinion ; 
 and if you are prepared — if you are there — if you 
 are identified with this tremendous social revolu- 
 tion, why, that magnificent wave will peacefully and 
 calmly lift you into the Cabinet. I think that's 
 about his notion. Very well. If you are willing to 
 take up this work, how could you begin better than 
 by becoming private secretary to Josiah Ogden?
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 119 
 
 There you would come into direct touch with the 
 masses ; you would get to know at first hand what 
 they are thinking ofj what they are hoping 
 for ; subsequently, you could speak with authority. 
 Then there's another thing, Vin. If you want to 
 become a figure in public life in England, if you 
 want to build a splendid monument for yourself, 
 you should begin at the base. Capture the multi- 
 tude ; be as red-hot a Eadical as they can desire ; 
 and they won't mind what you do afterwards. You 
 may accept ofiice ; you may be petted by Royalty ; 
 but they will rather like it — they will look on it 
 as a compliment paid to one of themselves. And 
 that is where Ogden would come in. He, too, is one 
 of themselves — though he has his liii-ed brougham 
 when he comes to town, and his big dinners at 
 the Menagerie Club. What have you got to do 
 with his h's ? If I want to back a horse, or order 
 a pair of boots, or have my hair cut, what does it 
 matter to me whether the man has an h, or a super- 
 fluity of A's ? You make him useful to you ; you 
 get what you want ; isn't that enough ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, it is not," Vincent rejoined — but 
 respectfully, for he never forgot that Lord Mussel-
 
 120 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 burgh was his senior by very nearly five years. 
 " You see, you don't go into partnership with your 
 hairdresser, and you don't put your name over the 
 bootmaker's shop. And I shouldn't learn much 
 from Mr. Ogden, for I don't believe in Lis machine- 
 made politics — everything to be done by committees, 
 and resolutions, and majorities. I expect to find him 
 starting a Society for the Suppression of Punch and 
 Judy Shows, so that the infantile mind of England 
 may not be corrupted by exhibitions of brutality." 
 
 " He is a very able man, let me tell you that," 
 said Musselburgh, with decision. "And a capital 
 speaker — a slogger, of course, but that is wanted 
 for big crowds. And sometimes he turns out a neat 
 thing. Did you notice what he said at Sheffield the 
 other day — telling the working men not to be too 
 grateful for rich men's charities — ^for recreation 
 grounds, drinking fountains, and the like? What 
 he said was this — ' When the capitalist has robbed 
 Peter, it is easy for him to salve his conscience by 
 throwing a crust to Paul' — not bad. I think you 
 might do worse, Yin, than become Ogden's private 
 secretary. Pretty hard v^ ork, of course ; but the 
 modern young man, in politics, is supposed to be
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 121 
 
 thoroughly in earnest : if he isn't he will have to 
 reckon with the evening papers, for they don't like 
 to be trifled with." 
 
 The subject was not a grateful one, apparently ; 
 Vincent changed it. 
 
 "Do you remember," he said, with some little 
 diffidence, "that — that I was in your house one 
 afternoon a few weeks ago when an old gentleman 
 called — and — and his granddaughter — " 
 
 " The perfervid old Scotchman — yes ! " 
 
 " How did you come to know him ? " the young 
 man asked, with downcast eyes. 
 
 "I hardly recollect. Let me see. I think he 
 first of all jvrote to me, enclosing a note of intro- 
 duction he had brought from a friend of mine in 
 New York — a brother Scot. Then, as you saw, he 
 called, and told me something further about a book 
 he is going to bring out ; and I gave him some 
 little assistance — I don't think he is above accept- 
 ing a few sovereig-us from any one to help him on 
 his way through the world." 
 
 Vin Harris flushed hotly — and he raised his head 
 and looked his friend straight in the face as he put 
 the next question.
 
 122 STAND FAST, CKATG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 "But — but he is a gentleman! — his name — his 
 family — even his bearing — " 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes, I suppose so," Lord Musselburgh 
 said, lightly. " Poor old fellow, I was glad to lend 
 him a helping hand. I think his enthusiasm, his 
 patriotism, was genuine; and it is a thing you don't 
 often meet with nowadays." 
 
 "Yes — but — but — " Vincent said, with a good 
 deal of embarrassment, and yet with some touch of 
 half-indignant remonstrance, " the money you gave 
 him — tliat was to aid him in bringing out the book, 
 wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Certainly, certainly ! " the other made answer 
 — he did not happen to notice the expression on 
 his friend's face. "Something about Scotland — 
 Scotch poetry — I think when he wrote he said 
 something about a dedication, but that is an honour 
 I hardly covet." 
 
 "In any case," observed the young man, "you 
 have no right to say he would accept money from 
 — from anyone — from a stranger." 
 
 Then Lord Musselburgh did look up — struck by 
 something in his companion's tone. 
 
 " Did I say that ? I'm sure I don't know. Of
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 123 
 
 course it was on account of the book that I ventured 
 to give him some little help — oh, yes, certainly — 
 I should not have ventured otherwise. If he had 
 been offended, I dare say he would have said so; 
 but I fancy the old gentleman has had to overcome 
 his pride before now. He seems to have led a 
 curious, wandering life. By the way, Vin, weren't 
 you very much impressed by the young lady — I 
 remember your saying something — " 
 
 Fortunately there was no need for Vincent to 
 answer this question ; for now there began a general 
 movement on the part of the remaining guests to 
 go upstairs to the drawing-room ; and in this little 
 bit of a bustle he escaped from further cross- 
 examination. 
 
 When at the end of the evening all the people 
 had gone away, and when Harland Harris had shut 
 liimself up in his study to finish his correspondence 
 — for he was going do\\n the next morning to a 
 Congress of Co-operative Societies at Ipswich — Mrs. 
 Ellison and her nephew found themselves alone in 
 the drawing-room ; and the fair young widow must 
 needs return to the subject she had been discoursing 
 upon at dinner — namely, that this young man, in
 
 124 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 order to guard against pitfalls and embroilments, 
 should get married forthwith. 
 
 " You seem anxious that I should marry," said he, 
 bluntly ; " why don't you get married yourself? " 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you ! " she replied, with prompti- 
 tude. " I know when I have had — " Apparently 
 she was on the point of saying that she knew when 
 she had had enough ; but that would not have 
 been complimentary to the memory of the deceased; 
 so she abruptly broke off — and then resumed. " It 
 isn't necessary for me to make any further experi- 
 ments in life ; but for you, with such a splendid 
 future before you, it is a necessity. As for me, I 
 mean to let well alone. And it is well — very well. 
 I do believe, Vin, that I am the only woman on this 
 earth — " 
 
 " What ? " he said. 
 
 " — who is really contented. I am too happy. 
 Sometimes I'm afraid ; it seems as if I had no right 
 to it. Why, when I come downstairs in the morn- 
 ing, and draw an easy-chair to the open windows — 
 especially when there is a breeze coming off the sea, 
 and the sun-blinds are out, and the balcony nicely 
 shaded, you know — I mean at home, in Brunswick
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 125 
 
 Terrace — well, when I take up the newspaper and 
 begin to read about what's going on — as if it was 
 all some kind of a distant thing — I feel so satisfied 
 with the quiet and the coolness and the sea-air that 
 I am bound to do a little kindness to somebody, and 
 so I turn to the columns where appeals are made 
 for charity. I don't care what it is; I'm so well 
 content that I must give something to somebody — 
 distressed Irish widows, sailors' libraries, days in the 
 country, anything. I dare say I sometimes give 
 money where I shouldn't ; but how am I to know ? 
 — and at any rate it pleases me." 
 
 " But why shouldn't you be happy, aunt ? " said 
 the young man. " You are so good-humoured, 
 and so kind, and so nice to look at, that it is 
 no wonder you are such a favourite, with men 
 especially." 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said, frankly. " Men are always 
 nice to you — except the one you happen to marry ; 
 and I'm not going to spoil the situation. At present 
 they're all sweetness, and that suits me: I'm not 
 going to give any one of them the chance of show- 
 ing himself an ungrateful brute. When I come 
 downstairs at Brighton, I like to see only one cnp
 
 126 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 on the breakfast-table, and to feel that I have the 
 whole room to myself. Selfish? — then you can 
 make amends by sending something to the Chil- 
 dren's Hospital or the People's Palace or something 
 of that kind." 
 
 " Do you know, aunt," he observed, gravely, 
 " what Mr. Ogden says of yon ? He says that, 
 having robbed Peter, you try to salve your conscience 
 by throwing a crust to Paul." 
 
 "When did I rob Peter ?— what Peter?" she 
 said, indignantly. 
 
 " You are a capitalist — you have more than your 
 own share — you possess what you do not work for — 
 therefore you are a robber and a plunderer. I am 
 sorry for you, aunt ; but Mr. Ogden has pronounced 
 your doom — " 
 
 " Mr. Ogden ! " she said, with angry brows — 
 
 and then she stopped. 
 
 " Yes, aunt ? " he said, encouragingly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing. But I tell you this, Vin. You 
 were talking of the proper distribution of wealth. 
 Well, when you come to marry, and if I approve of 
 the girl, I mean to distribute a little of my plunder 
 — of my ill-gotten gains — in that direction: she
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 127 
 
 shan't come emjDty-handed. That is, if I approve of 
 her, you understand. And the best thing you can 
 do is to alter your mind and come down to Brighton 
 for a week or two ; and I'll send for the Drexel girls 
 and perhaps one or two more. If you can't just at 
 present, you may Liter on. Now I'm going off to 
 my room ; and I'll say good-bye as well as good- 
 night; for I don't suppose I shall see you in the 
 morning." 
 
 " Good-night, then, and good-bye, aunt ! " said 
 he, as he held her hand for a second ; and that 
 was the last that he saw of her for some considerable 
 time. 
 
 For a great change was about to take place in 
 this young man's position and circumstances, in his 
 interests, and ambitions, and trembling hopes. He 
 was about to enter wonderland — that so many have 
 entered, stealthily and almost fearing — that so many 
 remember, and perhaps would fain forget. Do any 
 remain in that mystic and rose-hued region ? Some, 
 at least, have never even approached it; for its 
 portals are not easily discoverable, are not discover- 
 able at all, indeed, except by the twin torches of 
 imagination and abolition of self.
 
 128 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON !' 
 
 When he went up to bis chambers the next 
 morning he was surprised to find a card lying on 
 the table; he had not expected a visitor in this 
 secluded retreat. And when he glanced at the 
 name, he was still more perturbed. What an 
 opportunity he had missed ! Perhaps Mr. Bethune 
 had brought an informal little invitation for him — 
 the first overture of friendliness ? He might have 
 spent the evening in the hushed, small parlour over 
 the way, with those violin strains vibrating through 
 the dusk ; or, with the lights ablaze, he might have 
 sate and listened to the old man's tales of travel, 
 while Maisrie Bethune would be sitting at her 
 needle-work, but looking up from time to time — 
 each glance a world's wonder ! And what had he 
 had in exchange ? — a vapid dinner-party ; some talk 
 about socialism ; an invitation that he should 
 descend into the catacombs of North of England 
 politics and labour mole-like there to no apparent 
 end ; finally, a promise that if he would only marry 
 the young lady of Mrs. Ellison's choice — presumably 
 one of her American friends — his bride should have 
 some additional dowry to recommend her. What 
 were all those distant schemes, and even the brilliant
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNEE OF HERBS. 129 
 
 future that everybody seemed to prophesy for him, 
 to the bewildering possibilities that were almost 
 within his reach ? He went to the window. The 
 pots of musk, and lobelia, and ox-eye daisies, in the 
 little balcony over there, and also the Virginia 
 creeper intertwisting its sprays through the iron 
 bars, seemed fresh : no doubt she had sprinkled 
 them with water before leaving with her grandfather. 
 And had they gone to Hyde Park as usual ? He 
 was sorely tempted to go in search ; but something 
 told him this might provoke suspicions ; so he 
 resolutely hauled in a chair to the table and set to 
 work with his books and annotations — though some- 
 times there came before his eyes a nebulous vision, 
 as of a sheet of silver-grey water and a shimmering 
 of elms. 
 
 In the afternoon he went out and bought a 
 clothes-brush, a couple of hair-brushes, some scented 
 soap, and other toilet requisites — of which he had 
 not hitherto known the need in these chambers ; 
 and about five o'clock or a little thereafter, having 
 carefully removed the last speck from his coat-sleeve, 
 he crossed the way, and rather timidly knocked at 
 the door. It was opened by the landlady's daughter,
 
 130 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 who appeared at once surprised and pleased on 
 finding who this visitor was. 
 
 " Is Mr. Bethune at home ? " he demanded — with 
 some vaguely uncomfortable feeling that this 
 damsel's eyes looked too friendly. She seemed 
 to understand everything — to have been expecting 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir." 
 
 " May I go upstairs ? " 
 
 He gave no name ; but she did not hesitate for 
 a moment. She led the way upstairs ; she tapped 
 lightly ; and in answer to Mr. Bethune's loud 
 " Come in ! " she opened the door, and said — 
 
 " The young gentleman, sir," — a form of announce- 
 ment that might have struck Vincent as peculiar if 
 he had not been much too occupied to notice. 
 
 "Ah, how do you do — how do you do?" old 
 George Bethune (who was alone) called out, and 
 he pushed aside his book and came forward with 
 extended hand. " Nothing like being neighbourly ; 
 solitary units in the great sea of London life have 
 naturally some interest in each other: you would 
 gather that I looked in on you last night — " 
 
 "Yes," said the young man, as he took the
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 131 
 
 proffered chair. " I am very sorry I happened to 
 be out — I had to dine at home last evening — " 
 
 " At home ? " repeated Mr. Bethune, looking for 
 the moment just a trifle puzzled. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said his visitor, rather nervously. 
 " Perhaps I didn't explain. I don't live over there, 
 you know. I only have the rooms for purposes of 
 study ; the place is so quiet I can get on better than 
 at home ; there are no interruptions — " 
 
 " Except a little violin-playing ? " the old man 
 suggested, good-naturedly. 
 
 " I wish there were more of that, sir," Vincent 
 observed, respectfully. "That was only in the 
 evenings ; and I used to wait for it, to tell you the 
 truth, as a kind of unintentional reward after my 
 day's work. But of late I have heard nothing ; I 
 hope that Miss Bethune was not offended that 
 I ventured to — to open my piano at the same 
 time — " 
 
 " Oh, not at all — I can hardly think so," her 
 grandfather said, airily. "She also has been busy 
 with her books of late — it is Dante, I believe, at 
 present — and as I insist on her always reading aloud, 
 whatever the language is, she goes upstairs to her
 
 132 STAND FAST, CKAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 own room ; so that I haven't seen much of her in the 
 evenings. Now may I offer you a cigar ? " 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 " Or a glass of claret ? " 
 
 " No, thanks." 
 
 "Then tell me what your studies are, that we 
 may become better acquainted." 
 
 And Vincent was about to do that when the door 
 behind " him opened. Instinctively he rose and 
 turned. The next instant Maisrie Bethune was 
 before him — looking taller, he thought, than he had, 
 in Hyde Park, imagined her to be. She saluted him 
 gravely and without embarrassment ; perhaps she 
 had been told of his arrival ; it was he who was, for 
 the moment, somewhat confused, and anxious ^to 
 apologise and explain. But, curiously enough, that 
 was only a passing phase. When once he had 
 realised that she also was in the room — not paying 
 much attention, perhaps, but listening when she 
 chose, as she attended to some flowers she had 
 brought for the central table — all his embarrassment 
 fled, and his natural buoyancy and confidence came 
 to his aid. She, on her side, seemed to consider 
 that she was of no account ; that she was not called
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 133 
 
 upon to interfere in this conversation between her 
 grandfather and his guest. When she had finished 
 with the flowers, she went to the open window, and 
 took her seat, opening out some needlework she 
 had carried thither. The young man could see she 
 had beautiful hands — rather long, perhaps, but ex- 
 quisitely formed : another wonder ! But the truly 
 extraordinary thing — the enchantment — was that 
 here he was in the same room with her, Ukely to 
 become her friend, and already privileged to speak 
 so that she could hear ! 
 
 For of course he was aware that he had an 
 audience of two; and very well he talked, in his 
 half-excited mood. There was no more timidity ; 
 there was a gay self-assertion — a desire to excel and 
 shine ; sometimes he laughed, and his laugh was 
 musical. He had skillfully drawn from the old man 
 a confession of political faith (of course he was a 
 Conservative, as became one of the Bethunes of 
 Balloray), so all chance of collision was avoided on 
 that point ; and indeed Yin Harris was ready to 
 have sworn that black was white, so eager was he to 
 make an impression, on this his first, and wondrous 
 visit.
 
 134 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 The time went by all too quickly ; but the young 
 man had become intoxicated by this unexpected joy ; 
 instead of getting up and apologising, and taking his 
 hat, and going away, he boldly threw out the 
 suggestion that these three — these solitary units in 
 the great sea of London life, as George Bethune had 
 called them — should determine to spend the evening 
 together. He did not seem to be aware of the 
 audacity of his proposal ; he was carrying everything 
 before him in a high-handed fashion; the touch of 
 colour that rose to Maisrie Bethune's cheek — what 
 of that ? Oh, yes, maiden shyness, no doubt ; but 
 of little consequence ; here were the golden mo- 
 ments — here the golden opportunity : why should 
 they separate ? 
 
 " You see," said he, " I don't care to inconvenience 
 our people at home by my uncertain hours ; and so 
 of late I have taken to dining at a restaurant, just 
 when I felt inclined ; and I have got to know some- 
 thing of the different places. I think we might go 
 out for a little stroll, as the evening will be cooler 
 now, and wander on until we see a quiet and snug- 
 looking corner. There is something in freedom of 
 choice ; and you may catch sight of a bay window,
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 135 
 
 or of a recess with flowers in it, and a bit of a 
 fountain that tempts the eye — " 
 
 " What do you say, Maisrie ? " the old gentleman 
 inquired. 
 
 " You go, grandfather," the girl replied at once, 
 but without raising her head. "It will be a 
 pleasant change for you. I would rather remain 
 at home." 
 
 " Ob, but I should never have proposed such a 
 thing," Vincent interposed, hastily, "if it meant 
 that Miss Bethune was to be left here alone, 
 certainly not ! I — I decline to be a party to any 
 such arrangement — oh, I could not think of such a 
 thing ! " 
 
 " You'd better come, Maisrie," said the old man, 
 with some air of authority. 
 
 " Yery well, grandfather," she said, obediently ; 
 and straightway she rose and left the room. 
 
 Master Yin's heart beat high ; here were wonders 
 upon wonders ; in a short space he would be walking 
 along the pavements of London town with Maisrie 
 Bethune by his side (or practically so) and thereafter 
 he and she would be seated at the same table, 
 almost within touch of each other. Would the wide
 
 136 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 world get to hear of tins marvellous thing ? Would 
 the men and women whom they encountered in 
 Oxford-street observe and conjecture, and perhaps 
 pass on with some faint vision of that beautiful and 
 pensive face imprinted on their memory ? By what 
 magic freak of fortune had he come to be so favoured ? 
 Those people in Oxford-street were all strangers to 
 her, and would remain strangers ; he alone would be 
 admitted to the sacred privacies of her companion- 
 ship and society ; but a few minutes more, and he 
 would be instructing himself in her little ways and 
 preferences, each one a happy secret to be kept 
 wholly to himself. But the entranced young man 
 was hardly prepared for what now followed. When 
 the door opened again, and Maisrie Bethune re- 
 appeared (her eyes were averted from him, and there 
 was a self-conscious tinge of colour in her pale and 
 thoughtful face) she seemed to have undergone some 
 sudden transformation. The youthful look lent to 
 her appearance by the long and loose-flowing locks 
 and by her plain dress of blue and white linen had 
 gone ; and here was a young lady apparently about 
 twenty, tall, self-possessed (notwithstandiug that 
 tinge of colour) and grave in manner. A miracle
 
 ST.ALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 137 
 
 had been wrought ! — and yet she had only plaited 
 up her hair, tying it with a bit of blue ribbon, and 
 donned a simple costume of cream-coloured cashmere. 
 She was putting on her gloves now ; and he thought 
 that long hands were by far the most beautiful of any. 
 
 Well, it was all a bewilderment — this walking along 
 the London streets under the pale saffron of the 
 evening sky, listening to the old man's emphatic 
 monologue, but far more intent on warning Miss 
 Bethuue of the approach of a cab, when she was 
 about to cross this or the other thoroughfare. 
 Once he touched her arm in his anxiety to check 
 her ; he had not intended to do so ; and it was 
 he who was thunderstruck and ashamed ; she did 
 not appear to have noticed. And then again he 
 was afraid lest she should be tired before they 
 reached the particular restaurant he had in mind ; 
 to which old George Bethune replied that his 
 granddaughter did not know what fatigue was ; he 
 and she could walk for a whole day, strolling 
 through the parks or along the streets, with absolute 
 ease and comfort, as became vagrants and world- 
 wanderers. 
 
 " Though I am not so sure it is altogether good
 
 138 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 for Maisrie here," he continued. " It may be that 
 that has kept her thin — she is too thin for a young 
 lass. She is all spirit ; she has no more body than 
 a daddy long-legs." 
 
 "Vincent instantly offered to call a cab — vrhich 
 they refused ; but he was not beset by wild alarms ; 
 he knew that, however slight she might be, the 
 natural grace and elegance of her carriage could 
 only be the outcome of a symmetrical form in 
 conjunction with elastic health. That conclusion 
 he had arrived at in the Park ; but now he noticed 
 another thing — that, as she walked, the slightly- 
 swaying arms had the elbow well in to the waist, 
 and the wrist turned out, and that quite obviously 
 without set purpose. It was a pretty movement; 
 but it was more than merely graceful ; it was one 
 mark of a well-balanced figure, even as was her 
 confident step. For her step could be confident 
 enough, and the set of her head proud enough — if 
 she mostly kept her eyes to the ground. 
 
 It was an Italian restaurant they entered at last ; 
 and Vincent was so fortunate as to find a recess- 
 compartment, which he knew of, vacant. They 
 were practically dining in a private room ; but all
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OP HERBS. 139 
 
 the same they could when they chose glance out 
 
 upon the large saloon, with its little white tables, 
 
 and its yarious groups of olive-complexioned or 
 
 English-complexioned guests. The young man 
 
 assumed the management of this small festivity 
 
 from the outset. He ordered a flask of Chianti for 
 
 Mr. Bethune and himself; and then he would have 
 
 got something lighter — some sparkling beverage — 
 
 for the young lady, but that she told him that she 
 
 drank no wine. Why, he said to himself, he might 
 
 have known ! — 
 
 ' for in her veins 
 Ran blood as pure and cool as summer rains.' 
 
 And as this modest little repast went on, perhaps 
 Vincent was comparing it with the banquet of the 
 night before. Ah, there had been no entrancement, 
 no enthralling ecstacy and delight, about that 
 entertainment, sumptuous as it was. Here was 
 some food — he hardly looked at it — he did not 
 know what it was, and did not care — which would 
 have to be paid for at the rate of 3y 6 per head ; 
 but as compared witli this frugal festivity, the 
 splendours of the preceding evening — the masses of 
 roses, the pyramids of ice, the silver candelabra,
 
 140 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 and all the rest — slirank into insignificance. 'Here 
 there was a nameless glamour filling all the air ; 
 a palpitation of hope, and a curious dumb sense of 
 gratitude as if for favours unexpected and un- 
 deserved ; all the coming years of his life seemed 
 to be shining there in her eyes — so that he hardly 
 dared to look, so full of fear, and yet of a breathless 
 joy and wonder, was the revelation, when she 
 happened to glance towards him. And on her side, 
 she appeared to be a little less reserved and distant 
 than she had hitherto been. She seemed grateful 
 for the trouble the young man had taken on behalf 
 of her grandfather and herself; sometimes, when 
 in his eager talk he said something that interested 
 her, she raised her head, with a smile in her eyes. 
 A wonderful banquet, truly, though not so imposing 
 as that of the previous night. He learned that she 
 was immensely fond of propelling a gondola (the 
 forward oar only ; she wanted another oar astern 
 to steer) and here was another amazingly interest- 
 ing fact, to be for ever and ever remembered. 
 
 As for the old man (for the world was not created 
 solely for young folk) he was at once gay and 
 oracular.
 
 STALLED OX AND A DIXXER OF HERBS. 141 
 
 " These little breaks and diversions," he was 
 saying', as he stirred his coffee — the time of 
 cigarettes having now arrived, " are useful things — 
 useful things; an affair of the moment, truly; but 
 the wise man makes of the passing moment as 
 much as he possibly can. Why, the real curse of 
 modern life — the ineradicable disease — is the habit 
 of continually looking before and after. We none 
 of us think enough of the present moment ; we are 
 anxiously speculating as to the future ; or, what is 
 worse still, fretting over the memory of past injuries 
 and past mistakes. That is where the uneducated, 
 the unimaginative, have their consolation ; Ave 
 are not half so happy and content as the stolid 
 ploughman or the phlegmatic bricklayer who thinks 
 only of the present heat, or the present cold, or, 
 at furthest, of the next pint of beer, and of the 
 prospect of getting to bed, with the knowledge that 
 he will sleep sound. The actual and immediate 
 things before them are the things that interest 
 them ; not the unknown future, or the useless past. 
 But I have schooled myself, thanks in a great 
 measure to Horace — and my granddaughter knows 
 her Horace too — and 1 think I keep as stout a heart
 
 142 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 as most. Dum loquimur, of course, fugerit invida 
 setas ; but even while I know that the night presses 
 down upon me, and the shadowy fathers, and the 
 empty halls of Pluto, I put the knowledge away 
 from me ; I am content with the present moment ; 
 I am more than content, for example, with this very 
 excellent cigarette — " 
 
 " Would you allow me to send you a few boxes ? " 
 interposed Vincent, at once and eagerly. " I think 
 the cork mouthpiece is a great improvement. I 
 know where they are to be got. May I send you 
 some ? " 
 
 " I thank you ; but they are not much in my 
 way," the old man said, with a certain loftiness 
 of demeanour. " As I was remarking, the time has 
 gone by for unavailing regrets over what has been 
 done to me and mine. I think I may say that 
 throughout we have shown a bold front. ' Stand 
 fast, Craig-Boyston ! ' has not been our watchword for 
 nothing. And as for the future — why, *to the 
 gods belongs to-morrow ! ' The anticipation of evil 
 will not remove it : the recalling of bygone injuries 
 provides no compensation. 'The present moment 
 is our ain ; the neist we never saw ; ' and so, as we
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 143 
 
 have had a pleasant evening so far, I think we may 
 as well get away home again ; and, Maisrie, you 
 will get out your violin, and we'll have some Scotch 
 songs, and my young friend and I will taste just a 
 drop of Scotch whisky ; and if there's any better 
 combination than that in the world, I do not know 
 of it." 
 
 But here a very awkward incident occurred. Old 
 George Bethune, in his grand manner, called to the 
 waiter to bring the bill. Now Vincent had in- 
 tended to steal out and arrange this little matter 
 without allowing the young lady to have any 
 cognisance of it; but of course the waiter, when 
 summoned, came up to the table, and proceeded to 
 pencil out the account. 
 
 " I think, sir," put in the young man, modestly, 
 " you'd better let me have that. It was my proposal, 
 you know." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Mr. Bethune, carelessly ; 
 and as carelessly he handed over the slip of paper 
 he had just taken from the waiter. 
 
 But the quick look of pain and humiliation that 
 swept over the girl's face stabbed the young man to 
 the heart.
 
 144 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 *' Grandfather ! " she said, with a burning flush. 
 
 "Oh, well," her grandfather said, .petulantly; 
 " I have just discovered that I have left my purse 
 behind. Some other time — it is all the same — 
 it is immaterial — the next time will be my 
 turn— " 
 
 " Here is my purse, grandfather," she said ; and 
 she turned with an air of quiet firmness to her 
 younger neighbour, and merely said "If you 
 please ! " He was too bewildered to refuse : there 
 was something in her manner that compelled him 
 to accede without a word of protest. She pushed 
 her purse and the slip of paper across the table to 
 her grandfather ; "and then she rose, and turned to 
 seek her sun-shade, which Vincent forthwith 
 brought to her. The curious mingling of simplicity 
 and dignity with which she had interposed im- 
 pressed him strangely: perhaps she was not so 
 much of a school-girl as she had seemed when he 
 first saw her walking through Hyde Park ? Then 
 the three of them left the restaurant together ; and 
 quietly made their way home through the gathering 
 twilight. 
 
 But he would not go in when they arrived at
 
 STALLED OX AND A DINNER OF HERBS. 145 
 
 their door, tliongli the old man again put Scotch 
 music and Scotch whisky before him as an induce- 
 ment. Perhaps he dreaded to outstay his welcome. 
 He bade them both good-night; and Maisrie Bethune, 
 as she parted from him, was so kind as to say 
 '• Thank you so much ! " with the briefest, timid 
 glance of her all-too-eloquent eyes. 
 
 He went across to his own rooms — merely for 
 form's sake. He did not light the gas when he 
 got upstairs. He carefully shut the window ; then 
 he sate down to the piano; and very gently and 
 quietly he played a graceful little air. It was 
 " Dorniez, dormez, ma helle ! " ; and it was a kind of 
 farewell message for the night ; but he had made 
 sure that she should not hear.
 
 146 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTOX ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 QU' MOX CGEUR EN MARIAGE. 
 
 AVhen Maisrie Bethune and her grandfather re- 
 turned home after the little dinner at the restaurant 
 she went upstairs to her own room, while he pro- 
 ceeded, to summon the landlady's husband from 
 the lower deeps. Forthwith the pallid-faced and 
 nervous-eyed Hobson appeared; and he seemed to 
 be more obsequious than ever towards the great 
 man who had deigned to patronise his humble 
 literary efforts, and had even got some of his verses 
 printed in the Edinburgh Weehhj Chronicle. 
 
 " Very hot evening, sir — yes, sir — would you like 
 me to go and fetch you a little hice, sir? " said he, 
 in his eager desire to please. " No trouble, sir, if 
 agreeable to you — remarkably 'ot for June, sir — 
 theatres doiug nothing, sir — only the ballet : you 
 see, sir, the young ladies have so little on that they
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EN MAEIAGE. 147 
 
 look cool and airy-like, aud I suppose, sir, that's 
 why the ballet is so popular — yes, sir, my brother- 
 in-law, the theatrical agent — " 
 
 " Look here, Hobson," 3Ir. Bethune observed, as 
 if ho had not heard a word, " you have no doubt 
 noticed a young gentleman who occupies rooms over 
 the way ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir — a very handsome young man," he 
 answered — or rather, what he actually did say was 
 "a werry ensome young men." 
 
 " I have just made his acquaintance." Mr. Bethune 
 continued, in his lofty fashion, " and naturally I 
 should like to know something more of him, though 
 I could not be guilty of the rudeness of asking him 
 questions about himself. For example, I should be 
 glad to know where he lives — he only uses those 
 rooms during the day, you understand ; and I pre- 
 sume that would be a simple thing for you to ascer- 
 tain — discreetly, I mean, discreetly — without any 
 impertinent intrusion," 
 
 '• Oh, yes, sir," said Hobson, his dull face lighting 
 up with pleasure at the notion of being able to do 
 his patron a service. " Yes, yes, sir ; I can find 
 out ; what more simple ? "
 
 148 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 At tliis very moment there was the sound of a 
 door being shut on the opposite side of the street. 
 Hobson stepped to the open window ; and instantly 
 withdrew his head again. 
 
 "He has just gone out, sir — I will follow 
 him." 
 
 " But discreetly, Hobson, discreetly," was the old 
 gentleman's final injunction, as his humble and 
 zealous emissary departed. 
 
 When Maisrie Bethune came downstairs again, 
 she was in her ordinary dress of striped linen ; and 
 she seemed pleased with the evening's adventure ; 
 and was more talkative than usual. 
 
 " It will be very pleasant for you, grandfather," 
 said she, " to have so intelligent and interesting 
 a neighbour — don't you think so ? For though he 
 is young, he seems to know everything, and to have 
 been everywhere; and I am sure, you and he, 
 grandfather, found plenty of things to talk about, 
 I have just been wondering whether it is possible he 
 could have come to Toronto while we were living 
 there. Wouldn't that have been strange ? Perhaps 
 we have passed him while we were walking along 
 King-street ; perhaps he may have come round the
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EN MART AGE. 14.9 
 
 corner by the Bank of Montreal when we were going 
 into Yonge-street — and not a yard between us ! 
 But no," she continued, musingly, "I hardly ima- 
 gine it could have been, I think I should have 
 noticed him, and remembered. Don't you think 
 you would liave noticed him, grandfather ? He is 
 not like any one else — I mean he is not the kind of 
 person you would pass in the street without remark- 
 ing — I don't think you would forget. Oh, yes, I am 
 very glad for your sake, grandfather, that you have 
 made his acquaintance ; and I hope you will be- 
 come good friends — although he is youug. You 
 want some one to talk to — and not that dreadful 
 Hobson — I can't bear your talking to Hobson, 
 grandfather — " 
 
 " I am no respecter of persons, Maisrie," said tlie 
 old man, pompously, " so long as iieople know their 
 place, and keep it." 
 
 "But that is just the worst of Hobson, grand- 
 father ! " she exclaimed. " His fawnino: and crino;- 
 ing is so despicable. He is not a man at all . And 
 you should tell him the truth about those verses 
 of his, grandfather : I can't imagine how you see 
 anything in them — "
 
 150 STAND FAST, CKAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 " There have been worse — there have been worse," 
 said Mr. Betlmne, with a magnanimous toleration. 
 " And on the two occasions on which I got the 
 Chronicle to let him see himself in print, the grati- 
 tude of the poor creature was quite pathetic. A 
 little act of kindness is never thrown away, Maisrie, 
 my dear. So now you'll just get out your violin, 
 and for a little while we will cross the Border, and 
 forget that we are here in the heart of this stifling 
 London." 
 
 But Maisrie begged to be excused. She said she 
 was rather tired, and was going back to her own 
 room very soon. And indeed, when she had brought 
 her grandfather his accustomed liot Avater, and 
 sugar, and spirits, and generally made everything 
 comfortable for him, she kissed him and bade him 
 good night and went away upstairs. 
 
 It was not to go to bed, however. Having lit 
 the gas, she proceeded to hunt among her books 
 until she discovered a little album entitled "Views 
 of Toronto;" and having spread that open on 
 her dressing-table, she drew in a chair, and, with 
 her elbows resting on the table, and her head 
 between her hands, began to pore over those pic-
 
 QU' MON CCEUE EX MARIAGE. 151 
 
 tiires of tlie long thorouglifares and the pavements 
 and the public buildings. She seemed to find the 
 rather ill-executed lithographs interesting — so in- 
 teresting that we may leave her there with her eyes 
 fixed intently on the brown pages. 
 
 Meanwhile Hobson had fulfilled his mission, and 
 returned with the address of the house into which 
 he had seen the young man disappear; and not 
 only that, but he volunteered to gain any further 
 information that Mr. Bethune might wish ; it would 
 be easy for him, he said, to make the acquaintance 
 of one of the manservants in Grosvenor Place. 
 
 " Not at all — not at all ! " the old man made re- 
 sponse, with an affectation of indifference. " I have 
 no wish to pry. Indeed, I cannot say that I have 
 any particular curiosity in the matter. And you 
 need not mention to any one that I know even as 
 much as that. I cannot recall now what made me 
 ask — a momentary impulse — nothing of any conse- 
 quence — for in truth it matters little to me where 
 the young man lives. Well, good-night, Hobson — 
 and thank you." 
 
 "Good-night, sir," said Hobson, with his eyes 
 dwelling lingeringly on the hot water and whisky.
 
 152 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 But he received no invitation (for old George 
 Bethune was more amenable to his granddaugliter's 
 remonstrances than he himself was aware) and so, 
 with another effusive " Good-night ! " the landlady's 
 husband humbly withdrew. 
 
 Sometimes, after Maisrie had gone to bed, or, at 
 least, retired to her own room, her grandfather 
 would wander away out in the streets by himself. 
 The night air was cool ; there were fewer passers-by 
 to impede his aimless peregrinations ; sheltered by 
 the dark and the dull lamp-light, he could lift up 
 his voice and sing " Loudon's bonnie woods and 
 braes," or "Cam' ye by Athol," or "There's nae 
 Covenant now, lassie," when he happened to be in 
 the mood, as he generally was. And on this par- 
 ticular evening he sallied forth ; but the straight- 
 forward direction of his steps showed that he had an 
 objective point. He went along Oxford-street, and 
 down Eegent-street ; and eventually, by way of 
 Garrick-street, Co vent Garden, and the Strand, 
 reached Fleet-street, where he stopped at a build- 
 ing almost wholly consisting of offices of country 
 newspapers. At this time of the night the place 
 was at its busiest — a hive of industry : messengers
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EN MAKIAGE. 153 
 
 coming and going, the operators assiduous at the 
 special wires, the London correspondents construct- 
 ing their letters out of the latest news, with a 
 little imagination thrown in here and there to lend 
 colour. Old George Bethune ascended to the first 
 floor, passed into tbe premises owned by the 
 Edinburgh Chronicle {Daily and Weehly) and was 
 admitted to an inner room, where he found Mr. 
 Courtnay Fox. Now 3Ir. Fox — a heavy and some- 
 what ungainly person, who rolled from side to side 
 as he crossed the room, and whose small blue eyes 
 twinkled behind his spectacles with a sort of easy 
 and ready sarcasm — did not like being interrupted ; 
 but, on the other hand, Mr. Bethune was a friend, 
 or at least a favoured acquaintance, of the chief 
 proprietor of the Chronicle, and the London corre- 
 spondent was therefore bound to be civil; so he 
 asked the old man what he could do for him. 
 
 "If you have anything for the Weehhj," he 
 observed, " you'd much better send it on direct to 
 Edinburgh, instead of sending it down here. That 
 will save one postage — a point which I should have 
 thought would occur to a Scotch mind," he added, 
 with a bit of a half-concealed grin.
 
 154 STAND FAST, CKAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 "You are always girding at Scotland, Mr. Fox," 
 George Bethune said, good-naturedly. 
 
 " I ? Oh, not I. I'm sure no one admires the 
 virtues of economy and frugality more than I do. 
 That is why I am pretty certain Shakespeare must 
 have lived in Scotland — I don't mean ' The rain it 
 raineth every day ' — but ' a tanner will last you 
 nine year.' Now how could he have learned that 
 money could be made to go so far but by observa- 
 tion of the Scotch ? " 
 
 "I know this," said the old man, with some 
 dignity, " that few have seen so much of the world 
 as I have, in various countries and climes ; and the 
 most generous and hospitable people — generous and 
 hospitable to the point of extravagance — I have 
 ever met with have invariably been the Scotch. It 
 may suit you to revile the country from which you 
 get your living — " 
 
 " Oh, I meant nothing so serious, I assure you," 
 the ponderous journalist said at once. " Come, tell 
 me what I can do for you." 
 
 "I should like to look at the Post Office 
 Directory first, if I may." 
 
 Courtnay Fox waddled across the room and re-
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EX MARIAGE. 155 
 
 turned with the heavy volume : Mr. Bethune turned 
 to the street and number that had been furnished 
 Lim by his spy, and discovered that the name 
 given was Harhmd Harris — no doubt Vincent 
 Harris's father. 
 
 "Ah, yes," the okT man said. "Now I can tell 
 you what I want; and I am certain I have come 
 to the right place for information. For while you 
 revile my countrymen, 31r. Fox, because you don't 
 know them, I wonder whom amongst your own 
 countrymen — who have any position at all — you 
 don't know ? " 
 
 This was an adroit piece of flattery : for it was a 
 foible of the fat correspondent to affect that he 
 knew everybody — and knew no good of anybody. 
 
 " Of course the man I mean may be a nobody — 
 or a nonentity — and a very respectable person as 
 well," continued Mr. Bethune, " but his son, whose 
 acquaintance I have made, talks as if his name were 
 familiar to the public. Mr. Harland Harris — " 
 
 "Harland Harris!" the journalist exclaimed — 
 but with much complacency, for he might have 
 been found wanting. " Don't you know Harland 
 Harris ? — or, at least, haven't you heard of him ? "
 
 156 STAND FAST, CKAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 '• I have lived mucli out of England," the old man 
 said. 
 
 "And you want me to tell you who and what 
 Harland Harris is? Is that it? Well, then, I 
 will. To begia with," proceeded 3Ir. Courtnay Fox, 
 with a baleful light in his small twinkling eyes, 
 *'he is a solemn and portentous ass — a pedantic 
 prig — a combination of a drill sergeant and a 
 schoolmaster, with the self-sufficiency of — of — I 
 don't know w^hat. He is an enormously wealthy 
 man — who preaches the Divine Beauty of Poverty ; 
 a socialist — who would abolish the income-tax, and 
 have all taxation indirect ; a Communist — who can 
 eat only off gold plate. This sham Jean Jacques 
 w^ould not only abandon his children, he would let 
 the whole human race go to the mischief, as long 
 as you left him on a pinnacle, with a M.S. lecture 
 in his hand. Harland Harris ! Do you want to 
 know any more? Well, I will tell you this, that 
 long ago his vanity would have inflated and burst 
 him only that he was defeated in his candidature 
 for the Lord Eectorship of Edinburgh University — 
 and that let out a little of the gas. But even now 
 his inconsistencies are colossal — almost a madness ;
 
 QU' MOX CCEUR EX MAKIAGE. 157 
 
 I think he must be drimk with a sense of his own 
 superiority, as George Sand says — " 
 
 "He does not seem to have made a very favour- 
 able impression on you," said Mr. Betliune slowly 
 and thoughtfully. 
 
 '•' Did he ever on any human being ? " the other 
 retorted. "Not any one that ever I heard of! " 
 
 " x\nd his son — do you know anything of him ? " 
 
 Mr. Courtnay Fox was not likely to admit that 
 he knew nothing. 
 
 "Oh," said he, scornfully, "the enfant gate of the 
 
 political world. has made a pet of him ; and 
 
 so people imagine there is something in him. Of 
 course he'll talk for a few years about universal 
 brotherhood and the advancement of humanity and 
 that kind of stuff; and then, when he succeeds to 
 his father's money, he'll make a bid for a peerage, 
 or else marry a widowed and Avithered Countess, 
 and subside into a solid, substantial, beef-headed 
 bulwark of the Tory party. That's the way they 
 all go ! " 
 
 *' Well, I'm very much obliged," said old George 
 Bethune, rising. "And sorry to have interrupted 
 you. Good-night — and thanks."
 
 158 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTOX ! 
 
 "Good-night," said the journalist, curtly, as he 
 turned to his desk again, and its litter of reports 
 and telegrams. 
 
 Next morning, when they were about [to set forlli 
 on their accustomed stroll, Maisrie paused at the 
 door for a second, and said — with a very curious 
 hesitation, and a face grown rose-red — 
 
 " Grandfather, what shall I tell Mrs. Hobson you 
 would like for dinner ? " 
 
 He did not notice her confusion ; he answered, 
 carelessly — 
 
 "Oh, never mind just now. Later on we will 
 see. Food is not of much importance in this hot 
 weather."^ 
 
 Thereafter she was silent for some considerable 
 time. It was not until they had got down to the 
 Serpentine, and when he was about to take out his 
 newspaper, that she ventured again to address him. 
 
 " Grandfather," she said, timidly, " do you think 
 — Mr. Harris — expects us — expects that we should 
 dine together again this evening ? He did ask if 
 we had no engagement — and — and perhaps he may 
 imagine there is some understanding — " 
 
 " Well, Maisrie," the old man made answer, with
 
 QU' MOX CCEUR EX MARIAGE. 159 
 
 a playful irony, " if your way of it is to be carried 
 out, the arrangement wouldn't last very loug. I 
 don't suppose our little income could comfortably 
 support three for any great space of time." 
 
 " Oh, but, grandfather," she said, persuasively, 
 ^- you know it was but right you should pay ; we 
 were two, and he only one; of course, if we were to 
 dine together again — and he wished it to be his 
 turn — you might divide — " 
 
 " I think, Maisrie," said he, somewhat senten- 
 tiously, "it would be better for you to leave our 
 small financial affairs in my hands. These things 
 are well understood as between men ; it is easy to 
 make an arrangement. Especially easy if you are 
 the only son of a very wealthy man — what are a 
 few shillings or a few sovereigns one Avay or the 
 other to him ? And I wish you to remember that 
 a young lady's purse is not usually produced at a 
 restaurant." 
 
 " I am sorry if I did anything wrong, grandfather," 
 she said humbly ; " but — but I thought — before a 
 stranger — or almost a stranger — it was a pity you 
 had forgotten — " 
 
 He had opened the newspaper, so that the subject
 
 160 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTOX ! 
 
 was dismissed ; and Maisrie was left to her absent 
 dreams and reveries. 
 
 All that day there came no message from the 
 other side of the street ; and likewise the afternoon 
 wore away in silence ; while Maisrie, whatever she 
 hoped or feared, had not again asked her grand- 
 father what arrangements he proposed for the even- 
 ing. About six o'clock, however, there came a rap 
 at the door below. Maisrie was in her room up- 
 stairs. Her grandfather was seated at the little 
 table in the parlour, drawing out in water-colour 
 a coat of arms; and he had already finished the 
 Bethune part of it — that is to say, the first and 
 fourth quarters of the shield were argent, with a 
 fesse between three mascles, or; and likewise he 
 had surmounted it with the crest — an otter's head, 
 erased, ppr. ; but as the second and third quarters 
 were still vacant it was impossible to say with which 
 other family he proposed to claim alliance. At this 
 moment Yincent made his appearance at the door, 
 looking very cheerful and good-humoured, and 
 modest withal; and he came into the room as if 
 he already felt quite at home there. 
 
 *'I have taken a little liberty," said he, "with
 
 QU' MON CQEUK EN MAKIAGE. 161 
 
 regard to this evening. I understood that you and 
 Miss Bethune had no engagement, and might think 
 of going to that same restaurant again ; but then I 
 thought you might prefer a change; and so I have 
 ordered dinner at the " And he named a well- 
 known hotel in the neighbourhood of Burlington 
 Grardens. 
 
 " Oh, you have ordered dinner ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Vincent, respectfully ; and then 
 seeing there was no objection, he went on with a 
 gayer air: "It does seem absurd that when people 
 want to meet each other, and to talk, and get 
 thoroughly acquainted, they must needs sit down 
 and eat together ; but there is some sense in it too ; 
 for of course we have all of us our different occupa- 
 tions during the day ; and dinner-time is the time at 
 which we all find ourselves free, so that the meet- 
 ing is easily arranged. I hope Miss Bethune wasn't 
 fatigued after her long walk of last evening — " 
 
 "Oh, no, no," said her grandfather, rising and 
 going to the door. " I must call and tell her we are 
 going out by and bye — " 
 
 " Yes, but of course she is coming too ! " the 
 young man said quickly. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 STAND FAST, CBAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 "If she likes — if she likes. I myself should 
 prefer it. I will ask her." 
 
 And on this occasion also, when she came down- 
 stairs, Maisrie Bethuue appeared in that simple 
 dress of cream-coloured cashmere ; and again he 
 was struck by the alteration in her aspect ; she was 
 no longer the shy and timid schoolgirl he had at 
 first imagined her to be, but a young woman, of 
 quite sufficient self-possession, tall, and elegant of 
 bearing, and with more than a touch of graceful 
 dignity in her manner. This time she smiled as 
 she gave him her hand for a moment; and then 
 she turned away ; always she seemed to assume 
 that this newly-found relationship existed only as 
 between her grandfather and the young man, that 
 she was outside of it,- and only to be called in as an 
 adjunct, now and again when it happened to suit 
 them. 
 
 Nevertheless, as they by-and-bye walked away 
 down to Burlington Gardens, she was much more 
 animated and talkative than he had before seen 
 her ; and he observed, too, that her grandfather 
 paid heed to her opinions. Nay, she addressed the 
 younger of her two companions also, occasionally;
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EN MARIAGE. 163 
 
 and now she was not afraid to let a smile dwell in 
 her eyes, when she chanced to turn to him. He 
 was bewildered by it all; it was more, far more, 
 than he dared have hoped for ; in fact he was the 
 last person in the world to suspect that his own 
 bearing — the buoyant unconscious audacity, the 
 winning frankness, as well as a certain youthful 
 modesty — was at the root of the mystery of this 
 sudden friendship. For one thing, he had told 
 them a good deal about himself and his circum- 
 stances, during that morning in Hyde Park and 
 during the previous afternoon and evening; and 
 there was something in the position of these three 
 folk, now brought together after wide wanderings 
 through the world, that seemed to invite confidence 
 and intimacy. Then old George Bethune had an 
 excellent fund of good-fellowship, so long as the 
 present moment was an enjoyable one. 
 
 And, as it turned out, this evening proved to 
 be one of those enjoyable moments. The small 
 festivity to which Vincent had invited his new 
 acquaintances was not in the least the haphazard 
 affair he had half -intimated it to be; he had 
 arranged it with care ; they found themselves in a
 
 164 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 pretty room, with plenty of flowers on the table ; 
 while the little banquet itself was far more elabo- 
 rate, both as regards food and wine, than there was 
 any call for. The old gentleman did not protest; 
 anything that happened — so long as it Avas plea- 
 sant — was welcome to him ; and he declared the 
 claret to be as excellent as any he had met with for 
 years back. He could not understand why their 
 youthful host would not join him (as if it were likely 
 that Vincent was going to drink wine, now that he 
 discovered that Maisrie Bethune drank only water !) 
 but he had all the more for himself ; and he waxed 
 eloquent and enthusiastic on his favourite theme. 
 
 " Why sir," said he, with a kind of proud 
 elation in his tone, "I myself heard Henry Ward 
 Beecher pronounce these words in the City Hall of 
 Glasgow — ' I have been reared in a country whose 
 history is brief. So vast is it, that one might travel 
 night and day for all the week, and yet scarcely 
 touch historic ground. Its history^ is yet to be 
 written ; it is yet to be acted. But I come to this 
 land, which, though small, is as full of memories as 
 the heaven is full of stars, and almost as bright. 
 There is not the most insignificant piece of water
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EN MARIAGE. 165 
 
 that does not make my heart thrill with some story 
 of heroism, or some remembered poem ; for not 
 only has Scotland had the good fortune to have men 
 who knew how to make heroic history, but she has 
 reared those bards who have known how to sing 
 their deeds. And every steep and every valley, and 
 almost every single league on which my feet have 
 trod, have made me feel as if I were walking in a 
 dream. I never expected to find my eyes overflow 
 with tears of gladness that I have been permitted, 
 in the prime of life, to look upon this beloved land.' 
 Well spoken — nobly spoken! When I take my 
 granddaughter here to visit her native country — for 
 to that country she belongs, in all the essentials of 
 blood and tradition and descent — I hope she will be 
 in a similarly receptive mood; and will see, not 
 the bare hills, not the lonely islands, not the deso- 
 late moors, but a land filled with the magic of 
 association, and consecrated by the love and devo- 
 tion of a thousand song-writers, known and unknown. 
 I will say with Johnson * That man is little to be 
 envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon 
 the plain of Bannockburn, or whose piety would not 
 grow warmer among the ruins of lona ' — "
 
 166 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 "Not Bannockburn : Marathon, wasn't it, grand- 
 father ? " said Maisrie, in her gentle way. 
 
 " Well, well," he said, not heeding the interrup- 
 tion. "'Almost every single league,' said Ward 
 Beecher; and that is true. I could make a 
 pilgrimage throughout the length and breadth of 
 Scotland, guided by the finger of Scottish song. 
 Indeed, I have often thought I should like, if the 
 years were spared to me, to collect materials for a 
 volume — a splendid and magnificent volume — on 
 the Scotland of the Scotch songs and ballads. The 
 words and the music are already there ; and I would 
 have the pencil add its charm ; so that Scotland, in 
 her noblest and fairest aspects, might be placed 
 before the stranger, and might be welcomed once 
 again by her own sons. I would have the lonely 
 Braes o' Balwhidder, and Eob Boy's grave in the 
 little churchyard on the hillside; I would have 
 Tannahill's Arranteenie — that is on Loch Long side, 
 I think ; and the Bonnie House o' Airlie : 
 
 ' It fell on a day, a bonnie summer's day, 
 When the corn grew green and fairly, 
 That the great Argyle, wi' a' his men, 
 Cam' to plunder the bonnie house o' Airlie.' 
 
 Then the Vale of Yarrow — well, perhaps that would
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EN MARIAGE. 167 
 
 have to be a figure subject — the grief-stricken 
 
 maiden bending over the body of her slain lover — 
 
 ' Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved, 
 could my warmth to life restore thee ! — 
 Te'd lie all night between my breasts ; 
 No youth lay ever there before thee.' 
 
 And Colonsay — Leyden's Colonsay — the haunted 
 island that mourns like a sea-shell — 
 
 ' And ever as the year returns, 
 
 The charm-bound sailors know the day ; 
 For sadly still the mermaid mourns 
 The lovely chief of Colonsay.' 
 
 Gala Water — " the old man continued, in a sort of 
 
 exalted rhapsody ; and his eyes were absent, as if he 
 
 veere beholding a succession of visions. " Hunting 
 
 Tower — Craigie-burn Wood — the solitude sought 
 
 out by Bessie Bell and her girl companion when 
 
 they fled from the plague — Ettrick Banks — the 
 
 bush aboon Traquair — in short, an endless series ! 
 
 And where the pencil may fail, imagination must 
 
 come in — 
 
 ' I see — but not by sight alone, 
 Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 
 A ray of fancy still survives — 
 Her sunshine plays upon thee ! ' 
 
 It would be something to do for the sake of ' puir
 
 168 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 auld Scotland;' and think what an enchanted 
 wandering that would be for both Maisrie and 
 myself. Tweed and Teviot — the silver Forth — the 
 stately Clyde : well, perhaps she would be better 
 pleased to gather a flower or two — a lucken-gowan 
 or a speedwell — on ' the bonnie banks o' Ayr,' " 
 
 "But, grandfather," Maisrie Bethune interposed, 
 " before you can begin such a book, or even think 
 of it, you know there is something else to be 
 done." 
 
 " I suppose it would be an expensive volume to 
 bring out ? " Vincent suggested inquiringly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes," the old man said — and now he 
 had relinquished that rhapsodical strain, and had 
 assumed his usual dignified, not to say grandiose, 
 demeanour. " The drawings must be done by the 
 first artists ; they must not fall below the poetic 
 pitch of the old ballads and the still older airs. It 
 would be an expensive book to bring out, no doubt ; 
 but then it would be a noble undertaking ; it would 
 be a sumptuous and valuable work. I should think, 
 now," he went on, reflectively, " that there ought to 
 be a large paper edition — and perhaps five guineas 
 would not be too much to charge — quarto, I mean —
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EN MAEIAGE. 169 
 
 quarto — and five guineas for such a handsome 
 volume mightn't be too much — " 
 
 " Five guineas ? " repeated Vincent. " Well, sir, 
 if you choose to bring out the book by subscrip- 
 tion, I will undertake to get you fifty subscribers 
 for that edition." And then he added recklessly, 
 " A hundred — I will assure you a hundred sub- 
 scribers 1 " 
 
 " No, Mr. Harris," said Maisrie, and she addressed 
 herself in a more direct manner than she had ever 
 yet done to the young man. " It is not to be 
 thought of. My grandfather has work to do that he 
 must finish before entertaining any other schemes. 
 It would be simply wasting time to begin and 
 arrange about another book." 
 
 He felt himself silenced and humbled, he hardly 
 knew why. Had she construed his proffered assist- 
 ance into an offer of charity, and resented it 
 accordingly ? But he could find no trace of offended 
 pride in the refined and gentle features when next 
 he ventured to look at her. She had said her say ; 
 and that was enough. And her grandfather seemed 
 to know she was in the right ; nothing further was 
 mentioned about the new proposal — at least at this
 
 170 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 particular time. Dessert had come; and the 
 business of choosing from among those abundant 
 fruits made a kind of break. 
 
 When at length they were about to depart, there 
 was no confusion about the bill, for Vincent inti- 
 mated to the old man that he had already arranged 
 about that ; and Mr. Bethune seemed satisfied, 
 while Maisrie had passed on in front and did not 
 hear. She w^as very light-hearted and talkative as 
 they walked away home. Her protest against the 
 proposed publication, if it showed a little firmness 
 at the time, had left no pained feeling behind it; 
 she was now as blithe as a bird ; to Vincent sh^ 
 seemed to shed a radiance around her, as if she 
 were some supernatural being, as she passed through 
 those twilight streets. Once she said something in 
 French — in Canadian French — to her grandfather ; 
 and the young man thought that never in all his 
 life had he heard anything so sweet and fascinating 
 as the soft and blurred sound of the r's. He was 
 to hear a little more of that Canadian French on 
 this evening. When they reached their lodgings, 
 the old gentleman again asked his young friend to 
 come in for a little while ; the temptation was too
 
 QU' MON CCEUE EN MARIAGE. 171 
 
 great; he yielded; and followed them up into the 
 dusky small parlour. 
 
 " Now we will have a serious smoke," said George 
 Bethune, with decision, as he took down his long 
 clay pipe. "A cigarette after dinner is a mere 
 frivolity. Maisrie, lass, bring over that box of 
 cigars for Mr. Harris." 
 
 But Mr. Harris firmly declined to smoke, even as 
 he had declined to take any wine : what was he 
 going to sacrifice next as a subtle tribute to 
 the exalted character of this young creature ? 
 Maisrie Bethune seemed hardly to understand, and 
 was a little surprised ; but now she had to go away 
 upstairs, to lay aside her things : so the two men 
 were left alone, to chat about the affairs of the day 
 until her return. 
 
 When she came down again, her grandfather 
 said — 
 
 " Sing something, Maisrie." 
 
 " You know I can't sing, grandfather, but I never 
 refuse you, for it is not of any use," said she, con- 
 tentedly, as she took the violin out of its case. 
 " But Mr. Harris has had enough of Scotch songs 
 this evening. I must try something else. And
 
 172 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 perhaps you may liave heard the air in Canada," she 
 added, addressing the young man from out of the 
 partial darkness. 
 
 And now what was this new enchantment she was 
 about to disclose and practise ? In plain truth, she 
 had very little voice ; but he did not notice that ; 
 it was the curiously naive, and simple, and sincere 
 expression of tone that thrilled through his heart, 
 as she proceeded to recite rather than to sing the 
 well-known " C etait une fregate,'' the violin aiding 
 her with its low and plaintive notes : 
 
 C" etait une frigate 
 {Mon joli coeur de rose) 
 Dans la mer a touche 
 {Joli coBur d' un rosier). 
 
 And here again were those softly slurred r's — not 
 sharply trilled, as in the English fashion — but 
 gentle and half-concealed, as it were. The simple 
 story proceeded — 
 
 Y avait une demoiselle 
 {Man joli coeur de rose) 
 Su' V hord d' la mer jpleurait, 
 (Joli coeur d' un rosier). 
 
 — Dites-moi done, la belle, 
 {Mon joli coeur de rose)
 
 QU' MON CCEUR EN MARIAGE. 173 
 
 Qu' a' vous a tant pleurer ? 
 (Joli coeur d' un rosier). 
 
 — Je pleur'' mon anneau d' or, 
 {Man joli coeur de rose) 
 Dans la mer est tomhe, 
 (Joli coeur 6! un rosier). 
 
 Then he asks the weeping damsel what she would 
 give to any one who would find for her her ring of 
 gold that has fallen into the sea. 
 
 — Je suis trop pauvre fille, 
 {Mon joli coeur de rose), 
 Je ne puis rien donner, 
 (Joli coeur d' un rosier). 
 
 QiC mon coeur en mariage 
 (Mon joli coeur de rose) 
 Pour mon anneau dore 
 (Joli coeur cV un rosier). 
 
 But the young man sitting there in the twilight 
 hardly heard further than that. The phrase ' qiC 
 tnon coeur en mariage ' had something more beauti- 
 ful in it than even the soft sound of the r's as she 
 pronounced them ; it dwelt in his heart with a mys- 
 terious charm ; even as she went on to tell how the 
 bold gallant who dived for the ring of gold was 
 drowned, what he still seemed to hear was " Je ne 
 puis rien donner, qu' mon coeur en mariage ; " and
 
 174 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 when she had finished, aud there was silence, he 
 did not speak; there was a kind of bewilderment 
 in the tones of her voice ; aud he could not offer 
 her commonplace thanks. 
 
 "Now I am going to light the gas," she said, 
 cheerfully, as she laid aside her violin, *' and, grand- 
 father, you can challenge Mr. Harris to a game of 
 chess, or draughts, or dominoes, whichever he likes 
 best, so that I may get to my work, for it cannot 
 always be playtime." 
 
 And so it was that, when the gas had been lit, she 
 returned to her own corner and to her needlework, 
 while her grandfather and Vincent took to domi- 
 noes, the old man having his hot water and whisky 
 brought to him to accompany his second pipe. 
 Dominoes is a mechanical game ; you can play well 
 enough even if there is the refrain of a song ring- 
 ing through your memory ; the young man did not 
 care who won ; and, indeed, he had quite forgotten 
 who was the victor as he shortly thereafter made his 
 way south through the lamp-lit streets, with his 
 lips half-trying to re-pronounce that strangely 
 fascinating phrase, " qu^ mon conur en manage — qu' 
 mon cceiir en manage.'"
 
 QU' MON CGEUE EX MARIAGE. 175 
 
 Well, this was but the beginning of a series of 
 evenings, until it came to be understood that these 
 three dined together each night, subsequently re- 
 turning to old G-eorge Bethune's rooms, for a little 
 music or dominoes before parting. Vincent assumed 
 the management of these modest little merry- 
 makings ; varied the scene of them as much as 
 possible ; and so arranged matters that no financial 
 question came up to ask for Maisrie Bethune's in- 
 terference. It is true, she sometimes seemed 
 inclined to remain at home, so as to leave the two 
 men greater freedom, perhaps; but he would not 
 hear of that ; and his ever increasing intimacy now 
 lent him a franker authority. He was high-handed 
 in his ways : she smiled, and yielded. 
 
 At last there came a proposition that was some- 
 what startling in its boldness. Cunningly he de- 
 ferred bringing it forward until the very end of the 
 evening, for then he knew that the old gentleman 
 would be more inclined to welcome any gay and 
 audacious scheme, without particularly weighing- 
 pros and cons. Accordingly having chosen his 
 opportunity, he informed them that he had been 
 offered the use of a house-boat during the Henley
 
 176 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 week (which was literally true : he had been offered 
 it — for the sum of ^630) and said that he had a great 
 mind to accept if only he could persuade Mr. Bethune 
 and his granddaughter to go down as his guests. 
 
 " I understood you to say," he continued, without 
 giving either of them time to reply, " that you had 
 never seen Henley at the regatta-time. But it is 
 a thing you ought to see — it is the prettiest sight 
 in England — it is perfectly unique — there is nothing 
 else like it in the world. And then they make 
 those house-boats so comfortable; it is simply a 
 small floating home; or, on the other hand, you 
 can sit outside, and be in the very midst of all the 
 fun. There is no scramble — no crowd — no hustling 
 — so far as we are concerned ; and we shall have 
 our own cook and steward. If you do not care to 
 stay the whole week, we could go down on Tuesday 
 afternoon — the races begin on Wednesday — and 
 remain for the illuminations and fireworks on Friday 
 night. It would be awfully good-natured of you 
 both ; of course I could not think of going down 
 and occupying a house-boat by myself. Now what 
 do you say. Miss Bethune ? — I appeal first to you." 
 
 "Yes, what do you say, Maisrie?" the old man
 
 QU* MON COEUR EN MAEIAGE. 177 
 
 said, seeing that his granddaughter hesitated; and 
 then he added with a condescending smile: "A 
 question of dress, is it? I have heard that the 
 costumes at Henley are rather extravagant." 
 
 " Oh, I assure you, no," the young man protested 
 (he would have sworn that the sky was pea-green 
 if that would have helped.) "They are quite 
 simple summer dresses — light in colour, of course — 
 oh, yes — but quite plain and simple : who would 
 take gorgeous gowns to go boating ? " 
 
 "Very well, very well," Mr. Bethune said, with 
 an easy good-nature. " I will answer for both 
 Maisrie and myself: we shall be delighted. Let 
 us know the conditions ; let us know what may be 
 expected of us ; we are old travellers and ready for 
 anything. And don't you be over particular about 
 your preparations, my young friend ; we can rough 
 it ; and indeed I'm afraid of late we've been falling 
 into somewhat too luxurious ways. Not that I am 
 an anchorite; no — God forbid; if the present 
 moment commends itself, I welcome it; I see no 
 wisdom in schooling one's self to bear hardships 
 that may not arise. Yes, I have heard of Henley — 
 the Thames in July — the brilliant company — " 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 " It is awfully kind of you," said Vincent, rising, 
 and preparing to go. " I am sure you won't regret 
 it ; it is the very prettiest thing in England. And 
 to-morrow night I will let you know all the arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 Full of joy was the heart of this young man as 
 he strode away down to Grosvenor Place ; and reck- 
 less and extravagant were the projects crowding 
 in upon his brain as to how he should play the part 
 of host. For one thing, he had the wherewithal ; 
 apart from the allowance given him by his father, 
 an uncle had died leaving him a considerable sum ; 
 while his own personal habits were of the most 
 inexpensive kind ; so that he had plenty of money 
 — too much money — to spend when any whim 
 entered his head. And now, for the first time, old 
 George Bethune and the fair Maisrie were to be 
 openly and ostensibly his guests ; and what was he 
 not going to do in the way of entertaining them ? 
 If only he could make sure that Maisrie's cream- 
 coloured costume would go well with calceolarias? 
 — then with masses of calceolarias that house-boat 
 would be smothered from stem to stern ! 
 
 Nor did the knowledge that Mrs. Ellison would
 
 QU' MON C(EUR EN MAEIAGE. 179 
 
 very likely be at Henley trouble him one bit. He 
 was not ashamed of this recently-formed friendship ; 
 no; rather he was ready to proclaim it to all the 
 world. Supposing Mrs. Ellison, shrewd-eyed as she 
 was, were to come and inspect them, where could 
 she find two more interesting human beings — the 
 old man with his splendid nerve and proud spirit ; 
 amidst all his misfortunes, and in his old age, too, 
 still holding his head erect ; firm and unyielding as 
 his own Craig-Eoyston : — the young girl with her 
 pensive and mysterious beauty, her clear-shining, 
 timid eyes, her maidenly dignity, her patience with 
 the old man, and persuasive and affectionate guid- 
 ance ? Ashamed of this friendship ? — he was more 
 inclined to parade it, to boast of it ; he would have 
 scorned himself otherwise. Of course (as he could 
 not hide from himself) Mrs. Ellison might be in- 
 clined to speculate upon ulterior motives, and might 
 begin to ask what was to come of all this warmth 
 of friendship and constant association. But any 
 future possibilities Vincent put away even from 
 himself; they were all too wild and strange as yet; 
 he was content with the fascination he found in 
 these pleasant little merry-makings, in the more
 
 180 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 intimate companionship of the small parlour, in 
 listening, there or elsewhere and always, to Maisrie 
 Bethune's voice. And perhaps it was only the 
 sweetness of that voice, and the softly murmured 
 r's, that had vibrated through his heart when she 
 sang "Je ne puis rien donner, qv! mon coeur en 
 mariage?" What other charm could lie in so 
 simple a phrase? At all events, he thought he 
 would ask Maisrie to take her violin down to 
 Henley with her, just in case Mrs. Ellison should 
 some evening pay a visit to the White Bose.
 
 ( 18] ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FAIKY LAND. 
 
 It was a soft summer night, cool and fragrant alter 
 the heat of the long July day ; and here, under an 
 awning in the stern of the house-boat White Bose, 
 were George Bethune, his granddaughter Maisrie, 
 and Vincent Harris, looking out upon the magic 
 scene that stretched away from them on each hand 
 up and down the river. All the dusk was on fire 
 with illuminations; the doors and windows of the 
 house-boats sent forth a dull golden glow ; there 
 were coloured lamps, crimson, blue, and orange ; 
 there were strings of Chinese lanterns that scarcely 
 moved in the faint stirring of wind ; and now and 
 again an electric launch would go by — stealthily 
 and silently — with brilliant festoons of fierce white 
 lights causing it to look like some gigantic and 
 amazing insect irradiating the dark. The smooth
 
 182 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 surface of the stream quivered with reflections ; here 
 and there a rowing boat glided along, with a cool 
 plash of oars ; a gondola came into view and slowly 
 vanislied — the white-clad gondolier visionary as a 
 ghost. Everywhere there was a scent of flowers ; 
 and on board this particular house-boat there was 
 but the one prevailing perfume ; for the sole 
 decoration of the saloon consisted of deep crimson 
 roses — a heavy splendour against the white and 
 gold walls. From some neighbouring craft came 
 the tinkle of a banjo ; there was a distant hum of 
 conversation ; the unseen reeds and waterlilies could 
 be imagined to be whispering in the silence. Among 
 the further woods and meadows there was an 
 occasional moving light; no doubt the campers-out 
 were preparing to pitch their tents. 
 
 " Mr. Talkative of Prating-row is hardly wanted 
 here to-night," old George Bethune was saying, 
 unmindful of his own garrulous habits. " Music is 
 better. What is that they are singing over there, 
 Maisrie ? " 
 
 " * The Canadian Boat Song,' grandfather." 
 " Oh, yes, of course : I thought it was familiar. 
 And very pretty it sounds, coming across the water
 
 FAIRY LAND. 183 
 
 — though I do not know whether the air is modern 
 or old. What I am certain of," he continued, raising 
 his voice slightly as he usually did when he was 
 about to discourse, " is that the finest national airs 
 are ancient beyond the imagination of man to 
 conceive. No matter when words may have been 
 tacked on to them ; the original melodies, warlike, 
 or pathetic, or joyous, were the voice of millions of 
 generations that passed away leaving us only these 
 expressions of what they had felt. And if one could 
 only re-translate them ! — if one could put back into 
 speech all the human suffering that found expression 
 in such an air as 'The Last Rose of Summer,' 
 wouldn't that electrify the world? I wonder how 
 many millions of generations must have suffered 
 and wept and remembered ere that piteous cry could 
 have been uttered ; and when I come to Tom Moore's 
 wretched trivialities — " 
 
 "Grandfather," interposed Maisrie Bethune, 
 quickly (for there were certain subjects that angered 
 him beyond endurance) " you must not forget to 
 show Mr. Harris that old play you found — with the 
 Scotch airs, I mean — " 
 
 " Yes, that is curious," said the old man, yielding
 
 184 STAND FAST, CEAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 innocently. "Curious, is it not, that long before 
 either Burns or Scott was born, a Scotchman named 
 Mitchell should have collected over fifty of the 
 best-known Scotch airs, and printed them, with 
 words of his own ; and that he should have chosen 
 for the scene of his play the Borders of the High- 
 lands, so as to contrast the manners and customs of 
 the Highland chieftains and their fierce clansmen 
 with those of the Lowland lairds and the soldiery 
 sent to keep the peace between them. The Highland 
 Fair was produced at Drury Lane about 1730, if I 
 remember aright ; but I cannot gather whether 
 Ewen and Colin, and Alaster and Kenneth, im- 
 pressed the Londoners much. To me the book is 
 valuable because of the airs — though I could wish 
 for the original songs instead of Mitchell's — " 
 
 Here Maisrie, seeing that her grandfather was 
 started on a safer subject, quietly rose ; and at 
 the first pause she said — 
 
 "I see some of them are putting out their lights, 
 and that is a hint for me to be off. I suppose we 
 shall be wakened early enough to-morrow morning 
 by the boats going by. Good-night, Mr. Harris ! 
 Good-night, grandfather ! "
 
 FAIRY LAND. 185 
 
 She shook hands with both, and kissed her grand- 
 father ; then she passed into the glow of that won- 
 derful rose-palace, and made her way along to the 
 ladies' cabin, into which she disappeared. Vincent 
 now lit a cigar — the first during this day. 
 
 But when old George Bethune resumed his mono- 
 logue, it was neither Highland clans nor Lowland 
 songs that concerned him ; it was something that 
 proved to be a good deal more interesting to his 
 patient listener. It was of Maisrie's youth that he 
 spoke, and that in a far more simple and natural way 
 than was his wont. There were no genealogical vaunt- 
 ings, no exalted visions of what she should be wheu 
 she came in for her rights ; thei-e were reminiscences 
 of her earlier years, and of his and her wanderings 
 together ; and tliere was throughout a certain 
 wistfulness in his tone. For once he talked without 
 striving for effect, without trying oratorically to con- 
 vince himself; and it is to be imagined how entirely 
 Vincent was engrossed by this simple recital. Not 
 that there was any consecutive narrative. The 
 young man could only vaguely gather that Maisrie's 
 father had been a railway-engineer; that he had 
 married a young Scotch lady in Baltimore before
 
 186 STAND FAST, ORAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 going out west; that Maisrie had been born in 
 Omaha ; that shortly tliereafter her mother died ; 
 then came the collapse of certain speculations her 
 father had been led into, so that the widower, 
 broken in heart and fortune, soon followed his young 
 wife, leaving their child to the care of her only 
 surviving relative. Whether there were some 
 remains of the shattered fortune, or whether friends 
 subscribed to make up a small fund for them, it 
 appeared that the old man and his granddaughter 
 were not quite penniless; for he took credit to 
 himself that he had spent nearly all their little 
 income, arising from this unspecified source, on 
 Maisrie's education. 
 
 " I wish to have her fitted for any sphere to 
 which she might be called," he went on, in a 
 musing kind of way. "And I hope I have suc- 
 ceeded. She has had the best masters I could 
 afford ; and something of her teaching I have taken 
 upon myself. But, after all, that is not of the 
 greatest importance. She has seen the world — far 
 more than most of her years ; and she has not been 
 spoiled by the contact. I could have wished her, 
 perhaps, to have had more of tlie companionship of
 
 FAIRY LAND. 187 
 
 her own sex ; but that was not often practicable, in 
 our wandering life. However, she has an intuitive 
 sympathy that stands for much ; and if in society — 
 which is not much in our way — she might show 
 herself shy and reserved, well, I, for one, should not 
 complain : that seems to me more to be coveted 
 than confidence and self-assertion. As for outward 
 manner she has never wanted any school-mistress 
 other than her own natural tact and her own refine- 
 ment of feeling ; she is a gentlewoman at heart ; 
 rudeness, coarseness, presumption would be impos- 
 sible to her — " 
 
 " The merest stranger can see that," Vincent 
 ventured to say, in rather a low voice. 
 
 "And thus so far we have come through the 
 world together," the old man continued, in the same 
 meditative mood. " What I have done I have done 
 for the best. Perhaps I may have erred : what 
 could I tell about the uprearing of a young girl ? 
 And it may be that what she is now she is in spite 
 of what I have done for her and with her — who 
 knows such mysteries ? As for the future, perhaps 
 it is better not to look to it. She is alone ; she is 
 sensitive : the world is hard."
 
 188 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 " I know many who would like to be her friends," 
 the young man said, breathlessly. 
 
 " Sometimes," old George Bethune continued, 
 slowly and thoughtfully, " I wonder whether I have 
 done my best. I may have built on false hopes — 
 and taught her to do the same. I see young 
 women better equipped for the battle of the world, 
 if it is to come to that. Perhaps I have been selfish 
 too; perhaps I have avoided looking to the time 
 when she and I must in the natural course of things 
 be separated. We have been always together ; as 
 one, I might say ; the same sunlight has shone on 
 us, we have met the same storms, and not much 
 caring, so long as we were the one with the other. 
 But then — the years that can be granted me now 
 are but few ; and slie has no kinsman to whom she 
 can go, even to glean in the fields and ask for a 
 pitcher of water. And when I think of her — alone 
 — among strangers — my Maisrie — " 
 
 His voice choked — but only for a moment. He 
 suddenly sprang to his feet, and flung his arms 
 in the air, as if he would free himself from this 
 intolerable burden of despondency and doubt. 
 
 " Why," said he, in accents of scornful impatience,
 
 FAIRY LAND. 189 
 
 " have I gone mad, or what pestilent thing is this ! 
 Sursum eorda ! We have faced the worki together, 
 she and I, and no one has ever yet found us down- 
 hearted. ' We've aye been provided for, and sae 
 will we yet ' : I do not mean as regards the common 
 necessities of life — for these are but of small 
 account — but the deeper necessities of sympathy 
 and hope and confidence. Stand fast, Craig- 
 Royston ! — * this rock shall fly, from its firm base 
 as soon as I ! ' Well, my young friend," he con- 
 tinued, quite cheerfully and bravely, " you have 
 seen me in a mood that is not common with me : 
 you will say nothing about it — to her, especially. 
 She puts her trust in me ; and so far, I think, I 
 have not failed her. I have said to her ' Come the 
 three corners of the world in arms, and we shall 
 shock them ' ; ill fortune buffets uselessly against 
 * man's unconquerable mind.' She knows the race 
 she comes of, and the motto of that race : Craig- 
 Royston holds its front! Well, well, now, let me 
 thank you for this beautiful evening; and on her 
 behalf too; she is at the time when the mind 
 should be stored with pleasant memories. Perhaps 
 I have been over-communicative, and made you
 
 190 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 the victim of idle fears ; but there will be no more 
 of that; to-morrow yon shall find me in my Tight 
 mind." 
 
 He held out his hand. The young man did not 
 know what to say — there was so much to say ! He 
 could only make offer of some further little hospi- 
 talities, which Mr. Bethune declined ; then the 
 steward was summoned, to put out the lamps and 
 make other preparations, so that the White Rose 
 should fold its petals together, for the slumber of 
 the night. And presently a profound peace reigned 
 from stem to stern; and the last plashing of the 
 oars outside had died away. 
 
 But it was not to sleep that Vincent devoted the 
 early hours of this night and morning. His mind 
 was tossed this way and that by all kinds of moods 
 and projects, the former piteous and the latter 
 wildly impracticable. He had never before fully 
 realised how curiously solitary was the lot of these 
 two wanderers, how strange was their isolation, how 
 uncertain was their future. And while the old 
 man's courage and bold front provoked his admira- 
 tion, he could not help looking at the other side of 
 the shield : what was to become of her, when her
 
 FAIRY LAND. 191 
 
 only protector was taken from her ? He knew that 
 they were none too well off, those two ; and what 
 would she do when left alone ? But if on the very 
 next day he were to go to Mrs. Ellison and borrow 
 £10,000 from her, w^hich he would have mysteriously 
 conveyed to old George Bethune ? He could repay 
 the money, partly by the sacrifice of his own small 
 fortune, and partly by the assigning over of the 
 paternal allowance; while he could go away to 
 Birmingham, or ShefiBeld, or wherever the place 
 was, and earn his living by becoming Mr. Ogden's 
 private secretary. They need never know from 
 whom this bounty came, and it would render them 
 secure from all the assaults of fortune. Away up 
 there in tiie Black Country he would think of 
 them ; and it would lighten the wearisome toil of 
 the desk if he could imagine that Maisrie Bethune 
 had left the roar and squalor of London, and was 
 perhaps wandering through these very Thames-side 
 meadows, or floating in some white-garnitured boat, 
 under the shade of the willows. There w^ould be 
 rest for the pilgrims at last, after their world- 
 buffetings. And so he lay and dreamed and pitied 
 and planned, until in the window of the small
 
 192 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 state-room there appeared the first blue-gray of the 
 dawn, about which time he finally fell asleep. 
 
 But next morning all was briskness and activity 
 around them — flags flying, coloured awnings being 
 stretched, pale swirls of smoke rising from the stove- 
 pipes, the pic-nickers in the meadows lighting their 
 spirit-lamps for the breakfast tea. The sun was 
 shining brightly, but there was a cool breeze to 
 temper the heat ; the surface of the stream was 
 stirred into silver; the willows and rushes were 
 shivering and swaying; a scent of new-mown hay 
 was in the air. Already there were plenty of craft 
 afloat, on business or on pleasure bent ; early visits 
 being paid, or masses of. flowers, ferns, and palms 
 being brought along for purchasers. Maisrie was 
 the first to be up and out ; then old George Bethune 
 could be heard gaily singing in his state-room, as 
 an accompaniment to his toilet — 
 
 " Hey, Jonnie Cope, are ye waukin yet, 
 
 And are your drums a-beatin yet, 
 
 If ye were waukin, I would wait 
 
 To meet Jonnie Cope in the morning ? " 
 
 Finally when Vincent, with many apologies for 
 being late, made his appearance outside, he found
 
 FAIRY LAXD. 193 
 
 the old man comfortably seated in the stern-sheets, 
 under the pink and white awning, reading a news- 
 paper he had procured somewhere, while Maisrie 
 was on the upper-deck of the house-boat watering 
 the flowers with a can that she had got from the 
 steward. 
 
 And indeed to this young man it appeared a 
 truly wonderful thing that these three, some little 
 while thereafter, in the cool twilight of the saloon, 
 shoukl be seated at breakfast together ; they seemed 
 to form a little family by themselves, isolated and 
 remote from the rest of the world. They forgot the 
 crowded Thames outside and the crowded meadows ; 
 here there was quiet, and a charming companionship ; 
 a band that was playing somewhere was so distant 
 as to be hardly audible. Then the saloon itself was 
 charming; for though the boat was named the 
 WJiite Rose, there was a good deal of pale pink 
 in its decorations : the flutings and cornice were 
 pink where they were not gold, and pink were 
 the muslin curtains drawn round the small windows ; 
 while the profusion of deep crimson roses all round 
 the long room, and the masses of grapes and pine- 
 apples on the breakfast-table made up a picture 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 almost typical of summer, in the height of its 
 luxuriacce and shaded coolness. 
 
 " This seems very nice," said the young host, 
 " even supposing there were no river and no racing. 
 I don't see why a caravan like this shouldn't be put 
 on wheels and taken away through the country. 
 There is an idea for you, Mr. Bethune, when you 
 set out on your pilgrimage through Scotland ; 
 wouldn't a moveable house of this kind be the very 
 thing for Miss Bethune and you ? — you could set it 
 afloat if you wanted to go down a river, or put it 
 on a lorry when you wanted to take the road." 
 
 " I'm afraid all this luxury would be out of place 
 in * Caledonia, stern and wilJ,' " the old man said. 
 " No, no ; these things are for the gay south. When 
 IMaisrie and I seek out the misty solitudes of the 
 north, and the graves of Eenwick and Cargill, it 
 will be on foot ; and if we bring away with us some 
 little trifle to remind us of Logan's streams and 
 Ettrick's sliaws, it will be a simple thing — a blue- 
 bell or a bit of yellow broom. I have been thinking 
 that perhaps this autumn we might begin — " 
 
 " Oh, no, grandfather," Maisrie interposed at once. 
 '' That is impossible. You know^ you have the
 
 FAIRY LAND. 195 
 
 American volume to do first. What a pity it would 
 be," she went on, with an insidious and persuasive 
 gentleness which the young man had seen her adopt 
 before in humouring her grandfather, " if some one 
 else were to bring out a book on the same subject 
 before you. You know no one understands it so 
 thoroughly as you do, grandfather : and with your 
 extraordinary memory you can say exactly what 
 you require ; so that you could send over and get 
 the materials you want without any trouble." 
 
 " Very well, very well," the old man said, curtly. 
 '' But we need not talk business at such a time as 
 this." 
 
 Now there was attached to the White Bose a 
 rowing boat ; and a very elegant rowing-boat it 
 was, too, of varnished pine ; and by and bye Vincent 
 proposed to his two guests that they should get 
 into the stern-sheets, and he would take a short 
 pair of sculls, and pull them up to the bridge, to 
 show them the other house-boats, and the people, 
 and the fun of the fair generally. 
 
 "But wouldn't you take the longer oars," said 
 Maisrie, looking down into the shapely gig, " and 
 let me have one ? "
 
 196 STAND FAST, CEAIG-KOYSTOX ! 
 
 " Oh, would you like that ? " he said, with pleasure 
 in l)is ej'es. " Yes, by all means, if you care to row. 
 It is a light boat though it's long; you won't find 
 it hard pulling. By the way, I hunted about every- 
 where to get a gondola for you, and I couldn't." 
 
 "Bat who told you I had ever tried an oar in 
 a gondola ? " she asked, with a smile. 
 
 "Why, you yourself: was I likely to forget it? " 
 he said reproachfully. 
 
 And oh ! wasn't he a proud young man when he 
 saw this rare and radiant creature — clad all in 
 white she was, save for a bunch of yellow king-cups 
 in her white sailor hat, and a belt of dull gold satin 
 at her waist — when he saw her step down into the 
 boat, and take her place, and put out the stroke oar 
 with her prettily shaped hands. Her grandfather 
 was already in the stern-sheets, in possession of the 
 tiller-ropes. When they moved off into mid-stream, 
 it was very gently, for the river was already 
 beginning to swarm ; and he observed that she 
 pulled as one accustomed to pulling, and with ease ; 
 while, as he was responsible for keeping time, they 
 had nothing to be ashamed of as they slowly moved 
 up the course. Indeed, they were only paddling ;
 
 FAIRY LAND. 107 
 
 sometimes they had to call a bait altogether, when 
 there was a confusion ; and this not unwelcome 
 leisure they devoted to an observation of the various 
 crews — girls in the lightest of summer costumes, 
 young men in violent blazers — or to a covert 
 inspection of the other house-boats, with their 
 parterres and festoons of flowers, their huge Japanese 
 sun-shades and tinted awnings, and the brilliant 
 groups of laughing and chatting visiturs. 
 
 " Oh, 3Ir. Harris, do look — isn't that a pretty 
 one ! " Maisrie exclaimed, in an undertone. 
 
 He glanced in the direction indicated, and there 
 beheld a very handsome house-boat, all of rich-hued 
 mahogany, its chief decoration being flowerboxes in 
 blue tiles filled with marguerites. At the same 
 instant he found that a pair of eyes were fixed on 
 him — eyes that were familiar — and the next moment 
 he knew that Mrs. Ellison, from the upper deck of 
 that mahogany house-boat, was regarding him and 
 his companions with an intense curiosity. But so 
 swift was her scrutiny, and so impassive her face, 
 that ere he could guess at the result of her in- 
 vestigation she had made him a formal little bow 
 and turned aw^ay to talk to her friends. Of course,
 
 198 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTOX I 
 
 with one hand on the oar he raised his liat with the 
 other : but the effect of this sadden recognition was 
 to leave him rather breathless and bewildered. It 
 is true, he had half expected her to be there ; but 
 all the same he was not quite prepared ; and — and 
 he was wondering what she was thinking now. 
 However, the officials were beginning to clear the 
 course for the first race ; so the gig was run in 
 behind one of the tall white poles ; and there the 
 small part}^ of three remained until the rival crews 
 had gone swiftly by, when it was permitted them to 
 return to the Wliite Rose. 
 
 After luncheon he said he would leave his guests 
 to themselves for a little while, as he wished to pay 
 a visit to a friend he had seen on one of the other 
 house-boats ; then he jumped into the gig, made his 
 way along to the Villeggiatura, got on board, went 
 up the steps, and found himself among a crowd of 
 people. Mrs. Ellison, noticing him, discreetly left 
 the group she was with, and came to him, taking 
 him in a measure apart. 
 
 " Wait a moment, Yin," she said, regarding the 
 young man. "If you wish it— if you prefer it— I 
 have seen n.tbino;.''
 
 FAIRY LAND. 199 
 
 "What do you mean, aunt !" he said, with some 
 haughty inclination to anger. " Wliy should I seek 
 any concealment? I want you to come along that 
 I may introduce to you two friends of mine." 
 
 Instinctively she seemed to draw back a little 
 — almost as if she were afraid. 
 
 " Oh, no, thanks, Yin. No, thanks. Please leave 
 me out." 
 
 " Why ? " he demanded. 
 
 The pretty young widow was embarrassed and 
 troubled ; for she knew the fiery nature of young 
 men ; and did not want to provoke any quarrel by 
 an unguarded expression. 
 
 •'Well — it is simply this, you know — they are 
 strangers — I mean — I suppose that neither yonr 
 father nor any of the family have met them — 
 they seemed somehow like strangers — unusual 
 looking — and — and I shouldn't like to be the first. 
 Leave me out, there's a good boy ! " 
 
 " Why ? " he demanded again. 
 
 So she was driven to confession. 
 
 " W^ell, look here, Vin ; I may be wrong ; but 
 aren't these new friends somehow connected with 
 your being so much away fromjiome of late — with
 
 200 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 your being in those lodgings? Was it there you 
 made their acquaintance ? " 
 
 " If you want to know, I saw tliem first at Lord 
 Musselburgh's," said he with an amazing audacity ; 
 for although the statement was literally true, it was 
 entirely misleading. 
 
 And apparently it staggered the pleasant-eyed 
 young widow. 
 
 '• Oh, at Lord 31usselburgh's ? " said she, with a 
 distinct (but cautions) change of manner. "01), 
 really. Lord JMusselburgh's. But why should you 
 want to introduce me to them, Vin?" 
 
 " Because," said he, " they have never met any 
 member of our family : and as you are the most 
 goodnatured and the prettiest, I want to produce a 
 favourable impression at the outset." 
 
 She laughed and was not displeased. 
 
 " There are some other qualities that seem to 
 characterise our family — impudence for one," she 
 observed. " Well, come along, then, Vin : where 
 arc your friends ? " 
 
 " In a house-boat down there — the TMiite Bose" 
 
 " The White Bose ? I noticed it yesterday — very 
 pretty — whose is it ? "
 
 FAIRY LAND. 201 
 
 " 31iue for the present ; I rented it for the week," 
 he replied. 
 
 " AA^ho are the other members of your party ? " 
 
 " Xone — only those two." 
 
 But here she paused at the top of the steps ; 
 and said iii an undertone — 
 
 " Eeally, Yin, this is too much ! You, a young 
 man entertaining those two — and no lady 
 chaperon — " 
 
 He turned and looked at her, with straiglit eyes. 
 
 " Oh, it's quite right," she said, hastily. " It's 
 quite right, of course — but — but so much eii 
 evidence — so prominent — people might talk — " 
 
 "I never try to hinder people from talking," said 
 lie, with a certain scorn. " And if they busy 
 themselves'with my small affairs, they are welcome 
 to ring their discoveries from the tops of the 
 steeples. I did not ask nnybody's permission when 
 I invited two friends of mine, who had never been 
 to Henley before, to be my guests during the 
 regatta-week." 
 
 " Of course not, of course not," she said, gently ; 
 ^' but you are doing it in such a marked way — " 
 
 " Come, come, aunt," said he, "it isn't like you
 
 202 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON : 
 
 to niggle about nothing. You are not a prude ; 
 you liave too much goodnature — and too much 
 common sense. And I don't want you to go on 
 board the WJiite Bose with any kind of prejudice in 
 your mind." 
 
 They could not get away just then, however, 
 for the course was being cleared for the next race ; 
 so they lingered there until they saw, far away on 
 the open river, two small objects like water-insects, 
 with slender quick-moving legs, coming rapidly 
 along. The dull murmur of the crowd became 
 a roar as the boats drew nearer. Then the needle- 
 like craft shot by, almost neck and neck ; and loud 
 were the shouts that cheered this one or that ; 
 while straining eyes followed them along to the 
 goal. The sudden wave of enthusiasm almost 
 immediately subsided ; the surface of the river was 
 again being crowded by the boats that had been 
 confined behind the white poles ; and now Vincent 
 got his fair companion down into the gig and, 
 with some little difficulty and delay, rowed her 
 along to the White Rose. 
 
 He was very anxious as lie conducted her on 
 board ; but he affected a splendid carelessness.
 
 FAIRY LAXD. 203 
 
 " ]\[r. Betliiine," said he, " let me introduce you 
 to my aunt, Mrs. Ellison — Miss Bethune, Mrs. 
 Ellison : now come away inside, and we'll get some 
 tea or strawberries or something — racing isn't 
 everything at Henley — " 
 
 " It isn't anything at all, as far as I have seen," 
 said Mrs. Ellison, goodhumouredly, as she followed 
 her nephew into the saloon. " Well, this is very 
 pretty — very pretty indeed — one of the simplest 
 and prettiest — so cool-looking. I hear this is your 
 first visit to Henley," she continued addressing the 
 old man, when they had taken their seats : 
 Vincent meanwhile, bustling about to get wine and 
 biscuits and fruit, for the steward had gone 
 ashore. 
 
 "It is," said he, "and I am glad that my graud- 
 I laughter has seen it in such favourable circum- 
 stances. Although she has travelled much, I doubt 
 whether she has ever seen anything more charming, 
 more perfect in its kind. We missed the Student's 
 Serenade at Naples last year ; but that would have 
 been entirely different, no doubt; this is a vast 
 water picnic, among English meadows, at the 
 fairest time of the year, and Avith such a brilliancy
 
 204 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 of colour tliat the eye is delighted iu every 
 direction." 
 
 He was self-possessed enough (whatever their 
 eagerly solicitous young host may have been); and 
 he went on, in a somewhat lofty and sententious 
 fashion, to describe certain of the great public 
 festivals and spectacles he had witnessed in various 
 parts of the world. Mrs. Ellison was apparently 
 listening, as she ate a strawberry or two ; but in 
 reality she was covertly observing the young girl 
 (who sate somewhat apart) and taking note of every 
 line and lineament of her features, and even every 
 detail of her dress. Vincent brought Mr. Bethuue 
 ■a tumbler of claret with a lump of ice in it ; he 
 drained a deep draught ; and resumed his story 
 of pageants. Maisrie was silent, her eyes averted : 
 the young man asked himself whether the beautiful 
 profile, the fine nostrils, the sensitive mouth, would 
 not plead for favour, even though she did not speak. 
 It seemed a thousand pities that her grandfather 
 should be in this garrulous mood. Why did not 
 Mrs. Ellison turn to the girl direct ? — he felt sure 
 there would be an instant sympathy between those 
 two, if only Maisrie would appeal with her wonder-
 
 FAIRY LAXD. 205 
 
 fill, true eyes. What on earth did anyone want to 
 know about the resplendent appearance of the 
 White Cuirassiers of the Prussian G-uard, as they 
 rode into Prague a week or two after the battle of 
 Kouiggrjitz, with their dusty and swarthy faces and 
 their copper-hued breastplates lit up by the wester- 
 ing sun ? 
 
 But, on the other hand, Mrs. Ellison was not 
 displeased by this one-sided conversation ; quite 
 the contrary ; she wanted to know all about these 
 strange people with whom her nephew had taken 
 up ; and the more the old man talked the better 
 she resented the intervention of a race which 
 ]\[aster Yin dragged them all away to see ; and 
 as soon as it was over — they were now seated in the 
 stern-sheets of the boat — she turned to ]\[r. Bethune 
 with a question. 
 
 " I understand," slie said, in a casual sort of way, 
 " that you know Lord Musselburgh ? "' 
 
 At this Maisrie looked up startled. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said her grandfather, in his serene 
 and stately fashion. " Ob, yes. A most promising 
 young man — a young man who will make his mark. 
 Perhaps he is riding too many hobbies ; and yet it
 
 200 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 might not be prudent to interfere and advise; a 
 young man iu his position is apt to be hot- 
 headed — " 
 
 " 3Irs, Ellison," interposed Maisrie, " we are only 
 slightly acquainted with Lord Musselburgh — very 
 slightly indeed. The fact is, he was kind enough 
 to interest himself in a book, that my grandfather 
 hopes to bring out shortly." 
 
 " Ob, really," said the pretty widow with a most 
 charming smile (perhaps she was glad of this 
 opportunity of talking to the young lady herself) 
 "and may I ask — pardon my curiosity — what the 
 subject is." 
 
 "It is a collection of poems written by Scotch- 
 men living in America and Canada," answered 
 Maisrie, quite simply. " My grandfather made the 
 acquaintance of several of them, and heard of 
 others ; and he thought that a volume of extracts, 
 with a few short biographical notices, might be 
 interesting to the Scotch people over here. For it is 
 about Scotland that they mostly write, I think, and 
 of their recollections — perhaps that is only natural." 
 
 " And when may we expect it ? " was the next 
 question.
 
 FAIRY LAND. 207 
 
 Maisrie turned to her grandfather. 
 
 " Oh, well," the old man made answer, with an 
 air of magnificent unconcern, " that is difficult to 
 say. The book is not of such great imjiortance ; it 
 may have to stand aside for a time. For one thing, 
 I should most likely have to return to the other 
 side to collect materials ; Avhereas, while we are 
 here in the old country, there are so many oppor- 
 tunities for research in other and perhaps more 
 valuable directions, that it would bo a thousand 
 pities to neglect them. For example, now," he 
 continued, seeing that Mrs. Ellison listened meekly, 
 "I have undertaken to write for my friend Car- 
 michael of the Edinburgh Chronicle a series of 
 papers on a branch of our own family that attained 
 to great distinction in the Western Isles during the 
 reign of the Scotch Jameses — the learned Beatons 
 of Islay and Mull." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Ellison, affecting much 
 interest. 
 
 " Yes," resumed old George Bethune, with much 
 dignified complacency, " it will be a singular history 
 if ever I find time to trace it out. The whole of 
 that family seem to have been regarded with a kind
 
 208 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 of superstitious reverence ; all their sayings were 
 preserved ; and even now, when a proverb is quoted 
 in the Western Isles, they add, ' as the sage of 
 Mull said' or 'as the sage of Islay said.' For 
 iillamh, I may inform yon, Mrs. — Mrs. — " 
 
 "Ellison," she said, kindly. 
 
 " Mrs. Ellison — I beg your pardon — my hearing 
 is not what it was. TJUamh, in the Gaelic tongue 
 means at once a Doctor of Medicine and a wise 
 man — " 
 
 " They distinguish between the terms in Eng- 
 lish," put in Vincent. 
 
 '•' — and doctors most of them appear to have 
 been," continued the old man, quite oblivious of 
 interruption : indeed he seemed to be reading some- 
 thing out of his memory, ratlier than addressing 
 particularly any one of his audience. " A certain 
 Hector Beaton, indeed, got a considerable grant in 
 Islay for having cured one of the Jameses when all 
 the Edinburgh Faculty had failed ; and I myself 
 have seen in the island of lona the tombstone of 
 the last of the Mull doctors of the name, who 
 died so late as 1657. Eic jacet Johannes Betomis 
 Madenontm familim Medicus : no doubt there must
 
 FAIRY LAND. 209 
 
 be some mention of those Beatons in the archives 
 of the various families of Maclean in Mull. Then I 
 daresay I could get a drawing of the tombstone — 
 though I can remember the inscription well enough. 
 The coat of arms, too, has the three mascles of the 
 Betlmues — " 
 
 " Of the Bethunes ? — then you are of the same 
 family ? " said Mrs. Ellison, this time with a little 
 genuine curiosity. 
 
 But the interruption had the effect of rousing 
 him from his historical reverie. 
 
 '• I would rather say," he observed, with some 
 stiffness, " that they were originally of our family. 
 The Norman de Bethune would easily be changed 
 into the Scotch Beaton." 
 
 "Then there was Mary Beaton, of the Queen's 
 Maries," Mrs. Ellison suggested. 
 
 But at this the old man frowned : he did not 
 wish any fictitious characters brought into these 
 authentic annals. 
 
 " An idle tale — a popular rhyme," said he- 
 " There is no real foundation for the story of Mary 
 Hamilton that ever I could get hold of. Of course 
 there may have been a Mary Beaton at Qaeen 
 
 VOL. I. !•
 
 210 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 Mary's court — what more likely ? — and IMary 
 Beaton would come trippingly to the popular 
 tongue in conjunction with Mary Seton; but that 
 is all. It is with real people, and important people, 
 I shall have to deal when I get to the Advocates 
 Library in Edinburgh." 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly — of course — I quite under- 
 stand," she said, humbly. And then she rose. 
 " Well, I must be getting back to my friends, Vin, 
 or they will think I have slipped over the side and 
 been drowned," 
 
 "But won't you stay to dinner, aunt?" said he. 
 " I wish you would ! " 
 
 "Oh, no, thanks, I really couldn't," she answered 
 with a sudden earnestness that became more intelli- 
 gible to him afterwards. "I couldn't run away 
 from my hosts like that." Then she turned to Mr. 
 Bethune and his granddaughter. " By the way," 
 she said, '• Lord Musselburgh is coming down 
 to-morrow — merely for the day — and he will be 
 on board the Villeggiatura. Would you all of 
 you like to come along and have a look over 
 the boat; or shall I send him to pay you a visit 
 here ? "
 
 FAIRY LAND. 211 
 
 It was 3[aisrie who replied — with perfect self- 
 composure. 
 
 " Our acquaintance with Lord Musselburgh is so 
 very slight, Mrs. Ellison," said she, " that it would 
 hardly be worth while making either proposal. I 
 doubt whether he would even remember our names." 
 Whereupon the young widow bade good-bye to 
 Maisrie with a pretty little smile; the old gentle- 
 man bowed to her with much dignity ; and then she 
 took her seat in the stern of the gig, while her 
 nephew put out the sculls. When they were well 
 out of hearing, Mrs. Ellison said — with a curious 
 look in her eyes of perplexity and half-frightened 
 amusement — 
 
 " Vin, who is that old man ? " 
 " Well, you saw, aunt," he made answer. 
 "Oh, yes, I saw. I saw. But I am none the 
 wiser. I could not make him out at all. Some- 
 times I thought he was a self-conceited old donkey, 
 who was simply gabbling at random ; and again he 
 seemed really to believe what he was saying, about 
 his connection with those Beatons and de Bethunes 
 and the Scotch kings. But there's something 
 behind it all, Yin ; I tell you there is ; and I can't
 
 212 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTOX ! 
 
 make it out. There's something mysterious about 
 him — " 
 
 *' There's nothing mysterious at all ! " he ex- 
 claimed, impatiently. 
 
 " But who is he, then ? " she persisted. " What 
 is he ? Where is his family ? Where are his rela- 
 tives ? " 
 
 " I don't think he has any, if it comes to that, 
 except his granddaughter," her nephew replied. 
 
 " What does he do, then ? How does he exist ? " 
 
 He was beginning to resent this cross-examina- 
 tion ; but yet he said civilly enough — 
 
 " I am not in the habit of making inquiries about 
 the income of everyone I meet ; but I understand 
 they have some small sum of money between them 
 — not much : and then he has published books; and 
 he writes for the Edinlurgli WeeJdy Chronicle. Is 
 that enough ? " 
 
 " Where does he live ? " 
 
 " In Ma J fair." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it ! " she said, and she 
 even ventured to laugh in a half-embarrassed way. 
 " I believe he dwells in a cave — he is a troglodyte 
 — he comes out at dusk — and wanders about with a
 
 FAIRY LAND. 213 
 
 lantern aud a pickaxe. Eeally, when I looked at 
 his shaggy eyebrows, and his piercing eyes, and his 
 venerable beard, I thought he must be some Druid 
 come to life again — or perhaps one of those 
 mythical island-doctors surviving from the four- 
 teenth century — " 
 
 " At all events, aunt," Vincent said, with an 
 ominous distinctness of tone, " his age and what he 
 has come tlirough might procure for him a little 
 respect. It isn't like you to jeer and jibe simply 
 because a man is old — " 
 
 " My dear boy, I am not jibing and jeering ! " 
 she protested. " I tell you I am puzzled. There's 
 something about that old man I can't make out." 
 
 " How could you expect to understand anybody — 
 in half-an-hour's talk at Henley Eegatta! " he said, 
 indignantly. " I gave you the opportunity of get- 
 ting to know them both, if only you had come along 
 this evening, and spent some time with them. I 
 am not aware that either of them wants to conceal 
 anything. They are not ashamed of their poverty. 
 Perhaps the old man talks too much : you, at least, 
 pretended to find what he said interesting. And as 
 for the girl, no doubt she was silent : she isn't used
 
 214 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTOX ! 
 
 to be stared at and examined by critical and un- 
 sympathetic eyes." 
 
 The young widow elevated her brows : here was 
 something unexpected ! 
 
 " Vin Harris," she said, solemnly, "are you 
 quarrelling with me because — because I am not 
 glamoured ? Is it as bad as that ? If so, then I 
 am extremely glad I did not accept your invitation 
 for this evening. I am compromised far enough 
 already — " 
 
 '' What do you mean by compromised ? " he 
 demanded. 
 
 But just at this moment she had to call to him 
 to look out, for they had almost arrived at the 
 Villeggiatura. He glanced over his shoulder, pulled 
 a stroke with his right oar, shipped the other, and 
 then, having gripped the stern of the house-boat, 
 he affixed the painter of the gig, and, letting her 
 back fall into the stream, returned to the thwart he 
 liad occupied. 
 
 " I wish to ask you, aunt," said he, in a suffi- 
 ciently stiff and formal tone, " how you consider you 
 have been compromised through meeting any friends 
 of mine."
 
 FAIRY LAND. 215 
 
 " Ob," said she, half inclined to laugh, yet a little 
 bit afraid too, " don't ask me. It isn't as serious as 
 that — I mean, I didn't think you would take it 
 seriously. No doubt it's all right, Yin, your choosing 
 your own friends ; and I have nothing to say against 
 them ; only I would rather you left me out, if you 
 don't mind. You see, I don't know your intentions — " 
 
 " Supposing I have none ? " he demanded again. 
 
 " Well, no one can say what may happen," the 
 young widow persisted ; " and I should not like to 
 be appealed to — Now, now, Yin, don't be so pas- 
 sionate ! — have I said a single word against your 
 new friends ? Not one. I only confess that I'm a 
 selfish and comfort-loving woman, and I don't wish 
 to be drawn into any family strife. There may be 
 no family strife? Yery well; so much the better. 
 But my having no further acquaintance with Mr. 
 Bethuue and Miss Bethune — my having no know- 
 ledge of them whatever, for it practically comes to 
 that — cannot injure them ; and leaves me free from 
 responsibility. Now don't quarrel with me, Yin ; 
 for I will not allow it ; I have been talking common 
 sense to you — but I suppose that is what no man of 
 twenty-five understands."
 
 216 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 He hauled up the gig to the stern of the house- 
 boat, as an intimation that she could step on board 
 when she chose. 
 
 " There," said she, as she gave him her hand in 
 parting, " I see I have offended you ; but what I 
 have said has been for your sake as well as mine." 
 
 Well, he was vexed, disappointed, and a little 
 inclined to be angry. But all that darkness fled 
 from his spirit — he forgot all about Mrs. Ellison's 
 friendly monitions — he had no care for any specula- 
 tions as to the future — when he was back again in 
 the WJiite Bose, sitting by Maisrie Bethune, he and 
 she together looking abroad on the gay crowd, and 
 the boats, and the trembling willows, and the slow- 
 moving skies now growing warmer with the after- 
 noon sun. Then, when the last of the races was 
 over, came dinner ; and as twilight stole over the 
 river and the meadows, the illuminations began, the 
 rows of coloured lanterns showing one after the 
 other, like so many fire-flies in the dusk. Of course 
 they were sitting outside now — on this placid sum- 
 mer night — in fairyland.
 
 ( 217 ) 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 
 
 But sometliing far more strange and wonderful 
 happened to liim the next morning ; and that was 
 his first tete-a-tete conversation with Maisrie Bethune. 
 It was quite unesj)ected, and even unsought ; nay, 
 when he stepped outside and found that she was 
 alone on deck, he would have shrank back, had that 
 been possible, rather than break in upon her soli- 
 tude. For even here at Henley, during the regatta- 
 time, which may be regarded as the High Festival 
 of Joyance and Flirtation, there was no thought of 
 pretty and insidious love-making in this young- 
 man's head or heart. There was something mys- 
 teriously remote and reserved about this isolated 
 young creature, whose very beauty was of a strangely 
 pensive and wistful kind. Even the gentle self- 
 possession and the wisdom beyond her years she
 
 218 STAND FAST, CRAIG -EOYSTOX ! 
 
 showed at times seemed to him a pathetic sort of 
 thing; he had a fancy that during her childhood 
 she never had had the chance of playing with young 
 children. 
 
 But it was too late to retreat ; and indeed she 
 welcomed hiui with a pleasant smile as she bade 
 him good morning. It was he who was embarrassed. 
 He talked to her about the common things sur- 
 rounding them, while anxiously casting about for 
 something better fitting such a rare opportunity. 
 And at last he said — 
 
 " Yes, I am sure your grandfather and I get on 
 very well. And I have been wondering whether, 
 when you and he make that pilgrimage through 
 Scotland, he would let me accompany you." 
 
 In her beautiful and child-like eyes there was 
 a swift flash of joy that made his heart leap, so 
 direct and outspoken an expression it was of her 
 gladness to think of such a thing; but instantly 
 she had altered her look, and a faint flush of colour 
 had overspread her face — the pale wild-rose had 
 grown pink. 
 
 " Your way of travelling and ours are so different," 
 i?he said, gently.
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 219 
 
 " Oil, but," said lie, with eagerness, " you don't 
 understand how the idea of a loug wandering on 
 foot has fascinated me : why, that would be the 
 whole charm of it ! You don't know me at all yet. 
 You think I care for the kind of thing that prevails 
 here — that 1 can't get on without pine-apples and 
 chairs with gilt backs ? Why — but I don't want 
 to talk about myself at all : if you would let me 
 come with you on that pilgrimage you would find 
 out a little. And what an opportunity it will be, 
 to go with your grandfather : history, poetry, and 
 romance all brought together: Scotland will be a 
 wonderful country for you before you have done 
 with it. And — and — you see — I have gone on 
 pedestrian excursions before — I have a pretty broad 
 back — I can carry things. You might engage me 
 as porter ; for even when you send your luggage 
 on, there will be a few odds and ends to fill a knap- 
 sack with ; and I can tramp like any gaberlunzie." 
 She smiled a little, and then said more seriousl)' — - 
 "I am glad to have the chance of speakiog to 
 you about that scheme of my grandfather's ; because, 
 ]Mr. Harris, you must try to dissuade him from it as 
 much as possible."
 
 220 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 "Dissuade liim?" 
 
 " Yes," said she, quietly. *' You must have seen 
 how completely my grandfather lives in a world 
 of imagination, and how one thing captivates him 
 after another, especially if it is connected with 
 Scotland and Scottish song. And I have no doubt 
 he would write a beautiful book about such a. tour 
 as that; for who knows more about all the places 
 and the legends and ballads ? It would be a plea- 
 sure for me too — I have dreamed of it many a time. 
 But it is impossible for the present ; and it will be 
 a kindness to me, Mr. Harris, if you will not en- 
 courage him in it. For the fact is," she continued, 
 with a little embarrassment, "my grandfather has 
 undertaken to write something else — and — and he 
 is under personal obligations about it — and he must 
 not be allowed to forget them." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I quite understand," Vincent said. 
 "I have heard of that volume about the Scotch 
 poets in America. Well, you know what your 
 grandfather says, that he would have to go to the 
 other side to collect materials; while, being here 
 in this country just now, he might as well take you 
 to those scenes and places that would make up
 
 CLAIRE FOXTAIXE. 221 
 
 another book, to be written subsequently. How- 
 ever, I have no doubt you are rij^ht. The possi- 
 bility of my going along with you two on such an 
 excursion has been a wonderful thing fur me to 
 speculate on; but whatever you wish, that is enough. 
 I am against the Scotch trip now, so far as I have 
 any right to speak." 
 
 She was looking at him enquiringly, and yet 
 diffidently, as if she were asking herself how far 
 she might confide in him. 
 
 " Perhaps you have not noticed it, Mr. Harris," 
 she added, still regarding him, "but my grand- 
 father has a strange faculty for making himself 
 believe things. I daresay, if he only planned the 
 American book, he could convince himself tliat he 
 had written it, and so got rid of those — those obli- 
 gations. Well, you will help me, will you not? — 
 for I am anxious to see it done ; and he may say 
 1 am too young and too ignorant to give advice — 
 as I am — " 
 
 "Why," said Vincent, almost indignantly, "do 
 you think I cannot see how you guide and lead 
 him always, and with such a tact and wisdom and 
 gentleness as I never beheld anywhere ! "
 
 222 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 Maisrie fluslied downright red this time ; but she 
 sought to conceal her confusion by saying quickly — 
 
 "Then again you must not misunderstand me, 
 Mr. Harris ; you must not think I am saying any- 
 thing against my grandfather; I am only telling 
 you of one little peculiarity he has. Saying any- 
 thing against him!— I think I could not well do 
 that ; for he has been goodness itself to me since 
 ever I can remember anytliing. There is nothing 
 he would not sacrifice for my sake ; sometimes it is 
 almost painful to me to see an old man, who should 
 be the petted one and the cared for, so ready to 
 give up his own wants and wishes, to please a mere 
 girl who is worthy of no consideration whatever. 
 And consideration is not the word for what I have 
 received from my grandfather always and always; 
 and if I could forget all he has done for me and 
 been to me — if I could be so ungrateful as to forget 
 all those years of affection and sympathy and con- 
 stant kindness — " 
 
 She never finished the sentence. He fancied her 
 <?yes were moist as she turned her head away ; any- 
 how he dared not break in upon the silence ; these 
 confidences had been sacred things. And indeed
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 223 
 
 there was no opportunity for further speech on this 
 subject; for presently old George Bethune made 
 his appearance, radiant, buoyant, high-spirited, with 
 a sonorous stanza from Tannahill to greet the 
 awakening of the new day. 
 
 Now no sooner had Lord Musselburgh arrived on 
 board the Villeggiatura on the same morning than 
 Mrs. Ellison went to him and told him all her story, 
 which very much surprised him, and also concerned 
 him not a little, for it seemed as though he was in 
 a measure responsible for what had happened to 
 Vincent. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Ellison," said he, " I can assure 
 you of one thing : it is quite true that your nephew 
 was in the room when Mr. Bethune and his grand- 
 daughter called on me, but I am positively certain 
 that there was no introduction and that he did not 
 speak a single word to them there. How he got to 
 know them I cannot imagine; nor how they could 
 have become so intimate that ho should ask them 
 to be his guests down here at Henley. And his sole 
 guests, you say ? — Yes, I admit, it looks queer. I 
 hope to goodness there is no kind of entanglement — " 
 
 "Oh," said Mrs. Ellison, in sudden alarm ; "don't
 
 224 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTOX ! 
 
 imagine anything from what I have told you I 
 There may be nothing in it : he as good as declared 
 there was nothing in it : and he is so fiery and 
 sensitive — on this one point — why, that is the most 
 serious feature of it all ! He looks you straight in 
 the face, and dares you to suspect anything. But 
 really — really — to have those two companions — and 
 no others — on a house-boat at Henley : it is a 
 challenge to the world ! " 
 
 " Looks rather like it," said Lord Musselburgh ; 
 and then he added : " Of course you know that Vin 
 has always been a Quixotic kind of chap — doing 
 impossible things if he thought them right— and all 
 that sort of thing. But it's very awkward just at 
 this moment. There must be some powerful attrac- 
 tion, of one kind or another, to have made him 
 give himself over so completely to these new 
 friends ; for he has not been near me of late ; and 
 yet here I have in my pocket a letter that concerns 
 him very closely, if only he would pay attention to 
 it. I don't mind telling you, Mrs. Ellison, for you 
 are discretion itself — " 
 
 " I think you may trust me, Lord Musselburgh," 
 she saiJ, with a smile.
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 225 
 
 "Yeiy ^vell, then," said he, lowering his voice. 
 " I hear that there will be a vacancy at Mendover 
 — certainly at the next General Election, but more 
 probably much sooner : old Gosford has become 
 such a confirmed hypochondriac that he will hardly 
 leave his room ; and his constituents are grumbling 
 as much as they dare — for he has got money, you 
 know, and the public park he gave them wants 
 further laying out, and statues, and things. Very 
 well ; now I have in my pocket a darkly discreet 
 letter from the Committee of the Mendover Liberal 
 Association asking me to go down and deliver an 
 address at their next meeting, and hinting that if I 
 could bring with me an acceptable candidate — " 
 
 He paused, and for a second a cynical but 
 perfectly good-humoured laugh appeared in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Ellison," said he, " I am deeply 
 grateful. I thought you might express some 
 astonishment at my being consulted in so important 
 an affair. But the fact is, I, also, am expected to 
 do something for that park; and perhaps this invi- 
 tation was only a little hint to remind me of my 
 local responsibilities. However, that is liow the 
 
 VOL. 1. Q
 
 226 STAND FAST, CEAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 case stands ; and I had thought of taking your 
 nephew down with me — " 
 
 " A vacancy at Mendover," said Mrs. Ellison, in 
 awe-struck tones, "where you are simply every- 
 body ! Oh, Lord Musselburgh, what a chance for 
 Yin ! " 
 
 " And then, you know," continued the young peer, 
 "I want to bring him out as a Tory Democrat, for 
 that is a fine, bewildering sort of thing, that pro- 
 vokes curiosity : you call yourself a Tory and can 
 be as revolutionary as you like, so that you capture 
 votes all round. Why, I've got Yin's programme 
 all ready for him in my pocket : a graduated 
 income-tax, free education, leasehold enfranchise- 
 ment, compulsory insurance, anything and every- 
 thing you like except disestablishment — disestab- 
 lishment won't work at IMendover. Now, you see, 
 Mrs. Ellison, if I could get Yin properly coached, 
 he has all the natural fervour that unhappily I lack ; 
 and after I had made my few little jokes which 
 they kindly take for a speech, I could produce him 
 and say 'Here, now, is the young politician of the 
 new generation ; here's your coming man ; this is 
 the kind of member the next quarter-of-a-century
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 227 
 
 must return to the House of Commons.' But if 
 there is any Delilah in the way — " 
 
 JMrs. Ellison crimsoned. 
 
 "No, Lord Musselburgh," she saitl. "No. You 
 need have no fear." 
 
 However, she seemed perturbed — perhaps in her 
 anxiety that her nephew should not miss this great 
 opportunity. Presently she said — 
 
 *' Tell me, what do you know of this old man ? — I 
 can't make him out at all." 
 
 " I ? I know nothing, or next to nothing," he said, 
 lightly, as he gazed abroad on the busy liver. " I 
 remember Vin asking me the same question — I 
 suppose out of curiosity about the girl. My reeol- 
 lectioQ of her is that she was extremely pretty — 
 refined-looking — lady-like, in fact — " 
 
 " She is, indeed," said jNIrs. Ellison, with decision, 
 " and that is what makes the situation all the more 
 dangerous — assuming, of course, that there is any 
 ground for one's natural suspicions. No, Vin is the 
 last man in tlie world to be captured by any vulgar 
 adventuress; he is at once too fastidious and too 
 proud. But then, you see, he is well known to be 
 the son of a very wealthy man ; and there might be
 
 228 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 a design — " She hesitated for a moment : then she 
 said, half impatiently : "Lord Musselburgh, tell me 
 how you came to know this old man : he could not 
 have sprung out of the earth all of a sudden." 
 
 He told her, as briefly as might be. 
 
 " That was all ? " she repeated, eyeing him 
 shrewdly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You are sure ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? That is really all I 
 know of the old gentleman: isn't that what you 
 asked ? " 
 
 "But was that the whole of the interview, if I 
 may be so impertinent as to inquire ? " she de- 
 manded again. 
 
 " Oh, yes, it was," Lord Musselburgh said; and 
 then he added, indifferently: "Of course I sub- 
 scribed something towards the publication of a book 
 he mentioned — he had written to me before about 
 the project." 
 
 " Oh, there was money ? " she said. 
 
 A slight tinge on Lord Musselburgli's forehead 
 showed that he had not intended to make this 
 admission.
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 229 
 
 " Oh, uothiog — a trifle — it is usual when a book 
 is coming out by subscription." 
 
 Mrs. Ellison sate silent for a little while : there 
 was plenty going on on the river to interest her 
 companion. Then by-and-bye she said slowly — 
 
 " Well, I had intended to keep clear of these new 
 friends of Vin's. I thought it would be more 
 prudent for me to know nothing. It is true, I was 
 introduced to them yesterday afternoon ; but I 
 wished that to be all ; I thought I would rather 
 withdraw ; and let things take their course. But 
 I don't know that that would be honest and right. 
 Vin is a young man with many fine and noble 
 qualities — perhaps a little too fine and noble for the 
 ordinary work-a-day world ; and I think he ought to 
 liave the benefit of my sadly-earned experience and 
 callous nature — " 
 
 Lord Musselburgh laughed : he did not take her 
 too seriously. 
 
 " He is my own boy," she continued, " T would do 
 anything for him. And I'm not going to let him 
 be entrapped — if that is what all this means. I 
 know he is very angry with me just now ; probably 
 he would not speak to me if he were to meet me
 
 230 STAXD FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON \ 
 
 this minute ; but that won't prevent my speaking- 
 to him. I'm going to put my pride in my pocket, 
 Lord Musselburgh. I'm going to find out something 
 more about this picturesque old gentleman, who 
 talks so grandly about the Beatons, and the de 
 Bethunes, and their coats of arms, and who accepts 
 a £10 note — or perhaps only a £5 note ? — on account 
 of a book that is not yet published. And if there is 
 any sort of scheme on foot for getting hold of the 
 son of so notoriously wealthy a man as Harland 
 •Harris, then I want to make a little inquiry. 
 Yesterday Yin indignantly complained that I was 
 prejudiced, and that I had no right to form any 
 opinion about those friends of his because I would 
 not go along and dine with him and them last 
 evening. Yery well, I will go to him, and make up 
 the quarrel, and ask him to repeat the invitation for 
 this evening — " 
 
 " For this evening ? " repeated Lord Musselburgh, 
 in tones of deep disappointment. " You don't mean 
 you are going to leave all your friends here and go 
 and dine somewhere else ? " 
 
 '• If I can procure an invitation. It is my duty. 
 I'm not going to let my boy be made a fool of, even
 
 CLAIRE FOXTAIXE. 231 
 
 if I have to sacrifice a little of my own personal 
 comfort." 
 
 " Yes, that's all very well," said Lord Musselburgh, 
 gloomily, " but I did not bargain for your going 
 away like that on the only evening I shall be here. 
 If I had known — " 
 
 He was on the point of saying he would not have 
 come down : but that would have been too bold 
 an avowal. He suddenly hit upon another happy 
 suggestion. 
 
 " You said that Vin had only those two on board 
 with him ? Well, if he asks you to dine with him, 
 won't he ask me too ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ellison laughed, and shook her head. 
 
 "No, no. Another stranger would put tbem on 
 their guard. I must manage my Private Investiga- 
 tion all by myself. But you need not look so 
 disconsolate. There are some really nice people 
 here, as you'll find out by-and-bye ; and the Drexel 
 girls are driving over from Great Marlow — they are 
 Americans, so you will be properly appreciated : 
 they will try their best to make you happy." 
 
 " How late shall you stay on board Yin's boat ? " 
 he asked, heedless of these smaller attractions.
 
 232 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 " I shall be back here by teu — perhaps by half- 
 past nine." 
 
 " Is that a promise ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is — ten at latest." 
 
 "Otherwise I should go back to town in the 
 afternoon," said he, frankly. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " the young widow exclaimed 
 (but she did not seem resentful). " Well, now, I 
 must go along to the White Bose, and make my 
 peace, and angle for an invitation; and then, if I 
 get it, I must concoct my excuses for Mrs. Lawrence. 
 Anyhow I shall be on board the Villeggiatura all the 
 afternoon ; and then I hope to have the pleasure of 
 introducing you to Louie Drexel — that is the young 
 lady I have designed for Vin, when he has shaken 
 off those adventurers and come to his right mind." 
 
 Almost immediately thereafter Mrs. Ellison had 
 secured a boatman to pull her along to the Wliite 
 Bose; and as she drew near, she perceived that 
 Maisrie Bethune was alone in the stern of the house- 
 boat, standing upright on the steering-thwart, and 
 with both hands holding a pair of field-glasses to 
 her eyes — an unconscious attitude that showed the 
 graceful figure of the girl to the best advantage.
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 233 
 
 The observant visitor could also remark that her 
 costume was simplicity itself: a blouse of white 
 soft stuff, with wide sleeves and tight cuffs ; a belt 
 of white silk round her waist ; and a skirt of blue 
 serge. She wore no head-covering ; and her neatly- 
 braided hair caught several soft-shining hues from 
 the sun — not a wonder and glory of hair, perhaps, 
 (as Yin Harris would have deemed it) but very 
 attractiA-e all the same to the feminine eye, and 
 somehow suggestive of girlhood, and making for 
 sympathy. And then, when a " Good-morning ! " 
 brought round a startled face and a proud, clear 
 look that was nothing abashed or ashamed, Mrs. 
 Ellison's conscience smote her that she had made 
 use of the word adventuress, and bade her wait 
 and see. 
 
 "Good-mormng ! " Maisrie Bethune answered; 
 and there came a touch of colour to the line and 
 sensitive features as she knew that the young 
 matron was regarding her with a continuation of 
 the curiosity of the preceding afternoon. 
 
 "Have the gentlemen deserted you? Are you 
 all alone ? " Mrs. Ellison said. 
 
 "Oh, no; they are inside," was the response.
 
 234 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 " Would you like to see Mr. Harris ? Shall I call 
 him ? " 
 
 " If you would be so kind ! " — and therewith 
 Maisrie disappeared into the saloon, and did not 
 return. 
 
 It was Vincent that came out — with terrible 
 things written on his brow. 
 
 "Don't look at me like that, Vincent Harris!" 
 Mrs. Ellison exclaimed, half-laughing and half- 
 annoyed. " What have I done ? It is you who are 
 so hasty and inconsiderate. But I've come to make 
 it all up with you ; and to ask you to ask me to 
 dine with you to-night." 
 
 "No, thank you, aunt," he said, civilly enough. 
 " You are very kind ; but the fact is you would 
 come with a prejudice ; and so you'd better not 
 come at all." 
 
 Well, she had to be circumspect ; for not only 
 was her own boatman behind her, but there was a 
 possibility of some stray sentence penetrating into 
 the saloon. 
 
 " Come," she said, in a sort of undertone, to him ; 
 and she had a pretty, coaxing, goodnatured way 
 with her when she chose, " I am not going to allow
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 2oI> 
 
 you to quarrel with me, Vin; and I bring a flag of 
 truce; and honourable proposals. I saw j^ou were 
 offended with me last evening ; and perhaps I was 
 a little selfish in refusing your invitation; but you 
 see I confess the error of my ways, for here I am 
 begging you to ask me again." 
 
 *' Oh, if you put it that way, aunt — " 
 
 " Oh, no, I don't put it that way ! " she said. 
 " Not if yon speak like that. Come, be amiable ! 
 I've just been talking to Lord Musselburgh — " 
 
 "And, of course, you crammed all your wild 
 ideas into his head ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Whoever heard of poor me having ideas ! " she 
 said, with a winning good-humour to which he 
 could not but yield. "It isn't for me to have ideas ; 
 but I may have prejudices ; and I'm going to leave 
 them all on board the Villeggiatura this evening, if 
 you say yes." 
 
 " Of course I say yes — when you aie like yourself, 
 aunt," he responded at once, "and I shall be very 
 glad indeed. And what is more," said he, in a still 
 lower tone, " when you have really met — certain 
 people — and when you have to confess that you 
 have been unjust, I don't mean to triumph over
 
 236 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 you. Not a bit. If you have done any injustice, 
 you know yourself liow to make it up — to them. 
 Now that's all right and settled : and I'm really 
 glad you're coming. Seven o'clock ; and the dress 
 you've got on." 
 
 " Oh, but, mind you," said she, " you don't seem 
 to appreciate my goodness in humbling myself so 
 as to pacify your honourable worship. Do you know 
 what I shall have to do besides ? How am I to 
 explain to the Lawrences my running away from 
 their party ? And here is Lord Musselburgh come 
 down; and the Drexel girls are expected; so you 
 •see what I am doing for you, Yin — " 
 
 "You're always good to me, aunt — when you choose 
 to be reasonable and exercise your common-sense — " 
 
 " Common-sense ! " she retorted, with a malicious 
 laugh in her eyes. Then she said, quite seriously : 
 " Very well, Vin : seven o'clock : that is an excellent 
 hour, leaving us all a nice long evening ; for I must 
 get back to the Villeggiatura early." 
 
 And so that was all well and amicably settled. 
 3vit Master Vin, though young in years, had not 
 tumbled about the world for nothing ; and a little 
 a-eflection convinced him that his pretty aunt's
 
 CLAIRE FOXTAIXE. 237 
 
 change of purpose — her abandonment of her resolve 
 to remain discreetly aloof — had not been prompted 
 solely, if at all, by her wish to have that little 
 misunderstanding between him and her removed. 
 That could have been done at any time; a few 
 words of apology and appeal, and there an end. 
 This humble seeking for an invitation which she 
 had definitely refused the day before meant more 
 than that ; it meant that she had resolved to find 
 out something further about these strangers. Very 
 well, then, she was welcome : at the same time he 
 was resolved to receive this second visit not as he 
 had received the first. He was no longer anxious 
 about the impression these two friends of his might 
 produce on this the first of his relatives to meet 
 them. She might form any opinion she chose : he 
 was indifferent. Nay, he would stand by them on 
 every point ; and justify them ; and defy criticism. 
 If he had dared he would have gone to Maisrie and 
 said : " My aunt is coming to dinner to-night ; but 
 I will not allow you to submit yourself to any ordeal 
 of inspection. You shall dress as you like, as care- 
 lessly or as neatly as you like ; you shall wear your 
 hair hanging down your back or braided up, without
 
 238 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 any thought of her; you shall be as silent as you 
 wish — and leave her, if she chooses, to call you 
 •stupid, or shy, or sulky, or anything else." And 
 he Avould have gone to the old man and said : 
 " Talk as much and as long as ever you have a 
 mind; you cannot babble o' green fields too dis- 
 cursively for me ; I, at all events, am sufficiently 
 interested in your claims of proud lineage, in your 
 enthusiasm about Scotland and Scottish song, in 
 your reminiscences of many lands. Be as self- 
 complacent and pompous as you please ; fear 
 nothing ; fear criticism least of all." And perhaps, 
 in like manner, he would have addressed Mrs. 
 Ellison herself: "My dear aunt, it is not they who 
 are on their trial, it is you. It is you who have 
 to show whether you have the courage of honest 
 judgment, or are the mere slave of social custom 
 ^nd forms." For perhaps he, too, had imbibed a 
 little of the " Stand Fast, Craig Fioyston ! " spirit ? 
 Bravado may be catching — especially where an 
 innocent and interesting young creature of eighteen 
 •or so is in danger of being exposed to some deadly 
 approach. 
 
 Of course this carelessly defiant attitude did not
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 239 
 
 prevent his being secretly pleased when, as seven 
 o'clock drew near, lie perceived that Maisrie Bethime 
 had arranged herself in an extremely 'pretty, if 
 clearly inexpensive, costume ; and also he was in no 
 wise chagrined to find that ^Irs. Ellison, on her 
 arrival, appeared to be in a very amiable mood. 
 There was no need to ask her " come ye in peace 
 here, or come ye in war ? " : her manner was most 
 bland ; in particular she was adroitly flattering 
 and fascinating towards old George Bethune, who 
 accepted these little attentions from the charming 
 widow with a grave and consequential dignity. The 
 young host refused to sit at the head of the table ; 
 he had the places arranged two and two— Mrs. 
 Ellison, of course, as the greater stranger and the 
 elder woman, on his right, and Maisrie opposite to 
 him. During the general dinner-talk, which was 
 mostly about the crowd, and the races, and the 
 dresses, Mrs. Ellison casually informed her nephew 
 that she had that afternoon won two bets, and also 
 discovered that she and Lord Musselburgh were to 
 meet at the same house in Scotland the coming 
 autumn : perhaps this was the explanation of her 
 extreme and obvious good humour.
 
 240 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTOX ! 
 
 And if any deep and sinister design underlay tliis 
 excessive amiability on her part, it was successfully 
 concealed ; meantime all was pleasantness and 
 peace ; and the old gentleman, encouraged by her 
 artless confidences, spoke more freely and frankly 
 about the circumstances of himself and his grand- 
 daughter than was his wont. 
 
 "I see some of the papers are indignant about 
 what they call the vulgar display of wealth at Hen- 
 ley regatta," the young widow was saying, in a very 
 unconcerned and easy fashion; "but I wish those 
 gentlemen would remember that there is such a 
 thing as imputation of motives, and that imputing 
 motives is a common resource of envy. If I have a 
 house-boat, and try to make it as pretty as ever I can, 
 both inside and out, why should that be considered 
 display of wealth — display of any sort ? I like nice 
 things and comfortable things around me ; I don't 
 mind confessing it ; I am a selfish woman — " 
 
 " There are some who know better, aunt," her 
 nephew interposed. 
 
 " Young gentleman," said she, promptly, " your 
 evidence isn't worth anything, for you have expecta- 
 tion". And I am not to be flattered. I admit that
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 241 
 
 I am a selfish and comfort-loving woman ; and I 
 like to see pretty things around me, and an abun- 
 dance of them ; and if I can only have these at the 
 cost of being charged with ostentation and display, 
 very well, I will pay the price. If it comes to that, 
 I never saw anything beautiful or desirable in 
 poverty. Poverty is not beautiful ; never was, never 
 is, never will be beautiful ; it is base and squalid 
 and sordid; it demeans men's minds, and stunts 
 their bodies. I dare say poverty is an excellent 
 discipline — for the rich, if they would only submit 
 to a six months' dose of it now and again ; but it is 
 not a discipline at all for the poor ; it is a curse ; it 
 is the most cruel and baleful thing in the world, 
 destroying self-respect, destroying hope, ambition, 
 everything. Oh, I know the heresy I'm talking. 
 There's Master Vin's papa : he is never done preach- 
 ing the divine attributes of poverty ; and I have no 
 doubt there are a good many others who would be 
 content to fall down and worship la homie deesse de 
 la pauvrete — on £30,000 a year ! " 
 
 Master Vin sniggered : he was aware that this 
 was not the only direction in which the principles of 
 the philosopber of Grosvenor Place were somewhat 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 -STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 inconsistent with his practice. However, it was 
 old George Bethune who now spoke — as one having 
 experience. 
 
 " I quite agree," said he to Mrs. Ellison. " I can 
 conceive of nothing more demoralising to the nature 
 of man or woman than harsh and hopeless poverty, 
 a slavery from which there is no prospect of escape. 
 My granddaughter and I have known what it is to be 
 poor ; we know it now ; but in our case every day 
 brings possibilities — we breathe a wider air, know- 
 ing that at any moment news may come. Then 
 fancy plays her part ; and imagination can brighten 
 the next day for us, if the present be dark enough. 
 Hopeless poverty — that is the terrible thing ; the 
 weary toil leading to nothing ; perhaps the unfor- 
 tunate wretch sinking deeper and deeper into the 
 Slough of Despond. Maisrie and I have met with 
 trials ; but we have borne them with a stout heart ; 
 and perhaps we have been cheered — at least I know 
 I have been — by some distant prospect of the 
 Bonnie Mill-dams o' Balloray, and a happier future 
 for us both." 
 
 " Balloray ? " she repeated, inquiringly. 
 
 "Balloray, in Fife. Perhaps you have never
 
 CL.iIRE FONTAINE. 243 
 
 beard of the Balloray law-suit, and I will not inflict 
 any history of it upon you at present," he continued, 
 with lofty complaisance. " I was merely saying 
 that poverty is not so hard to bear when there are 
 brighter possibilities always before you. If, in our 
 case, we are barred in law by the Statute of Limi- 
 tations, there is no Statute of Limitations in the 
 chapter of accidents. And some remarkable in- 
 stances have occurred. I remember one in which a 
 father, two sons, and a daughter were all drowned 
 at once by the sinking of a ship, and the property 
 went bodily over to the younger branch of the 
 family, who had been penniless for years. It is 
 the unexpected that happens, according to the 
 saying ; and so we move from day to day towards 
 fresh possibilities ; and who can tell what morning 
 may not bring us a summons to make straight for 
 the Kingdom of Fife ? Not for myself do I care ; I 
 am too old now ; it is for my granddaughter here ; 
 and I should pass happily away and contented if I 
 could leave her in sole and undisputed possession of 
 the ancient lands of the Bethuues of Balloray." 
 
 What pang was this that shot through Vincent's 
 heart ? He suddenly saw Maisrie removed from
 
 244 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 him — a great heiress — unapproachable — guarded by 
 this old man with his unconquerable pride of 
 lineage and birth. She might not forget old 
 friends; but he? The Harris family had plenty 
 of money ; but they had nothing to add to the 
 fesse between three mascles, or, and the otter's 
 head ; nor had any of their ancestors, so far as was 
 known, accompanied Margaret of Scotland on her 
 marriage with the Danphin of France, or taken 
 arms along with the great Maximilien de Bethune, 
 due de Sully. In imagination the young man saw 
 himself a lonely pedestrian in Fifeshire, regarding 
 from a distance a vast baronial building set amid 
 black Scotch firs and lighter larches, and not daring 
 even to draw near the great gate with the otter's head 
 n stone over the archway. He saw the horses being 
 brought round to the front entrance — a beautiful 
 white Arab and a^sturdy cob : the hall door opens — 
 the heiress of Balloray descends the wide stone steps 
 — she is assisted to mount, and pats that beautiful 
 white creature on the neck. And will she presently 
 come cantering by — her long hair flowing to the 
 winds, as fair as it used to be in the olden days 
 when the shifting lights and mists of Hyde Park
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 245 
 
 gave it ever- varying hues? Can he steal aside 
 somewhere ? — he has no desire to claim recogni- 
 tion ! She has forgotten the time when, in the 
 humble lodgings she used to sing " Je ne puis rien 
 donner, qu' mon eoeur en manage" ; she has wide 
 domains now; and wears an ancient historic name. 
 And so she goes along the white highway, and 
 under the swaying boughs of the beeches, until she 
 is lost in a confusion of green and gold . . . 
 
 "And in the meantime," said Mrs. Ellison (Vincent 
 started : had that bewildering and far-reaching 
 vision been revealed to him all in one brief, breath- 
 less second?) "in the meantime, Mr. Betbune, you 
 must derive a great deal of comfort and solace from 
 your literary labours." 
 
 " My literary labours," said the old man, slowly 
 and absently, " I am sorry to say, are mostly per- 
 functory and mechanical. They occupy attention 
 and pass the time, however ; and that is much. 
 Perhaps I have written one or two small things 
 which may survive me for a year or two ; but if that 
 should be so, it will be owing, not to any merit of 
 their own, but to the patriotism of my countrymen. 
 Nay, I have much to be thankful for,", he continued,
 
 246 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 in the same resigned fashion. " I have been spared 
 much. If I had been a famous author in my younger 
 days, I shoiild now be reading the things I had 
 written then with the knowledge that I was their 
 only reader. I should be thinking of my contem- 
 poraries and saying 'At one time people spoke of 
 me as now they are speaking of you.' It is a kind 
 of sad thing for a man to outlive his fame ; for the 
 public is a fickle-minded creature, and must have 
 new distractions; but now I cannot complain of 
 being forgotten, for I never did anything deserving 
 of being remembered." 
 
 " Grrandfather," said Maisrie, " surely it is unfair 
 of you to talk like that ! Think of the many friends 
 you have made through your writings." 
 
 " Scotch friends, Maisrie, Scotch friends," he said. 
 "I admit that. The Scotch are not among the 
 forgetful ones of the earth. If you want to be made 
 much of," he said, turning to Mrs. Ellison, " if you 
 want to be regarded with a constant afiection and 
 gratitude, and to have your writings remembered 
 and repeated, by the lasses at the kirn, by the 
 ploughman in the field, by gentle and simple alike, 
 then you must contrive to be born in Scotland.
 
 CLAIEE FONTAINE. 247 
 
 The Scottish heart beats warm, and is constant. If 
 there is a bit of heather or a blue-bell placed on my 
 grave, it will be by the hand of a kindly Scot." 
 
 Dinner over, they went out and sate in the cool 
 twilight and had coffee, while the steward was 
 clearing away within. Mrs. Ellison, faithful to her 
 promise to Lord Musselburgh, said she had not long 
 to stay ; but her nephew, having a certain scheme 
 in his mind, would not let her go just yet ; and by 
 and bye, when the saloon had been lit up, he asked 
 her, in a casual kind of fashion, whether before she 
 went she would not like to hear Miss Bethune sing 
 something. 
 
 " Oh, I should like it of all things ! " she replied 
 instantly, with a reckless disregard of truth. 
 
 Maisrie glanced at her grandfather. 
 
 " Yes, certainly — why not ? " said he. 
 
 " Then," said their young host, " I propose we go 
 in to the saloon again ; it will be quieter." For 
 there was still a plash of oars on the river, and an 
 echoing call of voices in the meadows beyond. 
 
 When they had returned into the saloon, Maisrie 
 took up her violin ; and Mrs. Ellison bravely 
 endeavoured to assume an air of interested ex-
 
 248 STAND FAST, CKAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 pectancy. The fact was she disliked the whole 
 
 proceeding ; here would be some mere exhibition of 
 
 a schoolgirl's showy accomplishments ; she would 
 
 have to say nice things ; and she hated telling lies 
 
 — when nothing was to be gained. Maisrie made 
 
 some little apology ; but said that perhaps Mrs. 
 
 Ellison had not heard the Claire Fontaine, which is 
 
 a favourite song of the Canadians. Then she drew 
 
 her bow across the strings. 
 
 Vincent need not have been so anxious. Hardly 
 
 had Maisrie begun with 
 
 "A la claire fontaine, 
 M'en allant promener — " 
 
 than Mrs. Ellison's air of forced attention instantly 
 
 vanished ; she seemed surprised ; she listened in a 
 
 wondering kind of way to the low, clear tones of 
 
 the girl's voice that were so curiously sincere and 
 
 penetrating and simple. Not a schoolgirl's showing 
 
 off, this; but a kind of speech, that reached the 
 
 heart. 
 
 " Sur la plus haute hranche 
 Le rossignol chantait. 
 Chante, rossignol, chante, 
 Toi qui as le coeur gai. 
 
 Lui ya longtemps que je faime, 
 
 Jamais je ne foublierai."
 
 CLAIRE FONTAINE. 249 
 
 Did she notice the soft dwelling on the rs, Vincent 
 asked himself; and had she ever heard anything so 
 strangely fascinating? Then the simple pathos of 
 the story — if there was any story — 
 
 " Chante, rossignoJ, chante, 
 Toi qui as le cceur gai ; 
 Tu as le cceur a rire, 
 Moije I'ai-t-a pleurer. 
 
 Tu as le cceur a rire, 
 Moi je Vai-t-a pleurer : 
 J^ai perdu ma maitresse 
 Sans Vavoir merite. 
 
 Lui ya longtemps que je t^q,ime. 
 
 Jamais je ne t'oublierai." 
 
 "That is enough," said Maisrie, with a smile, 
 and she laid the violin in her lap. " It is too long. 
 You never hear it sung altogether in Canada — 
 only a verse here and there — or perhaps merely 
 the refrain — " 
 
 " But is there more ? — oh, please sing the rest of 
 it — it is delightful — so quaint, and simple, and 
 charming ! " Mrs. Ellison exclaimed ; and Master 
 Vin was a proud and glad young man ; he knew 
 that Maisrie had all unaided struck home. 
 
 The girl took up her violin again, and resumed :
 
 250 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 " tPai perdu ma maitresse 
 Sans Tavoir merite. 
 Pour un bouquet de roses 
 Quej'e lui refusal. 
 
 Pour un bouquet de roses 
 Que j'e lui refusal. 
 Je voudrais que la rose 
 Put encore au rosier. 
 
 Je voudrais que la rose 
 Put encore au rosier, 
 Et moi et ma maitresse 
 Pans les mem's amities. 
 
 Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime, 
 
 Jamais je ne foublierai ! " 
 
 Well, when the singing, if it could be called 
 singing, was over, Mrs. Ellison made the usual little 
 compliments, which nobody minded one way or the 
 other. But presently she had to leave ; and while 
 she was being rowed up the river by her nephew she 
 was silent. When they reached the Villeggiatura 
 (the people were all outside, amid the confused light 
 of the lanterns in the dusk) she said to him, in a low 
 voice, as she bade him good-bye — 
 
 "Vin, let me whisper something to you — a 
 confession. Claire Fontaine has done for me. That 
 girl is a good girl. She is all right, anyway."^
 
 ( 251 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 AN ALARM. 
 
 On a certain still, clear, moonlight night a dog- 
 cart containing two young men was being driven 
 away from the little town of Mendover, out into the 
 wide, white, silent country. The driver was Lord 
 Musselburgh, and he seemed in high spirits, talking 
 to his companion almost continuously, while he 
 kept the stout little cob going at a rattling pace. 
 
 " I am more pleased than I can tell you," he was 
 saying, " Quite a triumph ! Why, you took to it 
 as a duck takes to water. Of course there's some- 
 thino- in having a responsive audience; and you 
 can always get a noble band of patriots to cheer 
 your proposal for a progressive income-tax when 
 not one in ten of them has any income-tax to pay. 
 I'm afraid they weren't quite so enthusiastic about 
 your scheme of compulsory insurance ; indeed they
 
 252 
 
 STAND FAST, CRAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 seemed a little disappointed and offended ; the 
 Champion of the Proletariat was playing it a little 
 low down on them ; but a heavily increasing 
 income-tax — oh, yes, that was splendid ! — they saw 
 the Kothschilds caught at last, and had visions of a 
 land in which there shall be no more poor-rates or 
 police-rates, perhaps not even water-rates or gas- 
 rates. But it was your confounded coolness that 
 surprised me — no beating about the bush — walking 
 straight into it — and without preparation, too — " 
 
 " I knew what I had to say," Vincent interposed, 
 with a becoming modesty, "and it seemed simple 
 enough to say it." 
 
 " Yes, and so it is — when you have acquired the 
 knack of forgetting yourself," said the young noble- 
 man, oracularly. "And that appears to have come 
 naturally to you, my boy. However, this is why I 
 am so particularly pleased with your successful 
 first appearance," Lord Musselburgh proceeded, as 
 the dog-cart went bowling along the silent, white 
 highway, between the black hedges. " I am about 
 to unfold to you a great idea, Vin — perhaps pre- 
 maturely, but you will be discreet. The project is 
 mine ; but I want help to carry it through ; you
 
 AN ALARM. 253 
 
 and I must work together; and years and years 
 hence we shill be recognised as the Great Twin 
 Brethren, who saved the falling fortunes of 
 England." 
 
 Was he in jest or earnest? Vincent, knowing 
 his friend's sub-cynical habit of speech, listened 
 without interposing a word. 
 
 " We shall earn for ourselves a deathless renown, 
 at very little cost — to us ; it's the other people who 
 will have to pay, and we shall have all the glory. 
 Now what I propose is briefly this : I propose to 
 give all those good folk who profess a warm regard 
 for their native country a chance of showing what 
 their patriotism is worth. I don't want them to 
 fight ; there isn't any fighting going on at present 
 to speak of; and in any case the rich old 
 merchants, and maiden ladies, and portly bishops, 
 and ponderous judges— well, they'd make an awk- 
 ward squad to drill ; but I mean to give them an 
 opportunity of testifying to their affection for the 
 land of their birth ; and you, my blazing young 
 Tory-Democrat, if you can speak as freely as you 
 spoke to-night, you must carry the fiery torch north, 
 south, east, and west — till you've secured West-
 
 254 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 minster Abbey for both of us, or at least a tablet 
 in St. Paul's. Then look what a subject for your 
 eloquence you have — the guarding of England from 
 any possible combination of her foes — the island- 
 citadel made impregnable — 'compass'd by the in- 
 violate sea ' — defence not defiance — you understand 
 the kind of thing. But really, Vin, you know, there 
 is going to be an awful stramash, as my old nurse 
 used to say, in Europe before the century is out ; 
 and England's safety will lie in her being strong 
 enoufyh to remain aloof. And how ? Why, by 
 trebling her present navy." 
 
 " Trebling her present navy ! " Vincent repeated, 
 in a vague sort of way. 
 
 " Yes," Musselburgh went on, coolly. " And it 
 can easily be done, without involving a single 
 farthing of taxation. I want the people of this 
 country to show what they can do voluntarily; I 
 want them to make a tremendous effort to render 
 Great Britain secure from attack for a century at 
 least; and the manner of doing it is to form a 
 National Patriotic Fund, to which everybody, man 
 and woman, merchant and apprentice, millionaire 
 and club-waiter, can subscribe, according to their
 
 AN ALAEM. 255 
 
 means and the genuineness of their patriotism. 
 Here is a chance for everybody ; here is a test of 
 all those professions of love of country. Why, it 
 would become a point of honour, with the very 
 meanest, if the nation were thoroughly aroused, and 
 if a splendid example were set in high places. 
 The ; Queen, now — who is more directly interested 
 in the safety of the country than she is ? — why 
 should she not head the list with £100,000 ? I 
 would call the fund the Queen's Fund; and I 
 should not wonder if we were to get two or three 
 maniacs — very useful maniacs — patriots they would 
 have been called in other days — to cut their 
 possessions in half, and hand the one half bodily 
 over to Her Majesty : that would be something 
 like an example ! " 
 
 " But is it all a wild speculation, Musselburgh ? " 
 asked Vincent, who was puzzled. " Or do you 
 mean it seriously ? " 
 
 " Ha and hum," said the young peer, significantly. 
 " That depends. I should want to sound some of 
 the dukes about it. And first of all I must have 
 some sort of scheme ready, to get rid of obvious 
 objections. They might say * Oh, you want to
 
 256 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 treble the Navy ? Then in twenty years you'll find 
 yourself with a crowd of obsolete ships, and all your 
 money gone.' That is not what I mean at all. I 
 mean the formation of an immense voluntary 
 national fund, which will keep the Navy at double 
 or treble its present strength, not by a sudden 
 multiplication of ships, but by gradually adding 
 vessels of the newest construction, as improvements 
 are invented. An immense fund, doubtless ; for of 
 course there would be maintenance ; but what 
 couldn't a rich country like England do if she 
 chose ? And that's what I'm coming to, with 
 regard to you, my young Demosthenes. It would 
 be infinitely better — it would be safer — it would be 
 building on securer foundations — if the demand for 
 such a movement came from tlie country itself. If 
 tlie Queen, and the dukes, and the millionaires were 
 to subscribe as if in answer to an ajDpeal from the 
 people, the enthusiasm would be tremendous ; it 
 would be such a thing as never happened before in 
 the history of England: talk about noble ladies 
 flinging their jewels into the public treasury ? — ■ 
 ■why, every school-girl would bring out her hoarded 
 pocket-money, with her lips white with patriotic
 
 AX ALARM. 257 
 
 fervour. England can subscribe on all possible 
 occasions for the benefit of other countries : for once 
 let her subscribe on her own behalf! " Lord Mussel- 
 burgh went on, though it might have been hard to 
 say what half-mocking bravado intermingled with 
 his apparent enthusiasm. " And that's where you 
 would come in. You would be the emissary, the 
 apostle, the bearer of the fiery torch. You've done 
 very well with the grocers' assistants of Mendover ; 
 but fancy having to wake up England, Canada, 
 Australia, and the Cape to the necessity for making 
 the IMother Country once for all invulnerable, in the 
 interests of peace and universal freedom. Why, 
 I could become eloquent about it myself. They 
 cheered your graduated income-tax ; but what 
 would they say to this ? Fancy what could be 
 done if every man in this country were to pledge 
 himself to give a year's income ! We don't ask 
 him to go out and have his legs or his arms 
 amputated, or his head shot off; we only ask for a 
 year's income — to secure peace and prosperity for 
 himself and his children and his children's children. 
 If there is any patriotism in the country at all, who 
 would say no? And then when there is an iron 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 belt round England, and when there is a floating 
 mass of iron that could be sent at any moment to 
 form a wall round any of her dependencies, then, 
 I suppose, there might be a splendid assemblage in 
 Westminster Hall ; and you and I — as the insti- 
 gators of this great national movement — but my 
 imagination stops shoi t : I don't know what they 
 will mate of us." 
 
 He himself had to stop short, for he was passing 
 through a wide gateway into the grounds surround- 
 ing the Bungalow, and the carriage-drive was 
 almost invisible under the overshadowing trees. 
 Presently they had drawn up in front of the long, 
 low, rambling house; and here were lit windows, 
 and an open door, and servants. The two yoimg 
 men descended, and entered, and went into the 
 billiard-room, where cigars and soda-water and 
 similar things had been set out in readiness for 
 them ; and here Lord Musselburgh, lying back in 
 a cane-bottomed chair, proceeded to talk in a less 
 random fashion about this project of his, until he 
 had almost persuaded his companion that there was 
 something reasonable and practicable in it, if only 
 it could be properly initiated.
 
 AN ALARM. 259 
 
 "Anyhow," said lie to bis guest, as they were both 
 retiring for the night, "it is some big movement 
 like that, Vin, my lad, that you want to get 
 identified with, if your aim is to make a position in 
 English public life. You have advantages. You 
 can speak well. You will have plenty of money. 
 You are beginning with the proletariat — that is 
 laying a foundation of popularity. You have youth 
 
 and heaps of strength on your side. Then is 
 
 known to be your friend. What more ? " 
 
 What more, indeed ? The future seemed to smile 
 on this young man; and if his dreams, waking or 
 sleeping, had been of great achievements and public 
 triumphs, who could have wondered? But curiously 
 enough, just at this time, the forecasts that came to 
 him in moments of quiet were apt to be sombre. 
 He dreaded he hardly knew what. And these 
 vague forebodings of the day took a more definite 
 shape in the far-reaching visions of the night ; for 
 again and again there recurred to him that 
 phantasmal picture that bad suddenly startled him 
 when old George Bethune was talking of the 
 possibilities that might be lying in store for his 
 granddaughter. Vin Harris had never seen
 
 260 STAND FAST, CEAIG-KOYSTON 1 
 
 Balloray — did not know where it was, in fact ; but 
 night after night he beheld with a strange dis- 
 tinctness the big baronial building, and the black 
 firs, and the gate with the otter's head in stone. 
 Had that been all ! But as regularly there came 
 forth the tall young girl with the long-flowing 
 hair ; and he was a poor wanderer, cowering away 
 from recognition; and again she would ride by, 
 along the white road, until she was lost in the 
 dappled sun and shadow under the beeches. Then 
 there was a song somewhere — perhaps it was the 
 trembling leaves that whispered the refrain — 
 but it was all about separation, and loneliness, and 
 the sadness of remembrance and of loss. Chante, 
 rossignol, chante, toi qui as le coeur gai — this was 
 what he heard, or seemed to hear, away in that 
 distant laud, where he had been left alone . . J'ai 
 2yerd'U ma maitresse, sans Vavoir merite . . It was 
 strange that no birds sang in these woods, that no 
 lark hung quivering in those skies : all was silence 
 — save for that continuous murmur of farewell. . . . 
 Liii ya longtemi^s queje faime, jamais je ne t'oiiUierai. 
 And sometimes the murmur rose into a larger 
 monotone ; the big grey building, and the black
 
 AN ALARM. 2G1 
 
 firs, and the highway, and the beeches, disappeared ; 
 and behold in their stead was a great breadth of 
 sea, desolate, and rain-swept, and void of all sign of 
 life. And was this the barrier now between him 
 and her? Not merely that she was the heiress of 
 Balloray, under the guardianship of her implacably 
 proud old grandfather, but that she was away in 
 some far land, beyond those never-ending myriad 
 voices of the deep ? . . Pour un bouquet de roses, que 
 je lui refused . . ^Yhat wrong had he done her ? 
 \Yhat had he denied her, in the time when they 
 were as boy and girl together — when there was 
 no thought of her being the heiress of Balloray — 
 when she used to walk down through Hyde Park, 
 in her simple dress, and sit on the bench, while her 
 grandfather read his newspaper ? Then the grey 
 dawn would come ; and he would awake to the 
 knowledge that lie had been tortured by mere 
 phantasies; and yet these left something in his 
 mind, even during the actual and practical daylight 
 hours. He begun to wish that there was some 
 bond — of what nature he had not determined — for 
 it was all a vague longing and M'istful desire — a 
 bond that could so bind Maisrie and him tojrether
 
 262 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 that that great width of sea should not intervene. 
 For it was a sorrowful kind of thing — even when 
 the white hours of the daylight told him he had 
 only seen it in a dream. 
 
 But apart from all these dim anxieties and this 
 haunting unrest, came the strictly matter-of-fact 
 consideration that within an appreciable time old 
 George Bethune and his granddaughter would be 
 returning to the United States. That was no spec- 
 tral ocean that would then lie between Maisrie and 
 him, but three thousand miles of the Atlantic ; and 
 who could tell when the two wanderers might ever 
 see England again ? Nay, had not he himself been 
 implored to help in bringing about this separation ? 
 Maisrie had begged of him to urge upon her grand- 
 father the necessity of getting the American book 
 done first, before setting out on the j)oetic pilgrimage 
 through Scotland which was to yield fruit of another 
 kind ; and, of course, if the old man consented, the 
 first step to be taken was a voyage to New York. 
 Vincent had drawn many a fancy picture of a little 
 group of three, wandering away through the rich- 
 hued autumn days, by " lone St. Mary's silent lake," 
 or by the banks of the silver Tweed ; but now all
 
 AN ALARM. 263 
 
 that was to be sacrificed ; and he himself was to do 
 what he could towards sending the old man back to 
 America, and Maisrie with him. Then there would 
 be no more of the long, quiet days of study, made 
 happy by anticipations of the evening ; no more of 
 the pleasant little dinners in this or that restaurant ; 
 no more of those wonderful twilights in the little 
 parlour, with their enchantments of music and happy 
 converse. London, with Maisrie Bethune three thou- 
 sand miles away : that would be a strange thing — ■ 
 that he could even now hardly imagine to himself. 
 
 Nay, it was a thing that he looked forward to 
 with such an unreasoning dread and dismay that he 
 began to construct all sorts of mad schemes for 
 defeating any such possibility ; and at last he hit 
 upon one that seemed more or less practicable, 
 while it would in the meantime virtually absolve 
 him from his promise to Maisrie. On the morning 
 after the meeting of the Mendover Liberal Associa- 
 tion, the two young men were returning to town by 
 train ; and Vincent said to his companion — 
 
 "You were telling me the other night of the 
 Scotch newspaper-man whom you got to know in 
 New York : what did you say his name was ? "
 
 2G4 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTOX ! 
 
 "Oh, you mean Hugh Anstruther? I hope I 
 spoke no ill of him ; for an enthusiastic patriotism 
 such as his is really something to admire in these 
 days. A capital fellow, Hugh ; until I fell across 
 liira in New York I did not know that I had one 
 virtue transcending all the other virtues, and that 
 was simply my being a brother Scot." 
 
 " What did you say was the name of the paper 
 that he edits ? " 
 
 " The Western Scotsman." 
 
 "And it was he who gave Mr. Bethune a letter of 
 introduction to you ? " 
 
 But here Lord Musselburgh's manner instantly 
 changed : he had been answering these questions in 
 a careless way, looking out of the carriage window 
 most of the time : now he turned to his companion, 
 and regarded him with some scrutiny. 
 
 "Why do you ask, Yin?" he said. "Do you 
 want to find out something further about the old 
 man ? " 
 
 Yincent's forehead flushed ; and his eyes gloomed 
 dark. 
 
 " I do not," he made answer, in distinct tones. " I 
 thank goodness my nature is not so suspicious. It
 
 AN ALARM. 265 
 
 seems to me extraordinary that two human beings 
 who have done nothing in the world to deserve it 
 should be regarded with a constant mistrust and 
 doubt. Why ? Do you suspect everybody else in 
 the same way ? " 
 
 " Oh, don't say that I suspect them," Lord Mussel- 
 burgh exclaimed at ouce — for he was an exceedingly 
 good-natured young man and had no wish to offend. 
 " I don't know them well enough — don't know any- 
 thing at all about them, in fact." 
 
 " You told me yourself that my aunt and you had 
 been talking them over ; and I gathered enough 
 from what you said," was the younger man's retort. 
 
 " Mrs. Ellison is naturally anxious about anything 
 that concerns your future, Vin — or seems likely to 
 concern it," Musselburgh said. "And you should 
 be the last to object." 
 
 "But I do object," he said, stiffly. "I object 
 altogether to her canvassing the character of any 
 friends of mine ; and to her putting her doubts and 
 suspicions and hints about them into any third 
 person's imaginations. Oh, yes, I could make out 
 fjuite clearly what she had been saying. That 
 night at Henley she came on a visit of inspection ;
 
 266 STAND FAST, CKAIG-KOYSTON ! 
 
 it was perfectly obvious. And what is more, she 
 came with the hope of having her suspicions con- 
 firmed ; and I suppose she was horribly disappointed 
 that Maisrie Bethune did not drop her Ks, and that 
 Mr. Bethune did not beg the loan of a sovereign 
 from her ! " 
 
 " Why so passionate, Vin — why so indignant ? " 
 his companion put in, glancing at him curiously. 
 
 " Because I say it is a shame — a monstrous 
 shame," the young man said, with flaming eyes, 
 " that anyone should be insulted so ! Is it their 
 fault that they have no friends, that they are 
 unknown, that they are poor ? To be wealthy is 
 to be virtuous, of course ; if you have a long 
 balance at your bankers', you are above suspicion 
 then ; if you have house-boats, and four-in-hands, 
 and gold plate, you're all right. I suppose," said 
 he, altering his tone, "that it was on that very 
 evening — the evening of her inspection — that my 
 aunt was kind enough to talk over those two friends 
 of mine with you, and tell you of all the portentous 
 things she suspected of them. But I presume she 
 did not repeat to you the very last words she used 
 to me as she said good-night ? "
 
 AN ALARM. 267 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "About Miss Betliune," said Yiucent — though 
 it cost him au indescribable effort to pronounce her 
 name. 
 
 " Well, I believe she did," Lord Musselburgh 
 admitted. "For she had just come away from 
 hearing Miss Bethune sing some Canadian song or 
 another ; and she was very much struck ; and she 
 said she had confessed as much to you. Oh, more 
 than that — I don't precisely remember the words. 
 But really, Vin, when you come to think of it, you 
 must acknowledge that there is not much guidance 
 as to character, or antecedents, or anything else,, 
 in the mere singing of a song. Mrs. Ellison, who 
 is always posing as a callous woman of the world, is 
 really very sympathetic and generous, and warm- 
 hearted ; and she was quite taken captive by the 
 charm and simplicity of this Claire Fontaine — is 
 that the name of it? — but at the same time I should 
 not place too great a value— " 
 
 " I quite agree with you," the younger man said,. 
 interrupting without apology. " I place no more 
 value on my aunt's acquittal and commendation 
 than on her previous suspicions. And — and — if
 
 268 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 you don't mind, Musselburgh, I would rather not 
 have the question discussed further, nor Miss 
 Bethune's name mentioned in any way whatsoever." 
 
 " Oh, but remember I said nothing against her," 
 Lord Musselburgh finally added, in perfect good 
 humour. " How could I ? I hope your new friends 
 are all you think them ; and as for the young lady, 
 it is difficult to believe any harm of so refined and 
 sweet a face. But I hope you won't concern your- 
 self too much with them, Vin ; you have other, and 
 perhaps more serious, interests in life ; and it seems 
 to me tliat everything jDfomises well for you. Why, 
 at this moment, man, don't you know what ought to 
 be occupying all your attention ? " 
 
 " What ? " his companion asked — perhaps glad 
 €nough to get away from that delicate topic. 
 
 " At least I know what I should be thinking of 
 if I were in your shoes. I should be wondering 
 how much space the editor of the Mendover Weeldy 
 Guardian was going to give me on Saturday morn- 
 ing next." 
 
 It was another editor whom Vincont had in his 
 mind at that moment. As soon as he got back to 
 London he wrote and despatched the following
 
 AN ALARM. 269 
 
 letter, which was addressed to '' Hugh Austruther, 
 Esq., Western Scotsman Office, New York, U.S.A." 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " I hope you will be so kiud as to 
 consider the contents of this note as strictly private 
 and confidential. In a recent conversation with 
 Lord Musselburgh he informed me that it was you 
 who had given a letter of introduction to him to 
 Mr. George Bethune ; and from Mr. Bethune him- 
 self I learn that he, Mr. Bethune, is about to bring- 
 out a volume on the Scottish poets in America, as 
 soon as lie can conveniently get the materials 
 together. But to this end it would appear that 
 he must revisit tlie United States and Canada, to 
 obtain particulars of the lives of the various poets 
 and verse-writers, and perhaps, also, examples of 
 their work. Now I wish to ask you, as a friend of 
 Mr. Bethune's, whether all this iiitigue and travel 
 might not be spared him, supposing there were 
 some person or persons in this country willing to 
 defray the cost of having those materials collected 
 for him. To speak plainly, do you, sir, know of 
 any writer, connected with the press or otherwise,
 
 "270 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTOX ! 
 
 who would undertake, for a sufificient consideration, 
 to bring together biographical memoranda of the 
 authors in question, along with specimens of their 
 work, which could be sent over here to Mr. Bethune, 
 for him to put into shape and issue in book-form? 
 Mr. Bethune, as you know, is an old man, who must 
 ■surely have had enough of travelling ; moreover he 
 has in mind a leisurely ramble through Scotland 
 which, while also leading to literary results, would 
 involve much less fatigue than a voyage to the 
 United States and Canada. I should be greatly 
 obliged if you would tell me whether you consider 
 it practicable to collect those materials by deputy ; 
 -also, if you know of anyone capable of undertaking 
 the task; and what remuneration he would probably 
 require. I beg you to forgive me, a stranger, for 
 thus appealing to you; but I know you will not 
 grudge a little trouble for the sake of a friend and 
 a fellow Scotchman. 
 
 " Yours faithfully and obediently, 
 
 "Vincent Harris." 
 
 After sending off that letter the young man's 
 spirits lightened considerably ; he saw there was
 
 AN ALARM. 271 
 
 Still a chance that Maisiie Betbune, her grand- 
 father, and himself might together set out on that 
 coveted perambulation of the legend-haunted 
 districts of the Nortb. And now be and they bad 
 returned to their ordinary mode of life — which 
 perhaps pleased bim better than the ostentatious 
 festivities of Henley. Here was no staring crowd, 
 here were no suspicious friends, to break in upon 
 their close and constant compauionsbip. He rejoiced 
 in this isolation ; he wished for no fourtb person at 
 the quiet little dinners in tbe restaurants ; be bad 
 no desire that anyone should share tbe privacy 
 of the bushed small parlour where old George 
 Betbune loftily discoursed of poetry and philosophy, 
 of ancient customs and modern manners, and where 
 Maisrie played pathetic Scotcb airs on tbe violin, 
 or sang in her low clear voice of le pont d' Avignon 
 or perhaps of Marianson, dame jolie. Moreover, be 
 could not fail to perceive, and that witb an ever- 
 increasing delight, that her old expression of sad 
 and wistful resignation was gradually being banished 
 from ber eyes ; and not only that, but a quite fresh 
 colour was come into ber cheeks, so that the pale 
 sun-tinge was less perceptible. Perbaps it was the
 
 272 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 companionship of one nearer to her own age that 
 had made a difiference in her life ; at all events 
 much of her former shyness was gone ; she met his 
 look frankly, sometimes with a touch of gratitude, 
 sometimes with simple gladness, as if his mere 
 presence was something that pleased her. When 
 she was watering the flowers in the little balcony, 
 and caught sight of him over the way, she nodded 
 and smiled : he wondered whether it was that faint- 
 sun-tinge of the complexion that made her teeth 
 seem so clearly white. He began to forget those 
 dreams of a wide intervening sea : this present 
 existence was so peaceable, and contented, and 
 happy. And in spite of Maisrie's injunction, those 
 dreams of Scotland would recur: he saw three 
 newly-arrived strangers walking along Princes 
 Street, Edinburgh, in the silver glare of the 
 morning ; and the middle one of the three — looking 
 away up to the dusky shadows of the Castle rock — 
 was no other than Maisrie Bethune herself, with 
 light and gladness shining in her eyes. 
 
 And what had old George Bethune to say to this 
 constant association and this fast friendship between 
 the two young people ? Well, old George Bethune
 
 AN ALAHM. 273 
 
 had an admirable capacity for enjoying the present 
 moment ; and so long as the dinner was fairly 
 cooked and the claret to his taste, so long as he 
 had a small and faithful audience to listen to his 
 rhapsodies about Scottish song and Scottish heroism, 
 and so long as Maisrie's violin was in tune and her 
 hand as sensitive as ever on the trembling strings, 
 he did not seem to pay much heed to the future. 
 Perhaps it was but natural that one who had 
 wandered so far and wide should welcome a little 
 peace at last ; and perhaps he intentionally blinded 
 his eyes ; at all events the young people were 
 allowed the utmost freedom of companionship — it 
 was as if these three formed but one family. 
 
 One night, as Vincent was about to leave, the 
 old gentleman said to him — 
 
 " About to-morrow evening : I presume we dine 
 at Mentavisti's ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly : we've tried a good many 
 places, and we can't do better than Mentavisti's," 
 the young man answered — as if it mattered one 
 brass farthing to him what sort of dinner there was, 
 or where he got it, so long as Maisrie was at the 
 same table ! 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 " Ah, very well. For this is how I am situated," 
 said Mr. Bethune, gravely and grandly as befitted 
 the seriousness of the theme. " I have an appoint- 
 ment in Jermyn-street at six o'clock. I may be 
 detained. Now I can undertake to be at Mentavisti's 
 Eestaurant at seven — and when the dinner-hour 
 is once fixed, to play shilly-shally with it seems 
 to me abominable — but I am not so sure that 
 I shall have time to return home first. It will 
 be better, therefore, and everyway safer, for Maisrie 
 to come down by herself in a cab — " 
 
 " But mayn't I call for her ? " the young man 
 suggested at once. " You know she would much 
 rather walk down than drive." 
 
 "Oh, very well, very well, if you don't mind," 
 said Mr. ^ethune, with a lofty condescension — or 
 indifference ; while Maisrie, instead of being in the 
 least confused by this proposal, looked up with 
 perfectly frank and pleased eyes, apparently giving 
 him a little message of thanks. 
 
 Nor was she in the least embarrassed on the 
 following evening, when he was ushered upstairs 
 by the landlady's daughter. Maisrie was alone in 
 the little parlour, ready-dressed except as regarded 
 
 I
 
 AN ALARM. 275 
 
 her gloves, and she was putting a final touch to 
 the few flowers with which she had adorned the 
 table. 
 
 " Good evening," said she, quite placidly. " I 
 will be with you in a moment, as soon as I have 
 dried my fingers." 
 
 She disappeared for a second, and returned. 
 He hesitated before accompanying her to the 
 door. 
 
 " Won't you give me one of those flowers ? " said 
 he, rather breathlessly. 
 
 She seemed a little surprised. 
 
 " Now that I think of it," she said, " I have never 
 seen you wear a flower in your coat, as other 
 gentlemen do. And I'm afraid there isn't one 
 here nearly fine enough — " 
 
 "If you were to give me a flower, I should 
 not destroy it by wearing it in my coat ! " said 
 he. 
 
 " Oh, merely a flower ? " she asked. She went 
 to the table. " Will this one do ? " 
 
 It was a white geranium that she handed him, 
 simply enough : he took out his pocket-book, and 
 carefully placed it between the leaves. For the
 
 276 STAND FAST, CEAIG-ROYSTON ! 
 
 briefest instant she regarded him as if in wonder 
 that he should seek to preserve so worthless a trifle ; 
 but she made no remark ; and then unconcernedly and 
 cheerfully she led the way downstairs, and together 
 they passed out into the open street. 
 
 It was a marvellous and bewildering thing to 
 think that he should be in sole and complete charge 
 of her, here in the midst of the great and busy 
 world of London. Did these hurrying people guess 
 at his proud elation, his new-found sense of 
 guardianship and responsibility, his anxiety that 
 all things should be pleasant to her; or had they 
 hardly time even to notice this beautiful young 
 creature, her step light as a fawn, fresh colour— in 
 her fair cheeks, happiness radiant in her eyes ? 
 Perhaps they heeded her and the tall and handsome 
 youth by her side as little as she heeded them ; for 
 indeed she seemed to be entirely engrossed in her 
 companion, talking, smiling, replying to him without 
 a shadow of self-consciousness or restraint. To him 
 this new relationship was an amazing kind of thing : 
 she did not seem even to perceive it. To him it 
 was an epoch in his life, to be for ever remembered : 
 to her — well, nearly every evening she walked out
 
 AN ALAKM. 277 
 
 in similar fashion with her grandfather, and she did 
 not appear to notice any difference : at least she 
 showed no sign. 
 
 But all at once Maisrie altered her manner ; and 
 that was when he in the lightness of his heart 
 informed her that there was still a chance of their 
 setting out on that long contemplated pilgrimage to 
 the various poetic shrines of Scotland. 
 
 " Mr. Harris," she said, proudly, " you made me 
 a promise — " 
 
 "Yes, I know I did," he said ; " but things have 
 changed, and I'm going to explain to you ; and I 
 think you'll find everything satisfactory. But first 
 of all, before I begin, I wish you wouldn't call me 
 * Mr. Harris.' It sounds detestable. You who are 
 80 natural and straightforward in all your ways — 
 why don't you call me Vincent ? " 
 
 " Don't you think that Mr. Vincent might be a 
 fair compromise ? " she asked gently, and with her 
 eyes lowered. 
 
 " I've called you Maisrie once or twice, by 
 accident, and you didn't seem to mind," he pointed 
 out. 
 
 "I am sure I did not notice," she made answer
 
 278 STAND FAST, CKAIG-EOYSTON I 
 
 at once. " How should I ? I am used to nothing 
 else." 
 
 " Then I am to be allowed to call you Maisrie ? " 
 said he, clutching eagerly at this new-found 
 privilege. " And you will call me Vincent — when 
 you find Mr. Vincent become too formal: is it a 
 compact ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is — Mr. Vincent — if you like," said she, 
 with a smile. " But why do you make it so very 
 serious ? " 
 
 " Because," said he, gravely, " when any solemn 
 bargain is completed, people shake hands fo make 
 it secure." 
 
 " Not in the middle of Oxford-street ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " We will postpone the ceremony, if you prefer 
 it ; and now I will begin and tell you how it is still 
 possible we may have that long ramble through 
 Scotland together. You were anxious that before 
 anything of the kind were attempted, your grand- 
 father should go back to the United States to get 
 materials for his book on the Scottish poets in 
 America. Well, now, it seems a pity to make such 
 a long voyage if it can be done without ; and so I
 
 AN ALARM. 279 
 
 have taken the liberty of sending over to New York 
 to see if there isn't some handy young fellow there 
 — some clerk or reporter — who would undertake to 
 collect all the ne^^essary materials, and send them 
 over here for your grandfather to work up. Then 
 we could go to Scotland all the same — that is, if 
 you will let me accompany you." 
 
 " Someone to collect the materials and send them 
 over ? " she repeated ; and then she said : " But 
 M'ould that be fair, Mr. Harris — Mr. Vincent — would 
 that be honest ? Surely not ! The book would not 
 be my grandfather's book at all ; properly it would 
 belong to the young man in New York." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said he, with decision. "He 
 only supplies the bricks ; he does not build the 
 house. When a Chancellor of the Exchequer pro- 
 duces his budget, of course he claims it as his own ; 
 but he has got his facts from the heads of depart- 
 ments, and most likely his quotations have been 
 hunted out for him by his private secretary. It 
 would be your grandfather's book, solely and 
 wholly." 
 
 " But the cost ? " she said, after a second. " Sup- 
 posing it were practicable, the expense — "
 
 280 STAND FAST, CEAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 "Oh, never mind about that," said he, lightly. 
 "It will be next to nothing — you needn't mind 
 about that. Our deputy in New York will find 
 very little difficulty in getting the memoranda that 
 he wants. There is no sort of unnecessary modesty 
 about minor poets ; they will be glad enough to 
 give him specimens of their work, as soon as it is 
 known what he aims at. And in Scotland," he 
 continued (grown suddenly bold), "don't you see 
 how it would work? Your grandfather must have 
 an occasional morning to give to his MSS; then 
 you and I could leave him in absolute peace and 
 quiet; and we might go away for a stroll up to 
 Arthur's Seat, or round the ramparts of the Castle, 
 and return to him by lunch-time. Wouldn't that 
 be an excellent arrangement ? " 
 
 " Yes, that would be very nice indeed," said she, 
 with a pleased expression : she seemed to look for- 
 ward to this close and constant companionship as 
 the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 And in fact so sanguine was the young man about 
 the success of his new scheme that, when the three 
 of them were seated at a small table in Mentavisti's 
 Eestaurant, he ventured to hint to old G-eorge
 
 AN ALARM. , 281 
 
 Bethune his fond hope that he might be allowed 
 to join in that prolonged excursion through Scot- 
 land ; and the old man at once acquiesced. 
 
 " Yes, yes, why not ? " he said ; and then he went 
 on, absently : " Yet my nerve is not what it was. 
 Sometimes I hesitate. It would grieve me more 
 than I can say if Maisrie here were to be disap- 
 pointed. It is a long time since I was in the 
 country ; perhaps I remember only the beautiful 
 things; and it is only of these she has heard me 
 talk. When Sturrock thinks of the old home, the 
 dappled hills shine for him : you remember, 
 Maisrie ? — 
 
 ' Oh native laud ! Oh cherished home, 
 
 I've sailed across the sea, 
 And, though my wandering footsteps roam, 
 
 My heart still turns to thee ! 
 My thoughts and dreams are sweet and brii;ht 
 
 With dew which love distils ; 
 While every gleam of golden light 
 
 Falls ou the Scottish hills.' 
 
 He forgets the mists and the rain and the darkened 
 days. And you, Maisrie, you have been brought 
 up under fair blue skies ; you have never learnt 
 how sombre days and wild and driving clouds stir 
 the imagination ; perhaps, if you stood in the very
 
 282 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 street where the * bonnie Earl o' Moray came sound- 
 ing through the town,' you would see only the wet 
 pavements and the dull windows; and you might 
 turn to me and say ' Is this what you have talked 
 about to me, grandfather ? ' " Then all of a sudden 
 he seemed to throw off this despondent fit as by 
 a violent effort. "No, no!" said he, in quite a 
 different tone. " I will not believe but that there 
 are still yellow cornfields and silver lakes in bonnie 
 Scotland, and the lark singing as high in the 
 heavens as when Tannahill, or Hogg, or Motherwell 
 paused to listen. I will show you the red rowans 
 hanging from the mountain crag, and the golden 
 bracken down by the side of the burn; and if we 
 go still further away — to the lonely islands of the 
 western seas — then you must learn to forget the 
 soft prettiness of the sunnier south, and to let 
 the mysterious charm of isolation hold you, and 
 the majesty of the darkened mountains, and the 
 pathetic beauty of the wandering veils of rain. I 
 would sooner forget the mother that bore me," he 
 said, with a proud ring in his voice, " than believe 
 that bonnie Scotland had lost her glamour and 
 wonder and fascination. And you would be no
 
 AN ALARM. 283 
 
 lioliday-tourist, Maisrie; you belong by blood to 
 the * land of wild weather ' ; and imagination is part 
 of the dowry of youth. No, no ; I do not fear. I 
 — I made a mistake when I said I was afraid — I am 
 not afraid of you, Maisrie — not afraid of you — you 
 have the fine sympathy, the intelligence, the quick 
 imagination that I can trust — I am not afraid of 
 you, Maisrie " 
 
 " You need not be afraid, grandfather," the girl 
 said, gently — for she saw that he was somewhat 
 disturbed. "Why should you be afraid, grand- 
 father ? I shall be looking with your eyes." 
 
 But the curious thing was that despite all this 
 talking about the projected pilgrimage, it never 
 seemed to come any nearer. No mention of a date 
 or even of any approximate time, was ever made. 
 In like manner, their return to America, though the 
 old gentleman spoke of it now and again as a fixed 
 and definite and necessary thing, kept receding 
 backwards and backwards into a perfectly nebulous 
 future. The present moment was everything to old 
 George Bethune, whether he was engaged with a 
 roe-deer cutlet at a restaurant in Eegent-street, or 
 lighting his pipe and mixing his toddy on his
 
 284 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 return home, while he was descanting on Barbour, 
 and Drummond, and Sir David Lindesay, or Eamsay, 
 and Ferguson, and Burns. People were beginning 
 to leave town ; Vincent had received, and de- 
 clined, an invitation to join a big house-party in 
 Argyllshire, notwithstanding that it was to the 
 same house that Mrs. Ellison and Lord Mussel- 
 burgh were going; but old George Bethune and 
 his granddaughter appeared to pay no heed to the 
 changing times and seasons ; their placid, unevent- 
 ful life seemed quite enough for them. And was it 
 not enough for this young man also, who had been 
 admitted to be their constant associate and friend ? 
 Why should he vex himself about literary schemes 
 that were none of his devising ? Day by day he 
 waved a good-morning to Maisrie as she came to 
 water her flowers, and an answer came from her 
 smiling eyes; sometimes he walked out into the 
 parks in the afternoon, with her grandfather and 
 herself, and ever he rejoiced to see that the fine 
 peach-bloom on her cheek was surmounting the 
 sun-tinge that had been left there by travel ; then 
 in the evening they had all London to choose from, 
 as to where they should dine, . with a quiet stroll
 
 AN ALARM. 285 
 
 homeward thereafter, to music, and dominoes, and 
 careless talk. What more ? The great outer world 
 might go on its way, and welcome. 
 
 But Master Vin was about to be startled out of 
 this dreamful ease. At last there came an answer 
 to the communication he had sent to the editor of 
 the Western Scotsman, with many apologies for 
 unavoidable delay : Mr. Anstruther, it appeared, had 
 been in Canada, taking his annual holiday among 
 his kinsmen and countrymen there. 
 
 " I must say your letter has astonished me beyond 
 measure," the writer went on, " and I would fain 
 believe that there is some great mistake somewhere, 
 which is capable of explanation. It is quite true 
 that when I gave my venerable friend Mr. Bethune 
 a note of introduction to Lord Musselburgh, I was 
 aware that he had in view various literary projects 
 — in fact, his brain teems with them as if he were a 
 young man of five-and-twenty — the perfervidum in- 
 genium Scotorum in his case has taken hold of his 
 imagination ; but I cannot understand how he could 
 have included in these the publication of a volume 
 on the Scottish poets in America, for the simple
 
 286 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 reason that he must have known that such a work 
 was not only in progress here, bat that it was near 
 completion. Why, I myself showed Mr. Bethune 
 proofs of the early sheets of this volume ; for the 
 author is a particular friend of mine ; and as it was 
 being set up, he used to send me the sheets as they 
 were printed ; and Mr. Bethune being in the habit 
 of calling at my office, I not only showed them to 
 him, but I fancy I let him take some of them away, 
 that he might read them at his leisure. How he 
 should now 'propose to bring out a similar work — 
 and bespeak Lord Musselburgh's patronage for it, as 
 I presume he did — passes ray comprehension, except 
 on the ground that, being an old man, he may have 
 suffered from some temporary attack of mental 
 aberration and forgetfulness. I would rather believe 
 this than that a man whom I had taken for a 
 thorough Scot, loyal and true to the backbone, and 
 proud of his country and of his own name and 
 lineage, should be endeavouring to supplant another 
 worker who is already in possession of the field. 
 However, no actual harm can be done ; for the 
 volume I speak of is on the eve of publication, and 
 no doubt it will be issued simultaneously in Eng-
 
 AN ALAKM. 287 
 
 land. That is all I have to say, on a subject which 
 at present seems to me to have something of a pain- 
 ful aspect — though I hope a satisfactory explanation 
 may be forthcoming. In conclusion may I beg of 
 you to keep this letter private ? The facts are as I 
 have stated ; but I would, rather Mr. Bethune did 
 not know you had them from me. 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 "Hugh Ansteuther." 
 
 For some time Vincent sat with this letter in his 
 hand, in a sort of stupefaction. Curiously enough 
 his first question to himself was — What if Mrs. 
 Ellison should get to know ? — would she not trium- 
 phantly declare that her worst suspicions had been 
 confirmed ? That was but a first thought. There 
 must be some explanation ! He had not associated 
 so continually with George Betlmne — he bad not 
 heard the old man's voice thrill with proud emotion 
 as he spoke of Scotland's hills and dales — he had not 
 seen his eyes fill with unbidden tears as he talked of 
 his granddaughter and the loneliness that might be 
 in store for her — all for nothing : not at once could 
 he be convinced that this old man was a mere
 
 288 STAND FAST, CRAIG-EOYSTON ! 
 
 charlatan, a thief, a begging-letter impostor. But 
 he had been startled ; and when he reached his 
 lodgings in that small thoroughfare, he hardly 
 dared look across the way : he knew not what to 
 think. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHAEIKG CROSS. 
 
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